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Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la m*thoda. 1 2 3 32 X 1 2 3 4 5 6 SECOND CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITION /d^Jc Simon Dale By 1 - ; . Anthony Hope Author ol. "The Pr.'soner of Zenda' '♦Rupert of Hentzau/' etc Toronto emerge N. Morasig & Company. Limited • 1899 ■JJ..- The Music IjCiver^LibraryJl^^^^ .■r-'- .>'-.>■'*• ,^#>:.:^:' /JV PREPARATION •t.- '-■• The Pianoforte and its Music .,- ,' , By H. E. Krchbiel Au/hor of " ffow to Listen to Music" - ^ "Music and Manners Jn the Classical Period^ ftc. A'^Jt : •f^.<^ U '.»■-;; Opera Past and Pres^nt^v>^-i^ v By W. F. Apthprp , Author sf "Musicians and Music Lovers," etc. bongs and Song Writers - By Henry T. Finck Author of "Warier and His Works," ** Chopin and other Musical Essays," etc, Xihoirs and Choral Singing : By Arthur Mees y Conductor of the Mendelssohn Glee Club, '~-^-'''^ ..= "^- 7'H'^. AT ALL BOOKSELLERS OR POSTPAW FROAT peorge N. Morang & Company Limited b^^^W?<. P^JBUSHERS ANn iMPCIPTFDe Torpnto y C'-' W-l., SIMON DALE By ANTHONY HOPE Author of ^Phfoso/' "The Heart of Princess Osra/'Etc. . "r-ii;' *; <; ^i)-'"^ ■ ';V,' ■ •K^'^iJ V^^r -?-.■' :♦,■,. ■ ■ • *- ^. y,, .'fc ;?-]i'>^'>* VA--;,\-_ THIS, MAUAMK, Is .V. OK pkkk KNCOURT." PA(iE 1 ."5?. ?>l^ S '^ SDViCM DAI -*jLm* AN -ONV HOPE OR UF 'Hroso/' "Th« tuari d Pmi.«s, Osra," "The Prisoner of fl.LttS. w ST* JOJiN MMtf^Pe unced its im- For she pre- m I came into church, of a irtainly had a ere the King drink of the ed within the 1 the one side ' could expect >rd and Lady th before my nted as it had 2nts no small ■ term of the 'o my mother i, although of lan, she was id had never to my father made it im- 7 to fit me for uld not drink ng as good," The Child of Prophecy. \ my father reflected ruefully. Meanwhile I, troubling not at all about the matter, was content to prove Betty right m point of the date, and, leaving the rest to the future achieved this triumph for her most punctually Whatsoever may await a man on his way through the world, he can hardly begin life better than by keeping his faith with a lady She was a strange old woman, this Betty Nasroth and would likely enough have fared badly in the time of the Kings father Now there was bigger game than witches afoot and nothing worse befell her than the scovyls of her neighbours and the frightened mock- ery of children. She made free reply vvith curses and dark mutterings, but me she loved as being the child of her vision, and all the more because, encountering her as I rode in my mother's arms, I did not cry but held out my hands, crowing and struggling to get to he. ; whereat suddenly, and to my mother's great ter- ror, she exclaimed " Thou see'st Satan ! " and fell to weeping, a thing which, as every woman in the parish knew a person absolutely possessed by the EvH One thL^ "° ""^^"^ accomplish (unless indeed a bare three drops squeezed from the left eye may usurp the name of tears). But my mother shrank away from he? and would not allow her to touch me ; nor was it unti \^^\T^'''^ older and ran about the village alone tha the old woman, having tracked me to a lonely spot took nrie in her arms, mumbled over my head some words I did not understand, and kissed me That a mole grows on the spot she kissed is but Tfable-Tfo? thlrfthe m^r'" ^7" "^^^ ""'' ^''^^ fell save by ^or a^^L ^ grows ?-and that is to reason poorly,) --or a, the most the purest chance. Nay. if it were Td thl t^ '^^'I'f ' ^°^ '^^ "^°^^ does me no hlrm! went strath^^^^^^^ ^'^^l''^ ^T^ ^^^^ •' ^^ ^^e rouLToFti! T ^^aX'"^^' ^T^° '^^^' ^'^^"S then in the cottage of my Lord Quinton's gardener and exercising Simon Dale* his sacred functions in a secrecy to which the whole parish was privy) and prayed hir.i to let her partake of the Lord's Supper ; a request that caused great scan- dal to the neighbours and sore embarrassment to the Vicar himself, who, being a learned man and deeply read in demonology, grieved from his heart that the witch did not play her part better. " It is," said he to my father, " a monstrous lapse." . " Nay, it is a sign of grace," urged my mother. " It is," said my father (and I do not know whether he spoke perversely or in earnest) "a matter of no moment." Now being steadfastly determined that my boyhood shall be less tedious in the telling than it was in the living — for I always longed to be a man and hated my green and petticoat-governed days — I will pass forth- with to the hour wh'm I reached the age of eighteen years. My dear father was then in Heaven and old Betty had found, as was believed, another billet. But my mother lived, and the Vicar, like the King, had come to his own again ; and I was five feet eleven in my stockings, and there was urgent need that I should set about pushing my way and putting money in my purse ; for our lands had not returned with the King and there was no more incoming than would serve to keep my rpother and sisters in the style of gentle- women. " And on that matter," observed the Vicar, stroking his nose with his forefinger, as his habit was in mo- ments of perplexity, " Betty Nasroth's prophecy is of small service. For the doings on which she touches are likely to be occasions of expense rather than sources of gain." " They would be money wasted," said my mother, gently, " one and all of them." The Vicar looked a little doubtful. " I will write a sermon on that theme," said he ; for ch the whole ler partake of ;d great scan- ssment to the 1 and deeply cart that the strous lapse." . mother, enow whether matter of no t my boyhood it was in the and hated my ill pass forth- ;e of eighteen aven and old ir billet. But he King, had feet eleven in that I should money in my I'ith the King 'ould serve to r\e of gentle- ^icar, stroking it was in mo- prophecy is of 1 she touches I rather than I my mother, said he ; for S The Child of Prophecy. 5 this was with him a favourite way out of an argument. In truth the Vicar loved the prophecy, as a quiet stu- dent often loves a thing that echoes of the world which he has shunned. •' You must write down for me what the King says to you, Simon," he told me once. "Suppose, sir," I suggested, mischeviously, "that it should not be fit for your eye?" "Then write it, Simon," he answered, pinching my ear, " for my understanding." It was well enough for the Vicar's whimsical fancy to busy itself with Betty Nasroth's prophecy, half believing, half mocking, never forgetting nor disre- garding; but I, who am after all the most concerned, doubt whether such a dark utterance be a wholesome thing to hang round a young man's neck. The dreams of youth grow rank enough without such watering. The prediction was always in my mind, alluring and tar 'alising as a teasing girl who puts her pretty face near yours, safe that you dare not kiss it. What it said I mused on ; what it said not I neglected. I dedicated my idle hours to it, and, not appeased, it mvaded my seasons of business. Rather than seek my own path I left myself to its will and hearkened for its whispered orders. "It was the same," observed my mother, sadly, "with a certain cook-maid of my sister's. It was foretold that she should marry her master." "And did she not?" cried the Vicar, with ears all pricked-up. "She changed her service every year," said my mother, "seeking the likeliest man, until at last none would hire her." "She should have stayed in her first service," said the Vicar, shaking his head. "But her first master had a wife." retorted mv mother, triiimphantly^ ' ' 'FT I I t> Simon Dale* " I had one once myself," said the Vicar. The argument with which his widowhood supplied the Vicar was sound and unanswerable, and it suited well with my humour to learn from my aunt's cook- maid, and wait patiently on fate. But what avails an argument, be it ever so sound, against an empty purse? It was declared that I must seek my fortune ; yet on the method of my ?earch some difference arose. "You must work, Simon," said my sister Lucy, who was betrothed to Justice Barnard, a young squire of good family and high repute, but mighty hard on idle vagrants, and free with the stocks for revellers. " You must pray for guidance," said my sister Mary, who was to wed a saintly clergyman, a Prebend, too, of the Cathedral. " There is," said I stoutly, " nothing of such matters in Betty Nasroth's prophecy." " They are taken for granted, dear boy," said my mother, gently. The Vicar rubbed his nose. Yet not these excellent and zealous counsellors proved right, but the Vicar and I. For had I gone to London as they urged, instead of abiding where J was, agreeably to the Vicar's argument and my own in- clination, it is a great question whether the plague would not have proved too strong for Betty Nasroth, and her prediction gone to lie with me in a death-pit. As things befell I lived, hearing only dimly, and, as it were, from afar off, of that great calamity, and of the horrors that beset the city. For the disease did not come our way, and we moralised on the sins of the townsfolk with sound bodies and contented minds. We were happy in our health and in our virtue, and not disinclined to applaud God's judgment that smote our erring brethren ; for too often the chastisement of one sinner feeds another's pride. Yet the plague had a hand, and no small one, in that destiny of mine, I ".Tf-"* car. 'hood supplied i, and it suited ly aunt's cook- what avails an 1 empty purse? ortune ; yet on ce arose, ster Lucy, who )ung squire of ty hard on idle evellers. ny sister Mary, a Prebend, too, Df such matters boy," said my us counsellors r had I gone to ig where 7 was, id my own in- ler the plague Betty Nasroth, in a death-pit. imly, and, as it ity, and of the disease did not the sins of the ntented minds. 3ur virtue, and lent that smote :hastisement of the plague had istiny of mine, The Child of Prophecy. m although it came not near me ; for it brought fresh tenants to those same rooms in the gardener's cottage where the V.car had dwelt till the loyal Parliament's Act proved too hard for the conscience of our Indc pendent minister, and the Vicar, nothing loth, moved back to his parsonage. Now I was walking one day, as I had full licence and leave to walk, in the avenue of Quinton Manor when I saw, first, what I had (if I am to tell the truths come to see to wit, the figure of young Mistress Bar' bara, daintily arrayed in a white summer gown B bara was pleased to hold herself haughtily towards me or she was an heiress, and of a house that had not fallen in the world as mine had. Yet we were friends ; for we sparred and rallied, she giving offence and I taking it, she pardoning my rudeness and I accepting forgiveness: while my lord and my lady perhaps thinking me too low for fear and yet hJh enough for favour, showed me much kindness- mv lord indeed would often jest with me on the great fate foretold mem Betty Nasroth's prophecy. ^ "the K;n^^''^''"l'^ say, with a twinkle in his eye, .frlL. ^ ■% '^'^"^^ '^^'■^^^' ^"d there is some strange wine in his cup, and to love what he loves-" but at this point the Vicar, who chanced to be bv twinkled also but shifted the conversation to som^ theme which did not touch the King, his secrets is wine, or what he loved. ^ ''t.crccs, ins H Ji!'^- *^'^'i ^^^'''' ^' ^ ^^y' tJ^e slim tall figure, the dark hair and the proud eyes of Barbara Quinton and awaffror^' f 'f^V'i^'" ^"^^^ as their owner turned comnanv t\^-^' ^ ^"^ "?' ^°«^^^ '^ '^^ i" Barbara's and nlnL i ' was another damsel, of lower stature herse^lf 3 l.^r' "^'"T^ ^"^^ ^' P'"^"'^^ ^' Barbara eyS Lt hJlfld"tt ''''\"'''''. "^-'-•■y I'P^ and under m f?P t"^t falf hid themselves in an eclipse of mfrfh. I W hen Barbara saw me she did not, as hei^custom w^ ■J S Simon Dale* feign not to see me till I thrust my presence on her, but ran to me at once, crying very indignantly, " Simon, who is this girl ? She has dared to tell mc that my gown is of country make and hangs like an old smock on a beanpole." *' Mistress Barbara," I answered, " who heeds the make of the gown when the wearer is of divine make ? " I was young then and did not know that to compli- ment herself at the expense of her apparel is not the best way to please a woman. " You are silly," said Barbara. " Who is she ? " " The girl," said I, crestfallen, " is, they tell me, from London, and she lodges with her mother in your gardener's cottage. But 1 didn't look to find her here in the avenue." ^^ " You shall not again if I have my way, said Bar- bara. Then she added, abruptly and sharply, " Why do you look at her? " Now it was true that I was looking at the stranger ; and on Barbara s question I looked the harder. " She is mighty pretty," said I. " Does she not seem so to you. Mistress Barbara?" And, simple though I was, I spoke not altogether in simplicity. "Pretty?" echoed Barbara. "And pray what do you know of prettiness. Master Simon? " " What I have learnt at Quinton Manor," I an- swered with a bow. " That doesn't prove her pret»-y," retorte^l the angry lady. " There's more than one way of it," said I discreetly, and I took a step towards the visitor, who stood some ten yards from us, laughing still and plucking a flower to pieces in her fingers. " She isn't known to you ? " asked Barbara, per- ceiving my movement. ' I can remedy that," said I, smiling. Never since the world began had youth been a more -aM»^ isence on her, indignantly, ed to tell m'_' hangs like an lo hfteds the ivi»^o i^Kike?" at to compH- rel is not the .is she?" they tell me, lother in your • find her here ay," said Bar- larply, " Why the stranger ; larder. IDoes she not And, simple simplicity, pray what do lanor," I an- te'! t^.e angry d I discreetly, lo stood some eking a flower Barbara, per- h been a more ■ The Child of Prophecy. g faithful servant to maid than I to Barbara Ouinton. Yet because, if a man lie down, the best of ."iris will set her pretty foot on his neck, and also from my love of a thing that is new, I was thoroughlv resolved to accost the gardener's guest ; and my lurpose was not I altered by Jiarbara s scornful toss of her little head as '! she turned away. ■ f." K'^ t"° ?''^'? *^'''" C'V'lity," I protested, " to ask after her health, for, coming from London, .he can but just have escaped the plague." Barbara tossed her head again, declaring plainly her opinion of my excuse. J' » "But if you desire me to walk with vou- -" I be. gan. ^ .n!i7i'^'^« I' """^^'i"" ^ *^^"Sh*^ of less," she inter, rupted. " I came here to be alone " . Jo!!f^K^'T"'J^ !'^' / M °^^y'"2: you," said I, and I stood bareheaded while Barbara, without another glance at me, walked off towards the house Half penitent, yet wholly obstinate, I watched her gc she did not once look over her shoulder. Had she -but a truce to that. What passed is enough ; with vha might have, my story would stretch to the wc Id's end. I smothered my remorse, and went up to the stranger, bidding her good-day in my most polite nd courtly manner ; she smiled, but at what I knew , ot She seemed little more than a child, sixteen years Id or seventeen at the most, yet there was no cmifus.on in her greeting of me. Indeed she was most marvel" Lertanl ''f'"'"' l""'' °" "^^ ''^''''^' '^'^ ^"^d, lifting ner hands in feigned amazement,— ^ "A man, by my faith, a man in this place ! " We 1 pleased to be called a man, I bowed again. pleaE^Heavet" ^'^ '''^'' " "^"^ "^^^ ^^ -^' ^^ ^^ "You may live to see it without frrnvvlnrr wrinkled " said I, striving to conceal my annoyance.'" ' ^1 *Si >. I :il iiiii! rii J } 10 Simon Dale* " And one that has repartee in him ! Oh, marvel- lous ! " " We do not all lack wit in the country, madame," said !, simpering as I supposed the Court gallants to simper, " nor, since the plague came to London, beauty." " Indeed it's wonderful," she cried, in mock admira- tion. " Do they teach such sayings hereabouts, sir? " " Even so, madame, and from such books as your eyes furnish." And for all her air of mockery, I was, as I remember, much pleased with this speech. It had come from some well-thumbed romance, I doubt not. I was always an eager reader of such silly things. She curtseyed low, laughing up at me with roguish eyes and mouth. " Now, surely, sir," she said, ** you must be Simon Dale, of whom my host the gardener speaks?" " It is my name, madame, at your service. But the gardener has played me a trick ; for now I have noth- ing to give in exchange for your name." " Nay, you have a very pretty nosegay in your hand," said she. " I might be persuaded to barter my name for it." The nosegay that was in my hand I had gathered and brought for Barbara Quinton, and I still meant to use it as a peace-offering. But Barbara had treated me harshly, and the stranger looked longingly at the nosegay. " The gardener is a niggard with his flowers," she said, with a coaxing smile. " To confess the truth," said I, wavering in my purpose, " the nosegay was plucked for another." " It will smell the sweeter," she cried, with a laugh. "Nothing gives flowers such a perfume." And she held out a wonderfully small hand towards my nose- gay. i I lilt y ! Oh, marvel- try, madame," art gallants to e to London, I mock admira- reabouts, sir? " books as your lockery, I was, lis speech. It nance, I doubt of such silly e with roguish ■nust be Simon )eaks ? " rvice. But the »w I have noth- segay in your aded to barter [ had gathered I still meant to ra had treated ongingly at the is flowers," she avering in my r another." d, with a laugh, me." And she ivards my nose- :/► ;] •cAl'i.Hr H\ iii-;h puiii in- wa\s ANn (Jkai kkii hoi dnkss "— i'a<;i.. ii. The Child of Prophecy. II 'tri» "Is that a London lesson?" I asked, holding the flowers away from her grasp. " It holds good in the countr}' also, sir ; wherever, indeed, there is a man to gather flowers and more than one lady who loves smelling them." " Well," said I, " the nosegay is yours at the price," and I held it out to her. " The price ? What, you desire to know my name ? " " Unless, indeed, I may call you one of my own choosing," said I, with a glance that should have been irresistible. " Would you use it in speaking of me to Mistress Barbara there? No, I'll give you a name to call me by. You may call me Cydaria." " Cydaria ! A fine name ! " " It is," said she, carelessly, " as good as any other." " But is there no other to follow it ? " " When did a poet ask two names to head his son- net ? And surely you wanted mine for a sonnet ' " " So be it, Cydaria," said I. "So be it, Simon. And is not Cydaria as pretty as Barbara ? " It has a strange sound," said I, " but is well enough." " And now — the nosegay ! " " I must pay a reckoning for this," I sighed ; but smce a bargain is a bargain I gave her the nosegay. She took it, her face all alight with smiles, and buried her nose in it. I stood looking at her, caught by her pretty ways and graceful boldness. Boy though I was, I had been right in telling her that there are many ways of beauty ; here were two to start with hers and Barbara's. She looked up, and, finding my gaze on her, made a little grimace as though it were only what she had expected and gave her no more concern than pleasure. Yet at such a look Barbara would have turned cold and distant for an hour — i'A(;i.: II. Ilif h: 13 Simon Dale* or more. Cydaria, smiling in scornful indulgence, dropped me another mocking curtsey, and made as though she would go her way. Yet she did not go, but stood with her head half-averted, a glance straying towards me from the corner of her eye, while with her tiny foot she dug the gravel of the avenue. ^ "It is a lovely place, this park," said she. "But. mdeed, it s often hard to find the way about it." I was not backward to take her hint. " If you had a guide now—" I began. " Why, yes, if I had a guide, Simon," she whispered, gleefully. ^ * " You could find the way, Cydaria, and your guide would be most " ''Most charitably engaged. But then " She paused, drooping the corners of her mouth in sudden despondency. " But what then ? " " Why then, Mistress Barbara would be alone." I hesitated. I glanced towards the house. I looked at Cydaria. " She told me that she wished to be alone," said I. " No ? How did she say it ? " " I wMll tell you all about that as we go along," said 1, and Cydaria laughed again. CHAPTER II. uth in sudden The Way of Youth. The debate is years old ; not indeed quite so old as the world, since Adam and Eve cannot, for want of opportunity, have fallen out over it, yet descending to us from unknown antiquity. But it has never been set at rest by general consent: the quarrel over Passive Obedience is nothing to it. It seems such a small matter though ; for the debate I mean turns on no greater question than this : May a man who owns allegiance to one lady justify by any train of reason- mg his conduct in snatching a kiss from another, this other being (for it is important to have the terms right) not (so far as can be judged) unwilling ? I main- tained that he might ; to be sure, my position ad- mitted of no other argument, and, for the most part, it is a man's state which determines his arguments and not his reasons that induce his state. Barbara declared that he could not ; though, to be sure, it was, as she added most promptly, no concern of hers ; for she cared not whether I were in love or not, nor how deeply, nor with whom, nor in a word anything at all about the matter. It was an abstract opinion she gave, so far as love, or what men chose to call such, might be involved; as to seemliness she must confess that she had her view with which, may be, Mr. Dale was not in agreement. The girl at the gardener's cottage must, she did not doubt, agree wholly with Mr. Dale; how otherwise would she have suffered the ■irf\ f m 14 Simon Dale* kiss in an open space in the park, where anybody might pass — and where in fact (by the most perverse chance in the world) pretty Mistress Barbara herself passed at the moment when the thing occurred ? How- ever, if the matter could ever have had the smallest interest for her — save in so far as it touched the reputation of the village and might afford an evil example to the village maidens — it could have none at all now, seeing that she set out the next day to Lon- don, to take her place as Maid of Honour to her Royal Highness the Duchess, and would have as little leisure as inclination to think of Mr. Simon Dale or of how he those to amuse himself when he believed that none was watching. Not that she had watched ; her presence was the purest and most unwelcome chance. Yet she could not but be glad to hear that the girl was soon to go back whence she came, to the great relief (she was sure) of Madame Dale and of her dear friends Lucy and Mary ; to her love for whom nothing — no, nothing — should make any difference. For the girl herself she wished no harm, but she con- ceived that her mother must be ill at ease concerning her. It will be allowed that Mistress Barbara had the most of the argument if not the best. Indeed I found little to say, except that the village would be the worse by so much as the Duchess of York was the better for Mistress Barbara's departure. The civility won me nothing but the haughtiest curtesy and a taunt, — " Must you rehearse your pretty speeches on me before you venture them on your friends, sir?" she asked. *' I am at your mercy, Mistress Barbara," I pleaded. " Are we to part enemies? " She made m.e no answer, but I seemed to see a softening in her face as she turned away towards the \-rS-~. The Way of Yooth. IS where anybody most perverse Barbara herself ccurred? How- id the smallest it touched the afford an evil Id have none at xt day to Lon- Honour to her lid have as little Simon Dale or len he believed e had v^^atched ; lost unwelcome ad to hear that he came, to the Dale and of her love for whom any difference, rm, but she con- ease concerning arbara had the Indeed I found would be the [ York was the e. The civility : curtesy and a speeches on me lends, sir?" she )ara," I pleaded. eemed to see a way towards the window, whence were to be seen the stretch of the lawn and the park-meadows beyond. 1 believe that with a little more coaxing she would have pardoned me, but at the instant, by another stroke of perversity, a small figure sauntered across the sunny fields. The fairest sights may sometimes come amiss. "Cydaria ! A fine name ! " said Barbara, with curl- ing lip. ** I'll wager she has reasons for giving no other." " Her mother gives another to the gardener," I reminded her, meekly. " Names are as easy given as — as kisses ! " she retorted. "As for Cydaria, my lord says it is a name out of a play." All tills while we had stood at the window, watch- ing Cydaria's light feet trip across the meadow, and her bonnet swing wantonly in her hand. But now Cydaria disappeared among the trunks of the beech- trees. "See, she is gone," said I, in a whisper. " She is gone. Mistress I3arbara." Barbara understood what I would say, but she was resolved to show me no gentleness. The soft tones of my voice had been for her, but she would not accept their homage. "You need not sigh for that before my face," said she. " And yet sigh if you will. What is it to me ? Bu't she is not gone far, and, doubtless, will not run too fast when you pursue." •' When you are in London," said I, " you will think with remorse how ill you used me." " I shall never think of you at all. Do you forget that there are gentlemen of wit and breeding at the Court?" " The devil flyaway with every one of them ! " cried I suddenly, not knowing then how well the better part of them would match their escort. ■■'pr '\ \\itii x6 Simon Dale* ^ Barbara turned to me ; there was a gleam of triumph m the depths of her dark eyes. " Perhaps when you hear of meat Court," she cried, you 11 be sorry to think how " But she broke off suddenly, and looked out of the wmdow. " You'll find a husband there," I suggested, bitterly " Like enough," said she, carelessly. To be plain, I was in no happy mood. Her goinj? grieved me to the heart, and that she should go thus mcensed stung me yet more. I was jealous of every man in London town ; had not my argument, then some reason in it after all? ' " Fare-you-well, madame," said I, with a heavy frown and a sweeping bow. No player from the Lane could have^been more tragic. " P^are-you-well, sir. I will not detain you, for you have, I know, other farewells to make." "Not for a week yet ! " I cried, goaded to a show of exultation that Cydaria stayed so long. "I don't doubt that you'll make good use of the time," she said, as with a fine dignity she waved me to the door. Girl as she was, she had caught or in- herited the grand air that great ladies use. Gloomily I passed out, to fall into the hands of my lord, who was walking on the terrace. He caught me by the arm, laughing in good-humoured mockery. " You've had a touch of sentiment, eh, you rogue ' " said he. '' Well, there's little harm in that, since the girl leaves us to-morrow." " Indeed, my lord, there was little harm," said I, long-faced and rueful. " As little as my lady herself could wish." (At this he smiled and nodded). " Mis- tress Barbara will hardly so much as look at me." _ He grew graver, though the smile still hung about his lips. "They gossip about you in the village, Simon," i!;r? ■"4 I'M learn of triumph Durt," she cried, )ked out of the gested, bitterly. od. Her going should go thus ealous of every irgument, then, ^ a heavy frown the Lane could in you, for you id to a show of )od use of the she waved me 1 caught or in- ise. e hands of my He caught me I mockery. 