But she shook her head. "Words, words, my Lord Duke! I understand you to the marrow. And, in part, I think that I admire you."
He was angry now. "Eh! for the love of God," cried the Duke of Ormskirk, "let us burn the accursed things and have no more verbiage!" He seized the papers and flung them into the fire.
Then these two watched the papers consume to ashes, and stood a while in silence, the gaze of neither lifting higher than the andirons; and presently there was a tapping at the door.
"That will be Benyon," the Duke said, with careful modulations. "Enter, man! What news is there of this Vanringham?"
"He will recover, your Grace, though he has lost much blood. Mr. Vanringham has regained consciousness and took occasion to whisper me your Grace would find the needful papers in his escritoire, in the brown despatch-box."
"That is well," the Duke retorted, "You may go, Benyon." And when the door had closed, he began, incuriously: "Then you are not a murderess at least, Miss Allonby. At least--" He made a queer noise as he gazed, at the despatch-box in his hand. "The brown box!" It fell to the floor. Ormskirk drew near to her, staring, moving stiffly like a hinged toy, "I must have the truth," he said, without a trace of any human passion. This was the Ormskirk men had known in Scotland.
"Yes," she answered, "they were the Jacobite papers. You burned them."
Presently he said: "Do you not understand what this farce has cost? Thanks to you, I have no iota of proof against these men. I cannot touch these rebels. O madam, I pray Heaven that you have not by this night's trickery destroyed England!"
"I did it to save the man I love," she proudly said.
"Then are we quits, my Lord. You lied to me, and I to you. Oh, I know that were I a man you would kill me within the moment. But you respect my womanhood. Ah, goodness!" the girl cried, shrilly, "what very edifying respect for womanhood have you, who burned those papers because you believed my dearest Marian had stooped to a painted mountebank!"
"I burned them--yes, in the belief that I was saving you."
She laughed in his face. "You never believed that,--not for an instant."
But by this time Ormskirk had regained his composure. "The hour is somewhat late, and the discussion--if you will pardon the suggestion,--not likely to be profitable. The upshot of the whole matter is that I am now powerless to harm anybody--I submit the simile of the fangless snake,--and that Captain Audaine will have his release in the morning. Accordingly you will now permit me to wish you a pleasant night's rest. Benyon!" he called, "you will escort Mr. Osric Allonby homeward. I remain to clear up this affair."