ed, and I took stock of my surroundings. The windows
were barred with irons set in stone sockets by masonry. I set my knee
against the window frame and tugged at them till I was moist with
perspiration. As well I might have pulled at the pillars of St. Paul's. I
tried my small sword as a lever, but it snapped in my hand. Again I
examined the bars. There was no way but to pick them from their sockets by
making a groove in the masonry. With the point of my sword I chipped
industriously at the cement. At the end of ten minutes I had made
perceptible progress. Yet it took me another hour of labour to accomplish
my task. I undid the blind fastenings, clambered out, and lowered myself
foot by foot to the ground by clinging to the ivy that grew thick along
the wall. The vine gave to my hand, and the last three yards I took in a
rush, but I picked myself up none the worse save for a torn face and
bruised hands.

The first fall was Volney's, and I grudged it him; but as I took my way to
Balmerino's lodgings my heart was far from heavy. The girl was safe for
the present. I knew Volney well enough for that. That his plan was to take
her to The Oaks and in seclusion lay a long siege to the heart of the
girl, I could have sworn. But from London to Epsom is a far cry, and
between them much might happen through chance and fate and--Kenneth
Montagu.

-----

[2] Speldering in the glaur--sprawling in the mud.

CHAPTER III

DEOCH SLAINT AN RIGH!

"You're late, Kenn," was Balmerino's greeting to me.

"Faith, my Lord, I'm earlier than I might have been. I found it hard to
part from a dear friend who was loathe to let me out of his sight," I
laughed.

The Scotchman buckled on his sword and disappeared into the next room.
When he returned a pair of huge cavalry pistols peeped from under his
cloak.

"Going to the wars, my Lord?" I quizzed gaily.

"Perhaps. Will you join me?"

"Maybe yes and maybe no. Is the cause good?"

"The best in the world."

"And the chances of success?"

"Fortune beckons with both hands."

"Hm! Has she by any chance a halter in her hands for Kenn Montagu and an
axe for Balmerino since he is a peer?"

"Better the sharp edge of an axe than the dull edge of hunger for those we
love," he answered with a touch of bitterness.

His rooms supplied the sermon to his text. Gaunt poverty stared at me on
every hand. The floor was bare and the two ragged chairs were rickety. I
knew now why the white