soldiers. Can'st thou not think of some means to catch him"?

"Well, Father Pierre, I wouldn't like---

"Wouldn't like _what_!" shouted the old man, "perhaps thou art afraid of
the popinjay in his red coat--eh, thou chicken-hearted fellow? Thou art
not the man I took thee for. I wonder not at Marguerite speaking as she
does."

"Those are hard words and I like them not," replied Jacques sulkily. He
felt the hit contained in Pierre's words all the more as he was not
quite innocent of fear of the red coat. "I was going to say," he
continued, "I wouldn't like Marguerite to know I was watching for her
soldier, as she might warn him and put him on his guard. Ah! the
hateful fellow, I wish I had my hands at his throat now."

"Gently, gently, my good Jacques," replied the elder hypocrite, "such
language becomes not a follower of our Lord Protector Cromwell. But let
us understand one another. Charlie Heyward--(the name hath but an ill
savour to me)--must be put out of the way, and Marguerite, like her sex,
will doubtless forget that he ever existed, and marry thee. I wonder
where they meet? It must be somewhere near here, but I cannot find out.
Now that he knows he is unwelcome to me, he comes not in here."

"I will try and find out, Father Pierre, and then we must devise means
for putting him out of the way, as thou seem'st to desire it, and,
mind, my reward is Marguerite, whether she be willing or not."

"Yea, my son, and here is my hand on it."