Not of himself was he thinking now, but of the Duke of Monmouth.

Trenchard had told him some ugly truths that morning of how in his love-making he appeared to have shipwrecked the Cause ere it was well launched.

If this letter got to Whitehall there was no gauging--ignorant as he was of what was in it--the ruin that might follow; but they had reason to fear the worst.
He saw his duty to the Duke most clearly, and he breathed a prayer of thanks that Richard had chosen to put that letter to such a use as this.
He knew himself checkmated; but he was a man who knew how to bear defeat in a becoming manner.

He turned suddenly.
"The letter is in your hands ?" he inquired.
"It is," she answered.
"May I see it ?" he asked.
She shook her head--not daring to show it or betray its whereabouts lest he should use force to become possessed of it--a thing, indeed, that was very far from his purpose.
He considered a moment, his mind intent now rather upon the Duke's interest than his own.
"You know," quoth he, "the desperate enterprise to which I stand committed.

But it is a bargain between us that you do not betray me nor that enterprise so long as I leave you rid of my presence.
"That is the bargain I propose," said she.
He looked at her a moment with hungry eyes, and she found his glance almost more than she could bear, so strong was its appeal.