“Take you? Faith, no! I’ve no mind to lead you into danger. And you serve me best by remaining to carry out my orders.”

The man fell back.

“Ay, sir; but⁠—but⁠—”

“There are none, Jim.”

“No, sir⁠—but ye will have a care?”

“I will be the most cautious of men.” He walked away on the word, and passed into the house.

In an hour he was a very different being. Gone was the emerald ring, the foppish cane; the languid air, too, had disappeared, leaving him brisk and businesslike. He was dressed for riding, with buff coat and buckskin breeches, and shining top boots. A sober brown wig replaced the powdered creation, and a black tricorne was set rakishly atop.