and killed his man. I was there at the time."

"Ah," said my Lord Wargrove, thoughtfully, "so he is a wine of that
vintage, is he? Then we shall probably hear more of the little adventure
which went to smash when that old thief's horses blundered into those
white gates."

"You do not suppose," cried the Prince, startled into raising himself
incautiously on his elbow so that he grimaced with pain, "that it was
Wemyss who pursued us?"

"Certainly not," said Wargrove. "If he is the man you describe, he would
never have fired a blunderbuss into a dark carriage. He would have
stopped the horses and shot us one after the other at twenty paces like
a gentleman."

"What, without seconds! That would have been murder!" exclaimed the Duke
of Lyonesse, who liked well enough running away with pretty maids, but
much deprecated the interference of inconvenient relatives afterwards.
As, for that matter, did most of the royal princes of that time.

_Who did their ill by stealth,_
_But blushed to find it fame._

"A man who can resign an ambassadorship to pink his man is never in want
of a second, specially in his own country. He would have fought us--be
sure of that--and so far as I am concerned, the pleasure is only
postponed. As for you, your Highness had better get to Windsor or
Carlton House, as soon as may be."

"I cannot go to Carlton House," the Duke answered sadly, "though I dare
say George would be glad enough to see me. We always had a great deal in
common, but all that is of no use. The Fitz does not like me and she is
ruling the roost there again."

"Well," said Wargrove, quaintly, "I shall be jotting down the provisions
of my last will and testament as we are jogging along southward."

"I wonder," said his Royal Highness, pensively, "what has become of the
little baggage. She would have been entrancing if we only could have got
her safely trapped."

"Well," said my Lord, "you would not listen before, but I tell you now
that if you _had_ trapped her, as you say, you would certainly have died
in bed with a dagger in your throat. That was what she meant by 'Oh, if
I only had it!' You heard her say that. I remember my cousin Southwald
getting hold of an Italian girl--a little minx from Apulia, fine as silk
but dusky as a Brazil nut. She fought wild and bitter like a trapped
wild cat. It was at Lecce in Murat's time, but Southwald was conceited
that he could gentle her. He did not care for what he called the