Out in the Forty-Five Part 47

And now, Cary, what say you?"

"Yes, Ephraim, I will do it, though I almost wish it were anything else.

May G.o.d 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 G.o.d are they with whom G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sume 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 ap.r.o.n 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."

I turned round and faced her.