In the room above, Monmouth had sunk wearily into his chair upon hearing of the design there had been against his life. A deep, bitter melancholy enwrapped his spirit. Lord Grey's first thoughts flew to the man he most disliked--the one man missing from those who had been bidden to accompany His Majesty, whose absence had already formed the subject of comment. Grey remembered this bearing before the council that same evening, and his undisguised resentment of the reproaches levelled against him.
"Where is Mr. Wilding?" he asked suddenly, his voice dominating the din of talk that filled the room. "Do we hold the explanation of his absence?"
Monmouth looked up quickly, his beautiful eyes ineffably sad, his weak mouth drooping at the corners. Wade turned to confront Grey.
"Your lordship does not suggest that Mr. Wilding can have a hand in this?"
"Appearances would seem to point in that direction," answered Grey, and in his wicked heart he almost hoped it might be so.
"Then appearances speak truth for once," came a bitter, ringing voice. They turned, and there on the threshold stood Mr. Wilding. Unheard he had come upon them. He was bareheaded and carried his drawn sword. There was blood upon it, and there was blood on the lace that half concealed the hand that held it; otherwise--and saving that his shoes and stockings were sodden with the dew from the long grass in the orchard--he was as spotless as when he had left Ruth in Trenchard's lodging; his face, too, was calm, save for the mocking smile with which he eyed Lord Grey.
Monmouth rose on his appearance, and put his hand to his sword in alarm. Grey whipped his own from the scabbard, and placed himself slightly in front of his master as if to preserve him.
"You mistake, sirs," said Wilding quietly. "The hand I have had in this affair has been to save Your Majesty from your enemies. At the moment I should have joined you, word was brought me of the plot that was laid, of the trap that was set for you. I hastened to the Castle and obtained a score of musketeers of Slape's company. With those I surprised the murderers lurking in the garden there, and made an end of them. I greatly feared I should not come in time; but it is plain that Heaven preserves Your Majesty for better days."
In the revulsion of feeling, Monmouth's eyes shone moist. Grey sheathed his sword with an awkward laugh, and a still more awkward word of apology to Wilding. The Duke, moved by a sudden impulse to make amends for his unworthy suspicions, for his perhaps unworthy reception of Wilding earlier that evening in the council-room, drew the sword on which his hand still rested. He advanced a step.