ed itself upon the merchant's ashen
face.

"It... it shall be forthcoming by morning," stammered Newlington.

"By morning?" cried Grey, who, with the others, watched Mr. Newlington
what time they all wondered at Mr. Wilding's question and the manner of
it.

"You knew that I march to-night," Monmouth reproached the merchant.

"And it was to receive the money that you invited His Majesty to do you
the honours of supping with you here," put in Wade, frowning darkly.

The merchant's wife and daughter stood beside him watching him, and
plainly uneasy. Before he could make any reply, Mr. Wilding spoke again.

"The circumstance that he has not the money by him is a little odd--or
would be were it not for what has happened. I would submit, Your
Majesty, that you receive from Mr. Newlington not twenty thousand pounds
as he had promised you, but thirty thousand, and that you receive it not
as a loan as was proposed, but as a fine imposed upon him in consequence
of... his lack of care in the matter of his orchard."

Monmouth looked at the merchant very sternly. "You have heard Mr.
Wilding's suggestion," said he. "You may thank the god of traitors it
was made, else we might have thought of a harsher course. You shall pay
the money by ten o'clock to-morrow to Mr. Wilding, whom I shall leave
behind for the sole purpose of collecting it." He turned from Newlington
in plain disgust. "I think, sirs, that here is no more to be done. Are
the streets safe, Mr. Wilding?"

"Not only safe, Your Majesty, but the twenty men of Slape's and your own
life-guards are waiting to escort you.

"Then in God's name let us be going," said Monmouth, sheathing his sword
and moving towards the door. Not a second time did he offer to confer
the honour of knighthood upon his saviour.

Mr. Wilding turned and went out to marshal his men. The Duke and his
officers followed more leisurely. As they reached the door, a woman's
cry broke the silence behind them. Monmouth turned. Mr. Newlington,
purple of face and his eyes protruding horridly, was beating the air
with his hands. Suddenly he collapsed, and crashed forward with arms
flung out amid the glass and silver of the table all spread with the
traitor's banquet to which he had bidden his unsuspecting victim.

His wife and daughter ran to him and called him by name, Monmouth
pausing a moment to watch them from the doorway with eyes unmoved. But
Mr. Newlington answered, not their call, for he was dead.