hall to the great room. Here, after softly closing the door,
he lighted candles, saw to it that the heavy wooden shutters were
securely drawn across the windows, and turned to face his visitor in a
somewhat different guise than the riding suit and jack boots, the mask
and broad flapping beaver, in which he had appeared in their encounter
in the hut on the marsh. His stately figure was now wrapped in a
night-gown of dark velvet, his bare feet were thrust into velvet
slippers, and a silken night-cap, half on and half off, imparted a rakish
air to his gravely handsome countenance. He threw himself into a great
armchair and tapped impatiently upon the table.

"Well!" he said dryly.

Landless standing before him began to speak with dignity and to the
point. Godwyn, the head of a great conspiracy, was dead, leaving him,
Landless, in some sort his successor. In a conference of the leading
conspirators held but a few nights before the murder, Godwyn had
announced that not only had he given to the son of Warham Landless his
complete confidence, but that in case aught should happen to himself
before the time for action, he would wish the young man to succeed him
in the leadership of the revolt. There had been some demur, but Godwyn's
influence was boundless, and on his advancing reason after reason for
his preference, the Oliverians had acquiesced in his judgment and had
given their solemn promise to respect his wishes. Three nights later,
Godwyn was murdered. Since that dreadful blow, Landless had seen only
such of the conspirators as were in his immediate neighborhood.
Confounded at the turn affairs had taken, and utterly at a loss, they
had turned eagerly to him as to one having authority. For his own
freedom, for the sake of his promise to the dead man, he would do his
utmost. He had come to-night to discover, if possible, Major
Carrington's intentions--

Carrington, who had listened thus far with grave attention, frowned
heavily.

"If my memory serves me, sirrah, I told you once before that Miles
Carrington stirs not hand or foot in this matter. I may wish you well,
but that is all."

"'Tis a poor friend that cries 'Godspeed!' to one who struggles in a
bog, and gives not his hand to help him out."

"Your figure does not hold," said the other, dryly. "I have not cried
'Godspeed!' I have said nothing at all, either good or bad. I have
nothing to do with this conspiracy. You are the only man now living
that knows that I