reen, and behind the elms (my lord waving his
hand, Harry thought), and so they disappeared.

That evening we had a great panic, the cow-boy coming at milking-time
riding one of our horses, which he had found grazing at the outer park
wall.

All night my lady viscountess was in a very quiet and subdued mood. She
scarce found fault with anybody; she played at cards for six hours; little
page Esmond went to sleep. He prayed for my lord and the good cause before
closing his eyes.

It was quite in the grey of the morning when the porter's bell rang, and
old Lockwood waking up, let in one of my lord's servants, who had gone
with him in the morning, and who returned with a melancholy story.

The officer who rode up to my lord had, it appeared, said to him, that it
was his duty to inform his lordship that he was not under arrest, but
under surveillance, and to request him not to ride abroad that day.

My lord replied that riding was good for his health, that if the captain
chose to accompany him he was welcome, and it was then that he made a bow,
and they cantered away together.

When he came on to Wansey Down, my lord all of a sudden pulled up, and the
party came to a halt at the crossway.

"Sir" says he to the officer, "we are four to two; will you be so kind as
to take that road, and leave me to go mine?"

"Your road is mine, my lord," says the officer.

"Then," says my lord, but he had no time to say more, for the officer,
drawing a pistol, snapped it at his lordship; as at the same moment Father
Holt, drawing a pistol, shot the officer through the head.

It was done, and the man dead in an instant of time. The orderly, gazing
at the officer, looked scared for a moment, and galloped away for his
life.

"Fire! fire!" cries out Father Holt, sending another shot after the
trooper, but the two servants were too much surprised to use their pieces,
and my lord calling to them to hold their hands, the fellow got away.

"Mr. Holt, _qui pensoit a tout_," says Blaise, "gets off his horse,
examines the pockets of the dead officer for papers, gives his money to us
two, and says, 'The wine is drawn, monsieur le marquis,'--why did he say
marquis to monsieur le vicomte?--'we must drink it.'

"The poor gentleman's horse was a better one than that I rode," Blaise
continues; "Mr. Holt bids me get on him, and so I gave a cut to Whitefoot,
and she trotted home. We rode on towards Newbury; we heard firing towards
midday: at two