She put up her hands as if she would push the words back.

“Spare me, sir,” she begged.  “There are some things that must always be unspeakable between us, and that is one of them.  But if it will help you to know—­that I know—­how—­how you came there—­”

She was flushing most painfully, and I was scarce more at ease.  But having gone thus far, I must needs let the thought consequent slip into words.

“Your father’s motives have ever been misunderstandable to me.  What could he hope to gain by such a thing?”

I had no sooner said it than I could have bitten my masterless tongue.  For in the very voicing of the wonder I saw, or thought I saw, Gilbert Stair’s purpose.  Since I had not made good my promise to die and leave the estate to Margery, he would at least make sure of his daughter’s dowry in it by putting it beyond us to set the marriage aside as a thing begun but not completed.  So, having this behind-time flash of after-wit, I made haste to efface the question I had asked.

“Your pardon, I pray you; I see now ’tis a thing we must both bury out of sight.  But to the other—­the matter which has brought me hither; will you put me in the way of finding Father Matthieu?”

We had talked on through the measures of a cotillion, and the dancers, warm and wearied, were beginning to fill the entrance hall below.  Our poor excuse for privacy would be gone in a minute or two, and she spoke quickly.

“You shall see Father Matthieu, and I will help you.  But you must not linger here.  In a few days the army will be moving northward—­Oh, heavens! what have I said!”

“Nothing,” I cut in swiftly; “you are speaking now to your husband—­not to the spy.  Go on, if you please.”

“We shall return to Appleby Hundred within the fortnight.  There, if you are still—­if you desire it, you may meet the good cure, and—­”

A much-bepowdered captain of cavalry was coming up the stair to claim her, and I was fain to let her go.  But at my passing of her to the step below, I whispered:  “I shall keep the tryst—­my first and last with you, dear lady.  Adieu.”

So soon as she was gone I made haste to find Richard, having, as I feared, greatly overstayed my appointment to meet him at the door.  He was not among the promenaders in the hall, so I began to drift again, through the ball-room and so on to where the spread table stood ringed with its groups of nibblers.  I had made no more than half the round of the refectory when I saw Margery standing in the curtained arch, looking this way and that, with anxious terror written plainly in her face.

“What is it?” I asked, when she had found me out.

“’Tis the worst that could happen,” she whispered.  “You are discovered, both of you.  Colonel Tarleton was too shrewd for us.  He has let it be known among the officers that there are two spies in the house, and now—­Hark! what is that?”