THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
“And ye’re fleeing for your life?”
Mornay’s face grew stern. “Yes, I am fleeing for my life,” he cried, “but they have not caught me yet. Last night I would not have cared if they had sent me back to France. To-day it is different. They have robbed me of my estates, of my name; they have made me a mere creeping thing—a viper. Morbleu! they shall feel the viper’s sting. Monsieur de Heywood is dead. Mistress Barbara Clerke—”
Cornbury leaned forward in his chair. “Surely you don’t mean—”
“Oh, put your mind at rest, mon ami. I shall do my pretty cousin no violence. I shall see her—that’s all. But first—first, about the papers with this Capitaine Ferraire—”
Cornbury smiled dryly.
“Why, ye have but to poke a nose an inch beyond the door to be carted to the Tower. How will ye see Captain Ferrers, then? ’Tis the height of absurdity. Take my advice and keep close till ye find a ship. Then set your course for the Plantations till yer matter is cooled.
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