1, you rogue ? " that, since the harm," said I, iy lady herself dded). " Mis- )k at me." ill hung about llage, Simon," The Way of Youth. ,7 [said he. "Take a friend's counsel and don't be so jmuch with the lady at the cottage. Come, I don't I speak without reason." He nodded at me as a man J nods who means more than he will say. Indeed not ^a word more would he say, so that when I left him I was even more angry than when I parted from his daughter. And, the nature of man being such as Heaven has made it, what need to say that 1 bent my steps to the cottage with all convenient speed ? The only weapon of an ill-used lover (nay, I will not ar-ue the merits of the case again) was ready to my hand I Yet my impatience availed little ; for there on the seat that stood by the door, sat my good friend the jVicar, discoursing in pleasant leisure with the ladv [who named t srself Cydaria. "It is true," he was saying. - I fear it is true, though you re over young to have learnt it " i^ "X^Tr ^'^ ^F^ools, sir," she returned, with a smile that had (or so it seemed to me) a touch—no more— j^J^ bitterness in it, "where such lessons are early ;;They are best let alone, those schools," said he. And whar s the lesson ? " I asked, drawing nearer. Neither answered. The Vicar rested his hands on I T? f . M .u- ''^"^' f ""^ suddenly began to relate old I Betty Nasroth s prophecy to his companion. I cannot ell what led his thoughts to it, but it was never far from his mind when I was by. She listened with ^^hZ IT' /T'h^ ^''P'^^y ^" whimsical amusement Sv l5ffl /r^ "^'""^^'^ pronounced with due solem- nity, left the Vicar s lips. " It is a strange saying/' he ended, "of which time alone can show the truth." sofA'^f^-lT'^V^ "^^y^^^ "^^'•ry eyes, yet with a new sort of interest. It is strange the hold these supersti- tions have on all of us; diough surely future ages will outgrow such childishness. "^ r i , i8 Simon Dale« " I don't know what the prophecy means," said she, "yet one thing at least would seem needful for its fulfilment — that Mr. Dale should become acquainted with the King." "True!" cried the Vicar, eagerly. "Everything stands on that, and on that we stick. For Simon cannot love where the King loves, nor know what the King hides, nor drink of the King's cup, if he abide all his days here in Hatchstead. Come Simon, the plague IS gone "Should I then be gone too?" I asked. "Yet to what end? I have no friends in London who would bring me to the notice of the King." The Vicar shook his head sadly. I had no such friends, and the King had proved before now that he could forget many a letter friend to the throne than my dear father's open mind had made of him. "We must wait, we must wait still," said the Vicar. " Time will find a friend." Cydaria had become pensive tor a moment, but she looked up now, smiling again, and said to me, — "You'll soon have a friend in London." Thinking of Barbara, I answered gloomily, " She's no friend of mine." " I did not mean whom you mean," said Cydaria, with twinkling eyes and not a whit put out. " But I also am going to London." I smiled, for it did not seem as though she would be a powerful friend, or able to open any way for me. But she met my smile with another so full of con- fidence and challenge that my attention was wholly caught, and I did not heed the Vicar's farewell as he rose and left us. " And would you serve me," I asked, " if you had the power ? " ' " Nay, put the question as you think it," said she. " Would you have the power to serve me if ■■*s. ".■•li, means," said she, 1 needful for its come acquainted /. " Everything For Simon cannot iv what the King ■ he abide all his mon, the plague asked. " Yet to indon who would I had no such fore now that he the throne than £ of him. ," said the Vicar. moment, but she d to me, — Ion." gloomily, " She's 1," said Cydaria, 3ut out. " But I lOugh she would any way for me. r so full of con- ition was wholly r's farewell as he ked, " if you had think it," said r to serve me if The Way of Yooth. 19 ■ou had the will ? Is not that the doubt in your lind?" ^ y "And if it were?" ''/ "Then indeed I do not know how to answer; but Itrange things happen there in London, and it may be that some day even I should have some power." ■ " And you would use it for me ? " ■ ^ "Could I do less on behalf of a gentleman who has fisked his mistress's favour for my poor cheeks sake ? " And she fell to laughing again, her mirth growing freater as I turned red in the face. " You mustn't lush when you come to town," she cried, "or they'll i^ake a ballad on you, and cry you in the streets for a j|[ionster." " " The oftener comes the cause, the rarer shall the feet be," said I. "The excuse is well put," she conceded. "We lould make a wit of you in town." " What do you in town? " I asked squarely, looking ler full in the eyes. "Perhaps, sometimes," she laughed, "what I have one once— and to your good knowledge— since I iame to the country." Thus she would baffle me with jesting answers as ften as I sought to find out who and what she was. lor had I better fortune with her mother, for whom I ad small liking, and who had, as it seemed, no more tor me. For she was short in her talk, anc Ho see me with her daughter. Yet she rust confess, often with Cydaria in the ne: was often with Cydaria when she did , For Barbara was gone, leaving me boi *onely, all in the mood to find comfort wll nd to see manliness in desertion ; and . j^ harm about the girl that grew on me insen! gvithout my will until I came to love, not L.. , lelieved, forgetting that Love loves not to mark his ■■Jl 30 Simon Dale. .. '1 boundaries oo strictly) but her merry temper her wit and cheerfuhicss. Moreover these thin<^s^were m , gled and sp ccd with others, more att active than a l" to unfledged youth, an air of the worlS and a Cw edge of hfe which piqued my curiosity and s^t if seems so even to my later nund as I & b" ck wi 1 bewitching incongruity on the laughing chUd'l face ndies! ""''P' ^-tr °^ ^^•'■•^°^'^- Her moods were .ndless. vying with one another in an ever undeter trmo^t'n^f ^'''' '''' ^'''' ^^ greatest charm Fo; the most part she was merry, frank mirth passin- into sly raiHery ; now and then she would turn sa "si" h cotm rv i-''^^ '°n '^''' ^ '7^^ •^'''^>^ "^ ^^- sweetTr:;;ocent country! Or agam she would show or ape an un- easy conscience, whispering, " Ah that I wor^ la . your Mistress BarbarL' " ^' The next moment she Zu^^h HfJ"^^""^' and jesting, and moSg, as though life were naught but a great many-coloured bubble, and she the brightest-tinted gleam o^Wt Are women so constant and men so forgetful that all sympathy must go from me and all esteem be or felted because, being of the age of eighteen years I vowed to live for one lady only on a" Monday and was ready for another on the Saturday ? Look^back bow your heads, and give me your haJ^ds, to k° ss or to Let not you and I inquire What has been our past desire, On what shepherds you have smiled. Or what nymphs I have beguiled ■ Leave it to the planets too What we shall hereafter do ; For the joys we now may prove. 1 ake advice of present love. Mn t^kLTl"°Vt!L"IL"^,'"^ ',° '•"* ■".■•'^f""ness; IS a little too free for one who has been ■'gr The Way of Youth. ' temper, her wit flings were min- tractive than all rid and a know]- >sity, and sat (it look back) with ling child's face for moods were n ever undcter- ist charm, p'or rth passing into turn sad, sigh- sweet innocent r or ape an un- at I were like :t moment she d mocking, as many-coloured iam on it. > forgetful that 1 esteem be for- ghteen years, I L Monday and ? Look back ; Is, to kiss or to id. 1 its fullness ; vho has been ai nicknamed a Puritan to follow him to the end Yet there ts a truth in it. Deny it, if you will. You arc snuhng, madame, while you deny. I It was a golden summer's evening when I to whom the go d^ world was all a hell, came by" ^^^^^ ^^ park of Quinton Manor, there to bid Cydaria farewell \ Mother and sisters had looked askance aJ me the • vd age gossipped, even the Vicar shook a kindly 1 ead What cared I? By heaven, why was one man a nobleman and rich, while another had no money in his purse and but one change to his back ? Was not love all in all ?-and why did Cydaria laugh at a truth so manifest? There she was under the beechtrce with her sweet face screwed up to a burlesque of grief, her httle hand lying on her hard heart as 1 ough ,t beat for me, and her eyes the playground of a thousand quick expressions. I strode up to her her name, Cydaria. It seemed that there was no more to say; yet she cried, laughing and reproachful! trib'ule ?^'' " "^ ^''""" ^^^ "'^ • ^^'''' ^ SO without my I loosed her hand and stood away from her. On Ts^aXg. "°' 'P'"^'- ^ ''^' tongue-tied, dumb '^von^'r^W^ .^"""^^ """'^'^"'S ^" London," she said, you must not come so empty of lover's baggage There ladies ask vows, and protestations, and dispair aye,^and poetry, and rhapsodies, and ' I know^not ;; Of all these I have nothing but despair," said I. 1 hen you make a sad lover," she pouted. "And l^am glad to be going where lovers are less woebe- ''You look for lovers in London?" I cried I that h^ad cned to Barbara-welL I have said my 'say on 22 Simon Dale. ;; If Heaven send them," answered Cydaria. ^ And you will forget me ? " "In truth, yes, unless you come yourself to remind me. I have no head for absent lovers " hope '^ ^ '""""^ " ^ ^"^^"' ^" ^ ^"dden flush of She did not (though it was her custom) answer in raillery ; she plucked a leaf from the tree and tore " Whv "f^''' ^' '^' ^"i'''^'^^ ^^^h a cudous glance Why, If you come, I think you'll wish that von CyiZP^''''' ^'^^^'- ^^'hile I live ! May I come, " Most certainly, sir, so soon as your wardrobe and your purse allow. Nay, don't be hulTed Come Simon, sweet Simon, are we not friends and may not friends rally one another? No, and if I clToose I will put my hand through your arm Indeed sir See"7t'-%^' gentlema^ tlL ever thrust U away See, It IS there now ! Doesn't it look well there Simon-and feel well there, Simon ? " She looked uo into my face in coaxing apology for the hurt she had given me and yet still ^^ith mockery of my trag^ ai>s "Yes, you must by all means come to LoS " she went on patting my arm. '< Is not Mistress Barbara I" London ? And I think_am I wrong Simon ? askVe'Tard^n^^"^"'^"^ ^^ ^^'^^''^^ ^- ^^^^^ th;\'LTc;i:.;'^rcrS.^' '- ^^^^^^^ ^"^>^- -^^ " No, no. Vou will come to love where thp «■;„„ oves, to know what he hides, and to drink of hl^u? I, sir, cannot interfere with your great destinv 4K " For you and for you only," I repeated. •"..'# The Way of Youth. 23 You're then to Master "Then will the King love me? " she asked. God forbid ! said I, fervently. " Oh, and why, pray, your- ' God forbid ' ? I very ready with your ' God forbids.' Am I take your love sooner than the Kincr's I Simon ? *=» ' ' ;; Mine is an honest love," said I, soberly. Oh I should doat on the country, if everybody ; didn t^ talk of his honesty there ! I have seen the King in London and he is a fine gentleman " " And you have seen the Queen also, may be ? " 'In truth, yes. Ah, I have shocked you, Simon? Well, I was wrong. Come, we're in the country, we'll be good. But when we've made a townsman of you we 11-we will be what they are in town. Moreover in ten minutes I am going home, and it would be hard if I also left you in anger. You shall have a plea- santer memory of my going than Mistress Barbara's gave you. « ^tT ^h^^^ ^ ^"^ y°" ^^en I come to town ? " Why if you will ask any gentleman you meet whether he chances to remember Cydaria, you wHl find me as soon as it is well you should " to\!nTo'2Z '° '''' "^ "^^^' ^"^ ^^'^ -- --^ved "See, it is late. I go," said she. Then suddenly «' YetTLTond" r- '* '^2°^ ^^"^^"'" ^^^ said, soSy"^ i et It IS good for you, Simon. Some day you wHl be amused at this, Simon." She spoke as thoS The were fifty years older than I. My answer lay not in k ssed her. She struggled, yet she laughed. It shot hrough my mind then that Barbara would neither have struggled nor laughed. But Cydaria laughed , . ^'^f^''^ I jet her go, and kneeling on my knee ^T^J^^'i ^^"d veiy humbly, as thouglfshe h"J been vvuac ..aruara was. If she were not-and I knew not 24 Simon Dale. MM iflthl ■:■: ■* "i what she was— yet should my love exalt her and make a throne whereon she might sit a queen. My new posture brought a sudden gravity to 'her face, and she bent over me with a smile that seemed now tender and almost sorrowful. " Poor Simon, poor Simon," she whispered. " Kiss my hand now, kiss it as though I were fit for worship It will do you no harm and— and, perhaps— perhaps I shall like to remember it." She bent down and kissed niy forehead as I knelt before her. "Poor Simon" she whispered, as her hair brushed mine. Then her hand was gradually and gently withdrawn. I looked up to see her face; her lips were smiling but there seemed a dew on her lashes. She laughed, and the laugh ended in a little gasp, as though a sob had fought with it. And she cried out loud, her voice ringing clear among the trees in the still evening air— " That ever I should be so sore a fool ! " Then she turned and left me, running --viftly over the grass, with never a look behind her. I watched till she was out of sight and then sat down on the ground, with twitching lips and wide-open, dreary ^^ i°u y°,"*h's happiness! Alas for its dismal woe ! Thus she came into my life. •m .It her and make leen. My new ler face, and she ned now tender ispered. " Kiss : fit for worship, laps — perhaps I iown and kissed "Poor Simon," line. Then her awn. I looked iling but there ughed, and the ugh a sob had loud, her voice \l evening air — A ! " ng '^'viftly over | er. I watched t down on the e-open, dreary for its dismal CHAPTER IIL The Music of the WorlcC If a philosopher, learned in the human mind as Flamsteed in the courses of the stars or the great New- I ton in the laws of external nature, were to take one possessed by a strong passion of love or a bitter grief or what overpowering emotion you will, and were to consider impartially and with cold precision what share of his time was in reality occupied by the thing which, as we are in the habit of saying, filled his thoughts or swayed his life or mastered his intellect the world might well smile (and to my thinking had better smile than weep) at the issue of the investi^ra- tion. When the first brief shock was gone, how fSw out of the solid twenty-four would be the hours claimed by the despot, however much the poets micrht call him insatiable. There is sleeping, and meat and drink the putting on and oiT of raiment and the buy. ing of It. If a man be of sound body, there is his sport ; if he be sane there are the interests of this life and provision for the next. And if he be young, there IS nature's own joy in living which with a patient scornful smile sets aside his protest that he is vowed to nriisery and makes him, wiMynilly, laugh and sing. So that, if he do not drown himself in a week and thereby baulk the enquiry, it is odds that he will compose him- self m a month and by the end of a year will carry no more marks of his misfortune than (if he be a man of good heart) an added sobriety and tenderness of spirit «il m ■ K y.'a :i 1 26 Simon Dale* trutirfh.V '''"^ ^^P^ ''^^^^'^y^ before his eyes the Dances and had prospered greatly in his tnH^^ -rL niarnage, either time'^or inclination had ^aifed hTm posit?on"?o'""/" ^^' "^"'^^ felt a favoSe'dS position towards me, and declared the intention of making me heir to a considerable portion of his for tune provided that I showed myself wor hy of su?h kindness. The proof he asked was not beyond reason hough I found cause for great lamentation in 7t?o; 1 was that, in lieu of seeking to get to Lo^idon T should go to Norwich and live therf wi h him to ^o ?ade leir'n^^'T'^"''-^^^^^"^^ "°^ engaged 'in his' ^rade, learn by observation something of the serious occupations of life and of the condition of my fellow men of wh ch things young gentlemen, said he, we^" and th.'^ff ^T '^^^y '■^"^'"^"t- I"deed they were wiser t^od°"^^'.r ^""'i'" °^ ^ ^o^'^Panion for being wiser; to do anything or know anything that miVh? redound to the benefit of man or the ho^noufof God was not the mode in those days. Nor do I say that chanS Th^'^f' 'Tl^'^^^^^'' "°'"°^ tha Ttwil change. Therefore to Norwica I v^ent. although 7. from returning, followed to its held to be one ly than my fcl- St salutary, yet rain of circum- /our of heaven of Betty Nas- ler's had some >ry of wool at e his eyes the ;ver they may md that it is a d not to think dl the distur- s trade. For d failed him, vourable dis- intention of 311 of his for- )rthy of such ■yond reason, ion in it; for London, I h him, to so- gaged in his f the serious •f my fellow- aid he, were 1 they were, on for being that might lour of God > I say that that it will ilthoufrh rc- The Music of the World. 3; luctantly,and there I stayed full three years, applying myself to the comforting of my uncle's old age, and consolmg my leisure with the diversions which that great and important city afforded, and which indeed were enough for any rational mind. But reason and youth are bad bedfellows and all the while I was like the Israelites in the wilderness ; my thoughts were set haidly To this mood I set down the fact that little ?L'f^T'^^^i Norwich lives in my memory and to that and th. r ^^'"?/''"'' ^" '^°"^^^^' '^'^ ^^- beTo rei and the time after engross my backward glances. The end came with my uncle's death, whereat I, the recipi ent of great kindness from him, sincerely grieved and that with some remorse since I had caused^im sorrow by refusing to take up his occupation as my own! pre lerring my liberty and a moderate endowment to all his fortune saddled with the condition of passing my days as a clothweaver. Had I chosen otherwii^ man^' Y^ri ."'^ f "^"'" ^^^^^^"^ ^"^ ^'^d a richer tTe ;tir of i Kl°'i'Pu"'' "?^ ''^'^^^ "«>• peace, but tlie stir of the blood, the work of the hanH ;,nrl i-hl service of the brain make a life tLt a man can look back on without shame and with delight 1 was nearing my twenty-second birthday when I re turned to Hatchstead with an air and manneTl doubt not, sadly provincial, but with alining to my pocket for whose sake many a gallant would have surrendered some of his plumes and feathers. Three thousand pounds, invested in my uncle's business and returning good and punctual profit, made of Simon Dale a oer^ ?ha7 h? hfd t^e^r^^^"^^ •" ^^^ ^^- of hfs fL'dy tnan lie had been three years ago. It was a com petence on which a gentleman co?ld live wkh dis?rt t.on and modesty, it was a step from which his foot could rise higher on life's ladder. London w.^nrnv power, all it held of promise and possibility was n?t > c ^1 28 Simon Dale* beyond the flight of my soaring mind. My sisters ex- changed sharp admonitions for admiring deference and my mother feared nothing save that the great place to which I was now surely destined might impair the homely virtues which she had instilled into me. As for the Vicar, he stroked his nose and glanced at me with an eye which spoke so plainly of Betty Nasroth that I fell to laughing heartily. Thus being in great danger of self-exaltation, I took the best medicine that I could — although by no means with intention — in waiting on my Lord Quinton, who was then residing at the Manor. Here my swelled spirit was smartly pricked and sank soon to its true proportions. I was no great man here, and although my lord received me very kindly, he had less to say on the richness of my fortune than on the faults of my manner and the rustic air of my attire. Yet he bade me go to London, since there a man, rubbing shoulders with all the world, learnt to appraise his own value and lost the ignorant conceit of himself that a village greatness is apt to breed. Somewhat crestfallen I thanked him for his kindness, and made bold to ask after Mistress Barbara. " She is well enough," he answered, smiling. " And she is become a great lady. The wits make epigrams on her, and the fools address verses to her. But she's a good girl, Simon." " Lm sure of it, my lord," I cried. " He's a bold man who would be sure of it concern- ing any one now-a-days," he said, dryly. "Yet so, thank God, it is. See, here's a copy of verses she had lately," and he flung m.e the paper. I glanced over it and saw much about "dazzling ice," " unmelting snow," " Venus," " Diana," and so forth. "It seems sad stuff, my lord," said L " Why, yes," he laughed, "but it is by a gentleman of repute. Take care you write none worse, Simon." ^j r^ The Music of the World. ag My sisters ex- deference and great place to tit impair the into me. As r^Ianced at mo Betty Nasroth Itation, I took ii by no means Quinton, who •e my swelled on to its true and although ad less to say 1 the faults of ttire. Yet he man, rubbing o appraise his eit of himself :1. Somewhat ess, and made liling. "And nake epigrams er. But she's of it concern- ly. "Yet so, verses she had glanced over it ' " unmelting h. y a gentleman orse, Simon." of waiting on Mistress "Shall I have the honour Barbara, my lord ? " I asked. "As to that, Simon, we will sec when you come. Yes, we must see what company you keep. F'or ex- ample, on whom else do you think of waiting when you are set up in London ? " He looked steadily at me, a slight frown on his brow, yet a smile, and not an unkind one, on his lips I grew hot, and knew that I grew red also. " I am acquainted with few in London, my lord " I stammered, " and with those not well." " Those not well indeed," he echoed, the pucker deepenmg and the smile vanishing. Yet the smile came agam as he rose and clapped me on the shoul- der. "You're an honest lad, Simon," he said, "even though it may have pleased God to make you a silly one. And, by heaven, who would have all lads wise? Go to London, learn to know more folk, learn to know better those whom you know. Bear yourself as a gentleman, and remember, Simon, whatsoever else the King may be, yet he is the King." Saying this with much emphasis he led me gently to the door. ^ ^ "Why did he say that about the King?" I pon- dered as I walked homeward through the park: for although what we all, even in the country, knew of the King, gave warrant enough for the words, my lord had seemed to speak them to me with some special meaning, and as though they concerned me more than most men. Yet what, if I left aside Betty's toolish talk, as my lord surely did, had I to do with tlie King, or with what he might be besides the King? About this time much stir had been aroused in the country by the dismissal from all his offices of that great Minister and accomplished writer, the Earl of Clarendon, and by the further measures which his ,'1 fjj 30 Simon Dale* enemies threatened against him. The village elders were wont to assemble on the days when the post came ni and discuss eagerly the news brought from London. The affairs of Government troubled my head very little, but in sheer idleness I used often to jom them, wondering to see them so perturbed at the happening of things which made mighty little differ- ence in our retired corner. Thus I was in the midst of them at the Kmg and Crown tavern, on the Green, two days after I had talked with my Lord Quinton. I sat with a mug of ale before me, engrossed in my own thoughts and paying little heed to what passed, when, to my amazement, the postman leaping from his horse, came straight across to me, holding out in his hand a large packet of important appearance. To receive a letter was a rare event in my life, and a rarer followed, setting the cap on my surprise. For the man, though he was fully ready to drink my health, demanded no money for the letter, saying that it came on the service of his Majesty and was not changeable. He spoke low enough, and there was a babble about, but it seemed as though the name of the King made its way through all the hubbub to the Vicar's ears ; for he rose instantly, and, stepping to my side, sat down by me, crying, — " What said he of the King, Simon?" "Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter comes to me on the King's service, and that I have nothing to pay for it," and I turned it over and over in my hands. But the inscription was plain enough, '* To Master Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, bv Hatfield." ^ By this time half the company was round us, and my Lord Clarendon well-nigh forgotten. Small things near are greater than great things afar, and at Hatchstead my affair-s were of more moment than the fall of a Chancellor or the King's choice of new Min- •"•'■«i| '■^sj The Music of the "World. 