"Well, Cary,--will you undertake it?"
"Ephraim," I said, looking up at last, "I cannot bear to think of
sacrificing Colonel Keith. I could do it, I think, for anything but
that. It would be hard work, no doubt, at the best; but I would go
through with it to save Angus. But cannot it be done in some other
way?"
Ephraim shook his head.
"We can see no other way at all. There are only three men who could do
it--Colonel Keith, Mr Raymond, and myself; and Keith is far the best
for personal reasons. Beside the matter of height, he has, or at any
rate could easily put on, a slight Scots accent, which we should find
difficult, and might very likely do it wrong. He is acquainted with all
the places and people that Angus is; we are not. And remember, it is
not only the getting Angus out of the place that is of consequence:
whoever takes his place must personate Angus for some hours, till he can
get safely away. [Note 3.] Only Keith can do this with any chance of
success. As to sacrifice, why, soldiers sacrifice themselves every day,
and he is a soldier. I can assure you, it seems to him a natural,
commonplace affair. He is very anxious to do it."
"He must be fonder of Angus--" I stopped.
"Than we are?" answered Ephraim, with a smile. "Perhaps he is. But I
think he has other reasons, Cary."
"What made you think of me?"
"Well, we must have a girl in the affair, and we were very much puzzled
whom to ask. If Miss Keith had been here, we should certainly have
asked her."
"Annas? Oh, how could she?" I cried.
"She has pluck enough," said Ephraim. "Of course, Miss Drummond would
have been the most natural person to play the part, but Keith would not
hear of that, and Raymond doubted if she were a suitable person. With
her, the Scots accent would be in the way, and rouse suspicion; and I am
not sure whether she could manage such a thing in other respects. Then
we thought of Hatty and you; but Hatty, I suppose, is out of the
question at present."
"Oh yes, quite," said I.
"She would have been the very one if she had been well and strong. She
has plenty of go and dash in her. But Raymond and Keith both wanted
you."
"And you did not?" said I, feeling rather mortified that Ephraim should
seem to think more of Hatty than of me.
"No, I did not, Cary," he said, in a changed voice. "You think I am
paying you a poor compliment. Perhaps, some day, you will know better."
"Does anyone in this house know of the rescue plot?"
"Mr Desborough knows that an attempt may be made, but not that you are
in it. Lucette is engaged to keep the coast clear while we get away.
And now, Cary, what say you?"
"Yes, Ephraim, I will do it, though I almost wish it were anything else.
May God help Colonel Keith!"
"Amen, with all my heart!"
We had no opportunity to say more.
So now I wait for next Tuesday, not knowing what it may bring forth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was about a quarter of an hour before the fated moment, when Miss
Theresa Newton sat down by me.
"Very serious to-night, Miss Caroline!" said she, jestingly.
I thought I had good cause, considering what was about to happen. But I
turned it off as best I could.
"Where is our handsome friend this evening?" said she.
"Have we only one?" replied I.
Miss Newton laughed that musical laugh of hers.
"I should hope we are rather happier. I meant Mr Hebblethwaite--
horrible name!"
"I saw him a little while ago," said I, wondering if he were then at the
foot of the back-stairs.
"What has become of the Crosslands? Have you any idea? I have not seen
them here now for--ever so long."
"Nor have I. I do not know at all," said I, devoutly hoping that I
never should see them again.
"My sister is perfectly in despair. Her intended never comes to see her
now. I tell her she had better find somebody else. It is too tiresome
to keep on and off with a man in that way. Oh, you don't know anything
about it. Your time has not come yet."
"When it do," said I, "I will either be on or off, if you please. I
should not like to be on and off, by any means."
Miss Newton hid her laughing face behind her fan.
"My dear child, you are so refreshing! Don't change, I beg of you. It
is charming to meet any one like you."
"I thank you for your good opinion," I replied; and, my Aunt Dorothea
just then coming up, I resigned my seat to her, and dropped the
conversation.
For a minute or two I wandered about,--asked Hatty if she were tired
(this was her first evening in the drawing-room with company), and when
she said, "Not yet," I inquired after Puck's health from Mrs Newton,
told Miss Emma Page that Grandmamma had been admiring her sister's
dress, and slipped out of the door when I arrived at it. In my room
Lucette was standing with the cloak ready to throw over me.
