"This sudden coming is his work.

You heard what Fletcher said--how he opposed it when first it was urged." He paused, and looked up suddenly.

"Blister me!" he cried, "is it his lordship's purpose, think you, to work the ruin of Monmouth ?" "What are you saying, Nick ?" "There are certain rumours current touching His Grace and Lady Grey.

A man like Grey might well resort to some such scheme of vengeance." "Get to sleep, Nick," said Wilding, yawning; "you are dreaming already.
Such a plan would be over elaborate for his lordship's mind.

It would ask a villainy parallel with your own." Trenchard climbed into bed, and settled himself under the coverlet.
"Maybe," said he, "and maybe not; but I think that were it not for that cursed business of the letter Richard Westmacott stole from us, I should be going my ways to-morrow and leaving His Grace of Monmouth to go his." "Aye, and I'd go with you," answered Wilding.