3« village elders hen the post brought from troubled my used often to turbed at the y little differ- 3 in the midst on the Green, d Quinton. I ;ed in my own passed, when, ing from his )lding out in t appearance, ly life, and a urprise. For to drink my r, saying that and was not 1 there was a the name of ubbub to the epping to my is great letter that I have ver and over (lain enough, itchstead, by 3und us, and ten. Small 1 afar, and at lent than the of new Min- isters. A cry arose that I should open my packet and disclose what it contained. " Nay," said the Vicar, with an air of importance, "it may be on a private matter that the King writes." They would have believed that of my lord at the Manor, they could not of Simon Dale. The Vicar met their laughter bravely. " But the King and Simon are to have private mat- ters between them one day," he cried, shaking his fist at the mockers, himself half in mockery. Meanwhile I opened my packet and read. To this day the amazement its contents bred in me is fresh. For the purport was that the King, remembering my father's services to the King's father (and forgetting, as it seemed, those done to General Cromwell) and be- ing informed of my own loyal disposition, courage, and good parts, had been graciously pleased to name me to a commission in his Majesty's Regiment of Life Guards, such commission being post-dated six months from the day of writing, in order that Mr. Dale should have the leisure to inform himself in his duties and fit himself for his post ; to which* end it was the King's further pleasure that Mr. Dale should present himself, bringing this same letter with him, without delay at Whitehall and there be instructed in his drill and in all other matters necessary for him to know, Thus the letter ended, with a commendation of me to the care of the Almighty. I sat gasping ; the gossips gaped round me ; the Vicar seemed stunned. At last somebody grumbled, " I do not love these Guards. What need of guard has the King except in the love of his subjects? " " So his father found, did he ? " cried the Vicar, all aflame in a moment. " The Life Guards ! " I murmured. " It is the first regiment of all in honour." "Aye, my lad," said the Vicar. "It would have I % ^1:^1 3« Simon Dale failed him and he Tc'vVn .V""'/"''''^" •' " VVords which that good man moved h^ ^P^^^o^^s snuff-box 0"t, pat to the occasion "^ ^^ '"^^^^ sympathy, held ti^eo^^ti^^^^ lord's that had at the flashed into my m"nd S "'^ ^"^"t^on so strondv Planation. If thT rwciW "1"°^^ ^° ^"d thdrtx King, it did not ie wi^th hi. "^' '^ ^^ ^^"nc! Vn tit '/> find it ; I ,,,s now of\ s hT" 'r^"^^ ^"^ officers have known what was on h- '"^^^^^ ' '"^ ^ord must when he addressed me so nn"'^ ',^ "^^ ^'^^ London know only because he had iw ."r^^i^ ' ^"^ ^^e could the matter. I spranl un and T"'^^ ^"^" ^^^^ mover n crymg,— ^ -^"^ "P and ran across to the Vicar for :pr>^^^^^y lord's Uln,n.ssl He has spokej -und^;^^;4^^->;^^r^^ was grunted and nodded obvious so soon as madcf ''at sfact on of a discovery he too, another pi„Thand JateT/^^f °"f ^--""<^^ . "I don't^now L;? T^''^^° ^^^^•'" I urged he persisted. ''' ^"' ^ ^° "^^ think it ^\% j^^^ „ Then I laurrhpd of i • * that I mocked l,lfdYsli™V'"'',''= understood well account of anything o';ll^P'=^"'-=aiiinff, everyday ■•'-•il beToTndt^te ^ri-'" -'■'' '»-'^-ve,y. -But ' paid no more heed tr, i, i from the bench, cry'„„\V^"l' "' '""£'>' "P "^Y hat °'^-h.„,.3 to Viord.t'L-- t"oMt°o"ur,:^ Iiad at the 5o strongiy d their ex- inci in the nd officers iord must n London Jie could mover in Jie Vicar, s spoken J nodded 'isc:)very ssented ; tuJantly. y lord," 5d well 'eryday ibJe by He had ive my »y hat :e and It for The Music of the World. ^3 London that day and would be rjone if I did not hasten. Lnrr^V^^'f r- ^^I^^^^^, ^he Vicar, "you will do no harm by tel.ing him. He will wonder as much as Laughing again, I ran off and left the company crowding to a man round the stubborn Vicar. It was well mdeed that I did not linger, for, having come to the Manor at my best speed, I found my loFd's coach already at the door and himself in cloak and hat about to step into It. But he waited to hear my breathless story, and, when I came to the pith of it, snatched my letter .rom my hand and read it eagerly. At first I thought he ^yas playing a part and meant only to deny his kindness or delay the confession of it. His manner soon undeceived me ; he was in truth amazed, as the Vicar had predicted, but more than that, he was. If I read his face aright, sorely displeased also ; tor a heavy frown gathered on his brow and he walked with me in utter silence the better half of the lenffth of the terrace. '=' ^ "I have nothing to do with it," he said, bitterly. 1 and my family have done the King and hio too much service to have the giving away of favours. Kings do not love their creditors ; no, nor pay them." iiut my lord, I can think of no other friend who would have such power." "Can't you?" he asked, stopping and laying his hand on my shoulder. " May be, Simon, you don't understand how power is come by in these days nor what are the titles to the King's confidence." His words and manner dashed my new pride and I suppose my face grew glum, for he went on more gently,— ^x/u^^^' ^^^,' ^^"^^ ^^ comes, take it without question. Whatever the source of it, your own conduct may make it an honour." ^ Tii 34 Simon Dale. =1 .d .> ?'ri ' ^°"^^ "°^ ^^ content with that. Ihe letter says," I remarked, "that the King is mindful of my father's services." ^ .J.n^}'''^ tliought that tlie age of miracles was past," smjled my lord. '< Perliaps it is not, Simon." ^ Ihen if It be not for my father's sake nor for yours, my lord, I am at a loss," and I stuffed the letter into my pocket very peevishly. "I must be on my way," said my lord, turning towards the coach. '< Let me hear from you ^vhen you come, Simon, and I suppose you will come soon now. Vou will f^nd me at my house in Southampton Square, and my lady will be glad of your company." ^ ' H AA^^ ^vi'"/"' ^''' ^'^''^^^y' b"t "ly face was still tW ;n' ,,^^,^^^^«^.e"^<^d to suspect and hint at some taint in the fountain of honour that had so unex- pectedly flowed forth. '' I can't tell what to make of it," I cried He stopped again, as he was about to set his foot squaieV ^^ '''''^'' ''""^ ^"''"''^' ^""'"'^ ""^ "There's no other friend at all in London, Simon? " ml ""^^'t .1 ^''"" ^ ^'^'^ '■^'^' ^^ h^ ^tood watching me. Is there not one other ? " I collected myself as w.U as I could and answered,— une that would give me a commission in the Life M "^f' ""/ °'^ • ^"^ I l^"^?I^ed in scorn. My lord shrugged his shoulders and mounted into the coach. I closed the door behind him, and stood waiting his reply. He leant forward and spoke across me to the lackey behind, saying, " Go on, go on." VVJiat do you mean, my lord?" I cried He smiled but did not speak. The coach began to move ; I had to walk to keep my place, soon I should nave to run. "My lord," I cried, "how could she ? " My lord took out his snuff-hnv nnd -^^n-r? -^ ^mmmmimm'' "^ The Music of the World. 35 the King is s was past," n. ake nor for stuffed the rd, turning u when you 3 soon now. ton Square, • ce was still int at some i so unex- et his foot facing me I, Simon? " i watching iswered, — n the Life 1. untcd into and stood oke across ) on. ried. He began to 1 I should •' Nay, I cannot tell how," said he, as he carried his thumb to his nose. •' My lord," I cried, running now, " do you know who Cydaria is? " My lord looked at me, as I ran panting. Soon I should have to give in, for the horses made merry play down the avenue. He seemed to wait for the last moment of my endurance before he answered. Then waving his hand at the window he said, "All London knows." And with that he shut the window and I fell back breathless, amazed, and miserably chagrined. For he had told me nothing of all that 1 desired to know, and what he had told me did no more than inflame my curiosity most unbearably. Yet if it were true, this mysterious lady, known to all London, had remembered Simon Dale ! A man of seventy would have been moved by such a thi.ig; what wonder *' a boy of twenty-two should run half mad with it .'' Yet, strange to say, it seemed to the Vicar's mind no more unlikely and infinitely more pleasant that the King's favour should be bound up with the lady we had called Cydaria than that it should be the plain fruit of my lord's friendly offices. Presently his talk infected me with something of the same spirit, and we fell to speculating on the identity of this lady, supposing in our innocence that she must be of very exalted rank and noble station if indeed all London knew her and she had a voice in the appointment of gentlemen to bear his Majesty's Commission. It was but a step further to discern for me a most notable career, wherein the prophecy of Betty Nasroth should find fulfilment and prove the link that bound together a chain of strange fortune and high achievement. Thus our evening wore away and with it my vexation. Now I was all eager to be gone, to set my hand to my work, to try Fate's promises, and to learn that piece 36 Simon Dale. of knowledge which all London had f 1,« . her whom we called Cydaria ^"^^^^'^ *^"e name of above fortune's lavoir or a^w'^.'' " '^^''^ ^^^ thfngs To those Clin- Simon ?L "^ "' ""' ^ S^eat lady's ^y -edit, whS'taiglu you.''"^'" "'"^^'^ ^^^^ -"^^or but w!trerr;nrihouihtr'^"l't?'^.'''^'"r^^^^'^^"t, " always bear myself as bec^m.; ^'"^'^^'.s'^' that I shall " And a Christian '' h^Tfi ^ gentleman." "Ave sir pn^i X ^^.^^^ed, mildly, ^ye, sir, and a Christian," I agreed r^.^ii Cjo your way" he <^d , -.r , .^^°"y ^"ouffh. preach to ears thai are fn f ' '^^ ^ ^'"^^ ^'^^le. " f sounds, of strlins'mo" at traar'/:,^^^^ ^^ ^^^^eJ melodies. Therefore now v^ "'°'^ ^Wnrmg know that if ..^!. ?? ^^^ cannot isten • nav f that some'dayL^if i^ be G^od' "^-^l^* ^^^^ '^ -"/ be that I feebly 'strike ma'; found bu^ l^V'^ ^^""^^^ you must hear, however sweeZ th^ ''^?''' '^ ^^^t charms your senses. AiTd ,f voX^^'''^^*^^^'' "^"^^c if you hear, heed." ^ " ^'^''^' S""«»» heed ; Thus, with his blessing T ^^r^ u- ^^ to the door, wrth a smil l'-""'. "^ ^o\\o^,ed eyes anxiety. I'v^ent on mvL''" ^" ^'P^' ^^t in his For my ears werefndeed filled ^J:^^!?^^""^"'^ ''^'^' enchanting music. ^'^^ '^^' strange and rue name of iudden pen- i are things reat lady's, ike and for ^ledgment, ' liat I shall ly enough, smile. " I nd louder "e alluring n: nay, I it may be ^le strings ir, so that 'er music ^n, heed ; followed ut in his ing back, mge and CHAPTER IV. Cydaria Revealed. There mounted on the coach at Hertford (for at last I am fairly on my way and may boast that I have made short work of my farewells) a gentleman appar- ently about thirty years of age, tall, well proportioned, and with a thm face, clean-cut and high-featured. He was attended by a servant whom he called Robert, a stout ruddy fellow, who was very jovial with every post-boy and ostler on the road. The gentleman, being placed next to me by the chance of our billets,' lost no time in opening the conversation, a step which my rustic backwardness would long have delayed. He invited my confidence by a free disposal of his own, informing me that he was attached to the house- hold of Lord Arlington, and was returning to London on his lordship's summons. For since his patron had been called to the place of Secretary of State, he, Mr. Christopher Darrell (such was his name), was likely to be employed by him in matters of trust, and thus fill a position which I must perceive to be of some im- portance. All this was poured forth with wonderful candour and geniality, and I, in response, opened to him my fortunes and prospects, keeping back nothincr save the mention of Cydaria. Mr. Darrell was, or af^ fected to be, astonished to learn that I was a strancrer to London— my air smacked of the Mall and of'lio other spot in the world, he swore most politely— but made haste to offer me his services, proposing that, ss Simon Dale, Pany. I accepted his nL ^"^ ^^"^^ pleasant com King and the Duke ofM.f ^^^\^0"sehoJds of the eans who was soon ?o fome'"J' 'p' ?"^^^^^ of Or! (on what business he dki not V England, they said althougl. now with cattlo" of T^ ' "'^' ^' ^P°k-> ^nown but of Jess high renn;.?. ^ ■'?"^ "° less well cal ed him back by asking wL^^^' u^ Pleased. But I >^^th one of the Duchess"? Sf'' ^^ ^^^''^ acquainted bara Quinton. ^'' ' ^^^^^^^ "'-^nied Mistress Bar "Surely," he said " Th..« • Court, and very few so honest '' '' "° ^''''' ^^^y at i hurried to let htm ^^^^' , and Iwereoldfriendr Heru^tn ^"'^^^^ Barbara . If you'd be more vo,, ri ? , '^ ''^ ''^ answered — I 'o'ctll tZlrl':^ 'i'^iff-'th pride, and with so engrossed me that soon T hi V?f "y"'™ fortunes takmg my courage in both Ln?""" ''^* *° them, and compa,fion if heid chanc 'd "verTo',"''""';" ^'^^my' ,ten h_e g.., , .,,„ ^„^„ to^rt^r^'bra^li^r^t' a bit of'^ Se. ' " wra7d'id"'"' ^ ''""'' ^-d perhaps «r?-a Ranter, or a Pap^t,^. y°" ^°"«ive me^ to be i-ardon, pardon, if you finri „„ •^ nnd offence in my ques- ill Cydaria Revealed. that night, > we should -nt Garden, asant corn- Then he olds of the ^ess of Or- . they said he spoke, > less well lightly to I J others, •d. But I cquainted tress Bar- Barbara wered, — >e. It is suitors, : for her Temple nd with 'ortunes -m,and, ask my -ydaria, g care- 39 erhaps to be, ques- tion," he answered, laughing. " There are many men who are one or the other, you know." " The country has learnt that to its sorrow," said I sturdily. ' " Aye," he said, in a dreamy way, " and may be will learn it again." And without more he fell to describ- ing the famous regiment to which I was to beloncr adding at the end, — *" "And if you like a brawl, the 'prentices in the City will always find one for a gentleman of the King's Guards. Take a companion or two with you when you walk ast of Temple Bar. By the uay, sir, if the que.c' . may be pardoned, how came you by your con on? Forweknowthat merit, standing alone, stands generally naked also." I was much inclined to tell him all the story, but a shamefacedness came over me. I did not know then how many owed all their advancement to a woman's mfluence, and my manly pride disdained to own the obligation. I put him off by a story of a friend who wished to remain unnamed, and, after the feint of some indifferent talk, seized the chance of a short silence to ask him my great question. " Pray, sir, have you ever heard of a lady who croes sometimes by the name of Cydaria?" said I. I fear my cheek flushed a little, do what I could to check such an exhibition of rawness. "Cydaria? Where have I heard that name? No, I know nobody— and yet " He paused ; then, clapping his hand on his thigh, cried, " By my faith, yes • I was sure I had heard it. It is a name from a play ; from— from the ' Indian Emperor.' I think your lady must have been masquerading." "I thought as much," I nodded, concealing my disappointment. He looked at me a moment with some curiosity, but did not press me further ; and, since we had begun to ' f >^ 49 Sfmon Dale. alW TtoTAlTnZ'^V''^ "'■'"'' too f"" to profit in describ?„Vwhat evervTJ ^^"^ '' ''"'^^ for himself-his first si4,f l, J "" "" femember world, with its endless1u>,,=I ">^ /■'''atest city in tlie It made me still'nd sii ^al wrc1a?re"T"f "'"P'!,' I forgot my companion until I chancpH t^f >?^' ^"'' h.m.and found M amused glance ilxed°o"'."''' But as we reached thp r,f, t l °" "^ face. where the fire had been fnrf 1, 'l!*^''" '.o Po'"t out ing progressed. AgaTn Cde^aL ' ',''^ "'■ '^^"'^^■ on me. ^ wonder and anticipation grew ma7;hCcr,;t,et'thekeytoft"" '^^^^^-house for a that'i' t":\1ogeJh:r";n' ZvlT "^ " ^PPo-d Norwich if it hnd n f ""''cked cub. My stay in rubbed off' so^elf the Xf'^""" ." ^ondo^ner, 112 believe that my ne?v friend w^^ "J '?" ""=' ^"^ ' idle compliment 'vhen he Z "°} 'P^^'^'"^ "^olly in hold my own very we"l Th/^? i""^ ">" ' ^''ould not to show anyUnd^r St /"-'rrr" ''^■■"' ™^ ceive all that chaiTceH /c ![ u^'^'"' ''^'''' ^ut to re- dinary thing in the torW^n^.t" T"' ">•= ""^t or. hallmark of your oulh I ' T V^!f' ■'''^yond all, is the was so far firto shnw^'n, f"* •" "'='" "'=" that I plunged into the mU,r f /h ""'• """ ' "^^ to be ness which startled Ik u ?'"'^="" with a sudden. me. For the first beiin3 i" """ "»' displease Darren ; for what o&f 'leTf l''"^', '° M^' ' WriL^-e-aXed'^r" °' '"-°- P-ient.^"' ' ''"'■ and I wL' sTa^nl^Tnt "okin" out oftl'"" °"'^^'-^- mrtS\\^V^^/;^,?:?™"fpe^^-e"rsre^ and^dvanced to7artml~J"''' an eager air. JJcar SI,, I hope your ^vardrobe is i„ order, for I Cydaria Revealed. 4, nSh'tTn!;"^ ^"^ '""^""."I "^y ^^^^ forthwith, and to- wfich T h.'7 ^°" ^7'^ ^" ^° ^" entertainment for which I have received an invitation. I am most anx lous for you to accompany me as we shall m^et many whom you should know." ^ I was, of course, full of excuses, but he would admit make, i^or I had provided myself with a neat and proper suit, of which I was very far from ashamed and which when assumed by me and set off with a new ^:;t^^:^-^''-^' 'y M^. Darren to b: "anlTh^f T """^^''"^ H".^ ^ handsome cane," said he, cha 1 and M '^" "".^'"^ P*"^^^^^- Come, let us cal cha rs and be gone, for it grows late already." , Our host that evening was Mr. Jermyn, a gentleman in great repute at Court, and he enterta ned us most mTa wdci^mf ?' ^-^^pring Garden, accord^nTto me a welcome of especial courtesy, that I mio-ht be a'- my ease and feel no stranger among the company ^he^rtfl T-w ^'' ^'^' ^""^' ^^''^^^ being on my o her side whilst opposite to me sat my lord the Earl fl^'^u''''^' a fine-looking man of thirty or a year or two above Among the guests Mr. Darrell Ldicated several whose names were known to me, such as the S"l^r"''^.'^^^h^^t^^ -nd the French Ambassador M. de Cominges, a very stately gentleman These however, being at the other end oi theTabk I made hstenT'^'lV'' '"'^ '^'"^ ^"^ contented myVlf with istening to the conversation of my neighbours put tmg in a word where I seemed able wiTprrprfetv and without displaying an ignorance of whiTTwas whL'Tl'^'^ It seemed to me that Lord Carford to talked to""^ "^' ^T ^"'"^^">' presented (indeed aU talked to one another without ceremonv\ received what I said with more than s-.fPci-nt ^^ "^---r ^ distance, but on Darrell whispedngL;^o^u;ousI;^l"a? 4a Simon Dale* m m he was a great lord and held himself even greater than wouldVer'^ '''I'' °' \'' ^^^'"^^"^ ^y best -venge uould be to give him a lesson in courtesy. Thus all went u. 11 tm wehad finished eating anfsat sh^pinL rj:"?'--J\'' "^y L^'"^' ^'^^f^rd, being a littl7o^veS heated with what he had drunk, be.cra^ suddenly to nveigh aga.ist the King with remarkable warmth and nn'w ' ""^ ^^'^ '^ '"""^^"^ ^^^^^"t that he smarted under some recent grievance. The raillery of our host, not too nice or delicate, soon spurred him to a discovery of his complaint. He asked nothing better than to be urged to a disclosure. *' Neither rank, nor friendship, nor service " he said LTou"rlom%he'K'-"'^^^ ^^^^ -"'-t H.Tk fT , ?^",'^' ^^^ S°^^ to the women ; they have but to ask to have. I prayed the King ti give 'Tat wn! T"'u ^^ "^^"" ^ P^^^'^ "^ the Lifl Gufrds .hat .^as to be vacant, and he-by Heaven he promised Then comes Nell, and Nell wants it for a friend and Nell has it for a friend-and I go empty ' ^ I had started when he spoke of the Life Guards, and sat now in a state of great disturbance. Darrell also effort ?o'fff^i '""^^ very uneasy and made a hasty effort to alter the coui^e of the conversation ; but Mn Jermyn would noL have it. T\yr"}^^'^AlMK^^PP>'~t^^e new happy man, that is Mistress Nell's friend ? " he asked, smelling. "Some clod from the country," returned the Earl: his name, they say, is Dale." I felt my heart beating, but I trust that I looked cool enough as I leant across and said,— " Your lordship is misinformed. I have the best of reasons for saying so." =fJl'^oV?!u"^ ""^y ^^ good, sir," he retorted, with a stare, " but they are not evident." Kinlw !^^r^^ J^"'^ "^.""^^ *° ^ commission in the Kings Life Guards, and my name is Dale," said I, Cydatia Revealed. 43 restraining myself to a show of composure, for I felt Darrell's hand on my arm. "By my faith then, you're the happy man," sneered Carford ; " I congratulate you on your- " '' Stay, stay, Carford," interposed Mr. Jermyn. . —on your— godmother," said Carford. •lou re misinformed, my lord," I repeated fiercely, although by now a great fear had come upon me I knew whom they meant by " Nell." "By God, sir, I'm not misinformed," said he. By God, my lord," said I— though I had not been vvont to swear-^' By God. my lord, you are." r..;."' ''n '.^^^^ ^^"^ T'^" "? '''"Se- ; a silence fell on the party, all turnmg from their taik to listen to us. Car- h7.1h ^'^T '^"^ "^^'^^ ^ save him the lie so directly, and the more fiercely because, to my shame and wonder, I had begun to suspect that what he said was no he But I followed up the attack briskly. Therefore, my lord." I said, - I will beg of you to ^confess your error, and withdraw what you have He burst into a laugh. "If I weren't ashamed to take a favour from such a hand, I wouldn t be ashamed to own it," said he All ""T ^'°"i my seat and bowed to him gravely. All understood my meaning, but he, choosing to treat me with insolence, did not rise nor return my salute, but sat where he was, smiling scornfully / T " - M/l^'^.u^^^-n^^""? '^'^' '^ '^^"^^' "^y ^ord," said ih. n.^f^ u- u ,!^'i^ quicken your wits," and I flung ithH P- Tw^'^^^T^ ^''" brought to me after meat ind !n 'a^ \ftl ^^ 'P'^^S "P ^"^^% ^"°"gh then, and so did all the company. Darrell caught me b^ fd'/'"? t,"^^'V "^' \''- J"^"^y^ wasb^Carford's hvfL ^ardly knew what passed, being much upset cVtrA^ a'^TZ''^' ^^"^ y^^' "'"^^ ^y ^^'^ i^^a that Carford s words had put in my head. I saw Jermyn m 44 Simon Dale* liii come forward, and Darrell, loosing my arm, went and spoke to him. Lord Carford resumed his seat; I leant against the back of my chair and waited. Dar- rell was not long in returning to me. u TM?^°"'^ ^^^^ ^*^ home," he said, in a low voice. 1 11 arrange everything. You must meet to-morrow morning." I nodded my head ; I had grown cool and collected now. Bowing slightly to Carford, and low to my host and the company, I turned to the door. As I passed through it, I heard the talk break out again behind me. I got into my chair, which was waiting, and was carried back to my in in a half-mazed state. I gave little thought to the quarrel or to the meeting that awaited me. My mind was engrossed with the revela- tion to which I had listened. I doubted it still ; nay, I would not believe it. Yet whence came the story unless it were true ? And it seemed to fit most aptly and most lamentably with what had befallen me, and to throw light on what had been a puzzle. It was hard on four years since I had parted from Cydaria; but that night I felt that, if the thing were true, I should receive Carford's point in my heart without a pang. Being, as may be supposed, little inclined for sleep, I turned into the public-room of the inn and called for a bottle of wine. The room was empty save for a lanky fellow, very plainly dressed, who sat at the table reading a book. He was drinking nothing, and when —my wine having been brought— I called in courtesy for a second glass and invited him to join me, he shook his head sourly. Yet presently he closed his book, which I now perceived to be a Bible, and fixed an earnest gaze on me. He was a strange looking fellow ; his face was very thin and long, and his hair (for he wore his own and no wig) hung straigh: from the crown of his head in stiff wisps. I set him down N, - '^rja -^ Cydaria Revealed. 45 as a Ranter, and was in no way surprised when he began to inveigh against the evils of the times, and to prophesy the judgment of God on the sins of the city. " Pestilence hath come and fire hath come," he cried. "Yet wickedness is not put away, and lewdness vaunt- eth herself, and the long-suffering of God is abused." All this seeming to mc very tedious, I sipped my wine and made no answer. I had enough to think of, and was content to let the sinners of the city alone. "The foul superstition of Papacy raises its head again, he went on, "and godly men are persecuted." "Those same godly men," said I, "have had their turn before now, sir. To many it seems as if they were only receiving whac they gave." For the fellow had roused me to some little temper by his wearisome cursing. " But the Time of the Lord is at hand," he pursued, "and all men shall see the working of His wrath. Aye, it shall be seen even in palaces." "If I were you, sir," said I, drylv, " I would not talk thus before strangers. There might be danger in 1 L« He scanned my face closely for a few moments; then, leaning across towards me, he said earnestly, ' "You are young, and you look honest. Be warned m time ; f^ght on the Lord's side, and not among His enemies. Verily the time cometh." I had met many of these mad fellows, for the country was full of them, some being disbanded soldiers of the Commonwealth, some ministers who had lost their benefices ; but this fellow seemed more crazy than any I had seen, though, indeed, I must confess there was a full measure of truth, if not of charity, in the de- scription of the King's Court on which he presently launched himself with great vigour of declamation and an intense, although ridiculous, exhibition of piety. " You may be very right, sir " ^ 46 Simon Dale* h* n.i " My name is Phineas Tate." " You may be very right, friend Phineas," said I, yawning, " but I can't alter all this. Go and preach to the King." " The King shall be preached to in words that he must hear," he retorted, with a frown, "but the time is not yet." " The time now is to seek our beds," said I, smiling. " Do you lodge here ? " " For this night I lie here. To-morrow I preach to this city." " Then I fear you are likely to lie in a less comfort- able place to-morrow." And, bidding him good-night, I turned to go. But he sprang after me, crying " Remember, the time is short," and I doubt whether I should have got rid of him had not Darrell at that moment entered the room. To my surprise, the two see.ned to know one another, for Darrell broke into a scornful laugh, exclaiming, — " Again, Master Tate ! What, haven't you left this accursed city to its fate yet?" " It awaits its fate," answered the Ranter, sternly, " even as those of your superstition wait theirs." " My superstition must look out for itself," said Darrell, with a shrug ; and, seeing that I was puzzled, he added, " Mr. Tate is not pleased with me because I am of the old religion." " Indeed? " I cried. ** I didn't know you were a — of the old Church." For I remembered with con- fusion a careless remark that I had let fall as we journeyed together. " Yes," said he, simply. " Yes ! " cried Tate. '* You — and your master also, is he not ? " Darrell's face grew stern and cold. " I would have you careful, sir, when you touch on my Lord Arlington's name," he said. ' " You know Cydaria Revealed. 