Her ladyship occupied the window-seat; Rotherby stood beside her, leaning slightly against the frame of the open window. Their conversation was earnest and conducted in a low key, and one would naturally have that it had for subject the dangerous condition of the earl. And so it had—the dangerous condition of the earl's political, if not physical, affairs. To her ladyship and her son, the matter of their own future was of greater gravity than the matter of whether his lordship lived or died—which, whatever it may be, is not . Since the of my lord and the coming of the messengers to arrest him, the danger of ruin and beggary were become more imminent—indeed, they , and measures must be concerted to these evils. By comparison with that, the earl's or surviving was a trivial matter; and the concern they had manifested in Sir James' news—when the important, well-nourished physician who had bled his lordship came to inform them that there was hope—was outward only, and assumed for pure decorum's sake.
“Whether he lives or dies,” said the viscount , after the doctor had departed to return to his patient, “the measures to be taken are the same.” And he repeated the substance of their earlier discussions upon this same topic. “If we can but secure the evidence of his treason with Caryll,” he wound up, “I shall be able to make terms with Lord Carteret to arrest the the government may intend, and thus avert the it would otherwise enforce.”
“But if he were to die,” said her ladyship, as coldly, horribly calculating as though he were none of hers, “there would be an end to this danger. They could not demand restitution of the dead, nor impose fines upon him.”
Rotherby shook his head. “Believe not that, madam,” said he. “They can demand restitution of his heirs and impose their fines upon the estate. 'Twas done in the case of Craggs, though he shot himself.”
She raised a haggard face to his. “And do you dream that Lord Carteret would make terms with you?”
“If I can show him—by actual proof—that a does exist, that the Stuart supporters are plotting a rising. Proof of that should be of value to Lord Carteret, of sufficient value to the government to warrant the payment of the price I ask—that the impeachment against my father for his dealings with the South Sea Company shall not be allowed.
“But it might involve the worse betrayal of your father, Charles, and if he were to live—”
“'Sdeath, mother, why must you on that? I a'n't the fool you think me,” he cried. “I shall make it a further condition that my father have . There will be no lack of victims once the plot is disclosed; and they may begin upon that Caryll—the damned who is at the bottom of all this garboil.”
She sat bemused, her eyes upon the sunlit gardens below, where a faint breeze was stirring the tops.
“There is,” she said presently, “a secret drawer somewhere in his desk. If he has papers they will, no doubt, be there. Had you not best be making search for them?”
He smiled darkly. “I have seen to that already,” he replied.
“How?” excitedly. “You have got the papers?”
“No; but I have set an experienced hand to find them, and one, moreover, who has the right by of his warrant—the messenger of the secretary of state.”
She sat up, . “'Sdeath! What is't ye mean?”
“No need for alarm,” he her. “This fellow Green is in my pay, as well as in the secretary's, and it will profit him most to keep faith with me. He's a self-seeking dog, content to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, so that there be profit in it, and he'd sacrifice his ears to bring Mr. Caryll to the . I have promised him that and a thousand pounds if we save the estates from .”
She looked at him, between wonder and fear. “Can ye trust him?” she asked breathlessly.
He laughed softly and confidently. “I can trust him to earn a thousand pounds,” he answered. “When he heard of the impeachment, he used such influence as he has to be with the arrest of his lordship; and having obtained his warrant, he came first to me to tell me of it. A thousand pounds is the price of him, body and soul. I bade him seek not only evidence of my lord's having received that plaguey stock, but also papers relating to this Jacobite plot into which his lordship has been by our friend Caryll. He is at his work at present. And I shall hear from him when it is .”
She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “You have very well disposed, Charles,” she approved him. “If your father lives, it should not be a difficult matter—”
She checked suddenly and turned, while Rotherby, too, looked up and stepped quickly from the window-embrasure where he had stood.
The door of the bedroom had been suddenly pulled open, and Sir James came out, very pale and discomposed.
“Madam—your ladyship—my lord!” he , his mouth working, his hands waving foolishly.
The countess rose to confront him, tall, severe and harsh. The viscount a question. Sir James before them, evidently in affliction.
“Madam—his lordship,” he said, and by his gesture of dejection announced what he had some difficulty in putting into words.
She stepped forward, and took him by the wrist. “Is he dying?” she inquired.
“Have courage, madam,” the doctor her.
The apparent of the request at such a moment, angered her. Her mood was dangerously . And had the doctor but known it, sympathy was a thing she had not borne well these many years.
“I asked you was he dying,” she reminded him, with a cold sternness that beat aside all his attempts at .
“Your ladyship—he is dead,” he , with lowered eyes.
“Dead?” she echoed dully, and her hand went to the region of her heart, her face turned livid under its . “Dead?” she said again, and behind her, Rotherby echoed the word in a almost equal to her own. Her lips moved to speak, but no words came. She staggered where she stood, and put her hand to her brow. Her son's arms were quickly about her. He supported her to a chair, where she sank as if all her were loosened.
Sir James flew for restoratives; bathed her brow with a dampened handkerchief; held strong salts to her , and murmured words of foolish, , whilst Rotherby, in a half-dreaming condition,
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