Lupton House. It was cool and
pleasant here in contrast to the heat of the July sun, which, following
upon the late wet weather, beat fiercely on the lawn, the window-doors
to which stood open. The cloth had been raised, and Diana and her mother
had lately left the room. Ruth, in the window-seat, at a small oval
table, was arranging a cluster of roses in an old bronze bowl. Sir
Rowland, his stiff short figure carefully dressed in a suit of brown
camlet, his fair wig very carefully curled, occupied a tall-backed
armchair near the empty fireplace. Richard, perched on the table's edge,
swung his shapely legs idly backwards and forwards and cogitated upon a
pretext to call for a morning draught of last October's ale.

Ruth completed her task with the roses and turned her eyes upon her
brother.

"You are not looking well, Richard," she said, which was true enough,
for much hard drinking was beginning to set its stamp on Richard, and
young as he was, his insipidly fair face began to display a bloatedness
that was exceedingly unhealthy.

"Oh, I am well enough," he answered almost peevishly, for these
allusions to his looks were becoming more frequent than he savoured.

"Gad!" cried Sir Rowland's deep voice, "you'll need to be well. I have
work for you to-morrow, Dick."

Dick did not appear to share his enthusiasm. "I am sick of the work you
discover for us, Rowland," he answered ungraciously.

But Blake showed no resentment. "Maybe you'll find the present task more
to your taste. If it's deeds of derring-do you pine for, I am the man
to satisfy you." He smiled grimly, his bold grey eyes glancing across at
Ruth, who was observing him, listening.

Richard sneered, but offered him no encouragement to proceed.

"I see," said Blake, "that I shall have to tell you the whole story
before you'll credit me. Shalt have it, then. But..." and he checked on
the word, his face growing serious, his eye wandering to the door, "I
would not have it overheard--not for a king's ransom," which was more
literally true than he may have intended it to be.

Richard looked over his shoulder carelessly at the door.

"We have no eavesdroppers," he said, and his voice bespoke his contempt
of the gravity of this news of which Sir Rowland made so much in
anticipation. He was acquainted with Sir Rowland's ways, and the
importance of them. "What are you considering?" he inquired.

"To end the rebellion," answered Blake, his voice cautiously lower