47 well that he is not of the Roman faith, but is a con- vinced adherent of the Church of this country/' "Is he so?" asked Tate, with an undisguised sneer. "Come, enough!" cried Darrel!. in sudden anger. " I have much to say to my friend, and shall be glad to be left alone with him." Tate made no objection to leaving us, and, gather- mg up his Bible, went out, scowling. "A pestilcn. fellow," said Darrell. "He'll find himself laid by the heels before long. Well, I have settled your affair with my Lord Carford." But my affair with Carford was not what I wanted to hear about. I came to him as he sat down at the table, and, laying my hand on his shoulder, asked simply, — "Is it true?" He looked up at me with great kindness, and an- swered gently, — ''It is true. I guessed it as soon as you spoke of Cydaria. For Cydaria was the part in which she first gained the favour of the town, and that, taken with your description of her, gave me no room for doubt. Yet I hoped that it might not be as I feared, or at least that the thing could be hidden. It seems, though, that the saucy wench has made no secret of it. Thus you are landed in this quarrel, and with a good swords- man. *| I care nothing for the quarrel—" I began. "Nay, but it is worse than you think. For Lord Carford is the gentleman of whom I spoke, when I ^i 1°^ ^'^^^ Mistress Quinton had a noble suitor. And he is high in her favour and higher yet in her father's. A quarrel with him, and on such a cause, will do you no good in Lord Quinton's eyes." Indeed it seemed as though all the Furies had com- bined to vex me. Yet still my desire was to learn of 4« Simon Dale. iini Cydaria, for oven now I could hardly believe what Darrell told me. Sitting down by him I listened while he related to me what he knew of her ; it was little more than the mentioning of her true name told me, a name familiar, alas, through all the country sung in ballads, bandied to and fro in talk, dragged even into high disputes that touched the nation's for- tunes ; for in those strange days, when the world seemed a very devil's comedy, great countries, aye, and Holy Churches, fought behind the mask of an actress s face or chose a fair lady for their champion. Tu Pu^ V'"^^*-^"^ ^^^^t ^^'^ ^'"'J sanctified the means; they had great need of that final justification. Cas- tlemaine and Nell Gwyn-had we not all read and heard and gossipped of them ? Our own Vicar had spoken to me of Nell and would not speak too harshly, for Nell was Protestant. Yes, Nell, so please you, was Protestant. And other grave divines for- gave her half her sins because she flouted most openly and with pert wit the other lady who was suspected of an inclination towards Rome and an intention to charm the King into the True Church's bosom ? I also could have forgiven her much; for, saving my good Darrea s presence, I hated a Papist worse than any man. saving a Ranter. Yes, I would have for- given her all, and applauded her pretty face and laughed at her pretty ways. I had Looked to do as much when I came to town, being, I must confess, as little straight-laced as most young men. But I had not jIBR^ An old semeani Zr r , ?■ ^' ™^ g° untouched. I was not my lord's eoual inH i =^f •? J °''*' ''"' good luck and his fury^hatTcame off n "" '° ^y the event proved. For he made 4 ° ""^"■'"•se than petuosity, Ld from berinning to enToT thf'^'-™; was wholly concerned il. defL'd ngmys: If •'' li^^^L^ch wh1le^feX^^or'"my^^,!?t^rt re7,-r "-' a l^k?'?he'„'Y^'."°T'''''" ''"■'"^P^'-^'' t°l>™ with d Minxe, tiien 1 turned verv sirk- anM +u« / started to go round and rounlme Tor someSute^ I knew nothing more, but when I revived the Tur^eln ^:^^ryo"od''^oti,eTirarou:'f,^,r ''"-^^^^^ My legs shook un-dtme'and ^1:3'":^^, Xe fn^tLT""";' ' '"' ""'"■ •»" I w«sTe,yVap ," eel ng that my honour was safe and that I had been as it" suigeon s leave to carry me off to breal-fncf -ru that my late enemy proposed to be of thi .? /^ g"aLTIerpVa°aVr;l^'^'^-^^ ^l" V'-- - s very pleasantly, Mr. Jermyn who (alfhough a I am Forbidden to Forget, 53 small man and not, in my opinion, well-shaped) might be seen to hold himself in good esteem, recounting to us his adventures in love and his exploits on the field of honour. Meanwhile Lord Carford treated me with distinguished courtesy and I was at a loss to under- stand his changed humour until it appeared that Darrell had acquainted him with my resolution to surrender the commission that the King had bestowed on me. As we grew more free with one another his lordship referred plainly to the matter, declaring that my conduct showed the nicest honour and praying me to* allow his own surgeon to visit me every day until my wound should be fully cured. His marked polite- ness and the friendliness of the others put me in better humour than I had been since the discovery of the evening before, and when our meal was ended about eleven o'clock, I was - oU-nigh reconciled to life again. Yet it was not long before Carford and I were again good enemies, and crossed swords with no less zest al- though on a different field. I had been advised by Darrell to return at once to my'inn, and there rest quietly until evening, leaving my journey to Whitehall for the next day, lest too much exertion should induce a fever in me; and in obedience to his counsel I began to walk gently along Drury Lane on my way back to Covent Garden. My Lord Carford and Mr. Jermyn had gone off to a cock- fight, where the King was to be, while Darrell had to wait upon the Secretary at his offices ; therefore I was alone, and, going easily, found fully enough to occupy my attention in the business and incredible stir of the town. I thought then and think still that nowhere in the world is there such a place for an idle man as Lon- don. Where else has he spread for him so continual a banquet of contemplation ? where else are such come- dies played every hour for his eyes' delight ? It is well enough to look at a running river, or to gaze at such 54 Simon Dale* |:i: to a young man a great city is queen of all. ^ ^ ' now .i 'r\' '^^'"'^"^S as I walked along-or so I think youth ft is ^".1 ''^'' '^'''^'' ^^'- ^" writing o his fransfe to h^t inl7 ""'" '" ^^ ^"'"^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ "« ters vvhirh ; ^ "^^^ P^S^ '^'"^ °f the paler charac- ZZ T""^ "'■■• ^^ "y meditations wlfatth^v "f t ^rowd^ iTth 'f ''"'^ ■•"tenupted by the sigh? tavern H It ^^"^ "■=="■ '° '^e CocI< and Pie tavern. Here iifty or sixty men and -vomen decent wire gaThir^d i^/""?"' ""T'-gi*- -d "uchnl" were gathered in a circle round a man .iio was Dour " hemence" H^a':"" d ^""'°" "'"> g-^t'eal'and c ^::5- hief ti^dTo" a-rSnlnrwhtn "Ll rr^a-n-e-tfi^u-n'm-d',^^^^^^^^ rault was not to He at- Mr t^^.^' j JL' ^ plunged sparing nelrherlre'^t^oTlmnTihe^Cou'r? dealt fril'' •'° "*' °"'"'y J'^"'=; 'f Castlemahie (he dealt freely m names, and most sparingly in titles of courtesy) were what he roundly said she w v ch of ini.urt^y?:ni°f st^^ Whr^rras^l^^d t I am Forbidden to Forget. 55 thus treated. Strange to say, something of the same effect seemed to be produced on his other hearers. Hitherto they had listened with good-natured toler- ance, winking at one another, laughing v/hen the preacher's finger* pointed at a neighbour, shrugging comfortable shoulders when it turned against them- selves. They are long suffering under abuse, the folk of London; you may say much what you will, pro- vided you allow them to do what they will, and they support the imputation of unrighteousness with mar- vellous composure, as long as no marT takcj it in hand to force them to righteousness. As they are now, they were then, though many changes have passed over the country and the times ; so will they be, although more transformations come. But, as I say, this last name stirred the group to a new mood. Friend Phineas perceived the effect that he had made, but set a wrong meaning on it. Taking it as ground for encouragement, he loosed his tongue yet more outrageously, and so battered the unhappy subject of his censures 'at my ears tingled, and sud- denly I strode quickly up to the group, intent on silencing him ; but a great brawny porter, with a dirty red face, was beforehand with me. Elbowing his way irresistibly through the ranks, he set himself squarely before Phineas, and, wagging his head significantly enough, growled Tit, — " Say what you will of Castlemaine and the rest, Master Ranter, but keep your tongue off Nelly." A murmur of applause ran round. They knew Nelly ; here in the Lane was her kingdom. " Let Nelly alone," said the porter, " if you value whole bones, master." Phineas was no coward, and threats served only to fan the flame of his zeal. I had started to stop his mouth; it seemed likely that I must employ myself in saving his head. His lean fram.e would crack and S6 Simon Dale* I 'A '1 1 fwu" *^^ grasp of his mighty assailar- ^.^ t oth that the fool should come to horm ''.f t k '^^^ to push my way throurh towards Th^ '''^^!; arrived just as Phineas, havinLThot a mo.r''"'- '"1 dart, was about to pay for Mff. I f'^f^ P^"''^t"i blow from theporti:?Z^ir ^^^^^^"t^^^tf lows arm as he raised it anH l. . ^ caugn., tne fei- -c. growlin,, "Arey^^i^[;t^^-^^ ^'^^^^^^ - . r'^^ V. / ansvered. ''But you'd kill him man " Let .r-u heed what he says then. kTiI ^itm ' Aye -an:., spare iiim readily ' " "^ ' w-^ n^'"'''" ^"^"'^^^ awkward enough, for the feelino- voJncc'^A''"^',""^ i ^""^^ ^° mi', to hinder any violtnce. A girl m the crowd remir-ied me o^ ^l savfnr^T' '""^^J"^ my wounded arm lightly a^^ saying Are you hungry for more fighti.ig, sir?^' heed";L^Tet;r?>^^'^- " ^^^ ^- ^ W Who ^ J^nend Phineas did not take my defence in good Biblf ^'^"^J'ri.^^'''^'1!''^^^*'"^^'^^ h^s^st on his . JBiDJe. You 11 know who was mad, when vou Ho hovvlmg m hell fire. And with you thrt—'' And on he went again at poor Nell. ^""^ The great porter could endure no more With a seemingly gentle motion of his hand he hrust me Si wh^o f ^"^.^' 5:".'° '^' ^°^°"^ ^f ^ buxom flowTr! fed Trm; f ^^"^ boisterously, wound a pair of sturdy red arms round me; then he stepped forward an fZ^lf^J"'"' by the scruff of the neck, shook him as a dog shakes a rat To what more vioknce he woufd have proceeded, I do not know; for f " 'enly from above us, out of a window of the Cock ^ Pie^ cam^ a voice which sent a stir through ir- ve' . ' Uood perie, good people," said > oice "what m the Lane. Pray go and work, or if -■ . ,Ve no work. :»,%51 I am Forbidden to Forget. 57 go and drink. Here are the means," and a shower of small corns came flying down on our heads, causing an immediate wild scramble. My flower-girl loosed me that she might take her part in this fray ; the porter stood motionless, still holding poor Phineas, limp and lank, in his hand ; and I turned my eyes upwards to the window of the Cock and Pie. I looked up and I saw her. Her sunny brown Lair ^ was about her shoulders, her knuckles rubbed her sleepy eyes to brightness, and a loose white bodice none too high nor too carefully buttoned about the neck, showed that her dressing was not done. Indeed she made a pretty picture, as she leant out, laughing: softly, and now shading her face from the sun with one hand, while she raised the other in mocking re- proof of the preacher. " Fie, sir, fie," she said. " Why fall on a poor girl who earns an honest living, gives to the needy, and is. withal a good Protestant ? " Then she called to the porter: "Let him go with what life you've left ia him. Let him go. " You heard what he said of you—" began the fef. low, sullenly. "Aye, I hear what everybody says of me," she an- swered, carelessly. " Let him go." The porter sulkily released his prey, and Phineas, set free, began to gasp and shake himself. Another coin whistled down to the porter, who, picking it up, shambled off with a last oath of warning to his enemy! Ihen and then only did she look at me, who had never ceased to look at her. When she saw me her smile grew broader, and her eyes twinkled in surprise and delight. ^ u ":^ ^^P?^ morning!" she said, clasping her little hands. Ah, a happy morning! Why, 'tis Simon, my Simon, my little Simon from the countrv. Come up to me, Simon. No, no, your pardon ; 'I'll come 5« Simon Dale* I H w Sm ■ I '■ W A down to you, Simon. In the parlour, in the parlour. Quick! I'll be down in an instant." The vision vanished, but my gaze dwelt on the win- dow where it had been, and I needed Phineas Tate's harsh voice to rouse nic from my stupor. " Who is the woman ? " he demanded. " Why— why— Mistress Gwyn herself?" I stam- mered. *' Herself— the woman herself.?" he asked, eagerly. Then he suddenly drew himself up, and, baring his head, said solemnly, "Thanks be to G.jcM thanks be to God, for it may be His will that this brand should be plucked from the burning." And before I could speak or attempt to hinder him he stepped swiftly across the pathway and entered the tavern. I, seeing nothing else that I could do, followed him straightway and as fast as I could. I was in a maze of feeling. The night before I had reasoned with myself and schooled my wayward pas- sion to a resolve neither to see nor to spea'c with her. Resentment at the shame she had brought on me aided my stubbornness, and helped me to forget that I had been shamed because she had remembered me. But now I followed Phineas Tate. For be memory ever so keen and clear — yes, though it seem able to bring every feature, every shade, and every pose be- fore a man's eyes in absolute fidelity — yet how poor and weak a thing it is beside the vivid sight of bodily eyes, that paints the faded picture all afresh in hot and glowing colours ; and the man who bade defiance to the persuasions of his recollection, falls beaten down by the fierce force of a present vision. I followed Phineas Tate, perhaps using some excuse with myself — indeed I feared that he would attack her rudely and be cruelly plain with her — yet knowing in my heart that I went because I could do nothing else, and that when she called, cverj^ atom of life in me answered to her sum bolt upr leaves o sought ; him and awaited unlike. She Co gently, door, rac embarras the most Phineas ' alone wit Phinea perverse "Alon< the time " Alas, the table, had said ; that end ] He adv site to h< sat with eyes half " You V could say " Hold you?" " Let hi And go than all- Yet now i though to stick. Th she still s: I am Forbidden to Forget. eg her summons. So in I went, to find Phineas standing bolt upngh m the parlour of the tavern, turning hi leaves of h,s book with eager fingers, as thoufh he sought some text that was in his mind. I passid by him and leant against the wall by the window so we unlike """'' '''^ "' "' ''^''' ^"^ ^^^h passions mos? ^en?iv'^qh'.'^'''".H^^ ^v''^'!f'^ "°^' although still negli. gently. She put her head round the corner of the door, radiant with smiles, and with no more shame or embarrassment than if our meeting in this way were flnn. -I^^^ ^2^ '"'^' P°"^"^^' "B"t I wanted to be alone with my Simon, my dear Simon." Phineas caught the cue her words gave him with perverse readiness. ^ " f Jl^^''"^^'^^ him, yes!" he cried. " But what of the time when you must be alone with God ? " i-u V'u?' /.^*a she, coming in and seating herself at had Nell, as though the matter were grc. n ver tedioi , and sh ' yawned just a little ; but, as she glanced at me, a merry light gleamed in her eyes. ''And what is to befall Simon here? "she asked. He turned on me with a start, seemin-j to have for- gotten my presence. "This young man?" iie asked, looking full in my face. " Why, his j • honest ; if he choose his friends well, he ma^ ,o 11." "I am of his fr.v..ids, said Nell, and I defy any man on earth to have given the lie to such a claim so made. "And for you, may the Lord soften your heart," said Phineas to her. ^' Some say it's too soft already," said Nell. " You will see me again," said he to her, and moved I am Forbidden to Forget 6x towards the door. But once more he faced me be- fore he went, and looked very intently at me. Then he passed out, leaving us alone. At his going Nell sighed for relief, stretched out her arms, and let them fall on the table in front of of' my hands '^'^"^ "^ '""^ '^" '° "'"' '^^*=^'"S ^^^^ asked "^ ^°^ ^°^^ ^^^ ^^ P'^"^ Hatchstead?" she I drew back releasing my hands from hers, and I spoke to her stiffly. " Madame," said I "this is not Hatchstead, nor do you seem the lady whom I knew at Hatchstead." ndeed you seem very like the gentleman I knew, and knew well, there," she retorted ' "And you, very unlike the lady." J Nay. not so unlike as you think. But are you also gomer ■ preach to me ? " ^ "]\. me," said I, in cold courtesy, "I have to vou"r kfrX ^ r°^ remembrance of me, and for your kmdness m domg me a service ; I assure you I prize It none the less, because I may not accept it." You may not accept it ? " she cried. " What ? You may not accept the commission ? " No, madame," said I, bowing low. Her face i- as hke a pretty child's in disappointment. ' And your arm ? How come you to be wounded ? Have you been quarrelling already ? " "Already, madame." " But with whom and why ? " we'lrTfouTith."'" ''"'"'• '■''^ '-^^°" I "«<» "°t ** But I desire to know it." tainfd'.^e'^"'^ lord sa.d that Mistress Gwyn had ob- tamed me my commission. ' " But it was true." " Doubtless, yet I fought." H 6a Simon Dale. " Why, if it were true ? " I made her no answer. She went and seated her- self again at the table, looking up at me with eyes in which I seemed to read pain and puzzle. "I thought it would please you, Simon," she said, with a coaxing glance that at least feigned timidity. " Never have I been so proud as on the day I re- ceived it," said I, " and never, I think, so happy, un- less, may be, when you and I walked in the Manor park.* " Nay, Simon, but you will be glad to have it, even though I obtained it for you." " I shall not have it. I go to Whitehall to-morrow to surrender it." She sprang up in wonder, and anger also showed in her eyes. ^ " To surrender it? You mean in truth to surrender It ? And because it came from me ? " Again I could do nothing but bow. That I did with the best air I could muster, although I had no love for my part in this scene. Alas for a man who, being with her, must spend his time in chiding! " Well, I wish I hadn't remembered you," she said, resentfully. •'Indeed, madame, I also wish that I had for- gotten." " You have, or you would never use me so." " It is my memory that makes me rougli, madame. Indeed how should I have forgotten ? " "You hadn't ?" she asked, advancing nearer to me. "No, in truth I believe you hadn't! And, Simon, listen ! " Now she stood with her face but a yard from mine, and again her lips were curved with mirth and malice. " Listen, Simon," she said, " you had not forgotten ; and you shall n< ^ forget." " It is very likely," said I simply, and I took up my hat from the table. iH I am Forbidden to For 8:et. 63 " How fares Mistress Barbara ? " asked Nell, sud. denly. " I have not waited on her," I answered. " Then indeed I am honoured, althougii our meeting was somewhat by chance. Ah, Simon, I want to be so angry with you. But how can I be angry ? I can never be angry. Why "(and here she came even a little closer, and now she was smiling most damnably —nay, I mean most delightfully ; but it is often much the same) " I was not very angry even when you kissed me, Simon." It is not for me to say what answer to that speech she looked to receive. Mine was no more than a repe- tition of my bow. "You'll keep the commission, Simon?" she whis- pered, standing on tiptoe, as though she would reach my ear. '* I can't," said I, bowing no more and losing, I fear, the air of grave composure that I had striven to main- tain. I saw what seemed a light of triumph in her eyes. Yet that mood passed quickly from her. She grew pensive and drew away from me. I stepped towards the door, but a hand laid on my arm arrested me. " Simon," she asked, " have you sweet memories of Hatchstead ? " " God forgive me," said I, confusedly, " sweeter than my hopes of heaven." _ She looked at me gravely for an instant. Then sighing she said, — " Then I wish you had not come to town, but stayed there with your memories. They were of me?" " Of Cydaria." " Ah, of Cydaria," she echoed, with a little smile. But a moment later the full merriment of laughter broke out again on her face, and, drawing her hand awavj he let me go, crying after me,— I 64 Simon Dale* not ?of er " ^^^^^ """^ ^°'^^^' ^*"'°"* ^^°' >'°" ^^^" Then I left her, standing in the doorway of the inn. daring me to forget. And my brain seemed all whirl- ing and swirlmg as I walked down the Lane. CHAFI^ER VL An Invitation to Court. ^ I SPENT the rest of that day in my inn, agreeably to the advice of the surgeon, and the next morning, find ing my wound healing well and my body frelfrom fever, I removed to Mr. Darrell's new lodging by the Temple where he had most civilly placed two rooms at my disposal. Here also I provided myself with a servant a fellow named Jonah Wall, and prepared to go to Whitehall as the Kings letter' comLnded me Uf Mr Darrell I saw nothing ; lie went off before I came, having left for me with Robert, his servant a message that he was much engaged with the Secre- tary s business and prayed to be excused from afford- ing me his company. Yet I was saved from making my journey alone-a thing that would have occasioned me much trepidation -by the arrival of my Lord Qu^^^^^ ton. Ihe reverence of our tender years is hard to break down, and I received my visitor with an uneasU ness which was not decreased by the seventy of his him that I had determined to resign the commission bestowed on me. These tidings so transformed Ws temper that he passed from cold reproof to an excess ot cordiality being pleased to praise highly a scruple as honourable as (he added with a shru|) i^ was mre and he began to laugh at himself as he recounted humorously now his wrath against me had grown higher and higher with each thine that h^d rom. to ills ears. Eager now to make amends, he offered to 66 Simon Dale* S^ lo with me to Whitehall, proposing that we should nde m his coach to the Mall and walk thence together. I accepted his company most gratefully, since it would save me from betraying an ignorance of which I was ashamed and strengthen my courage for the task be- fore me. Accordingly we set out and as we went my lord took occasion to refer to my acquaintance with Mistress Nell, suggesting plainly enough, although not dn-ectly, that I should be wise to abandon her society at the same time that 1 laid down the commission she had obtained for me. I did not question his judg- ment but avoided giving any promise to be guided by It. Perceiving that I was not willing to be pressed, he passed from the topic with a sigh and began to dis- course of the state of the kingdom. Had I paid more heed to what he said I might have avoided certain troubles into v/hich I fell afterwards, but, busy staring about me, I gave him only such attention as courtesy required, and not enough for a proper understanding of his uneasiness at the dealings of our Court with the French King and the visit of the King's sister, Ma- dame d'Orleans, of which the town was full. For my lord, although a most loyal gentleman, hated both the French and the Papists, and was much grieved at the King's apparent inclination in their favour. So he talked, 1 nodding and assenting to all, but wondering when he would bid me wait on my lady and whether Mistress Barbara was glad that my Lord Carford's sword had passed through my arm only and done no greater hurt. Thus we came to the Mall, and, having left the coach, set out to walk slowly, my lord having his arm through mine. I was very glad to be seen thus in his company, for, although not so great a man here as at Hatchstead, he had no small reputation and carried himself with a noble air. When we had gone some httle way, being very comfortable with one another An Invitation to Court. 