Cecil’s voice shook as he answered.  The fidelity touched him as adversity could not do.

“Rake, you are a noble fellow.  I would take you, were it possible; but—­in an hour I may be in a felon’s prison.  If I escape that, I shall lead a life of such wretchedness as—­”

“That’s not nothing to me, sir.”

“But it is much to me,” answered Cecil.  “As things have turned—­life is over with me, Rake.  What my own fate may be I have not the faintest notion—­but let it be what it will, it must be a bitter one.  I will not drag another into it.”

“If you send me away, I’ll shoot myself through the head, sir; that’s all.”

“You will do nothing of the kind.  Go to Lord Rockingham, and ask him from me to take you into his service.  You cannot have a kinder master.”

“I don’t say nothing agen the Marquis, sir,” said Rake doggedly; “he’s a right-on generous gentleman, but he aren’t you.  Let me go with you, if it’s just to rub the King down.  Lord, sir! you don’t know what straits I’ve lived in—­what a lot of things I can turn my hand to—­what a one I am to fit myself into any rat-hole, and make it spicy.  Why, sir, I’m that born scamp, I am—­I’m a deal happier on the cross and getting my bread just anyhow, than I am when I’m in clover like you’ve kept me.”

Rake’s eyes looked up wistfully and eager as a dog’s when he prays to be let out of kennel to follow the gun; his voice was husky and agitated with a strong excitement.  Cecil stood a moment, irresolute, touched and pained at the man’s spaniel-like affection—­yet not yielding to it.

“I thank you from my heart, Rake,” he said at length, “but it must not be.  I tell you my future life will be beggary—­”

“You’ll want me anyways, sir,” retorted Rake, ashamed of the choking in his throat.  “I ask your pardon for interrupting, but every second’s that precious like.  Besides, sir, I’ve got to cut and run for my own sake.  I’ve laid Willon’s head open, down there in the loose box; and when he’s come to himself a pretty hue and cry he’ll raise after me.  He painted the King, that’s what he did; and I told him so, and I give it to him—­one—­two—­amazing!  Get into saddle, sir, for the Lord’s sake!  And here, Bill—­you run back, shut the door, and don’t let nobody know the ’osses are out till the morning.  Then look like a muff as you are, and say nothing!”

The stable-boy stared, nodded assent, and sloped off.  Rake threw himself across the brown mare.

“Now, sir! a steeple-chase for our lives!  We’ll be leagues away by the day-dawn, and I’ve got their feed in the saddle-bags, so that they’ll bait in the forests.  Off, sir, for God’s sake, or the blackguards will be down on you again!”

As he spoke the clamor and tread of men of the town racing to the chase were wafted to them on the night wind, drawing nearer and nearer; Rake drew the reins tight in his hand in fury.

“There they come—­the d——­d beaks!  For the love of mercy, sir, don’t check now.  Ten seconds more and they’ll be on you; off, off!—­or by the Lord Harry, sir, you’ll make a murderer of me, and I’ll kill the first man that lays his hand on you!”