“I must obey my orders, Captain Ireton, but by your good leave I shall not lock you up with any trooper; I’ll stay with you myself.”

I thought this still more kindly than aught he had done before, and so I told him.  But he put it off lightly.

“’Tis little enough any one can do for you, my friend, but I will do that little as I can.  You are like to have a visitor, I take it; if you have, I’m sure ’twill be a comfort if your body-guard can be stone blind and deaf.”

So saying, he dragged the big wicker chair into the window-bay, planted himself deep within it with his back to all the room, and so left me to my own devices.

Being spent enough to sleep beneath the shadow of a gibbet, I threw myself full-length upon the bed and was, I think, adrift upon the ebb tide of exhaustion and forgetfulness when once again the shifting of the wooden door-bar roused me.  I rose up quickly, but Tybee was before me.  There was some low-voiced conference at the door; then Tybee came to me.

“’Tis Mr. Gilbert Stair,” he said.  “He has permission from the colonel and insists that he must see you solus.  I’ll take your word and leave you, if you like.”

At first I hung reluctant, wanting little of the host who came so late to see his guest.  Then, as if a sudden flash of lightning had revealed it, I realized, as I had not before, how I had set the feet of my dear lady in a most hideous labyrinth of deception; how this lie that I had told to bridge a momentary gap must leave her neither maid nor widow in the morning.

“Yes, yes; for God’s sake let him in, Mr. Tybee!” I burst out.  “I am fair crazed with weariness, and had forgot.  ’Tis most important, I do assure you.”

The thing was done at once, and before I knew it I was alone with the old man who, though he was my supplanter, was also Margery’s father.  He entered cautiously, shielding his bedroom candle with his hand and peering over it to make me out, as if his venturing in were not unperilous.  And I marked that when he put the candle down upon the table, he edged away and felt behind him for the door as if to make sure of his retreat in case of need.

“Sit down, Captain Ireton; sit down, I beg of you,” he said, in his thin, rasping treble.  And when I had obeyed:  “I think you must know what I’ve come for, Captain Ireton?”

I said I could guess; and he began again, volubly now, as if to have it over in the shortest space.

“’Twas not a gentlemanly thing for you to do, Captain Ireton—­this marrying of a foolish girl out of hand while you were here a guest; and as for the priest that did it, I—­I’ll have him hanged before the army leaves, I promise you.  But now ’tis done, I hope ye’re prepared to make the best of it?”

I saw at once that his daughter had not yet confided in him; that he was still entangled in my lie.  So I thought it well to probe him deeper while I might.