Some hours later Rufus Quaryll sat alone in the garden-room, writing.
It was coming on dusk; candles had been lit, the fire was ruddy on
the hearth. Rufus, as he wrote, was well content with the turn of
things. He raged at Brilliana, but she should marry him all the same
when the Puritan dog was dead. He had, as he believed, convinced the
King at meat that the plea Evander raised was valueless, that
Evander's life was rightly forfeit. Evander was under close guard;
so, indeed, was Brilliana, for he had stationed a sentry at the door
of her apartments: he was determined that she should not see the King
again. Now the King lay in the inner room, sleeping; when he rose it
would be easy to get the order for Evander's death. Furious in his
hate, furious in his love, he would neither spare Evander nor
surrender Brilliana. She should be his wife, if he had to drag her
before an altar.
As he thought and wrote, the door opened and Halfman entered the
room. Rufus, lifting his head, faced him with a finger on his lips
while with the other he pointed to the door of the inner chamber.
"Hush!" he whispered; "the King sleeps. But all is well. He has as
good as promised the Puritan shall die."
"All is not so well as you think," said Halfman, sardonically. "Here
comes one more pleased to see you than you to see him."
He went to the door again and ushered in a man who had waited
outside, a man muffled in a cloak, and his face hidden by the way his
hat was pulled over it. The man advanced slowly towards the surprised
Rufus, and suddenly dropping his cloak and throwing back his hat
uncovered a youthful, jovial face. Rufus gaped at him in despair and
gasped a name:
"Randolph!"
Randolph Harby dropped into a chair and chuckled.
"No wonder you stare as if you faced a spectre. But I'm flesh and
blood, lad."
Rufus, trying to collect himself against this staggering blow, again
raised a warning hand.
"For Heaven's sake speak lower! The King is asleep yonder. How do you
come here?"
Randolph leaned over and whispered, giggling, into Sir Rufus's ear.
Halfman watched with grim amusement. If he loved Evander little, come
to think of it he loved Rufus less, all said and done; so he grinned
at his discomfiture.
"A wonder," Randolph said. "When they had the time to try me, their
fools' court-martial, thanks to that damned Cromwell, settled me for
a spy and sentenced me to be shot. But the jailer where I lay had a
daughter. Need I say more? We Harbys are invincible. Any way, there
was no prisoner when the shooting-party came to claim me, and here I
am, in time, I hope, to save the life of that poor Puritan devil."
Sir Rufus's wits were busy hatching mischief. He looked with aversion
at the smiling, self-complacent ass whose resurrection tangled his
plan. But his voice was very amiable as he asked:
"Do any in the household know of your return?"
"Devil a one," the youth answered, cheerily, and Sir Rufus would have
liked to drive a knife into him for his mirth, though his spirits
rose at his answer. "I thought to take my cousin by surprise, scare
her with my ghost, maybe. So I came skulking through the park and
ran on this good sir, who nabbed me." He indicated Halfman with a
wave of the hand. "I explained to him, so that my joke should not
spoil, and he smuggled me in here to surprise you. Where is
Brilliana?"
Rufus looked at him thoughtfully.
"Are you fresh enough to ride?" he asked.
"If need be," Randolph replied, astonished.
Rufus talked rapidly, writing a letter as he spoke.
"Then you may save your Puritan yet. We sent your hostage to Oxford
for safe-keeping. News came of your death, and but now the King sent
an order to have the fellow shot. But you can overtake the order,
outstrip it. Here is a reprieve for the prisoner."
Rufus folded the paper, sealed it, and handed it to the bewildered
Randolph.
"Pick what horse you please, and ride for the honor of our cause."
Randolph gasped.
"May I not see the King?"
Rufus refused him firmly.
"Impossible. His Majesty sleeps."
"My cousin Brilliana?" Randolph asked. "What of my joke?"
Rufus spoke very solemnly.
"The one thing now is to save a man's life. Ride hard, and God speed
you." Randolph yielded cheerfully.
"Well, well, I should be sorry the rebel dog should die wrongfully.
You will justify me to the King for not attending him?"
Rufus nodded.
"I will justify you to his Majesty."
"And not a word to Brilliana," Randolph iterated. "I will have my
joke on my return. Farewell."
He muffled himself again and went out quickly. Rufus sat biting the
end of his quill. Halfman stepped forward and made him a series of
extravagant salutations, which parodied the most elaborate congees of
a dancing-master. Rufus glared at him.
"What is the matter with you?" he asked, savagely. Halfman leered
apishly at him.
"You are a splendid scoundrel," he vowed. "Do not frown. I have lived
with such and I speak in praise."
Rufus struck his hands upon the table.
"I will have this Puritan devil," he swore, "if the King do not play
the granny."
Halfman winked at him, diverted by his heat and hate.
"Say that more softly, for I think I hear him stirring."
The two listened in silence. The curtains of the inner room were
parted and Charles entered the room. He still looked haggard, ill at
ease.
"Was any one here?" he asked, as the two men rose respectfully. Rufus
answered, glibly:
"No, your Majesty. We spoke in whispers to respect your rest. Did
your Majesty sleep well?"
"Ill, very ill," Charles answered, drearily. "I had bad dreams and
could not wake from them. Leave me, sirs."
Rufus solicited his eyes.
"And the prisoner?"
Charles looked at him vaguely.
"The prisoner?"
"The rebel hostage for murdered Randolph Harby," Rufus reminded him.
Charles looked vexed.
"Oh yes, I suppose he must die. Surely he must die. His plea is
specious, but Randolph Harby is dead."
"Brave, murdered Randolph." Rufus's regret was pathetic. "Shall I
give order for the firing party?" He made as if to write. Charles
frowned.
"You are over-zealous, sir; I have not made up my mind."
Rufus read obstinacy in the royal face and knew that it were useless
to argue further then.
"As your Majesty please," he submitted.
The King seated himself heavily at the table and fixed his eyes upon
an open map. Behind his back Rufus shrugged his shoulders and left
the room. Halfman followed, a very Jaques of meditations, touched by
the pathos of the tired King, grimly diverted by the ruffianism of
Rufus. A mad world!