ctively mistrusted Richard. He had known him for a fool,
a weakling, a babbler, and a bibber of wine. Out of such elements a
villain is soon compounded, and Trenchard had cause to fear the form
of villainy that lay ready to Richard's hand. For it chanced that Mr.
Trenchard was second cousin to that famous John Trenchard, so lately
tried for treason and acquitted to the great joy of the sectaries of the
West, and still more lately--but yesterday, in fact--fled the country to
escape the rearrest ordered in consequence of that excessive joy. Like
his more famous cousin, Nick Trenchard was one of the Duke of Monmouth's
most active agents; and Westmacott, like Wilding, Vallancey, and one
or two others at that board, stood, too, committed to the cause of the
Protestant Champion.

Out of his knowledge of the boy Trenchard was led to fear that if he
were leniently dealt with now, tomorrow, when, sober, he came to realize
the grossness of the thing he had done and the unlikelihood of its being
forgiven him, there was no saying but that to protect himself he might
betray Wilding's share in the plot that was being hatched. That in
itself would be bad enough; but there might be worse, for he could
scarcely betray Wilding without betraying others and--what mattered
most--the Cause itself. He must be dealt with out of hand, Trenchard
opined, and dealt with ruthlessly.

"I think, Anthony," said he, "that we have had words enough. Shall you
be disposing of Mr. Westmacott to-morrow, or must I be doing it for
you?"

With a gasp of dismay young Richard twisted in his chair to confront
this fresh and unsuspected antagonist. What danger was this that he had
overlooked? Then, even as he turned, Wilding's voice fell on his ear,
and each word of the few he spoke was like a drop of icy water on
Westmacott's overheated brain.

"I protest you are vastly kind, Nick. But I intend, myself, to have the
pleasure of killing Mr. Westmacott." And his smile fell now in mockery
upon the disillusioned lad.

Crushed by that bolt from the blue, Richard sat as if stunned, the flush
receding from his face until his very lips were livid. The shock had
sobered him, and, sobered, he realized in terror what he had done. And
yet even sober he was amazed to find that the staff upon which with such
security he had leaned should have proved rotten. True he had put much
strain upon it; but then he had counted that it would stand much strain.

He would have spoken