s the fortune of war."

"The fortune of war!" Brilliana gave a bitter laugh. "I would not
have you die to save--Oh, I must not say--but fly, sir, fly! Ride hot
and hard to Cambridge, where you will be safe. You shall have the
best horse in my stable. You are my prisoner. I give you back your
parole. Only, for God's sake, go! My friends would kill you if they
caught you here."

Evander begged a boon.

"May I kiss your hand before I go?"

Brilliana tried to smile.

"A Cavalier would not have asked."

"I am Puritan, ingrain," he asserted.

"You are a dear gentleman."

She sighed and held out her hand. As he stooped to salute it the door
was dashed open and a man booted and spurred flung into the room. As
he stood for a moment amazed at what he saw, Brilliana, turning,
recognized Sir Rufus Quaryll. She disengaged her hand from Evander's
and moved a little towards him. Evander instinctively felt for his
sword. Sir Rufus's face was a great blaze of red.

"In the devil's name, what does this mean?" he shouted.

Brilliana drew herself up.

"You forget yourself," she said, haughtily. Rufus barked at her with
rage.

"You have forgotten yourself; in the arms of a doomed traitor."

"Civil words, sir!" Evander cried, moving on him. Brilliana motioned
him to hold back.

"This gentleman is no traitor."

An open letter lay at Rufus's feet. He pounced on it and read. He was
pale now, the white heat of anger.

"Gentleman! Oh, I know much, guess all. Randolph is dead there
yonder, and this rogue, who should be dead and ditched here, lives.
Faugh! But he dies now."

On the word he had drawn his sword and advanced upon Evander, whose
own sword was no less swiftly out. Brilliana came between the two
men.

"If you kill him, you kill me," she said.

"By God, you deserve to die!" was Rufus's answer.

In the headiness of their brawl none of the party had noticed how the
door had opened again and how a man stood at gaze in the doorway. A
slender man of middle height, in travel-stained riding-habit of
black; a man with a comely, melancholy face and sad eyes; a man who
seemed very weary. He wore a jewelled George. For a moment the
new-comer stood unheeded, then he advanced into the room. Sir Rufus
heard him, turned, and cried, "The King!" Evander sent his sword back
into its sheath. Brilliana knelt in reverence. This was the hero,
almost the divinity, the monarch she worshipped, the sovereign she
had never seen.

"Gen