67 and speaking now of lighter matters, I perceived at some distance a party of gentlemen, three in number; they were accompanied by a little boy very richly dressed, and were followed at a short interval by five or six more gentlemen, among whom I recognised im- mediately my friend Darrell/ It seemed then that the Secretary's business could be transacted in leisurely fashion ! As the first group passed along, I observed that the bystanders uncovered, but I had hardly needed this sign to tell me that the King was of the party. I was familiar with his features, but he seemed to me even a more swarthy man than all the descrip- tions of his blackness had led me to expect. He bore himself with a very easy air yet was not wanting in dignity, and, being attracted by him, I fell to study, mg his appearance with such interest that I came near to forgetting to remove my hat. Presently he seemed to observe us; he smiled and beckoned with his hand to my lord, who went forward alone, leaving me still watching the King and his companions. I had little difficulty in recognising the name of one ; the fine figure, haughty manner and magnificent attire showed him to be the famous Duke of Bucking- ham, whose pride lay in seeming more of a king than the King himself ; while my lord spoke with the King, this nobleman jested with the little boy, who answered with readiness and vivacity. As to the last member of the group (whom the Duke seemed to treat with some neglect), I was at a loss. His features were not distinguished, except by a perfect composure and self-possession, but his bearing was very courtly and graceful. He wore a slight, pleasant, yet rather rigid smile, and his attitude was as though he listened to what his master said with even excessive deference and urbanity. His face was marked, and tc^ my think- ing much disfigured, by a patch or plaster worn across t^ic nose, as though lo hiue some wound or scar. 68 Simon Dale* After a few minutes, during which I waited very uneasily, my lord turned and signed to me to ap- proach. I obeyed, hat in hand, and in a condition of great apprehension. To be presented to the King was an honour disquieting enough; what if my lord had told his Majesty that I decHned to bear his commis- sion through a disapproval of his reasons for granting me the favour ? But when I came near I fell into the liveliest fear that my lord had done this very thing; for the King was smiling contemptuously, Buckingham' laughing openly, and the gentleman with the plaster regarding me with a great and very apparent curiosity. My lord, meanwhile, wore a propitiatory but doubtful air, as though he prayed but hardly hoped a gracious reception for me. Thus we all stood a moment in complete silence, I invoking an earthquake or any convulsion of nature that should rescue me from my embarrassment. Certainly the King did not hasten to do me this kindly service. He grew grave and seemed displeased ; nay, he frowned most distinctly, but then he smiled, yet more as though he must than because he would. I do not know how the thing would have ended, if the Duke of Buckingham had not burst out a-laughing again, at which the King could not restrain himself but bcqan to laugh also although still not as though he found the jest altol gether to his liking. "So sir," said the Kinr composing his features as he addressed me, "you are not desirous of bearing my commission and fighting my enemies for me ? " "I would f^ght for your Majesty to the death," said 1, timidly but with fervour. "Vet you are on ti;e way to ask leave to rosisn your commission. Why, sir?" I could not answer ; it was impossible to state r;>v reason to hi'm. " The utility of a wTTian's h'^'ln " ^Kof^.....^ i.i-_ t,'';„_ An Invitation to G)urt* 69 "was apparent very early in the world's history. Even Adam was glad of it." " She was his wife, Sir," interposed the Duke. " I have never read of the ceremony," said the King. " But it she were, what difference? " " Why, it makes a great deal of difference in many ways, Sir," laughed Buckingham, and he glanced with a significance which I did not understand at the boy who was waiting near with a weary look on his pretty face. The King laughed carelessly and called, " Charles, come hither." Then I knew that the boy must be the King s son, afterwards known as Earl jf Plymouth, and found the meaning of the Duke's glance. " Charles, what think you of women ? " the Kins asked. ^ The pretty child thought for a moment, then an- swered, looking up, — " They are very tiresome creatures. Sir." " Why, so they are, Charles," said the King, gravely. " They will never let a thing alone. Sir." " No, they won't, Charles, nor a man either." " Its first this. Sir, then that— a string, or a garter, or a bow." " Yes, Charles ; or a title, or a purse, or a commis- sion," said the King. " Shall we have no more to do with them ? " " I would d ;;s:re no more at all, Sn," cried the boy, "It appears, Mr Dale," said the King, turning to me, " that C!uir/es here, and you, and I are all of one mind on the cnaf.er of women. Had Heaven been on our side, there would have been none of them in the world." He seemed to be examining me now with some de- gree of attention, akhough I made, as I fear, a verv poor figure. Lord Quinton came to my rescue an'l m 70 heg'c Simon Dale* to enlarge on my devotion to his Majesty's per- son and my eagerness to serve him in any way I might apart from the scruple which he had ventured to disclose to the King. '' Mr. Dale says none of these fine things for him- self, remarked the King. "It is not always those that say most who do most, bir, pleaded my lord. "Therefore this young gentleman who says nothing will do everything?" The King turned to his com- panion who wore the plaster and had as yet not spoken at all. "My Lord Arlington," said he, "it seems that I must release Mr. Dale." ''I think so, Sir," answered Arlington, on whom I looked with much curiosity, since he was Darrell s patron. " I cannot have servants who do not love me " our. sued the King. * ^ " Nor subjects," added Buckingham, with a mali- cious smile. " Although I am not, unhappily, so free in the choice of my Ministers," said the King. Then he faced round on me and addressed me in a cold tone. " I am reluctant, sir, to set down your conduct to any want of affection or loyalty towards me. I shall be glad if you can show me that my forbearance is right. With this he bent his head slightly, and moved on. I bowed very low, shame and confusion so choking me that I had not a word to say. Indeed I seemed damned beyond redemption, so far as my fortunes depended on obtaining the King's favour Again I was left by myself, for the King, anxious, as 1 took It, to show that his displeasure extended to me only, had stopped again to speak with my lord, iiut in a moment, to my surprise, Arlington was at my 01 do. " l!nrnf» cJj- " coI»l Uc .r^>... :_ii-. // xi. > , — II.., .-,1., &„.„ ^^^^ ^,. _ gciuaiiy, tncrc s no need An Invitation to Court. 71 of despair. The King is a little vexed, but his resent- ment is not obstinate and let me tell you that he has been very anxious to see you." "The King anxious to see me?" I cried. " Why, yes. He has heard much of you." His lips twitched as he glanced at me. I had the discretion to ask no further explanation, and in a moment he grew grave again, continuing, " I also am glad to meet with you, for my good friend Darrell has sounded your praises to me. Sir, there are many ways of serviner the Kmg. " I should rejoice with all my heart to find one of them, my lord," I answered. " I may find you one, if you are willin^r to take it." " I should be your lordship's most humble and grateful servant." " Tut, if I gave, I should ask in return," said he, and he added suddenly, "You're a good Churchman, I sup- pose, Mr. Dale?" " Why, yes, my lord, I and all my family. "Good, good. In these days our Church has many enemies. It is threatened on more than one side." I contented myself with bowing ; when the Secre- tary spoke to me on such high matters, it was for me to listen and not to bandy opinions with him. "Yes, we are much threatened," said he. " V/ell, Mro Dale, I shall trust that we may have other meet- ings. You are to be found at Mr. Darrell's lodging? You may look to hear from me, sir." He rnoved away, cutting short my thanks with a polite wave (.f liis hand. Suddenly to my amazement the King turned round and called to me, — " Mr. Dale, there is a play to be acted at my house to-morrow evening. Pray give me the pleasure of your company." Nt i 4 :..• 72 Simon Dale. I bowed almost to the ground, scarcely able to be- lieve my ears. ^ that1.n^ nnl" ''^'".'"'^ '^^" ^'"^' '■^^^^"g his voice so tnat not only we who were close to him but the gen- tlemen behmd also must hear, " to find an ugly woman and an honest man. between whom we may place you The first should not be difficult to come on, but the second I fear is well-nigh impossible unless another M ""T f ' '°"i^ ,"°'"" ^^ ^^"'•t- Good-day to you A ^^h ^'^^ ^^^y h^ ^^"t, smiling very happHv and holdmg the boy's hand in his. ^ «app,iy fl. JJ'n ^'1f ' ^"^"^e^'^te party was no sooner gone than Darrell ran up to me eagerly and before my lord could rejom me, crying, — ^ " What did he say to you ? " " The King? Why, he said " "No, no. What did my lord say?" He pointed to Arlmgton who was walking off with the King. toM m/.l . T^'^^^S'i^ ^^? ^ ^°°^ Churchman, and to d me that I should hear from him. But if he is so V^^'onv^^'"'"^ '^' ^^"''^' ^^^ ^°"^ ^'^ ""^"•■^ y°"^ Darrell had no time to answer, for Lord Ouinton's grave voice struck in. vumiun s "He is a wise man who can answer a question touching my Lord Arlington's opinion of the Church " said he. *"«^", Darrell flushed red, and turned angrily on the inter- rupter. "You have no cause, my lord," he cried, "to attack the Secretary s churchmanship." "f'nTll? r". ^^yi "^ '^^"'^' '*'■'" retorted Quinton, to defend it with so much temper. Come, let mJ be. 1 have said as much to the Secretary's face, and hfs behalf '^ """'^ patience than you can muster on By this time I was in some distress f-o c^a r^.r r.\A friend I coui the S( rcligif But ] furthe ofif wi and n the K: "Yc my lo laugh, him t] you?" Wht grave, saying, "Yo matter, are mai Englisl- "But King b] My ] steadily "Ith had sai "Come, at once. at Whit and be ( bara is t she will It wa chance, that wh might b( IV I'MMJL^^ An Invitation to Court. the Secretary-^ sus^^^^^^^ ^'°""^ °' ^^^^'^ difference ; religion had^ not ^e'd.ll '"'"^ ^°^'.^^^^^ '^'^ ^^Pi^h But" Darren, as hou^h hi T^ '"'! "^ f^^'^^ ^°""^ry. further with a man hi? snn^.- "°^ T^'^^ ^° ^^-^P^te off with a bow to my oM nnV" ?"S,""^ "^e. dre^v and rejoined the otTier Jenfl" "" ^- ""^^^^ "°^ ^° "^^^ the Kiig and his party ^'"'^'^"^^^" "^ attendance on j";T:rd,r^-„f -^i;::;^t^^i:. ^^^"f ^'--V -^'^ laugh, and he count, nl^^^u-' ^°" '""'■<= him him ihat scrvke But vS l^;.^<=nf -"y who will do you?" **"' '^''"' did Arlington say to gm^e'^Su? h??'tf ;''' Secretary's words, he grew faying,-' ^^ P*""='' '">' ="•"> i" a friendl'y fasL^;' are many who hTve no7»it/- '" r""''''''^- "^'=' 'here EnglishLn or Srchn^fn'dTh"^''-'"-'' ^^""S'°"' - King bids him /•• " '"" "°' L°^'' Arf-S'°n do as the stead'^ly.-' '°°'''^ '"" '" "y face, and answered had 'satrenough";r"er/'too''"' '"T;'' "^-^h he "Come, you needn°t „T . ° ."I""-'''' '"•■ "s^"' on •■ atonce^SinJeyouhfvn /'"..''V-'' '°° P^dent all at Whitehall wiH waft L eTl ^' ^"'S'/our business and be driven to my house f,^r '""•^*'°,"'o coach bara is there to d-Iv on^^ ' r ' '^^'''^^ ""^ '^dy, Bar- she will be glad to rel , ''°'" ^" attendance, and It warm%1xperS.?e ara'r^'"""'^ with ^ou." chance, other voun"T^ ^u ""» ■"•■"'• ^"d, per- that wWsoeve'^-ll^hl--^^''"'" ^°""^ ""^ ''^e, might be entailed ly'meetin"c^' a ' ■^^^'."Oarrassments ' '"^etmg a » imely damsel, and 1»5r, I' ?■ mil 74 Simon Dale. however greatly her displeasure and scorn were to be dreaded, yet the meeting was not forgone, all perils being taken rather than that certain calamity. There- fore I went with my lord to his handsome h mse in Southampton square, and found myself kis:..ng my lady's hand before I was resolved on how I should treat Mistress Barbara, or on the more weighty ques- tion of how I might look to be treated by her. I had not to wait long for the test. After a few moments of my lady's amiable and kindly conversa- tion, Barbara entered from the room behind, and with her Lord Carford. He wore a disturbed air which his affected composure could not wholly conceal; her cheek v as flushed and she seemed vexed: but I did not ijoiice these things so much as the change which had |y. on wrought in her by the last four years. She had Ij, '.ome a very beautiful woman, ornamented with a higlvbred grace and exquisite haughtiness, tall and slim, carrying herself with a delicate dignity. She gave me her hand to kiss, carelessly enough and rather as though she acknowledged an old acquaintance than found any pleasure in its renewal. But she was gentle to me and I detected in her manner a subtle indication that, although she knew all, yet she pitied rather than blamed ; was not Simon very young and ignorant, and did not all the world know how easily even honest young men might be beguiled by cunning women? An old friend m.ust not turn her back on account of a folly, distasteful as it might be to her to be reminded of such matters. My lord, I think, read his daughter very well, and, being determined to afford me an opportunity to make my peace, engaged Lord Carford in conversation, and bade her lead me into the room behind, to see the picture that Lely had lately painted of her. She obeyed, and, having brought me to where it hung, listened patiently to my remarks on it, which I tried ' »*« •• r^s An Invitation to Court. •« to shape into compliments that should be pleasincr and yet not gross. Then, taking courage, I ventured to assure her that I fell out with d Carford in sheer Ignorance that he was a friend iier family and ;< ould have borne anything at his hands had I known It. bhe smiled, answering, — " But you did him no harm," and she glanced at my arm in its sling. She had not troubled herself to ^aid — '^ ^"*^ ^' ^ ^^"^^ nettled at her neglect, "Nay, all ended well. I alone was hurt, and the great lord came off safe." " " ^^f^the great lord was in the right," said she. we should all rejoice at that. Are you satisfied with your examination of the picture, Mr. Dale? " I was not to be turned aside so easily " If you hold me to have been wrong, then I have done what 1 could to put myself in the right since " said I, not doubting that she knew of my surrender of the commission. "I don't understand," said she, with a quick glance. "What have -oudone?" fa ^• In wonder that she had not been informed I cried,- I have obtained the King's leave to decline his lavour. i^rl^^ ^°^°VV^l''^ ^^? ^<=^" on her cheeks when she rettned a Httfe ^'"'^ '''°" """' '"^ ^' "^>' --^^ »^ ;; Didn't my lord tell y. >u ? " I asked. swered ^^^" ^ ^^^" ^^''^ ^^"""^ ^^^^^ ^"^^^ P^^^'" ^^^ ^^• But she had seen Carf rd alo ^ and that in the ast hour past. It was suange hat he, who had knovvn my intention and commended it so highlv should not have touched on it. I looked in her eyer! aside ".nH/-i''-''-'-u,"^- thoughts, for she glanced aside, and said in visible embarrassment,— IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) k // {./ ^ .V ^% 4^ 1.0 1.25 IM bilM 12.: ■50 ^^~ ■■■ 12.2 iiii 1.6 lU u 1.4 V % Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. U5S0 (716) •73-4503 '^ "^ 76 Simon Dale* "Shall we return?" " You haven't spoken on the matter with my Lord Carford then ? " I asked. She hesitated a moment, then answered as though she did not love the truth but must tell it. " Yes ; but he said nothing of this. Tell me of it." So I told her in simple and few words what I had done. " Lord Carford said nothing" of it," she said, when I ended. Then she added, " But although you will not accept the favour, you have rendered thanks for it?" " I couldn't find my tongue when I was with the King," I answered, with a shamefaced laugh. " I didn't mean to the King," said Barbara. It was my turn to colour now ; I had not been long enough at town to lose the trick. " I have seen her," I murmured. Then Barbara suddenly made me a curtsey, saying bitterly,— ^ ^ ^ " I wish you joy, sir, of your acquaintance." When a man is alone with a beautiful lady, he is apt not to Jove an intruder; yet on my soul I was glad to see Carford in the doorway. He came to- wards us, but before he could speak Barbara cried to him, — " My lord, Mr. Dale tells me news that will interest you." " Indeed, madame, and what?" ^ "Why, that he has begged the Kings leave to re- sign his commission. Doesn't it surprise you ? " He looked at her, at me, and again at her. He was caught, for I knew that he had been fully acquainted with my purpose. He gathered himself together to answer her. " Nay, I knew," he said, " and had ventured to an- plaud Mr. Dale's resolution. But it did not come into my mind to speak of it=" r\ riy Lord though eof it." t I had , when I will not or it?" vith the Jen long , saying y, he is I I was ime to- :ried to interest e to re- He was uainted ther to to ap- me into An Invitation to Court. 77 Mr' ^n^"^^'u '^!^ '^^/ " '''^^" ^^^ ^vere deplorincr that Mn^ Dale should obtain his commission by^such worSs ''°'"'"^ '"''^"- ^ i^^^^^ ^^11^^^"^^ l^er " I daresay I should have mentioned it, had we Ten y eToth' 't?' '" l?'"''^"- ^^'^ ''' ^' ''^' -^ gl- added "^Vn;>' ^".^"^Pt.^'^S ^ change in tone, he aaaea, >Von t you rejom us '' ''I am very well here," she said. He waited a moment, then bowed, and left us He was frownmg heavily, and, as I jud<;ed would have greeted another quarrel with me\e,y gladly had I it' itTir fh^? Fl 'i^" ^^" opportunity ; b^i Jh 'nk' ing It tair that I should be cured from the first en counter before I faced a second, I held my peace tH he was gone ; then I said to Barbara,- ^ ^ 1 wonder he didn't tell you." Alas for my presumption! The anger that had been diverted on to Carford's head swept back to "Indeed, why should he?" she cried "All fh^ arl^e!"^'™^^ '"'"'^■■"^' °^ ^™ '"=> >-^ af! ;; Yet you were vexed because he hadn't." T In 7/"^ \ ^f ^ V '^^^ J^^'-J^^''^' haurrhtily. with hi. "bu?u'' '^^'^"^^^ '''^ ^^^^ — -^ angry witn iiim. But because I spoke of her anc^er she wa^ angry now with me. Indeed I began to^ t^U k tha' ht Je Charles, the King, and I had been right in nt op.n.on.n which the Kin^ found us so much o a UAAo. buddenl.v Barbara spoke,— said nf '"^'"^ '^^ '' ^^^f' '^''' ^"^"J of yours," she said. 1 have never seen her " her' ••' bm '? Z ^'^t '° "■'■' " ^y- >-°" ''av« seen ner. but I did not give utterance to the words. 78 Simon Dale* Barbara had seen her in the park at Hatchstead, seen her more than once, and more than once found sore offence in what she^saw. There is wisdom in silence ; I was learning that safety might lie in deceit. The anger under which I had suffered would be doubled if she knew that Cydaria was Nell and Nell Cydaria. Why should she know ? Why should my own mouth betray me and add my bygone sins to the offences of to-day? My lord had not told her that Nell was Cydaria. Should I speak where my lord was silent? Neither would I tell her of Cydaria. ''You haven't seen her?" I asked. '* No ; and I would learn what she is like." It was a strange thing to command me, yet Bar- bara's desire joined with my own thoughts to urge me to it. I began tamely enough, with a stiff list of fea- tures and catalogue of colours. Yet as I talked recol- lection warmed my voice ; and when Barbara's lips curled scornfully, as though she would say, "What is there in this to make men fools? There is not^'-g in all this," I grew more vehement and painted . pic- ture with all my skill. WHiat malice began, niy ar- dour perfected, until, engrossed in my fancy, I came near to forgetting that I had a listener, and ended with a start as I found Barbara's eyes fixed on mine, while she stood motionless before me. My exaltation vanished, and confusion drove away my passion. *' You bade me describe her," said i, lamely. " I do not know whether others sec as I do, but such is she to my eyes." A silence followed. Barbara's face was not flushed now, but rather seemed paler than it was wont to be. I could not tell how it was, but I knew that I had wounded her. Is not beauty jealous, and who but a clod will lavish praise on one fair fac? while another is before him ? I should have done better to play the hypocrite and swear that my folly, not Nell's features, An Invitation to G)urt* 79 was to blame. But now I was stubborn and would recall not a word of all my raptures. Yet I was glad that I had not told her who Cydaria was. The silence was short. In an instant Barbara gave a little laugh, saying, — " Small wonder you were caught, poor Simon ! Yes, the creature must be handsome enough. Shall we return to my mother? " On that day she spoke no more with me. 'q in CHAPTER Vn. What came of Honesty. I SHOULD sin against the truth and thereby rob this my story of its soh'tary virtue were I to pretend that my troubles and perplexities, severe as tliey seemed outweighed the pleasure and new excitement of my life. Ambition was in my head, youth in my veins my eyes looked out on a gay world with a regard none too austere. Again f these things even love's might can wage but an equal battle. For the moment^ I must confess, my going to Court, with the prospect it opened and the chances it held, dominated my mind, and Jonah Wall, my servant, was kept busy in prepar- mg me for the great event. I had made a discov-ery concerning this fellow which afforded me much amuse- ment ; coming on him suddenly, I found him deeply engaged on a Puritan Psalm-book, sighing and casting up his eyes to heaven in a ludicrous excess of glum- laced piety. I pressed him hard and merrily, when it appeared that he was as thorough a Ranter as my triend Phineas himself, and held the Court and all in It to be utterly given over to Satan, an opinion not without some warrant, had he observed any modera- tion in advancing it. Not wishing to harm him, I kept my knowledge to myself, but found a malicious sport msetting him to supply me with all the varieties of raiment, perfumes, and other gauds— that last was hi^, word not mine— which he abhorred, but which Mr bimon Dale's newborn desire for fashion made imper- What came of Honesty. 8i ative, however little Mr. Simon Dale's purse could P.Tm ^^^°'' t ^^^ ^^P^"'^ ^f ^hem. The truth is tliat Mistress Barbara s behaviour spurred me on I had no mind to be set down a rustic : I could stomach disapproval and endure seve/ity ; pitied for a mis- i^uided befooled clod I would not be ; and the best way to avoid such a fatu seemed to lie in shovviniT my self as reckless a gallant and as fine a roisterer as any at VVhkelial So I dipped freely and deep into my purse, till Jonah groaned as woefully for my extra va- gance as for my frivolity. All day' he was in great tear lest I should talce him with me to Court to the extreme peril of his soul ; but prudence at last stepped in and bade me spare myself the cost of a rich liverv by leaving him behind. ^ Now Heaven forbid that I should imitate my ser- vant s sour fo ly (for, if a man must be a fool, I would have him a cheerful fool), or find anything to blame in the pomp and seemly splendour of a Roval Court; yet the profusion that met my eyes amazed me. It was the King s vvhim that on this night himself, his fiiends and principal gentlemen should, for no reason whatsoever except the quicker disbursing of their money assumePersian attire, and they were one and all decked out in richest Oriental garments, in many cases lavishly embroidered with precious stones. The iJuke of Buckingham seemed all ablaze, and the other courtiers and wits were little less magnificent, foremost among them being the young Duke of Monmouth, whom I now saw for the first time and thought as handsome a youth as I had set eyes on. The ladies did not enjoy the licence offered by this new fashion, but they contrived to hold their own in the French mode ; and I who had heard much of the poverty of ,-n ri""".'! the necessities of the fleet, and the straits in which the King found himself for money, was left gaping in sheer wonder whence came all the wealth 83 Simon Dale* that was displayed before my eyes. My own poor preparations lost all their charm, and I had not been above half an hour in the place before I was seeking a quiet corner in which to hide the poverty of my coat and the plainness of my cloak. But the desire for privacy thus bred in me was not to find satisfaction. Darrell, whom I had not met all day, now pounced on me, and carried me off, declaring that he was charged to present me to the Duke of York. Trembling be- tween fear and exultation, I walked with him across the floor, threading my way through the dazzling throng that covered the space in front of his Maj- esty s dais. But before we came to the Duke, a gentleman caught my companion by the arm and asked him how he did in a hearty, cheerful, and rather loud voice. Darrell's answer was to pull me forward and present me, saying that Sir Thomas Clifford de- sired my acquaintance, and adding much that erred through kindness of my parts and disposition. "Nay, if he's your friend, it's enough for me, Darrell," answered Clifford, and putting his mouth to Darrell's ear he whispered. Darrell shook his head, and I thought that the Treasurer seemed disappointed. However, he bade me farewell with cordiality. " What did he ask you ? " said I, when we started on our way again. "Only whether you shared my superstition," answered^ Darrell, with a laugh. "They're all mighty anxious about my religion," thought I. " It would do no harm if they bestowed more attention on their own." Suddenly turning a corner, we came on a group in a recess hung on three sides with curtains and' furnished with low couches in the manner of an Oriental divan. The Duke of York, who seemed to me a handsome courtly Prince, was sitting, and by him Lord Arlington. Opposite to them stood a gentleman to whom the 1! '^m n V the What came of Honesty. 83 Duke, when I had made my bow, presented me, bid. chn- me know Mr. Hudleston, the Queen's Chaplain. 