Now mark! To be precise—Though I say "lies," all these, at this first stage
'Tis but for science' sake.
—Browning.
In the meanwhile my lord of Stowmaries had been allowed to spend a happy hour in the tiny withdrawing room at Holborn Row, kneeling at Mistress Julia Peyton's feet.
 
He had been so excited, so full of Sir John's proposals and their more than probable success that like Michael Kestyon he had no desire for rest. He had soon wearied of the crowd in the coffee room, and presently had allowed Ayloffe to lead him out into the streets.
 
Instinctively his footsteps turned in the direction of Holborn Row, the while he lent a somewhat inattentive ear to what Sir John was saying to him. Ayloffe was talking of the details of his scheme; of the payment of the money to Michael on the morrow, if the latter finally pledged himself to the bargain; fifty thousand pounds then, and a further seventy on the day that the tailor's daughter left her home in her husband's company.
 
"We must be as good as our word, my lord," said the astute Sir John. "A word misplaced, the faintest suggestion of withdrawal on any point might upset Michael's curious temper and turn his acquiescence into obstinate refusal."
 
Ayloffe had no doubt of Stowmaries' integrity, only the sum was such a vast one—and the worthy baronet was[136] so unaccustomed to the handling of thousands—that he could not help dreading the fact that the young man had mayhap overestimated his power of paying away such large sums at such short intervals, and that, when the time came for disbursement, a hitch might occur which would rouse Michael's antagonism and upset the perfectly-laid scheme once and for all.
 
Stowmaries, however, seemed to attach very slight importance to this question of money.
 
"I am a man of my word," he said curtly. "I have no wish to draw back. What I've said, I've said."
 
What cared he if it cost him twice one hundred thousand pounds, if indeed he were free to wed the beautiful Julia?
 
He was over-eager to be at her feet now and showed marked impatience to rid himself of Ayloffe's company.
 
"My hand on it, Sir John," he said, halting at the corner of Holborn Row, for he did not want the older man to see whither he was going, the while the latter was well aware that my lord was on his way to Mistress Peyton's house. "My hand on it; and to-morrow Michael Kestyon shall have his fifty thousand pounds, if he finally agrees to do what we want."
 
"This he must do in the presence of witnesses—my lord of Rochester or Sir Knaith Bullock would favour us as much. Yet have I no fear that the rogue will play us false, 'tis the money he wants, and fifty thousand were not enough to tempt him; 'tis that further seventy that he'll crave for most."
 
"I know, I know," said Stowmaries, impatiently anxious to get away, now that he had perceived—as he thought—a light in one of the windows of his fair Julia's house. "He shall have that, too. The money is at interest with[137] Master Vivish the diamond merchant. I can get it at any time."
 
"We promised it to Michael on the day that the tailor's daughter leaves her father's home," urged the over-prudent Sir John.
 
"On that day he shall have it," rejoined the other.
 
"Then your lordship would have to journey to France in order to fulfil that promise."
 
"I'll to France then," retorted the young man who had come to the end of his tether, "an you'll go to Hell now and leave me in peace."
 
Ayloffe laughed good-humouredly. Usually prone to quarrel he was determined to keep his temper to-night; and as he felt that nothing further would be gained now by talking whilst Stowmaries was so obviously waiting to be rid of him, he said nothing more, but gave his friend a cordial Good-night and turned on his heel in the direction of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
 
Stowmaries—as soon as the other was out of sight—walked down Holborn Row, and had soon reached the familiar door.
 
In response to his loud knocking the East Anglian serving-man came to open it. With the stolidity peculiar to his race, he showed no surprise at the untimely visitor, and with solemn imperturbability held out his furrowed hand even before Stowmaries had produced the small piece of silver which alone would induce the old man to permit that visitor to enter.
 
The piece of silver being deemed sufficient to overcome the man's scruples, he shuffled along the flagged passage without uttering a word, leaving Stowmaries to follow as he liked, and presently he threw open the door which gave on the small parlour.
 
[138] Though it was close on midnight, Mistress Peyton was not abed. She had been to the Playhouse, and was still attired in that beautiful cream-coloured brocade which had been the envy of the feminine portion of the audience there; but though she was tired after the many and varied emotions of that eventful day, yet she felt that she could not have slept. Her proposals to Sir John Ayloffe, the schemes which she well knew that the gambler would concoct, the possibility or probability of ultimate success, harassed her nerves and fired her brain.
 
She had spent the last two hours in that narrow room, now pacing up and down like a caged rodent, now throwing herself down in a chair in an agony of restlessness.
 
The advent of my lord Stowmaries occurred in the nick of time, for she was on the verge of hysterics.
 
............