I waited for nothing.  Gaining the Grand Walk, I saw Mr. Marmaduke’s insignificant figure dodging fearfully among the roughs, whose hour it was.  He traversed the Cross Walk, and twenty yards farther on dived into an opening in the high hedge bounding the Wilderness.  Before he had made six paces I had him by the shoulder, and he let out a shriek of fright like a woman’s.

“It is I, Richard Carvel, Mr. Manners,” I said shortly.  I could not keep out the contempt from my tone.  “I beg a word with you.”

In his condition then words were impossible.  His teeth rattled again, and he trembled like a hare caught alive.  I kept my hold of him, and employed the time until he should be more composed peering into the darkness.  For all I knew Chartersea might be within ear-shot.  But I could see nothing but black trunks of trees.

“What is it, Richard?”

“You are going to meet Chartersea,” I said.

He must have seen the futility of a lie, or else was scared out of all contrivance.  “Yes,” he said weakly.

“You have allowed it to become the talk of London that this filthy nobleman is blackmailing you for your daughter,” I went on, without wasting words.  “Tell me, is it, or is it not, true?”

As he did not answer, I retained a handful of the grained silk on his shoulder as a measure of precaution.

“Is this so?” I repeated.

“You must know, I suppose,” he said, under his breath, and with a note of sullenness.

“I must,” I said firmly.  “The knowledge is the weapon need, for I, too, am going to meet Chartersea.”

He ceased quivering all at once.

“You are going to meet him!” he cried, in another voice.  “Yes, yes, it is so,—­it is so.  I will tell you all.”

“Keep it to yourself, Mr. Manners,” I replied, with repugnance, “I have heard all I wish.  Where is he?” I demanded.

“Hold the path until you come to him.  And God bless—­”

I shook my head.

“No, not that!  Do you go back to the company and make some excuse for me.  Do not alarm them.  And if you get the chance, tell Lord Comyn where to come.”

I waited until I saw him under the lights of the Grand Walk, and fairly running.  Then I swung on my heel.  I was of two minds whether to wait for Comyn, by far the wiser course.  The unthinking recklessness I had inherited drove me on.

CHAPTER XLI

THE WILDERNESS

My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and presently I made out a bench ahead, with two black figures starting from it.  One I should have known on the banks of the Styx.  From each came a separate oath as I stopped abreast them, and called the duke by name.

“Mr. Carvel!” he cried; “what the devil do you here, sir?”

“I am come to keep an appointment for Mr. Manners,” I said.  “May I speak to your Grace alone?”