1 was famihar with his name, havin- often heard of the Komish priest who befriended the Kincr in his fli-ht from Worcester; I was examining hislfeatures with the mterest that an unknown face belon^rinrr to a well-known name has for us, when the Duke add?essed me with a suave and lofty graciousness, his manner benig in a marked degree more ceremonious than the Kuig s. "My Lord Arlington," said he, " has commended you, sn, as a young gentleman of most loyal senti- ments. My brother and we who love him have ^^-eat need of the services of all such." '^ I stammered out an assurance of devotion. Arlincr. ton rose and took me by the arm, whispering thatl had no need to be embarrassed. But Mr. Hudleston turned a keen and searching glance on me, as thoujjh he would read my thoughts. '; I'm sure," said Arlington, " that Mr. Dale is most solicitous to serve his Majesty in ail things." I bowed, saying to the Duke,— ''Indeed I am, sir; I ask nothing but an oppor- tunity. Oil " In all things ? " asked Hudleston. abruptly. " In all things, sir? " He fixed his keen eyes on my face Arlington pressed my arm and smiled pleasantly • he knew that kindness binds more sheaves than severity. "Come, Mr. Dale says in all things," he observed. Uo we need more, sir?" But the Duke was rather of the priest's temper than of the minister s. I "^^'''^; "il l?'"^'" ^'^ answered, "I have never kiimvn Mr. Hudleston ask a question without a reason '■ By serving the King in all things some mean in 84 Simon Dale* |tel| a^ things m which they may be pleased to serve the King said Hudlcston, gravely - Is Mr. Dale one of hesc? Is It the King's pleasure or his own that sets the limit to his duty and his services^ " They were all looking at me now, and it seemed as though we had passed from courtly phrases, such as fall readily but with little import from a m.^n's lips, and had come to a graver matter. They were asking some pledge of me, or their looks belied them. Wh? or to what end they desired it I could not tell; but Darrell. who stood behind the priest, nodded his head to me with an anxious frown. ;; .Vn"^"^- °bey the King in all things," I began. ^ \Vell said, well said," murmured Arlington, baving, I proceeded, thinking it my duty to make this addition, and not conceiving that there could be harm in it, " the liberties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed Religion." ^ I felt Arlington's hand drawn half away, but in an instant it was back, and he smiled no less pleasantly than before. But the Duke, less able or less careful to conceal his mood, frowned heavily, while Hudleston cried impatiently, — " Reservations ! Kings are not served with reserva- tions, sir. He made nie angry. Had the Duke said what he did, 1 would have taken it with a dutiful bow and a silent tongue But who was this priest to rate me in such a style? My temper banished prudence, and, bending my head towards him, I answered,— "Yet the Crown itself is worn with these reserva- tions, sir, and the King himself allows them " For a moment nobody spoke. Then Arlington said, — *=» " I fear, sir, Mr. Dale is as yet less a courtier than an honest gentleman." The Duke rose to his feet. I'V What came of Honesty. 8S " I have found no fault with Mr. Dale," said he haughtily and coldly, and, taking no more heed of me, he walked away, while Hudleston, having bestowed on me an angry glance, followed him. " Mr. Dale, Mr. Dale ! " whispered Arlington, and withno more than that, although still with a smile, he slipped his arm out of mine and left me, beckoning Darrell to go with him. Darrell obeyed with a shrug of despair. I was alone— and, as it seemed, ruined. Alas, why must I blurt out my old lessons as though I had been standing again at my father's knee and not in the presence of the Duke of York ? Yes, my race was run before it was begun. The Court was not the place for me. In great bitterness I flung my- self down on the cushions and sat there, out of 'heart and very dismal. A moment passed; then the cur- tain behind me was drawn aside, and an amused laugh sounded in my ear as I turned. A young man leapt over the couch and threw himself down beside me, laughing heartily and crying, — " Well done, well done ! 'I'd have given a thousand crowns to see their faces ! " I sprang to my feet in ama^^ement and confusion, .bowmg low, for the young ma.: oy me was the Duke of Monmouth. " Sit, man," said he, pulling me down again. " I was behind the curtain, and heard it all. Thank God, I held my laughter in till they were gone. The liber- ties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed Religion ! Here's a story for the King ! " He lay back, seeming to enjoy the jest most hugely. " For the love of heaven, sir," I cried, " don't tell the King ! I'm already ruined." " Why, so you are, with my good uncle," said he. " You're new to Court, Mr. Dale? " "Most sadly new," I answered in a rueful tone, which set him laughing again. 86 Simon Dale. ^^^^^^^^H ■',•-■ ^^^^H . ■'".'*■, ^^H ' ' ' 1* i^^^^^^Hii^' Axliv. ■^ •.. " Vou hadn't heard the .scandalous stones that ac cuse the Duke oflovin.cT the Reformed Re' g^n no better than the hberties of the Kin'-dom '" "Indeed, no, sir." *" ''And my Lord Arlington? I know him! He held your arm to the last, and he smiled to the last ? " ^^ Indeed, sir, my lord was most gentle to me." Aye, I know his way. Mr. Dale, for this entcr- tamment let me call you friend. Come then. e go to the kmg with it.- And, rising, he seized me by the arm and began to drag me off. " Indeed, your Grace must inudon me " I he gan. "^' '' But, indeed, I will not," he persisted. Then he suddenly grew grave as he said. " I am for the liber- ties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed RcliS;ion. Aren't we friends, then ? " "Your Grace does me infinite honour " .1 "^"'^ .^'?.^ """^ ^?°'^ ^'"'^"^ •' I''^ there no value in he friendship of the Kings son-the King's eWes" son . He drew himself up with a grace andli dignity which became him wonderfully. Often in these later days I see him as he was then, and think of him with tenderness. Say what you will, he made many love him even to death, who would not have lifted a fin-er for his father or the Duke of York. '' Yet in an instant— such slaves are we of our moods -1 was more than half in a rage with him. For as we went we encountered Mistress Barbara on Lord Car- tord s arm. The quarrel between them seemed past and they were talking merrily together. On the sHit of her the Duke eft me and ran forward. By an adi^ movement he thrust Carford aside and began to ply the lady with most extravagant and high-flown com- phments, displaying an excess of devotion which wit- nessed more admiration than respect. She had treated me as a boy, but she did not tell him that he was a What came of Honesty. S? boy, although he was younger than I ; she listened with heightened colour and sparkling eyes. I glanced at Carford and found, to my surprise, no signs of an- noyance at his unceremonious deposition. He was watching the pair with a shrewd smile and seemed to mark with pleasure the girl's pride and the young Duke's evident passion. Yet I, who heard '.omething of what passed, had much ado not to step in and bid her pay no heed to homage that was empty if not dis- honouring. Suddenly the Duke turned round and called to me. " Mr. Dale," he cried, " there needed but one thing to bind us closer, and here it is! For you are, I Icarn"^ the friend of Mistress Quinton, and I am the humblest of her slaves, who serve all her friends for her sake." '• Why, what would your Grace do for my sake ? " asked Barbara. "What wouldn't I?" he cried, as if transported. Then he added, rather low, " Though I fear you're too cruel to do anything for mine." " I am listening to the most ridiculous speeches in the world for your Grace's sake," said Barbara, with a pretty curtsey and a coquettish smile. "Is love ridiculous?" he asked. "Is passion a thing to smile at ? Cruel Mistress Barbara ! " " Won't your Grace set it in verse ? " said she. "Your grace writes it in verse on my heart," said he. Then Barbara looked across at me, it may be acci- dentally, yet it did not appear so, and she laughed merrily. It needed no skill to measure the meaning of her laugh, and I did not blame her for it. She had waited for years to avenge the kiss that I gave Cyda- ria in the Manor park at Hatchstead ; but was it not well avenged when I stood humbly, in deferential silence, at the back while his Grace the Duke sued for her favour, and half the Court looked on ? I will not 88 Simorx Dale. M ' me one T 1^ ^ '^'"u '''^''"' "^^"^'^ ^^^ "«t made me one ; I said in my heart and I tried to say to her w th my eyes - Laugh, sweet mistress, laugli ! " For in W f'a?:^! " '"^^ ^'"^^ '^ ^^'" "^^"^ '"'^^S-ra. runs cf n ^?^ .^"''^'' ^^•",^° ^'' protestations again, and Carford s ill listened with an acquiescence thai seemed strange in a suitor for the lady's hand. But now BarbarS Tr ch7.l'°'^'\"^' ^i" ^'^"'-^1-^ confusion flew in her cheeks and she looked round, distressed to see how many watched them. Monmouth cared not a jot iTlttne!-''' """ '^ ^^^^°^'' ""''' '''' '^ ^''- murfl.}7^A^%^'^^''^ '"''^'^' Mistress Barbara too much marked. Can't you contrive to interrupt him ? " He stared at me with a smile of wonder. But some- thing in my look banished his smile and set a frown in '' Must I have more lessons in manners from you, sir ?_ he asked. - And do you include a discourse on the interrupting of princes ? " ;; Princes?" said I. " The Duke of Monmouth is " "The King's son, my lord," I interposed, and carry, ingmy hat in my nand I walked up to Barbara and the rnn.^' ^^'^i^^'^'^d at me as I came, but not now mockingly; there was rather an appeal in her eyes. the EAng?^'^jT """' ^"' ""' ^°'' ""^ ^"^^'^"^" ''''^ He started looked at me, frowned, looked at Bar- bara, frowned deeper still. I remained quiet, in an attitude of great deference. Puzzled to know whether 1 nad spoken in sheer simplicity and ignorance or with a meaning which seemed' too bold to believe in he broke into a doubtful laugh. In an instant B.r! her hn?!!^^ ^T7 '^'^^' ^ """"'J'^'y- "^ ^''^ »«t pursue her but caught my arm and looked hard and straicrht .W.>fcurJLAteai "What came of Honesty, 89 in my face. I am happily somewhat wooden of fea- ture, and a man could not make me colour now al- though a woman could. He took nothing bv his exammation. ** ' II You interrupted me," he said. ''Alas, your Grace knows how poor a courtier I am and how ignorant " ' "Ignorant ! "he cried ; " yes, you're mighty ignorant, ' no doubt ; but I begm to think you know a pretty face when you see it, Master Simon Da' Well, I'll not quarrel. Isn't she the most admirable creature alive? " " J^had supposed Lord Carford thought so, sir." ''Oh ! And yet Lord Carford did not hurry me ofJ to find the Kmg! But you? What say you to the question? "I'm so dazzled, sir, by all the beautiful ladies of his Majesty s Court that I can hardly perceive indi- vidual charms." ?fx/^"f J"^"^ ^^^''^ ^"^ pinched my arm, saying,— We all love what we have not. The Duke of York is in love with truth, the King with chastity, Buckingham with modesty of demeanour, Rochester witn seemliness, Arlington with sincerity, and I. bimon,— I do fairly worship discretion ! " I' Indeed I fear I can boast of little, sir." 'You shall boast of none, and thereby show the more Simon. Come, there's the King." And he darced on, m equal good humour, as it seemed, with himself and me. Moreover he lost no time on his errand, for when I reached his side (since they who made way for him afforded me no such civility) he had not only reached the Kings chair, but was half way through his story of my answer to the Duke of York • ^^\ chance of stopping him was gone. * ♦Now I'm damned indeed," thought I ; but I set my teeth, and listened with unm.oved face At this moment the King was alone, save for ou-. 90 Simon Dale* selves and a little long-eared dog, which lay on his lap and was incessantly caressed with his hand. He heard his son's story with a face as impassive as I strove to render mine. At the end he looked up at me, asking, — " What are these liberties which are so dear to you, sir?" My tongue had got me into trouble enough for one day, so I set its music to a softer tune. "Those which I see preserved and honoured by your Majesty," said I, bowing. Monmouth laughed, and clapped mc on the back ; but the King proceeded gravely, — " And this Reformed Religion that you set above my orders? " "'The Faith, Sir, of which you are Defender." "Come, Mr. Dale," said he, rather surlily, "if you had spoken to my brother as skilfully as you fence with me, he would not have been angry." I do not know what came over me. I said it in all honest simplicity, meaning only to excuse myself for the disrespect I had shown to the Duke ; but I phrased the sentence most vilely, for I said, — "When his Royal Highness questioned me, Sir, I had to speak the truth." Monmouth burst into a roar, and a moment later the King followed with a more subdued but not less thorough merriment. When his mirth subsided he said, — " True, Mr. Dale. I am a kinfif, and no man is bound to speak truth to me. Nor, by heaven — and there's a compensation — I to any man ! " " Nor woman," said Monmouth, looking at the ceiling in apparent absence of mind. " Nor even boy,** added the King, with an amused glance at his son. " Well, Mr. Dale, can you serve me and this conscience of yours also?" 1 his lap d. He ive as I ;d up at to you, for one I red by e back ; ;t above 'if you u fence it in all self for phrased % Sir, I nt later lot less ded he man is ;n — and at the amused u serve What came of Honesty. 91 * Indeed I cannot doubt it, Sir," said I. "A man's king should be his conscience," said the King. "And what should be conscience to the King- Sir?" asked Monmouth. " Why, James, a recognition of what evil things he may bring into the world, if he doesn't mind his ways.'" Monmouth saw the hit, and took it with prettv grace, bending and kissing the King's hand. ;* It IS difficult, Mr. Dale, to serve two masters," said the King, turning again to me. " Your Majesty is my only master," I began, but the King interrupted me, going on with some amuse- ment, — " Yet I should like to have seen my brother " " Let him serve me, Sir," cried Monmouth.* " For I am firm in my love of these liberties, aye, and of the Reformed Religion. •' I know, James, I know," nodded the Kino- « it ,•« grievous and strange however, that you should speak as though my brother were not." He smiled very maliciously at the young Duke, who flushed red. The King suddenly laughed, and fell to fondling the little dog again. ** "Then Sir," said Monmouth, " Mr. Dale may come with me to Dover.? " ^ *-wmc My heart leapt, for all the talk now was of Dover of the gaiety that would be there, and the correspond! ing dullness in London, when the King and the Duke were gone to meet Madame d'Orl^ans. I longed to go, and the little hope I had cherished that Darrell's good offices with the Secretary of State would serve me to that end had vanished. Now I was full of joy, although I watched the King's face anxiously. -^or some reason the suggestion seemed to occasion him amusement ; yet, although for the most part he M 92 Simon Dale* laughed openly without respect of matter or person, he now bent over his little dog, as though he sought to hide the smile, and when he looked up again it hung about his lips like the mere ghost of mirth "Why not?" said he. "To Dover, by all means. Mr. Dale can serve you and me, and his principles, as well at Dover as in London." I bent on one knee and kissed his hand for the favour. When I sought to do the like to Monmouth he was very ready, and received my homage most regally. As I rose, the King was smiling at the pair of us in a whimsical, melancholy way. " Be off with you, boys," said he, as though we were a pair of lads from the grammar school. "Ye are both fools, and James there is but indifferently honest. But every hour's a chance and every wench an angel to you. Do what you will and God forgive your sins." And he lay back in his great chair with a good-humoured, lazy, weary smile as he idly patted the little dog. In spite of all that all men knew of him, I felt my heart warm to him, and I knelt on my knee again, saying, — " God save your Majesty." "God is omnipotent," said the King, gravely. "I thank you, Mr. Dale." Thus dismissed, we walked off together, and I was awaiting the Duke's pleasure to relieve him also of my company, when he turned to me with a smile, his white teeth gleaming. " The Queen sends a maid of honour to wait on Madame," said he. " Indeed, sir. It is very fitting." "And the Duchess sends one also. If you could choose from among the Duchess's — for I swear no man in his senses would choose any of her Majesty's — whom would you choost, Mr. Dale.?" " It is not for me to say, your Grace," I answered. ,".< i What came of Honesty. 93 "Well,'' said he, regarding me drolly, "I would clioose Mistress Barbar- Quinton." And with a last laugh he ran off in hot pursuit of a lady who passed at that moment and cast a very kindly glance at him. Left alone, but in a good humour that the Duke's last jest could not embitter, I stood watching the scene. The play had begun now on a stage at the end of the hall, but nobody seemed to heed it. They walked to and fro, talking always, ogling, quarrelling, love-making and intriguing. I caught sight here of great ladies, there of beauties whose faces were their fortune— or their ruin, which you will. Buckingham went by, f^ne as a galley in full sail. The Duke of York passed with Mr. Hudleston ; my salute weirt un- acknowledged. Clifford came soon after; he bowed slightly when I bowed to him, but his heartiness was gone. A moment later Darrell was by my side ; his ill-humour was over, but he lifted his hands in comical despair. "Simon, Simon, you're hard to help," said he. "Alas, I must go to Dover without you, my friend I Couldn't you restrain your tongue.?" " My tongue has done me no great harm," said I, "and you needn't go to Dover alone." "What?" he cried, amazed. " Unless the Duke of Monmouth and my Lord Ar- lington travel apart." " The Duke of Monmouth ? What have you to do with him ? " ^ " I am to enter his service," I answered, proudly ; "and moreover I'm to go with him to Dover to meet Madame d'Orl^ans." "Why, why? How comes this? How brought to his notice ? " 1 looked at him, wondering at his eagernes I took him by the arm, and f said laughingly were you 94 Simon Dale* " Come, I am teachable, and I have learnt my les- son." "What lesson do you mean?" " To restrain my tongue," said I. " Let those who are curious as to the Duke of Monmouth's reasons lor his favour to me, ask the Duke." He laughed, but I caught vexation in his laugh. "True, you're teachable, Simon," said he. ;? ji t my les- lose who asons ior lugh. CHAPTER Vm. Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. When the curtain had fallen on the little heeded play and the gay crowd began to disperse, I, perceiv- ing that no more was to be seen or learnt, went home to my lodging alone. After our conversation Darrell had left me abruptly, and I saw him no more. But my own thoughts gave me occupation enough ; for even to a dull mind, and one unversed in Court in- trigues, it seemed plain that more hung on this ex- pedition to Dover than the meeting of the King's sister with her brother. So far all men were of the same opinion; beyond, their variance began. I had not thought to trouble my head about it, but, not having learnt yet that a small man lives most comfort- ably with the great by opening his eyes and ears only when bidden and keeping them tight locked for the rest, I was inspired with eagerness to know the full meaning of the scene in which I was now to play a part however humble. Of one thing at least I was glad — here I touched on a matter more suitable to my condition — and this was that since Barbara Quinton was to go to Dover, I was to go also. But, alas, neither here did perplexity lag far behind ! It is easy to know that you are glad to be with a lady ; your very blood tells you ; but to say why is often difficult. I told myself that my sole cause for pleasure lay in the services I might he able to render to my old friend's daughter : she would want one to run her errands and 1 r ■ ■ i :f :■ i ? j'li' 96 Simon Dale do hor bidding; an attentive cavalier, however lowly seldom comes amiss. These pleas I muttered to myself! but swelling pride refused them, ana for once reason came as prides ally^ urging that in such company as would assemble at Dover, a girl might well need pro- tection no less than compliments. It was true; mv new masters bearing to her showed how true. And Larford was not, it seemed, a jealous lover. I was no over-my life was vowed to another most unhappy love— but I was a gentleman, and (sweet thought ') the hour might come when the face which had looked so mockingly at me cO-night should turn again in appeal to the wit and arm of Simon Dale. I grew taller as I thought of that and, coming just then to my own door, rapped with my cane as loudly and defiantly as though I had been the Duke of Monmouth himself, and not a gentleman in his suite. Loud as my rapping was, it brought no immediate answer Again I knocked ; then feet came shuffling along tlie passage. I had aroused my sleepy wretch • doubtless he would come groaning (for Jonah might .not curse save in the way of religion), and rubbing his eyes to let me m. The door opened and Jonah ap. peared : his eyes were not dull with sleep but seemed to blaze with some strong excitement; he had not been to his bed for his dress was not disordered, and a ight burnt bright in my parlour. To crown all, from the same parlour came the sound of a psalm most shrilly and villainously chanted through the nose in a Zi''^ }'^' ^° .?y ^^'^' ^' "">'"1^'^ »^y servant, had not bound myself against an oath where the case called, and with a round one that sent Jonah's eves in agony up to the ceiling I pushed by him and ran into the parlour A sonorous "Amen " came pat with mv en ranee; Phineas Tate stood before me, lean and pale, but calm and placid. " What in the devil's name brings you here ? " I cried. m iujtk jintiuJeiimittm Madness, Magic, and Moonshine 97 "The service of God," he answered, solemnly. •' What, does it forbid sleep at nights?" " Have you been sleeping, young man?" he asked, pertinently enough, as I must allow. *' I have been paying my respects to his Majesty," said I. " God forgive him and you," was the retort. "Perhaps, sir, perhaps not," I replied, for I was growing angry. " But I have asked your intercession no more than has the King. If Jonah brought you here, it was without my leave ; I beg you to take your departure. Jonah, hold the door there for Mr. Tate." The man raised his hand impressively. " Hear my message first," he said. " I am sent unto you, that you may turn from sin. For the Lord has appointed you to be his instrument. Even now the plot is laid, evc.i now men conspire to bring this kingdom again into the bondage of Rome. Have you no ears, have you no eyes, are you blind and deaf? Turn to me, and I will make you see and hear. For it is given to me to show you the way." I was utterly weary of the fellow, and, in despair of gettmg quit of him, flung myself into a chair. But his next words caught my attention. " The man who lives here with you — what of him ? Is he not an enemy of God ? " " Mr. Darrell is of the Romish faith," said I, smiling m spite of myself, for a kinder soul than Darrell I had never met. Phineas came close to me, leaning over me with an admonishing forefinger and a mysterious air. "What did he want with yoii :> " lie asked. "Yet cleave to him. Be where he is, go where he goes." " If it comforts you, I am going where he goes," said I, yawning. " For we are both going to Dover when the King goes." 98 Simon Dale* ;' Jt is God's finger and God s will ! " cried Phineas, catching me by the shoulder. "Enough! •• I shouted, leaping up. "Keep your hands off me, man, if you can't keep your tongue. What IS It to you that we go to Dover ? " "Aye, what?" came suddenly in Darrell's voice. He stood m the doorway with a fierce and angry frown on h.s face. A moment later 'le was across the room and laia his hand on Phineas. " Do you want another cropping of your ears? " he asked. " Jo your will on me," cried the fanatic. And sweeping away his lanky hair he showed his ears • to my horror they had been cropped level across thei^ tops by the shears. " Do your will," he shrieked, " I ZuZl"; be ?ulf ' "' '""^ ^°"" ^^^° ' y'^' y^"'- -P Darrell spoke to him in low, stern tones. " It may be more than ears, if you will not bridle your tongue. Its not for you to question why the King comes or goes." I saw Jonah's face at the door, pale with fright as he looked at the two men. The interest of the scene grew on me ; the talk of Dover seemed to pursue me strangely. ^ '• But this young man," pursued Phineas, utterly unmoved by Darrell's threat, "is not of you: he shall be snatched from the burning, and by his hand tne Lord will work a great deliverance." Darrell turned to me and said stiffly,— " This room is yours, sir, not mine. Do you suffer the presence of this mischievous knave ? " "I suffer what I can't help," I answered. "Mr. late doesn t ask my pleasure in his coming and goincr any more than the King asks Mr. Tate's in his " "It would do you no good, sir, to have it known that he was here, Darrell reminded m^s with a ^is- nificant nod of his head. ^ ^ Jmfa I j^ imnm. Phineas, :ep your ' tongue. 