It was Grey at last who took the matter up.
"You shall explain your meaning, sir, or we must hold you a traitor," he exclaimed.
"King James does that already," answered Wilding with a quiet smile.
"D'ye mean the Duke of York ?" rumbled Ferguson's Scottish accent with startling suddenness, and Monmouth nodded approval of the correction.
"If ye mean that bloody papist and fratricide, it were well so to speak of him.

Had ye read the Declaration..." But Fletcher cropped his speech in mid-growth.

He was ever a short-tempered man, intolerant of irrelevancies.
"It were well, perhaps," said he, his accent abundantly proclaiming him a fellow countryman of Ferguson's, "to keep to the matter before us.

Mr.
Wilding, no doubt, will state the reasons that exist, or that he fancies may exist, for giving advice which is hardly worthy of the cause to which he stands committed." "Aye, Fletcher," said Monmouth, "there is sense in you.

Tell us what is in your mind, Mr.Wilding." "It is in my mind, Your Grace, that this invasion is rash, premature, and ill-advised." "Odds life!" cried Grey, and he swung angrily round fully to face the Duke, the nostrils of his heavy nose dilating.