e was not yet ripe. A little longer and I think I must have won
him for Your Grace."

"Heaven help us!" exclaimed the Duke in petulant vexation. "Is no one
coming in?"

Ferguson swung a hand towards the still open window, drawing attention
to the sounds without.

"Does Your Grace not hear, that ye can ask?" he cried, almost
reproachfully; but they scarce heeded him, for Grey was inquiring if
Mr. Strode might be depended upon to join, and that was a matter that
claimed the greater attention.

"I think," said Battiscomb, "that he might have been depended upon."

"Might have been?" questioned Fletcher, speaking now for the first time
since Battiscomb's arrival.

"Like Sir Francis Rolles, he is in prison," the lawyer explained.

Monmouth leaned forward, and his young face looked Careworn now; he
thrust a slender hand under the brown curls upon his brow. "Will you
tell us, Mr. Battiscomb, upon what friends you think that we may count?"
he said.

Battiscomb pursed his lips a second, pondering. "I think," said he,
"that you may count upon Mr. Legge and Mr. Hooper, and possibly upon
Colonel Churchill, though I cannot say what following they will bring,
if any. Mr. Trenchard, upon whom we counted for fifteen hundred men of
Taunton, has been obliged to fly the country to escape arrest."

"We have heard that from Mr. Trenchard's cousin," answered the Duke.
"What of Prideaux, of Ford? Is he lukewarm?"

"I was unable to elicit a definite promise from him. But he was
favourably disposed to Your Grace."

His Grace made a gesture that seemed to dismiss Prideaux from their
calculations. "And Mr. Hucker, of Taunton?"

Battiscomb's manner grew yet more ill at ease. "Mr. Hucker himself, I
am sure, would place his sword at your disposal. But his brother is a
red-hot Tory."

"Well, well," sighed the Duke, "I take it we must not make certain of
Mr. Hucker. Are there any others besides Legge and Hooper upon whom you
think that we may reckon?"

"Lord Wiltshire, perhaps," said Battiscomb, but with a lack of
assurance.

"A plague on perhaps!" exclaimed Monmouth, growing irritable; "I want
you to name the men of whom you are certain."

Battiscomb stood silent for a moment, pondering. He looked almost
foolish, like a schoolboy who hesitates to confess his ignorance of the
answer to a question set him.

Fletcher swung round, his grey eyes flashing angrily, his accent more
Scottish than ever.

"Is it that ye're certain o' non