's voice, d angry :ioss the ou want ;. And is ears ; OSS their ked, "I our cup t bridle why the right as le scene rsue me utterly ou ; he is hand 1 suffer "Mr. I going known a sig- Madness, Mag:ic, and Moonshine* 99 DarrcU had been a good friend to me and had won my regard, but, from an infirmity of temper tiiat I have touched on before, his present tone set me against him. I take reproof badly, and age has hardly tamed me to it. "No good with whom?" I asked, smiling. "The Duke of York ? My Lord Arlington ? Or do you mean the Duke of Monmouth ? It is he whom 1 have to please now." '* None of them love Ranters," answered Darrell, keeping his face stiff and inscrutable. " But one of them may prefer a Ranter to a Papist," laughed I. The thrust told, Darrell grow red. To myself I seemed to have hit suddenly on the key of a mystery. Was I then a pawn in the great game of the Churches, and Darrell another, and, (to speak it with all due respect), these grand dukes little better? Had Phineas Tate also his place on the board where souls made the stakes ? In such a game none is too low for value, none too high for use Surely my finger was on <-he spring ! At least I had confounded Darrell ; his enemy, taking my help readily enough, glared on him in most unchristian exultation, and then, turning to me, cried in a species of fierce ecstasy, — "Think not that because you are unworthy, you shall not serve God. The work sanctifies the instru- ment ; yea, it makes clean that which is foul. Verily, at His hour, God may work through a woman of sin." And he fixed his eyes intently on me. I read a special meaning in his words, my thoughts flew readily to the Cock and Pie in Drury Lane. "Yea, through a woman of sin," he repeated slowly and solemnly; then he faced round, swift as the wind, on Darrell, and, minding my friend's sullen scowl not a whit, cried to him, " Repent, repent, vengeance is near ! " and so at last was out of the room before Iff Simon D^Ic, cither ot us could hinder him, had we wished, or could question h.m further. I heard the house-door shut behind him, and I rose, looking at Darrell with an easy smile. ^^ Z* Madness and moonshine, good friend," said I. u \ '^disturb you. If Jonah admits the fellow again he shall answer for it." '' Indeed, Mr. Dale, when I prayed you to .hare my lod-mg, I did not foresee the nature of your com- ■\K''"''.n?''^ ^.''P" *^^°'^^ "^^^^s a man's company," said I Now it s you, now Phineas, now my lord tlie Secretary and now his Grace the Duke. Indeed see- ing how destiny-or if you will, chance-rules, a man may well be thought a fool who makes a plan or chooses a companion. For wy own part, I am fate's child and fate shall guide me." Pie was still stiff and cold with me, but my friendly air and my evident determination to have no quarrel won him to civility if to no warmer demonstration of regard. "Fate's child?" he asked with a little scorn, but seating himself and smoothing his brow. "You're fate's child ? Isn't that an arrogant speech, Simon ?" "If it weren't true, most arrogant," I answered "Come, I'll tell you; it's too soon for bed and too late to go abroad. Jonah, brin- us some wine, ^md •' it be good, you shall be forgiven for admitting Ala iter Tate." Jonah went off and presently returned with a bot- tle which we drank, while I, with the candour I had promi^ -;, told my friend of Betty Nasroth and her ' prophet> TTg }^^3rd me with an attention which belied thi^ ^.aufeu.pt he asserted; I have noticed that men p:./ lu-,tG to thesf things however much they laugh at t.ieL At the end, growing excited not only with the wine but with the fumes of life which had Madness, Magict and Moonshine* loi been mounting into my young brain all the day, I leapt up, crying aloud, — " And isni it true ? Sha'n't I know what he hides? Sh I'n't: I drink of his cup? 1' or isn't it true? Don't T already, to my infinite misery, love where he loves ? ' For the picture of Nell had conie suddenly across me in renewed strength and sweetness; when I had spoken I dropped again into my chair and laid my head down on my arms. Silence followed : Darrell had no words of consola- tion for my woes and left my lovelorn cry unheeded ; presently then (for neglected sorrows do not thrive) I looked furtively at him between the fin<.>ers of my hand. He sat moody, thoughtful and frowning. I raised my head and met his eyes. He leant across the table, saying in a sneering tone, " A fine witch, on my life! You should know what he hides? " " Aye." " And drink of his cup ? " " Aye, so she said." He sat sunk in troubled thought, but I, being all this night torn to and fro by changing and warring moods, sprang up again and cried in boisterous scorn, " What, you believe these fables ? Docs God reveal hidden things to old crones? I thought you at Court were not the fools of such fancies ! Aren't they fitter for rustic churls, Mr Darrell? God save us, do we live in the days of King James ? " He answered me shortly and stcrnh', as though I had spoken of things not to be named lightly, — " It is devil's work, nil of it." ** Then the devil is busier than he seems, even after a night at Court," I said. " But be it whose work it will, I'll do it. I'll find what he hides. I'll drink of his cup. Come, you're glum! Drink, friend Darrell! Darrell, what's in his cup? wh.it docs he hide? Dar- rell, what does the King hide?" 102 Simon Dale* in hlitcT^?^ ^'"^ u^ '^' '^°"^^^'' ^"d ^^« staring in his face I was all aglow and my eyes, no doubt tte° wir^'^^T,"^',^ excitement and t/e e^xhilarattn of the wuie. The look of rwe, or the hour of the night or the workmg of his own superstition, got hold of 'i?^/^::^^^. 'P'^"^ "P' ^'■y'"^ madly,- ^ ^^ My God, do you know ? " and glared into my face as though I had been the very devil of whom Tspoke We stood thus for a full i^inute. But I^rew^cooi before my companion, wonder working the chan^Tn me sooner than confusion could in him. For m/ran dom ravings had most marvellously struck on some- The^mTl' "" ""^ ^°^^^ speculations could discern. Ihe man before me was mad— or he had a secref- And friend Darrell was no madman. ,,r, ° ^ know?" I asked. "Do I know whpf? What could I, Simon Dale, know ? wLt in Herven's name is there to know ? " And I smiled cunninghr as though I sought to hide knowledge by a parade of Ignorance. & ^ f <- <-»! " Nothing, nothing," he muttered, uneasily. " The wine s got in my head." ^ "Yet you've drunk but two gi-ses ; I had the rest." saiu 1. - TW ^^ damned Ranter has upset me," he growled. That and the talk of your cursed witch." "Can Ranters and witches make secrets where there are none ? " said I, with a laugh. " They can make fools think there are secrets where there are none," said he, rudely. "And other fools ask if they're known?" I re- torted, but with a laugh; and I added, "I'm not for a quarrel, secret or no secret, so if that's your purpose Wend ''"^ "'^ through, to bed with you, my Whether from prudence, or whether my ^ood liumour rebuked his temper, he grew more genUe; Madness^ Magic^ and Moonshine* 103 he looked at me kindly enough and sighed, as he said, — "I was to be your guide in London, Simon; but you take your own path." " The path you showed me was closed in my face," said I, " and I took the first that was opened to me." " By the Duke of Monmouth ? " "Yes — or by another, if it had chanced to be another." " But why take any, Simon ? " he urged, persuasively. " Why not live in peace and leave these great folk alone?" " With all my heart," I cried. " Is it a bargain ? Whither shall we fly from the turmoil } " " We ! " he exclaimed, with a start. "Aren't you sick of the same disease? Isn't the same medicine best for you ? Come, shall we both go to-morrow to Hatchstead — a pretty village, Mr. Darrell — and let the great folk go alone to Dover?" " You know I cannot. I serve my Lord Arling- ton." "And I the Duke of Monmouth." " But my lord is the King's servant." "And his Grace the King's son." " Oh, if you're obstinate — " he began, frowning. "As fate, as prophecy, as witch, as Ranter, as devil or as yourself! " I said, laughing and throwing myself into a chair as he rose and moved towards the door. " No good will come of it to you," he said, passing me on his way. " What loyal servant looks to make a profit of his service ? " I asked, smiling. " I wish you could be warned." " I'm warned, but not turned, Darrell. Come, we part friends?" " Why, yes, we are friends," he answered, but with a touch of hesitation. 104 Simon Dale* " Saving our duty to the King?" "If need should come for that reservation, yes," said he, gravely./ " And saving," said I, «' the liberties of the King- dom and safety of the Reformed Religion— if need should come for those reservations, Mr. Darrell," and I laughed to see the frown gather again on his brow. But he made no reply, being unable to trust his self- control or answer my light banter in its own kind He left me wi'Ai no more than a shake of his head and a Avave of his hand ; and although we parted thus in amity and with no feelings save of kindness for one another, I knew that henceforth there must be a difference in our relations; the days of confidence were gone. Ti'^^S-2T^"^^^°" of my loss weighed little with me. llie dithdence born of inexperience and of strange- ness to London and the Court was wearing away • the desire for another's arm to lean on and another's'eyes to see with gave way before a young man's pride in his own arm's strength and the keenness of his own vision. There was sport afoot ; aye, for me in those days all things were sport, even the high disputes of Churches or of Kingdoms. We look at the world through our own glasses; little as it recks of us, it is to us material and opportunity; there in the dead of night I wove a dream wherein the part of hero was played by Simon Dale, with Kings and Dukes to bow him on and off the stage and Christendom to make an audience. These droam-doings are brave thinos; I pity the man who performs none of them, for in Uiem you may achieve without labour, enjoy without ex- pense, triumph without cruelty ; aye, and sin mightily and grandly with never a reckoning for it. Yet do not be a mean villain even in your dreaming, for that sticks to you when you awake. I had supposed myself alone to be out of bed aad WteJil Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. lo: Jonah Wall to have slunk off in fear of my an^er. But now my meditations were interrupted by his En- trance. He crept up to me in an uneasy fashion, but seemed to take courage when I did not break into abuse, but asked him mildly why he hud not souc^ht rest and wnat he wanted with me. His first ansvver was to implore me to protect him from Mr. Darrell's writh ; through Phineas Tate, he told me timidly, he had found grace and he could deny him nothing; yet, if I bade him, he would not admit him again. " Let him come," said I, carelessly. " Besides, we shall not be long here, for you and I are going on a journey, Jonah." "A journey, sir.?" "Aye ; I go with the Duke of Monmouth, and you go with me, to Dover when the King goes." Now either Dover was on everybody's brain, or was very sadly on my brain, for I swear even this fellow's eye seemed to brighten as I named the place. "To Dover, sir?" " No less. You shall see all. the gaiety there is to be seen, Jonah." The flush of interest had died away, he was dole- fully tranquil and submissive again. "Well, what do you want with me?" I asked, for I did not wish him to suspect that I detected any change in his manner. "A lady came here to-day, sir, in a very fine coach with Flemish horses, and asked for you. Hearing you were from home, she called to me and bade me take a message for you. I prayed her to write it, but she laughed, and said she spoke more easily than she wrote ; and she bade me say that she wished to see you." "What sort of lady was she, Jonah ? " She sat all the while in the coach Sir, but she seemed not tall; she was very merry, sir." Jonah io6 P Simon Dale. ii sighed deeply ; with him merriment stood high among the vices of our nature. " She didn't say for what purpose she wanted me ?" I asked, as carelessly as 1 could. " No, sir. She said you would know the purpose, and that she would look for you at noon to-morrow." "But where, Jonah?" •' At a house called Burford House, sir, in Chelsea." " She gave you no name ? " " I asked her name, and she gave me one." "What was it?" " It was a strange heathenish name, and she laughed as she gave it ; indeed she laughed all the time." " There's no sin in laughter," said I, dryly. "You may leave me. I need no help in undressing." " But the name " " By heaven, man, I know the name ! Be off with you! " lie shuffled ofT, his whole manner expressing repro- bation, whether most of my oath, or of the heathenish name, or of the lady who gave it, I know not. Well, if he were so Horror-stricken at these things, what would he say at learning with whom he had talked? Perhaps he would have preached to her as had Phineas Tate, his master in religion. For, beyond doubt, that heathenish name was Cydaria, and that fine coach with Flemish horses — I left the question of that coach unanswered. The moment the door was shut behind my servant, I sprang to my feet, crying in a low but very vehe- ment voice, " Never ! " I would not go. Had she not wounded me enough ? Must I tear away the bandage from the gash ? She had tortured me, and asked me now, with a laugh, to be so good as stretch myself on the rack again, I would not go. That laugh was cruel insolencco I knew that laugho Ah, why so I did — I knew it well — how it rose and rippled and fell, ''■-•:^m |H Madness, Magic, and Moonshine 107 losing itself in echoes scarcely audible, but rich with enticing mirth. Surely she was cunningly fashioned for the undoing of men ; yes, and of herself, poor soul. What were her coaches, and the Flemish horses, and the house called Burford House in Chel- sea > A wave of memory swept over me and I saw her simple — well then, more simple !— though always merry, in the sweet-smelling fields at home, playing with my boy's heart as with a toy that she knew little of, but yet by instinct handled deftly. It pleased her mightily, that toy, and she seemed to wonder when she found that it felt. She did not feel ; joy was hers, nothing deeper. Yet could she not, might she not* would she not? I knew what she was; who knew what she might be ? The picture of her rose again before my eyes, inviting a desperate venture, spur- rmg me on to an enterprise in which the effort seemed absurdity, and success would have been in he eyes of the world calamity. Yet an exaltation of spirit was on me, and I wove another dream that drove the first away; now I did not go to Dover to play my part in great affairs and jostle for higher place in a world where in God's eyes all places are equal and all low, but away back to the country I had loved, and not alone. She should be with me, love should dress penitence in glowing robes, and purity be decked more gloriously than all the pomps of sin. Could it be? If it could it seemed a prize for which all else might be willingly forgone, an achievement rare and great, though the page of no history recorded it. Phineas Tate had preached to her, and gone away empty and scorned. I would preach too, in different tones and with a different gospel. Yet my words should have a sweetness his had not, my gospel a power that should draw where his repelled. For my Jove— .shaken not, yet shattered ; wounded, not dead— io8 Simon Dale* springing again to full life and force, should breathe its vital energy into her soul and impart of its endless abundance till her heart was full. Entranced by this golden vision, I rose and looked from the window at the dawning day, praying that mine might be the task, the achievement, the reward. Bright dawned that day as I, with brighter bright- ness in my heart, climbed the stairs that led to my bedroom. But as I reached the door of it, I paused. There came a sound from the little closet beyond,' where Jonah stretched his weary legs, and, as I hoped] had forgotten in harmless sleep the soul that he him- self tormented worse than would the hell he feared. No, he did not rest. From his closet came low, fer-* vent, earnest prayers; h'stening a minute, half in scorn, half in pity, and in no unkindness, I heard him. ''Praise be to God," he said, "Who maketh the crooked places straight, and openeth a path through the wilderness, and setteth in the hand of His servant a sword wherewith to smite the ungodly even in high places." What crooked places were made straight, what path opened, what sword set in Jonah's hand ? Of the un^ godly in high places there was no lack in the days of King Charles. But was Jonah Wall to smite them ? I opened my door with a laugh. We were all mad »;hat night, and my madness lasted till the morning. Yes, till the morning grew full, my second dream was with me. CHAPTER DC Of Gems and Pebbles* How I sought her, how I found her, that fine house of hers with the lawn round it and the river by it, the stare of her lackeys, the pomp of her living, the great lord who was bowed out as I went in, the maid who bridled and glanced and laughed— they are all there in my memory, but blurred, confused, beyond clear recall. Yet all that she was, looked, said, aye, or left the clearer for being unsaid, is graven on my memory in lines that no years obliterate and no change of mind makes hard to read. She wore the great diamond necklace whose purchase was a fresh text with the serious, and a new jest for the wits ; on her neck it gleamed and flashed as brilliantly and variously as the dazzling turns in her talk and the unending chase of fleeting moods across her face. Yet I started from my lodging, sworn to win her, and came home sworn to have done with her. let me tell it ; I told it to my- self a thousand times in the days that followed. But even now, and for all the times that the scene has played itself again before my unwilling eyes, I can scarcely tell whence and how, at the last, the change came. I think that the pomp itself, the lord and the lackej^s, the fine house, and all her state struck, as it were, cold at my heart, dooming to failure the mad appeal which they could not smother. But there was more; for all these might have been, and yet not reached or infected her °soul. But when I spoke to no Simon Dale* her in words that had for me a sweetness so potent as to win me from all hesitation and make as noth- ing the whole world beside, she did not understand. I saw that she tried to understand ; when she failed, I had failed also. The flower was dead ; what use then to cherish or to water it ? I had not thought u was dead, but had prayed that, faded and choked though it were, yet it might find life in the sunshine of my love and the water of her tears. But she did not weep, unless in a passing petulance because I asked what she could not give ; and the clouds swept dark over my love's bright face. And now, alas, I am so wise that I cannot weep ! I must rather smile to have asked, than lament that my asking was in vain. I must wonder at her patience in refusing kindly, and be no more amazed that she refused at last. Yet this sad wisdom that sits well on age I do not love in youth. I was a fool ; but if to hold that good shall win and a true love prevail be folly, let my sons be fools after me until their sons in turn catch up from them the torch of that folly which illuminates the world. You would have said that she had not looked to see me, for she started as though in surprise when I stood before her, saying, " You sent for me." " I sent for you ? " she cried, still as if puzzled ; then, " Ah, I remember. A whim seized me as I passed your lodging. Yet you deserved no such fa- vour, for you treated me very rudely — why, yes, with great unkindness — last time we met. But I wouldn't have you think me resentful. Old friends must for- give one another, mustn't they? Besides you meant no hurt, you were vexed, perhaps you were even sur- prised. Were you surprised? No, you weren't sur- prised. But were you grieved, Simon ? " I had been gazing dully at her, now I spoke heavily and dully. Of Gems and Pebbles. Ill "You wear gems there on your neck," said I, point- ing at the necklace. "Isn't the neck worthy?" she murmured quickly yet softly, pulling her dress away to let me see the better, and raising her eyes to mine. ** Yes, very worthy. But wouldn't you be grieved to find them pebbles? " " By my faith, yes ! " she laughed, " for I paid the price of gems for them." " i also paid the price of a gem," said I, " and thought I had it." "And it proved a pebble?" said she, leaning over me ; for I had seated myself in a chair, being in no mood for ceremony. " Yes, a pebble ; a very pv.bble, a common pebble ! " "A common pebble!" she echoed. "Oh, Simon, cruel Simon I But a pretty bright pebble ? It looked like a gem, Simon ? " " God forgive you, yes. In heaven's name — then- long ago, when you came to Hatchstead— what then? Weren't you then ? " *; No gem," said she. " Even then a pebble." Her voice sank a little, as though for a single moment some unfamiliar shame came on hec. "A common pebble," she added, echoing my words. " Then God forgive you," said I again, and I leant my head on my hand. " And you, good Simon, do you forgive me? " I was silent. She moved away petulantly, crying, — " You're all so ready to call on God to forgive ! Is forgiveness God's only? Will none of you forgive for yourselves? Or are you so righteous that you can't do what God must ? " I sprang up and came to her. ^ " Forgive ! " I cried, in a low voice. " Aye, I'll for- give. Don't talk of forgiveness to me. I came to love." m 113 Simon Dale* To love? Now? Her eyes grew wide in won- dcr, amusement, and delight. "Yes," said I. "You loved the gem; you'd love the pebble? Snnon, Simon, where is Madame your mother, where my good friend the Vicar ? Ah, where's your' virtue, Simon ? " " Where yours shall be," I cried, seizing and cover. ing her hands in mine. "Where yours, there mine, and both in love that makes delight and virtue one.'' I caught a hand to my lips and kissed it many times. ;* No sin comes but by desire," said I, pleading, " and if the desire is no sin, there is no sin. Come with me ! I will fulfil all your desire and make your sin dead." She shrank back amazed ; this was strange talk to her, yet she left her hand in mine. "Come with you ? But whither, whither ? We are no more in the fields at Hatchstead." "We could be again," I cried. "Alone in the fields at Hatchstead." Even now she hardly understood what I would have, or, understanding, could not believe that she under- stood rightly. " You mean— leave— leave London and go with you ? With you alone? * " Yes — alone with your husband." She pulled her hand away with a jerk, crying, "You're mad." " May be. Let me be mad, and be mad yourself also, sweetheart. If both of us are mad, what hurt ? " "What I— I go— I leave the town— I leave the Court ? And you ? — You're here to seek your for- tune ! " " Mayn't I dream that I've found it ? " And again I caught her hand. After a moment she drew nearer to me ; I felt her fingers press mine in tenderness. ; in won- Of Gems and Pebbles. 1 13 " Poor Simon ! " said she, with a little laugh. " In- deed he remembers Cydaria well. ]iut Cydaria, such ^f ^m"-' ^I?/^' ^^^^ Cydaria, is ^ronc And now I am not she. Then she lauj^hej again, crying, " What follv ! " " A moment ago you didn't call it folly." " Then I was doubly a fool," she answered, with the first touch of bitterness. " For folly it is, deep and black. I am not— nay, was I ever .'— one to ramble in green fields all day and go home to a cottage." " Never," said I. " Nor will be save for the love of a man you love. Save for that, what woman has been ? But for that, how many ! " ^^ '' Why very few," said she with a gentle little laugh. "And of that few— I am not one. Nay, nor do I am I cruel ?— nor do I love you, Simon." " You swear it ? " " But a little— as a friend, an old friend." "And a dear one?" "One dear for a certain pleasant folly that he has." You 11 come ? " " No." " VVhy not ? But in a day neither you nor I would ask why. "Ask now. There's a regiment of reasons." Her laugh burst out again ; yet her eyes seemed tender. " Give me one." " I have given one. I don't love you." " I won't take it." " I am what I am." "You should be what I would make you." "You're to live at the Court. To serve the Duke of Monmouth, isn't it?" " What do I care for that ? Are there no others ? " " Let go my hand— No, let it go. See now, I'll show you. There's a ring on it." " I see the ring." "A rich one." 114 Simon Dale* " Very rich." " Simon, do you guess who set it there ?" •| He is your King only while you make him such." Nay, she cried, with sudden passion, - I am set on my course." Then came defiance. " I wouldn't change it. Didn't I tell you once that I might have power with the King? " " Power ? What's that to you ? What's it to any oi us beside love .'' • ' ?^ ^ ^°,?^ ^"°^ anything about your love," she cried, fretfully, " but I know what I love— the stir and the frowns of great ladies, and the courting of great lords. Ah, but why do I talk? Do we reason with a madman ? " "If we are t^ouched ever so little with his disease." She turned to me with sparkling eyes : she spoke very softly. *^ " Ah, Simon, you too have a tongue ! Can you also lure women? I think you could. But keep it, Simon, keep it for your wife. There's many a maid would gladly take the title, for you're a fine figure, and I think that you know the way to a woman's heart." Standing above me (for I had sunk back in my chair) she caressed my cheek gently with her hand. I was checked, but not beaten. My madness, as she called It (as must not I also call it ?), was still in me, hot and surging. Hope was yet alive, for she had shown me tenderness, and once it had seemed as though a passing shadow of remorse shot across her brightness. Putting out my hands, I took both of hers again, and so looked up in her face, dumbly be- seeching her; a smile quivered on her lips as she shook her head at me. " Heaven keeps you for better things," she said. •' I'd be the judge of them myself," I cried, and I sought to carry her hands to m.y lips. Of Gems and Pebbles. 