Temptation had seized Mr. Caryll in a grip, and for two whole days he kept the house, all company and wrestling with that same Temptation. In the end he took a whimsical resolve, of himself.  
He would go to Lord Ostermore formally to ask in marriage the hand of Mistress Winthrop, and he would be entirely frank with the earl, stating his exact condition, but suppressing the names of his parents.
 
He was greatly taken with the notion. It would create a situation beyond any, beyond belief; and its development should be stupendously interesting. It attracted him . That he should leave it to his own father to say whether a man born as he was born might to marry his father's , had in it something that of tragi-comedy. It was a pretty problem, that once set could not be left unsolved by a man of Mr. Caryll's . And, indeed, no sooner was the idea conceived than it quickened into a resolve upon which he set out to act.
 
He bade Leduc call a chair, and, dressed in mourning, but with his care, he had himself carried to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
 
as he was in his own thoughts, he paid little to the hum of excitement about the threshold of Stretton House. Within the railed enclosure that fronted the two coaches were up, and a little knot of idlers stood by one of these in busy gossip.
 
Paying no attention to them, Mr. Caryll mounted the steps, nor noticed the gravity of the porter's as he passed within.
 
In the hall he found a little flock of servants gathered together, and muttering among themselves like in a tragedy; and so engrossed that they paid no heed to him as he advanced, nor until he had tapped one of them on the shoulder with his cane—and tapped him a thought .
 
“How now?” said he. “Does no one wait here?”
 
They fell apart a little, and stood at attention, with something curious in their bearing, one and all.
 
“My service to his lordship, and say that I desire to speak with him.”
 
They looked at one another in for a moment; then Humphries, the butler, came forward. “Your honor'll not have heard the news?” said he, a solemn gravity in face and tone.
 
“News?” quoth Mr. Caryll sharply, by so much show of mystery. “What news?”
 
“His lordship is very ill, sir. He had a this morning when they came for him.”
 
“A seizure?” said Mr. Caryll. And then: “When they came for him?” he echoed, struck by something odd in the man's of those five words. “When who came for him?”
 
“The messengers, sir,” replied the butler dejectedly. “Has your honor not heard?” And seeing the blank look on Mr. Caryll's face, he proceeded without waiting for an answer: “His lordship was yesterday by his Grace of Wharton on a matter concerning the South Sea Company, and Lord Carteret—the secretary of state, your honor—sent this morning to arrest him.”
 
“'Sdeath!” ejaculated Mr. Caryll in his surprise, a surprise that was tempered with some dismay. “And he had a seizure, ye say?”
 
“An apoplexy, your honor. The doctors are with him now; Sir James, himself, is here. They're cupping him—so I hear from Mr. Tom, his lordship's man. I'd ha' thought your honor would ha' heard. 'Tis town talk, they say.”
 
Mr. Caryll would have found it difficult to have said exactly what impression this news made upon him. In the main, however, he feared it left him cold.
 
“'Tis very regrettable,” said he. He fell thoughtful a moment. Then: “Will you send word to Mistress Winthrop that I am here, and would speak with her, Humphries?”
 
Humphries conducted Mr. Caryll to the little white and gold withdrawing-room that was Hortensia's. There, in the little time that he waited, he the situation as it now stood, and the temptation that had been with him for the past three days rose up now with a greater . Should Lord Ostermore die, Temptation argued, he need no longer hesitate. Hortensia would be as much alone in the world as he was; worse, for life at Stretton House with her ladyship—from which even in the earl's lifetime she had been led to attempt to escape—must be a thing , and what alternative could he suggest but that she should become his wife?
 
She came to him presently, white-faced and with startled eyes. As she took his outstretched hands, she attempted a smile. “It is kind in you to come to me at such a time,” she said.
 
“You mistake,” said he, “as is but natural. I had not heard what had befallen. I came to ask your hand in marriage of his lordship.”
 
Some faint color her cheeks. “You had , then?”
 
“I had decided that his lordship must decide,” he answered.
 
“And now?”
 
“And now it seems we must decide for ourselves if his lordship dies.”
 
