There was silence of some few moments. Andrew Fletcher leaned his elbow on the table and took his brow in his great bony hand. Wilding's words seemed an echo of those he himself had spoken a week or two ago, only to be overruled by Grey, who swayed the Duke more than did any other - and that he did not do so of fell purpose, and seeking deliberately to work Monmouth's ruin, no man will ever be able to say with certainty.
Ferguson rose, a tall, spare, stooping figure, and smote the board with his fist. "It is a good cause," he cried, "and God will not leave us unless we leave Him.""Henry the Seventh landed with fewer men than did Your Grace," said Grey, "and he succeeded.""True," put in Fletcher. "But Henry the Seventh was sure of the support of not a few of the nobility, which does not seem to be our case."Ferguson and Grey stared at him in horror; Monmouth sat biting his lip, more bewildered than thoughtful.
"0 man of little faith!" roared Ferguson in a passion. "Are ye to be swayed like a straw in the wind?""I am no' swayed. Ye ken this was ever my own view. I feel, in my heart, that what Mr. Wilding says is right. It is but what I said myself, and Captain Matthews with me, before we embarked upon this expedition. We were in danger of ruining all by a needless precipitancy.
Nay, man, never stare so," he said to Grey, "I am in it now and I am no'
the man to draw back, nor do I go so far as Mr. Wilding in counselling such a course. We've set our hands to the plough; let us go forward in God's name. Yet I would remind you that what Mr. Wilding says is true.
Had we waited until next year, we had found the usurper's throne tottering under him, and, on our landing, it would have toppled o'er of itself.""I have said already that we'll overset it with our hands," Grey answered.
"How many hands have you?" asked a new voice, a crisp, discordant voice, much steeped in mockery. It was Nick Trenchard's.
"Have we another here of Mr. Wilding's mind?" cried Grey, staring at him.
"I am seldom of any other," answered Trenchard. "We shall no' want for hands," Ferguson assured him. "Had ye arrived earlier ye might have seen how readily men enlisted." He had risen and approached the window as he spoke; he pulled it open, to let in the full volume of sound that rose from the street below.
"A Monmouth! A Monmouth!" voices shouted.
Ferguson struck a theatrical posture, one long, lean arm stretched outward from the shoulder.
"Ye hear them, sirs," he cried, and there was a gleam of triumph in his eye. "That is answer enough to those who want for faith, to the feckless ones that think the Lord will abandon those that have set out to serve Him," and his glance comprehended Fletcher, Trenchard, and Wilding.
The Duke stirred in his chair, stretched a hand for the bottle and filled a glass. His mercurial spirits were rising again. He smiled at Wilding.
"I think you are answered, sir," said he; "and I hope that like Fletcher there, who shared your doubts, you will come to agree that since we have set our hands to the plough we must go forward.""I have said that which I had it on my conscience to say. Your Grace may have found me over-ready with my counsel; at least you shall find me no less ready with my sword.""Odso! That is better." Grey applauded, and his manner was almost pleasant.
"I never doubted it, Mr. Wilding," His Grace replied; "but I should like to hear you say that you are convinced - at least in part," and he waved his hand towards the window. It was almost as if he pleaded for encouragement. In common with most men who came in contact with Wilding, he had felt the latent force of this man's nature, the strength that was hidden under that calm surface, and the acuteness of the judgment that must be wedded to it. He longed t have the word of such a man that his enterprise was not as desperate as Wilding had seemed at first to paint it. But Wilding made no concession to hopes or desires when he dealt with facts.
"Men will flock to you, no doubt; persecution has wearied many of the country-folk, and they are ready for revolt. But they are all untrained in arms; they are rustics, not soldiers. If any of the men of position were to rally round your standard they would bring the militia, and others in their train; they would bring arms, horses, and money, all of which Your Grace must be sorely needing.""They will come," answered the Duke.
"Some, no doubt," Wilding agreed; "but had it been next year, I would have answered for it that it would have been no handful had ridden in to welcome you. Scarce a gentleman of Devon or Somerset, of Dorset or Hampshire, of Wiltshire or Cheshire but would have hastened to your side."" They will come as it is," the Duke repeated with an almost womanish insistence, persisting in believing what he hoped, all evidence apart.
The door opened and Ensign Cragg made his appearance. "May it please Your Grace," he announced, "Mr. Battiscomb has just arrived, and asks will Your Grace receive him to-night?"Battiscomb!" cried the Duke. Again his cheek flushed and his eye sparkled. "Aye, in Heaven's name, show him up.""And may the Lord refresh us with good tidings!" prayed Ferguson devoutly.
Monmouth turned to Wilding. "It is the agent I sent ahead of me from Holland to stir up the gentry from here to the Mersey.""I know," said Wilding; "we conferred together some weeks since.""Now you shall see how idle are your fears," the Duke promised him.
And Wilding, who was better informed on that score, kept silence.
