“He is a soldier, lady,” replied the king, gravely, “and, as such, should be prepared to die. We see no reason why delay should be granted him. He would have given none to ourself. Yet he shall have time for prayer. See that it be so, good fellow,” he added to John Habergeon.
“I will go with him, and strive to bring him to repentance, said Mr. Beard.
“I do not desire thy presence,” said Stelfax sternly. “I can make up my account with Heaven without thy aid. Yon hypocritical traitor, whom I have dispatched before me,” he added, looking towards the body of Micklegift, “hath disgusted me with all who profess the sacred calling.”
“What! hast thou no repentance for the bloody deed thou hast done?” demanded the clergyman.
“Wherefore should I repent?” rejoined Stelfax. “The man was justly slain. He had betrayed me.”
“There thou art wrong,” remarked John Rabergeon. “Micklegift was a captive in our hands, and we compelled him to lure thee forth, in order to prevent harm being done by thee to his Majesty.”
“And well was it for Charles Stuart that ye employed the device,” remarked Stelfax. “If that bullet had not been wasted on the fool Micklegift, it would have been lodged in your king’s brain. Well was it also for Charles Stuart that he came to this house ere I was prepared for him. Had he tarried till to-morrow, his escape had been impossible.”
“My warning, you see, was not in vain,” observed the king to Clavering.
Again Dulcia interceded for Stelfax, imploring his Majesty not to doom him to instant death.
“You seem to have an interest more than ordinary in this man, young lady,” said Charles. “Whence arises it? Speak frankly, if you desire to serve him.”
“I owe him some gratitude, my liege,” replied Dulcia, “inasmuch as he respected me when I was in his power. While detained as a prisoner with my father at Lewes, Captain Stelfax sought to win my love, but by honourable means alone, and finding at length that his suit was hopeless, he generously—nay, I must use the word, sire—he generously set my father and myself at liberty.”
“This is true, my gracious liege,” said Mr. Beard. “As my daughter hath stated, we were both in his hands for nigh three weeks, and were treated by him with much respect—nay, with kindness.”
“I am bound also to add my testimony to that already given, that the man showed me much personal consideration, and detained me not when I surrendered myself to him at Lewes,” said Colonel Maunsel.
“Oddsfish!” exclaimed the good-natured monarch, “the knave seems to have some better qualities than might be expected. And so you intercede for him, eh, fair mistress?”
“Earnestly—most earnestly,” cried Dulcia.
“And you too, worthy sir?” continued the king, turning to Mr. Beard.
“As earnestly as my child, sire,” the good clergyman replied.
“And what says Colonel Maunsel?” cried Charles, looking at the old Cavalier.
“Nay, my liege, I know not what to say,” rejoined the colonel, with a look of perplexity. “I do not like to beg the man’s life, after what hath happened—”
“Tut! tut!” exclaimed the king. “Whatever faults may be imputed to him, it shall never be said that Charles Stuart was wanting in magnanimity. I forgive the fellow his attempt upon my life. Nay, it is my pleasure that he be set free.”
“Set free!” exclaimed Stelfax, in surprise.
“Ay, but not till it can be done with safety,” said the king. “Of that Colonel Maunsel will judge.”
“Colonel Maunsel will exercise his own discretion in the matter,” said Stelfax; “but henceforth your Majesty—for I must needs style you so—will have no enemy in me. My lips shall be sealed to all I have seen and heard this day. I am not a man to make professions, but thus much I will promise Colonel Maunsel in return for his generosity, that he shall not, if I can help it, be called to account for sheltering his proscribed sovereign. To that I plight my word.”
“And you will keep your word, I am certain, Captain Stelfax,” rejoined the king. “Unbind him,” he added to John Habergeon.