Her mind swung to the graver matter. “Sir James has every hope,” she said, and added : “I know not which to pray for, his recovery or his death.”
 
“Why that?”
 
“Because if he survive it may be for worse. The secretary's agent is even now seeking evidence against him among his own papers. He is in the library at this moment, going through his lordship's desk.”
 
Mr. Caryll started. That mention of Ostermore's desk brought before his mind the recollection of the secret drawer wherein the earl had locked away the letter he had received from King James and his own reply, all packed as it was, with treason. If that drawer were discovered, and those papers found, then was Ostermore lost indeed, and did he survive this apoplexy, it would be to surrender his head upon the scaffold.
 
A moment he considered this, dispassionately. Then it broke upon his mind that were this to happen, Ostermore's blood would be upon his own head, since for the purpose of betrayal had he sought him out with that letter from the exiled Stuart—which, be it remembered, King James himself had no longer wished delivered.
 
It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let matters run their course. He must these discoveries if it lay within his power to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of should Ostermore survive to be attainted of treason. He had made an end—a definite end—long since of his intention of working Ostermore's ruin; he could not stand by now and see that ruin as a result of the little that already he had done towards it.
 
“His papers must be saved,” he said shortly. “I'll go to the library at once.”
 
“But the secretary's agent is there already,” she repeated.
 
“'Tis no matter for that,” said he, moving towards the door. “His desk contains that which will cost him his head if discovered. I know it,” he assured her, and left her cold with fear.
 
“But, then, you—you?” she cried. “Is it true that you are a Jacobite?”
 
“True enough,” he answered.
 
“Lord Rotherby knows it,” she informed him. “He told me it was so. If—if you in this, it—it may mean your ruin.” She came to him swiftly, a great fear written or her face.
 
“Sh,” said he. “I am not concerned to think of that at present. If Lord Ostermore perishes through his connection with the cause, it will mean worse than ruin for me—though not the ruin that you are thinking of.”
 
“But what can you do?”
 
“That I go to learn.”
 
“I will come with you, then.”
 
He hesitated a moment, looking at her; then he opened the door, and held it for her, following after. He led the way across the hall to the library, and they went in together.
 
Lord Ostermore's secretaire stood open, and leaning over it, his back towards them was a short, stiffly-built man in a snuff-colored coat. He turned at the sound of the closing door, and revealed the pleasant, face of Mr. Green.
 
“Ha!” said Mr. Caryll. “Mr. Green again. I declare, sir, ye've the gift of ubiquity.”
 
The spy stood up to regard him, and for all that his voice inclined to sharpness when he , the habitual grin sat like a mask upon the mobile features. “What d'ye seek here?”
 
“Tis what I was about to ask you—what you are seeking; for that you seek is plain. I thought perhaps I might assist you.”
 
“I nothing doubt you could,” answered Mr. Green with a fresh leer, that contained this time something . “I nothing doubt it! But by your leave, I'll pursue my quest without your assistance.”
 
Mr. Caryll continued, nevertheless, to advance towards him, Mistress Hortensia remaining in the background, a quiet spectator, betraying nothing of the anxieties by which she was being racked.
 
“Ye're this morning, Mr. Green,” said Mr. Caryll, very airy. “Ye're mighty curt, and ye're entirely wrong so to be. You might find me a very useful friend.”
 
“I've found you so before,” said Mr. Green sourly.
 
“Ye've a nice sense of humor,” said Mr. Caryll, head on one side, the spy with in his glance.
 
“And a nicer sense of a Jacobite,” answered Mr. Green.
 
“He will have the last word, you perceive,” said Mr. Caryll to Hortensia.
 
“Harkee, Mr. Caryll,” quoth Mr. Green, quite grimly now. “I'd ha' laid you by the heels a month or more ago, but for certain friends o' mine who have other ends to serve.”
 
“Sir, what you tell me shocks me. It shakes the very foundations of my faith in human nature. I have you an honest man, Mr. Green, and it seems—on your own confessing—that ye're no better than a damned who neglects his duty to the state. I've a mind to see Lord Carteret, and tell him the truth of the matter.”
 
“Ye shall ha............