Meantime the marquis had made matters worse by sending a request to Colonel Morgan that he would grant safe passage for a messenger to the king, without whose command he was not at liberty to surrender the place.  The answer was to the effect that they acknowledged no jurisdiction of the king in the business, and that the marquis might keep his mind easy as far as his supposed duty to his majesty was concerned, for they would so compel a surrender that there could be no reflection upon him for making it.

Caspar, fearful of the dangers she would have to encounter, sought to dissuade Dorothy from her meditated proposal—­but feebly, for every one who had anything noble in his nature, and Caspar had more than his share, was influenced by the magnanimity that ruled the place.  Indeed he told her one thing which served to clench her resolution—­that there was a secret way out of the castle, provided by his master Glamorgan for communication during siege:  more he was not at liberty to disclose.  Dorothy went straight to the marquis and laid her plan before him, which was that she should make her escape to Wyfern, and thence, attended by an old servant, set out to seek the king.

‘There is no longer time, alas!’ returned the marquis.  ’I look for the final summons every hour.’

’Could you not raise the report, my lord, that you have undermined the castle, and laid a huge quantity of gunpowder, with the determination of blowing it up the moment they enter?  That would make them fall back upon blockade, and leave us a little time.  Our provisions are not nearly exhausted, and when fodder fails, we can eat the horses first.’

‘Thou art a brave lady, cousin Dorothy,’ said the marquis.  ’But if they caught and searched thee, and found papers upon thee, it would go worse with us than before.’

’Please your lordship, my lord Glamorgan once showed me such a comb as a lady might carry in her pocket, but so contrived that the head thereof was hollow and could contain despatches.  Methinks Caspar could lay his hand on the comb.  If I were but at Wyfern! and thither my little horse would carry me in less than hour, giving all needful time for caution too, my lord.’

‘By George, thou speakest well, cousin!’ said the marquis.  ’But who should attend thee?’

’Let me have Tom Fool, my lord, for now have I thought of a betterment of my plan:  he will guide me to his mother’s house by byways, and thence can I cross the fields to my own—­as easily as the great hall, my lord.’

‘Tom Fool is a mighty coward,’ objected the marquis.

’So much the better, my lord.  He will not get me into trouble through displaying his manhood before me.  He hath besides a a face long enough for three roundheads, and a tongue that can utter glibly enough what soundeth very like their jargon.  Tom is the right fool to attend me, my lord.’

’He can’t ride; he never backed a horse in his life, I believe.  No, no, Dorothy.  Shafto is the man.’