Tom felt giddy and stiff, but he scorned to show weakness; and it was less trying to descend the pass than to ascend it, although the rough walking with tightly-bound arms was more difficult than he had fancied, and several times he tripped and fell heavily, unable to save himself.

He was, therefore, very bruised and sore and weary when at last he found that they were approaching the little hut he had left early that same morning.  But amid all his weariness and pain, and the peril of his position, he felt, with a thrill of proud satisfaction, that he had at least played the part which had been allotted to him, and had drawn off the forces of the enemy whilst Lord Claud made good his escape with the real despatches.  Whatever vials of fury might quickly be poured upon his head, he would always know that he had done his duty—­and who can do more than that?

A light was twinkling in the hut.  Tom was pushed and hustled within.  A voice, that he remembered as having heard once before, called out from above: 

“Bring the prisoner up here to me.”

The next minute Tom entered the very room where he and Lord Claud had slept the previous night; but it was now tenanted by a new occupant—­a dark-skinned man of huge frame and malignant aspect—­who regarded Tom from beneath the penthouse of his frowning brows, and plainly remembered him as well as he was himself remembered.

“So we meet again, my young buck of the forest!  You seem to serve a master who takes pleasure in bringing you into peril and doubtful adventure!  So you are the bearer of despatches to the Duke of Savoy?  I fear, my good friend, Victor Amadeus will be disappointed of his news for once.  And I say in good sooth, that if his grace of Marlborough chooses to intrust the matters of the secret service to unfledged lads, he deserves to find himself outwitted.”

Tom compressed his lips to hide the smile that might have told too much.  He preserved a stolid appearance, and remained mute.

Sir James gave a quick order in French, and at once some of the cords about Tom’s person were cut, and the packet sewed up in his coat was duly brought forth.  As it was handed to Sir James and he saw the signet of the Duke, a sardonic smile played over his features, and Tom’s eyes gleamed in their sockets.

The dark-browed man eagerly undid the packet, and drew forth the parchment sheet.  He scanned it over and over; he turned it this way and that.  His face betrayed nothing, but Tom saw that his fingers trembled slightly as with ill-veiled excitement or anger.

He gave one fierce, searching look at Tom, who preserved an air of indifference, and then he took the paper across to the stove, and held it in the heat of the glow which stole thence.

Back he came with it to the table; but there was nothing revealed by the application of heat.  He called sharply for something to one of his men, and a small phial was brought to him.  He applied a drop of the liquid it contained to the parchment; and eagerly awaited the result; but no lettering was revealed upon it, and his face grew dark and stern.