I could only see the fellow's back, with hair hanging low over the collar, but his voice was clear.

"Got here five minutes ago. The preacher is locked in the parlor."

"By God! Good! Now we can play out the game, eh, Captain? Or," turning about suspiciously, and staring at the other, who sat with eyes shaded by one hand, "are you weakening as the time draws near?"

"Hell's fire! No! We gave her a choice, and she only laughed at it. I'll go on now to spite the wench; only I think we should bring in the boy first, and prove to her that we've actually got him."

Fagin emptied the glass in his hand, giving utterance to an oath as he replaced it on the table.

"Yer as chicken-hearted drunk as sober, Grant," he said coarsely. "Did yer hear the fool, Jones, an' after all I've told him?"

The bearded man nodded silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the other. Fagin grinned, and poured out another drink.

"Now listen again," he went on, half angrily. "That boy's worth money ter us—a thousand pounds,—but it wouldn't do yer any good ter be mixed up in the affair, would it? What chance would yer have in this estate, or fer yer commission either, if Howe or Clinton got an inklin' of yer game? Good Lord, man! they'd hang yer instead of the other fellow. You'll have ter lie some as it is, I reckon, ter explain why yer left Sir Henry, an' came down here. Have yer got that fact inter yer brains?"

Grant glared at him wickedly, but remained silent across the table.

"Yer already in bad enough, without huntin' more trouble. Better leave the boy alone. I thought, at first, we'd have ter use him, but I don't now. Let the girl believe he's deserted, and that yer in a position ter help him. That will serve yer purpose better than the other scheme. It may awaken her gratitude, her sweet love!"

"Damn her love!"

"So it isn't love, eh, that makes yer so anxious. I thought as much. What is it, then—revenge?"

Grant held his breath a moment, his dull eyes on the faces of the two men.

"Well, I might as well tell you," he snarled at last. "I loved her once, I guess; anyhow I wanted her badly enough. I want her now, but not in just the same way. I want to show her I'm the master. I want to give her a lesson, and that cub brother of hers. I'd have got them all, the Colonel with them, if that damned Colonial spy hadn't stolen my coat. I had them, dead to rights, Fagin, and the papers to prove it. Now I don't care how it's done, so I get her. I thought she'd marry me to save the boy, but if she won't, why then, you carry out your plan—what is it?"

Fagin laughed, again emptying his glass.

"Easy enough. She's alone, except fer her father, and he can't get out of bed. We've got Jenks here, an' the damned old coward will do whatever I tell him."

"But she despises me—"

"Oh, no! We'll make you a victim. That will leave things in proper shape between yer two. We'll play it off as a drunken lark—eh, Jones? My God! it won't be the first time we've done the trick either. Do you remember that love-sick couple over at Tom's River, Ned? Never laughed so much in my life. This is a better one. Lord! but won't old Mortimer rave, an' mighty little good it will do him. Come, what do yer say, Grant? Are yer game?"

"Hell's fire—yes." He got to his feet, gripping the back of his chair. "Bring—bring 'em in; this is a good place."

Fagin struck the table with his fist.

"Of course it is, drink ter the bride after the ceremony. Bill, bring in the preacher."

It was growing daylight. I could perceive the glow of the sky out through the window, but the candles still sputtered on the table, casting grim lights and shadows on the faces of the three men. As Bill disappeared into the parlor, I stole silently back to the library door. What could be done was not entirely clear, but I proposed to defend Claire in every way possible.

"Tom," I whispered briefly, "find the boys, and bring them in here, through that broken window. They are in the orchard to the right, and there are no guards in front. Move lively, but be quiet."

"What is it, Major?" asked young Mortimer, eagerly.

"I can't explain now. I must get back where I can see and hear. But there is going to be a fight. Hold the men ready here until I call. See that their weapons are in good order."