"Monsieur Ebate is at the _escalier derobe_," said she. Poor Lucette
could get no nearer Hebblethwaite. "He tell me, this night,
Mademoiselle goes on an errand for the good Lord. May the Lord keep
safe His messenger!"
"Mr Hebblethwaite goes with me," said I. "He will take all the care of
me he can."
"I will trust him for that!" said Lucette, with a little nod. "He is
good man, _celui-la_. But, Mademoiselle, `except the Lord keep the
city--' you know."
"`The watchman waketh but in vain.' Yes, Lucette, I know, in every
sense. But how do you know that Mr Hebblethwaite is a good man?"
"Ah! I know, I. And I know what makes him stay in London, all same.
Now Mademoiselle is ready, and Caesar is at the door, la-bas."
Down-stairs I ran, joined Ephraim, who also wore a large cloak over his
evening dress, and we went out of the back-door, which was guarded by
Caesar, whose white teeth and gleaming eyes were all I could see of him
in the dusk.
"Lucette asked leave to take Caesar into the affair," said Ephraim.
"She promised to answer for him as for herself. Now, Cary, we must step
out: there is no time to lose."
"As fast as you please," said I.
In a few minutes, we came to Mr Raymond's house. I never knew before
where he lived. It is in a small house in Endell Street. An elderly
woman opened the door, who evidently expected us, and ushered us at once
into a living-room on the right hand. Here I saw Mr Raymond and a
lady--a lady past her youth, who had, as I could not help seeing, been
extreme beautiful. I thought there was no one else till I heard a voice
beside me:
"I fear I am almost a stranger, Miss Cary."
"Mr Keith!" I did not feel him a stranger, but a very old friend
indeed. But how ill he looked! I told him so, and he said he was
wonderfully better,--quite well again,--with that old, sweet smile that
he always had. My heart came up into my throat.
"Mr Keith, must you go into this danger?"
"If I fail to go where my Master calls me, how can I look for His
presence and blessing to go with me? They who go with God are they with
whom God goes."
"Are you quite sure He has called you?"
"Quite sure." His fine eyes lighted up.
"Have you thought--"
"Forgive my interruption. I have thought of everything. Miss Cary, you
heard the vow which I took to God and Flora Drummond--never to lose
sight of Angus, and to keep him true and safe. I have kept it so far as
it lay in me, and I will keep it to the end. Come what may, I will be
true to God and her."
And looking up into his eyes, I saw--revealed to me as by a flash of
lightning--what was Duncan Keith's most precious thing.
"Now, Miss Caroline," said Mr Raymond, "will you kindly go up with this
lady,"--I fancied I heard the shortest possible sign of hesitation
before the last two words,--"and she will be so good as to help you to
assume the dress you are to wear."
I went up-stairs with the beautiful woman, who gave a little laugh as
she shut the door.
"Poor Mr Raymond!" said she; "I feel so sorry for the man. Nature
meant him to be a Tory, and education has turned him into a Whig. He
has the kindest of hearts, and the most unmanageable of consciences. He
will help us to free a prisoner, but he would not call me anything but
`Mistress' to save his life."
"And your Ladyship--?" said I, guessing in an instant what she ought to
be called, and that she was the wife of a peer--not a Hanoverian peer.
"Oh, my Ladyship can put up with it very well," said she, laughing, as
she helped me off with my evening dress. "I wish I may never have
anything worse. The man would not pain me for the world. It is only
his awful Puritan conscience; Methodist, perhaps, Puritan was the word
in my day. When one lives in exile, one almost loses one's native
tongue."
And I thought I heard a light sigh. Her Ladyship, however, said no
more, except what had reference to our business. When the process was
over, I found myself in a printed linen gown, with a linen hood on my
head, a long white apron made quite plain, and stout clumsy shoes.
"Now, be as vulgar as you possibly can," said her Ladyship. "Try to
forget all your proprieties, and do everything th' wrong way. You are
Betty Walkden, if you please, and Mr Hebblethwaite is Joel Walkden, and
your brother. You are a washerwoman, and your mistress, Mrs
Richardson, lives in Chelsea. Don't forget your history. Oh! I am
forgetting one thing myself. Colonel Keith, and therefore Lieutenant
Drummond, as they are the same person for this evening, is Will Clowes,
a young gardener at Wandsworth, who is your lover, of whom your brother
Joel does not particularly approve. Now then, keep up your character.
And remember,"--her Ladyship was very grave now--"to call any of them by
his real name may be death to all of you."