I caught the glint of his eye, but could wait no longer. Indeed I was scarcely back, snuggled under the stairs, when Bill came forth, gripping the collar of his prisoner's coat, and urging him down the hall. I crouched lower, the morning light threatening to reveal my hiding place, yet with mind more at ease, now I knew the men were close at hand. Within five minutes the entire squad would be crowded into that room, eager for trouble to begin. Probably Fagin did not have a half-dozen fellows in the house. If we could strike swiftly enough we might overpower them all, without creating alarm outside, where the main body lay. Some carelessness had brought us good luck in having the front of the house left unguarded. These thoughts swept over me, and left me confident. The time had come when I was to serve her, to prove my own worthiness. I felt ready and eager for the trial.

I caught a glimpse of Jenks's face, as Bill jerked him forward. The man was gray with terror, his parchment-like skin seamed and contorted. He was a tall, loose-jointed creature, wearing a long black coat flapping about his knees. The guard fairly held him up in the doorway, and both Fagin and Jones laughed at the pitiful sight, the former ending his roar with an outburst of profanity.

"Go on back ter the front door, Bill," he ordered roughly. "This fellow'll never run away; his legs wouldn't carry him. Now, Mr. Preacher," glowering savagely at the poor devil across the bottle-strewn table, "do yer know who I am?"

Jenks endeavored to answer, from the convulsive movement of his throat, but made no sound. Fagin cursed again.

"If it wasn't such a waste of good liquor I'd pour some of this down your gullet," he exclaimed, shaking a half-filled bottle in his fist. "Then maybe you could answer when I spoke to you. Now, see here, you canting old hypocrite, I'm Red Fagin, an' I guess you know what that means. I'm pisen, an' I don't like your style. Now you're goin' to do just what I tell you, or the boys will have a hangin' bee down in the ravine. Speak up, an' tell me what you propose to do."

Jenks wet his dry lips with his tongue, clinging to the sides of the door with both hands.

"I—I am the Lord's servant," he managed to articulate, "and have taken no part in this unholy war."

"You're a cheerful liar, but don't try snivelling on me. You are too big a coward to go out yourself, but you're hand in glove with Farrell. Oh, I know you, sneaking saint; I've had my eyes on you a long while. Now it's do as I say, or hang; that's all, Jenks, an' I'm cussed if I care very much which you choose."

"What—what is it you wish of me?" his uncertain gaze wandering over the three faces, but coming back to Fagin.

"You are to marry this officer here to a young lady."

"What—what young lady?"

"Mortimer's daughter—Claire is the name, isn't it, Grant? Yes, Claire; you know her, I reckon."

I could hear the unfortunate man breathe in the silence, but Fagin's eyes threatened.

"Is—is she here?" he faltered helplessly. "Does she desire the—the ceremony?"

"That doesn't happen to be any of your business," broke in Fagin bluntly. "This is my affair, an' the fewer questions you ask the better. If we want some fun, what the hell have you got to do with it, you snivelling spoil-sport! I haven't asked either of them about it. I just decided it was time they got married. Stand up, man, and let go that door," he drew a derringer from his belt and flung it onto the table. "There's my authority—that, an' fifty hell-hounds outside wondering why I don't loot the house, an' be done. Do you want to be turned over to them? If you don't, then speak up. Will you tie them, or not?"

Jenk's eyes wandered toward Jones, who stared blankly back at him, yellow fangs showing beneath his beard.

"Why—of course—yes," he faltered weakly. "I—suppose I must."

"Don't seem much chance to get out, does there, parson? Well, I reckon it won't hurt your conscience particularly. Bill! Where's Bill?"

"You sent him to guard the front door," explained Jones.

"That's right, I did. You'll do just as well. Go up stairs, an' bring the girl down. She's with the old man, an' Culberson is guarding the door. Better not say what she's wanted for. Just tell her Captain Grant wishes to speak to her a moment."

Jones straightened up, and pushed past the preacher, the stairs creaking under his weight as he went up over my head. Grant arose, and stood looking out the window into the glow of the sunshine, and Jenks dropped into the nearest chair, still staring across the table at Fagin. For the first time I seemed to entirely grasp the situation. I got to my feet, yet dare not move so much as a step, for Fagin was facing the hallway. It apparently would be better to wait until after the girl came down stairs, until those in the house were all together, before we struck. I wanted to know what she would say, how she would act, when she understood what was proposed. The time allowed me for decision was short, as it seemed scarcely a minute before I heard their footsteps above.