113 " Let me go," she said ; " Simon, you must let me go. Nay, you must. So! Sit there, and I'll sit opposite to you." She did as she said, seating herself over against me, although quite close. She looked me in the face. Presently she gave a little sigh. "Won't you leave me now?" she asked, with a plaintive smile. I shook my head, but made no other answer. " I'm sorry," she went on softly, " that I came to Hatchstead ; I'm sorry that I brought you to London, that I met you in the Lane, that I brought you here to-day. I didn't guess your folly. I've lived with players, and with courtiers, and with— with one other ; so I didn't dream of such folly as yours. Yes, I'm sorry." '•You can give me joy infinitely greater than any sorrow I've had by you," said I, in a low voice. On this she sat silent for a full minute, seeming to study my face. Then she looked to right and left, as though she would fain have escaped. Then she laughed a little, but grew grave again, saying, " I don't know why I laughed," and sighing heavily. I watched every motion and change in her, waiting for her to speak again. At last she spoke. " You won't be angry with me, Simon ?" she asked, coaxiiigly. ^" Why, no," I answered, wondering. "Nor run quite mad, nor talk of death, nor any horrors ? " " I'll hear all you say calmly," I answered. She sat looking at me in a whimsical distress, seemmg to deprecate wrath and to pray my pardon, yet still to hint amusement deep-hidden in her mind. Then she drew herself up and a stranc^e and most pitiful pride appeared in her face. I did not know the meaning of it. Then she leant for- ii6 Simon Dale* ward towards me, blushing a little, and whispered my name. " I'm waiting to hear you," said I ; my voice came hard, stern and cold. " You'll be cruel to me, I know you will," she cried petulantly. " On my life, no," said I. " What is it you want to say ? " She was like a child who shows you some loved, for- bidden toy that she should not have, but prizes above all her trifles; there was that sly joy, that ashamed exultation in her face. "I have promises," she whispered, clasping her hands and nodding her head at me. "Ah, they make songs on me, and laugh at me, and Castlemaine looks at me as though I were the street-dirt under her feet. But they shall see ! Aye, they shall see that I can match them ! " She sprang to her feet in reckless merriment, crying, " Shall I make a pretty countess, Simon ? " She came near to me and whispered with a mysterious air, " Simon, Simon ! " I looked up at her sparkling eyes. " Simon, what's he whom you serve, whom you're proud to serve? Who is he, I say ? " And she broke into a laugh of triumph. But I, hearing her laugh, and finding my heart filled with a sudden terror, spread my hands over my eyes and fell back heavily in my chair, like a sick man or a drunken. For now, indeed, I saw that my gem was but a pebble. And the echo of her laugh rang in my ears. " So I can't come, Simon," I heard her say. " You see that I can't come. No, no, I can't come;" and again she laughed. I sat where I was, hearing nothing but the echo of her laugh, unable to think save of the truth that was driven so cruelly into my mind. The first realising Of Gems and Pebbles. 117 young of things that cannot be undone brings to a man a fierce impotent resentment ; that was in my heart, and with it a sudden revulsion from what I had desired, as intemperate as the desire, as cruel, it may be, as the thing which gave it birth. Neil's laughter died away and she was silent. Presently I felt a hand rest on my hands as though seeking to convey sym- pathy in a grief but half understood. I shrank away, moving my hands till hers no longer touched them. There are little acts, small matters often, on which re- morse attends while life lasts. Even now my heart is sore that I shrank away from her : she was different now in nothing from what I had known of her ; but I who had desired passionately now shunned her : the thing had come home to me, plain, close, in an odious intimacy. Yet I wish I had not shrunk away ; before I could think I had done it, and I found no words ; better perhaps that I attempted none. I looked up : she was holding out the hand before her; there was a puzzled smile on her lips. " Does it burn, does it prick, does it soil, Simon ? " she asked. " See, touch it, touch it. It is as it was, isn't it? " She put it close by my hand, waiting for me to take it, but I did not take it. " As it was when you kissed it," said she; but still I did not take it. I rose to my feet slowly and heavily, like a tired man whose legs are reluctant to resume their load. She stood quite still, regarding me now with alarm and wondering eyes. •'It's nothing," I stammered. "Indeed, it's noth- ing, only I hadn't thought of it." Scarcely knowing what I did, I began to move towards the door. An unreasoning instinct impelled me to get away from her. Yet my gaze was drawn to her face ; I saw her lips pouting and her cheek flushed, the brightness of her eyes grew clouded. She loved me enoup-h to be hurt by me, if no more. A pity seized me ; turning, I ■M I 'I ii8 Simon Dale* li I) ■ I' ^ I' "i im\ fellonmyknee and, seizing the hand whose touch I had refused, I kissed it. intnt^-i',-r" ^''' "'^' ^'^""^ "^"^ • " '^'^ ^^ied' breaking into smiles again. ^ sorrv tf^.^r^''f"-^'^^'" '^^^ ^' " ^^' ^" truth I'm sorry tor my Cydaria. now^wf^r/ r f'V ?'"" ^ ^"''" ^^^^ whispered, and shTmlther?"''' ^'^"^^' ^°^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ' '^'^ "Not what is hurts us, but what we know," said I. Good-bye Cydana," and again I kissed her hand! an ril ^~ ^^'^^ ^°'^ ^^ ^"^ ^°^^^^ ^^'* ^^^^' ^'"^^^S " I wish I hadn't told you." "In God's name, don't wish that," said I, and drew her gaze on me again in surprise. I moved on my way the only way my feet could tread. But she darted after me, and laid her hand on my arm I looked at her in amazed questioning. "You'll come again, Simon, when—?" The smile would not be denied though it came timidly, af?aM for ts welcome and distrustful of its right. '' When you're better, Simon.?" ^ I longed, with all my heart I longed, to be kind to her How could the thing be to her what it was to mef bhe could not understand why I was aghast • extravagant despair, all in the style of a vanquished rival, would have been easy for her to meet, to ridi- cule. to comfort. I knew all this, but I could not find the means to affect it or to cover my own distress. ^^ 1 ou n come again then ? " she insisted, pleadingly. cruelty ^"^ ^' """"^ '''"^"^' '""'^^ unwilling At that a sudden gust of passion seized her and she turned on me, denouncing me fiercely, in terms she took no care to measure, for a prudish virtue thai- ior good or gvH was not mine, and for a narrowness 7 ''^^^^WBH^^BSRB^ Of Gems and Pebbles* 119 of which my reason was not guilty. I stood defence- less in the storm, crying at the end no more than, " I don't think thus of you." " You treat me as though you thought thus," she cried. Yet her manner softened and she came across to me, seeming now as if she might fall to weeping. But at the instant the door opened and the saucy maid who had ushered me in entered, running hastily to her mistress, in whose ears she whispered, nodding and glancing the while at me. "The King!" cried Nell, and turning to me, she added hastily, " He'd best not find you here." " I ask no better than to be gone," said I. "I know, I know," she cried. "We're not dis- turbed ! The King's coming interrupts nothing, forall's finished. Go then, go! out of my sight!" Her an- ger seemed to rise again, while the serving-girl stared back astonished, as she passed out. But if she went to stay the King's coming, she was too late. For he was in the doorway, the instant she had passed through ; he had heard Nell's last speech, and now he showed himself, asking easily, — • " Who's the gentleman of whose society you are so ready to be relieved ? " I turned, bowing low. The King arched his brows. It may well be that he had had enough of me already, and that he was not well pleased to stumble on me again and in this place. But he said nothing, merely turning his eyes to Nell in question. "You know him, Sir," said she, throwing herself mto a chair. "Yes, I know him," said the King. " But if I may ask without presumption, what brings him here?" Nell looked at the pair of us, the King and Simon Dale, and answered coolly, — " My invitation." " The answer is all sufficient," bowed the King. •k i ■ 1 ?»■ I! ! li ..li*. ; 120 Simon Dale. " I'm before my time then, for I received a like hon- our. " No, he's after his," said she. " But as you heard bir, I was urging him to go." ' litel^''' °" "^y account, I pray," said the King, po- " No, on his. He's not easy here." " Yet he outstayed his time ! " " We had a matter of business together, Sir He came to ask something of me, but matters did not prove to be as he thought." "Indeed, you must tell me more, or should have V- '?^, A' , ^."'. ,?^ "" "^'S^ty c"''io"s disposition. '?A ^ ^n'V^^^^ ''^ • ^"^ ^^^ K'"g seated himself. 1 will beg your Majesty's permission to depart," said 1. "All requests here, sir, lie with this lady to grant or to refuse. In this house I am a servant— nay, a slave. "^ Nell rose and coming to the side of the King's chair stood there. " Had things been other than they are, Mr. Dale would have asked me to be his wife," said she. A silence followed. Then the King remarked,— " Had things been other than they are, Mr. Dale would have done well.'' "And had they been other than they are, I might well have answered yes,'' said Nell. " Why, yes, very well," said the King. " For Mr. Dale IS, I'm very sure, a gentleman of spirit and honour, although he seems, if I may say so, just now rather taciturn." " But as matters are Mr. Dale would have no more of me. "It's not forme," said the King, "to qua-. 2I with nis resolve, although I'm free to m.arvel at it." " And asks no more of me than leave to depart." Of Gems and Pebbles. 121 " Do you find it hard, madame, to grant him that much?" She looked in the King's face and laughed in amuse- ment, but whether at him or me or herself I cannot tell. "Why, yes, mighty hard," said she. " It's strange how hard." " By my faith," said the King, " I begin to be glad that Mr. Dale asked no more. For if it be hard to grant him this little thing, it might have been easy to grant him more. Come, is it granted to him ? " " Let him ask for it again," said she, and leaving the King she came and stood before me, raising her eyes to mine. "Would you leave me, Simon?" she cried. "Yes, I wc'.ld leave you, madame," said I. "Togo whither?" " I don't know." "Yet the question isn't hard," interposed the King. " And the answer is — elsewhere." "Elsewhere!" cried Nell. "But what does that mean. Sir?" "Nay, I don't know her name," said the King. " Nor, may be, does Mr. Dale yet. But he'll learn and so, I hope, shall I, if I can be of service to him." " I'm in no haste to learn It," cried Nell. " Why, no," laughed the King. She turned to me again, holding out her hand as though she challenged me to refuse it. " Good-bye, Simon," said she, and she broke into a strange little laugh that seemed devoid of mirth, and to express a railing mockery of herself and what she did. I saw the King watching us with attentive eyes and brows bent in a frown. " Good-bye," said I. Looking into her eyes, I let my gaze dwell long on her; it dwelt longer than I 122 Simon Dale* meant reluctant to take last leave of old friends. 1 lien I kissed her hand and bowed very low to the King, who replied with a good-natured nod : then turning I passed out of the room. I take it that the change from youth to manhood, and agam from full manhood to decline, comes upon us gradually never ceasing but never swift, as mind and body alike are insensibly transformed beneath the assault of multitudinous unperceived forces of matter and of circumstances ; it is the result we know • that not the process, is the reality for us. We awake to hnd done what our sleepy brains missed in the doine and after months or years perceive ourselves in a second older by all that period. We are jogged bv the elbow, roused ruthlessly and curtly bidden to look and see how we are changed, and wonder, weep or smile as may seem best to us in face of the metamor- phosis. A moment of such awakening came to me now • 1 seemed a man different from him who had, no great number of minutes before, hastened to the house, in- spired by an insane hope, and aflame with a passion that defied reason and summed up life in longing Ihe lackeys were there still, the maid's smile altered only by a fuller and more roguish insinuation. On me the change had passed, and I looked coen-eyed on v'hat I had been. Then came a smile, close neurh- bour to a groan, and the scorn of my old self which is the sad delirium wrought by moving time ; but the lackey held the door for me and I passed out. A noise sounded from above as the casement of the window was thrown open. She looked out; her anger was gone, her emotion also seemed gone. ' She stood there smiling, very kindly but with mockery. She held in either hand a flower. One she smelt and held her face long to it, as though its sweetness kept her senses willing prisoners; turning to the other she smelt it for a short instant and then drew away' friends, w to the od ; then nanhood, nes upon as mind leath the 3f matter •w ; that, iwake to le doing, ves in a gged by 1 to look weep, or netamor- menow; no great ouse, in- passion longing. : altered on. On )en-eyed 5e neigh- wliich is but the t of the nt; her e. She lockery. lelt and iss kept ; other, y away, i I . ■ 1 ■^ AIJAIN HKK I.AU(.H SI )rNI)Kl) AKOVK MK."— PAlJK I 23- Of Gems and Pebbles. 123 *'i^^'' 5C-.'^>? her face that told every mood with unfailing aptness twisted into disappointment or disgust. She leant out looking down on me ; now behind her shoulder I saw the King's black face, half hidden by the hang- ings of the window She glanced at the first flower, then at the second, held up both her hands for a mo- ment, turned for an instant with a coquettish smile towards the swarthy face behind, then handed the first flower with a laugh into a hand that was stretched out for it, and flung the second down to me. As it floated through the air, the wind disengaged its loose petals and they drifted away, some reaching ground, some caught by gusts and carried away, circling, towards the housetops. The stalk fell by me, almost naked, stripped of its bloom. For the second flower was faded, and had no sweetness nor life left in it. Again her laugh sounded above me, and the casement closed. I bent and picked up the stalk. Was it her own mood she told me in the allegory ? Or was it the mood she knew to be in me? There had been an echo of sorrow in the laugh, of pity, kindness and regret : and the laugh that she uttered in giving the fresh bloom to the King had seemed pure derision. It was my love, not hers, that found its symbol in the dymg flower and the stalk robbed of its glory. She had said well, it was as she said ; I picked up what she flung and went on my way, hugging my dead. In this manner then, as I, Simon the old, have shown, was I, Simon the young, brought back to my senses. It is all very long ago. fi I I i' CHAPTER X. Jc Vicns, Tu Vicns, U Vicnt It pleased his Grace the Duke of Monmouth so to do all things that men should heed his doing of them Even m those days, and notwithstanding certain transl actions hereinbefore related, I was not altogether a fool, and I had not been long about him before I de- tected this propensity, and, as I thought, the intention underlying it. To set it down boldly and plainly the more the Duke of Monmouth was ' i the eye of the nation, the better the nation accustomed itself to re gard him as the king's son ; the more it fell into the habit of counting him the king's son, the less as- tonished and unwilling would it be, if Fate should place him on the king's seat. Where birth is beyond reproach, dignity may be above display ; a defect in the first demands an ample exhibition of the second. It was a small matter, this journey to Dover, yet that he might not go in the train of his father and the Duke of York, but make mf^n talk of his own going, he chose to start beforehand and alone ; lest even thus he should not win his meed of notice, he set all the inns and all the hamlets on the road a-gossiping by accomplishing the journey from London to Canter, bury in his coach-and-six between sunrise and sunset of a single day. To this end it was needful that the coach should be light; Lord Carford, now his Grace's inseparable companion, alone sat with him, while the rest of us rode on horseback, and the Post supplied us :;^. ]c Vicns, Tu Viens, H VicnU 12! 3Uth SO to ^ of them, tain trans- ogether a ;fore I de- intention lainly, the ye of the self to re- l into the e less as- te should is beyond defect in le second, yet, that ' and the vn going, ;ven thus ;t all the )iping by ) Canter- id sunset that the 3 Grace's vhile the pplied us with relays where we were in want of them. Thus we went down gallantly and in very high style, with his Grare much delighted at being told that never had King or subject made such pace in his travelling since the memory of man began. Here was reward enough for all the jolting, the flogging of horses, and the pain of yokels pressed unwillingly into pushing the coach with their shoulders through miry places. As I rode, I had many things to think of. My woe I held at arm's length. Of what remained, the in- timacy between his Grace and my Lord Carford, who were there in the -zoach together, occupied my mind most constantly. For by now I had moved about in the world a little and had learnt that many counted Carford no better than a secret Papist, that he was held in private favour, but not honoured in public, by the Duke of York, and that communications passed freely between him and Arlington by the hand of the Secretary's good servant and my good friend Mr. Dar- rell. Therefore I wondered greatly at my lord's friend- ship with Monmouth, and at his showing an attachment to the Duke which, as I had seen at Whitehall, ap- peared to keep in check even the natural jealousy and resentment of a lover. But at Court a man went wrong if he held a thing unlikely because there was dishonour in it. There men were not ashamed to be spies themselves, nor to use their wives in the same office. There to see no evil was to shut your eyes. I determined to keep mine open in the interests of my new patron, of an older friend, and perhaps of myself also, for Carford's present civility scarcely masked his dislike. We reached Canterbury while the light of the long summer evening still served, and clattered up the street in muddy bravery. The town was out to see his Grace, and his Grace was delighted to be seen by the town. If of their courtesy they chose to treat r> f i! '■' 126 Simon Dale« him as a Prince, he could scarcely refuse their homage, and if he accepted it, it was better to accept like one to the manner born than awkwardly ; yet 1 wondered whether my lord made a note in his aspiring brain of all that passed, and how soon the Duke of York would know that a Prince of Wales, coming to Canterbury could have received no greater honour. Nay, and they hailed him as the chamjiion of the Church, with hits at the Romish faith which my lord heard with eyes downcast to the ground and a rigid smile carved on his face. It was all a forecast of what was one day to be, perhaps to the hero of it a suggestion of what some day might be. ' At least he was radiant over it, and carried Carford off with him into his apartment in the merriest mood. He did not invite me to join his party, and I was well content to be left to wander for an hour in the quiet close of the great cathedral. For let me say that a young man who has been lately crossed in love is in a better mood for most unworldly meditation, than he is likely to be before or after. And if he would not be taki n too strictly at his word in all he says to himself then, why, who would, pray, and when? It was not my fault, but must be set down to our nature, that in time my stomach cried out angrily at my heart, and I returned to the inn, seeking supper. His Grace was closeted with my lord, and I turned into the pubLc-room, desiring no other company than what should lie on my plate. But my host imme- diately made me aware that I must share my meal and the table with a traveller vvho had recently ar- rived and ordered a repast. This gentleman, concern- ing whom the host seemed in some perplexity had been informed that the Duke of Monmouth was in the house, but had shown neither excitement at the news nor surprise, nor, to the ho.si . great scandal, the least acbiic ior a sight of his Grace. His men-ser- 1* Jc Viem, Tu Vicns, U Vient. 127 Ir homage, t like one wondered J brain of ork would mtcrbury. Nay, and inch, with card with ile carved s one day n of what It over it, rtment in join his 'ander for Iral. For en lately inworldly or after. his word uld, pray, /n to our mgrily at 1 supper. I turned any than st imme- my meal :ently ar- concern- dty, had li was in It at the ndal, the men-ser- vants, of whom he had two, seemed tongue-tied, so that the host doubted if they had more than a few phrases of English and set the whole party down for Frenchmen. " Hasn't the gentleman given his name ? " I asked. "No. He didn't offer it, and since he flung down money enough for his entertainment 1 had no cause to ask it." " None," I remarked, " unless a man may be al- lowed more curiosity than a beast. Stir yourself about supper," and walking in I sa utcd, with all the courtesy at my command, a young gentleman of ele- gant appearance (so far as I could judge of him in travellers' garb) who sat at the table. His greetings equalled mine in politeness, and we fell into talk on different matters, he using the English language, which he spoke with remarkable fluency, although evidently as a foreigner. His ni.uiner was easy and assured, and I took it for no more than an accident that his pistol lay ready to his hand, beside a small case or pocket-book of leather on the table. He asked me my business, and I told him simply that I was going in the Duke's train to Dover. "Ah, to meet Madame the Duchess of Orleans?" said he. " I h ard of her coming before I left France. Her visit, sir, will give great pleasure to the King her brother." " More, if report speak true, than to the Prince her husband," said I, with a laugh. For the talk at Court was that the Duke of Orleans hated to let his wife out of his sight, while she for her part hated to be in it. Both had their reasons, I do not doubt. "Perhaps," he answered, with a shrug. "But it's hard to know the truth in these matters. I am myself acquainted with many gentlemen at the French Court, and they have much to say, but I believe little of it." Though L might commend his prudence I was not 128 Simon Dale. ,| encouraged to pursue the topic, and, seeking a change ter^rEnS i^-^,!^- '--Pliment o^his mf^ m^re'^riiUll ^^t^^ ''^' ^" ^^^^ ^^ ^ X-r or "Your English puts my French to the blush" I hu|.ed, "else hospitality would bid me use your Ian- eal^tr^"- ^""''- " ^^ ^^^^^- "I -n^e- it is at C^urf"^ ^F ^^'.^'1 ^^^^. ^"^'"* f'-^"^ merchants, not Hm;7. ;• ^''' ^'^^^'* ^^ ^^^ "^tions had come rom time to time to my uncle's house at Norwich. politdv ^Prtr^ r" '^'? "^^^y ^'^"'" h^ ^"sisted, politely. Pray let me judge of your skill for my! I was about to oblige him, when a loud dispute arose outside, French ejaculations mingling S Enghsh oaths. Then came a scuffle. With a hurried apology the gentleman sprang to his feet and rushed scrv.nf^Tn"H ?"n'''^-' "^y «"PPer. supposing that his scivants had fallen into some altercation with the landlord and that the parties could not make one lZnlLT'^"T''\ My/°"J>cture was confirmed Tro'e over hi ' '' "'"?^' ^"'^^""^ '^'^' ^he quarrel arose over the capacity of a measure of wine and had tv^f'^''^^''^"^^,^- ^"^ ^^^"' ^'th a little cry of t.hit "^' ^ ."5"^^^' . "P '^^^ pocket-book from the table and darted a quick glance of suspicion at me. I him ZZ" ^""^"f '.^'" ^"^'">'' ^"^ ^y '^'^^^ caused him confusion, for he saw that I had detected his ear. Thinking him punished enough for his rudeness (although It might find some excuse in the ind"ffe?en? honesty of many who frequented the roads in the guise of travellers) I relieved him by resuming ou? conversation, saying with a smile,— ^ Jc Vicns, Ta Viens, II Vicnt. 129 " In truth my French is a school-boy's French. I tell the parts of the verb J'aime, tu aimes, il aitne ; )es so far, sir, and no farther." '** Not far in speech, though often far enough in act," le laughed. " Truly," said I, with a sigh. ** Yet I swear you do yourself injustice. Is there no more? " "A little more of the same sort, sir." And, casting about for another phrase with which to humour him, I took the first that came to my tongue ; leaning my arms on the table (for I had finished eating), I said with a smile, " Well, what say you to this? This is something to know, isn't it ? Jeviens, tu viens, il vicnt." As I live, he sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm ! His hand darted to his breast where he had stowed the pocket-book ; he tore it out and examined the fastening with furious haste and anxiety. I sat struck still with wonder; the man seemed mad. He looked at me now, and his glance was full of deepest sus- picion. He opened his mouth to speak, but words seemed to fail him ; he held out the leathern case towards me. Strange as was the question that his gesture put I could not doubt it. " I haven't touched the book," said I. " Indeed, sir, only your visible agitation can gain your pardon for the suggestion." "Then how— how?" he muttered. " You pass my understanding, sir." said I, in petu- lant amusement. " I say in jest ' I come, thou comest, he comes,' and the words act on you like abracadabra and the blackest of magic. You don't, I presume, carry a hornbook of French in your case, and if you do I haven't robbed you of it." He was turning the little case over and over in his hands, again examining the clasps of it. His next freak was to snatch his pistol and look to the priming. .i.'l 13° Simon Dale* lil I burst out laughing, for his antics seemed absurd. My laughter cooled him and he made a great effort to regain his composure. But I began to rally him. " Mayn't a man know how to say in French * He comes' without stealing the knowledge from your book, sir? " I asked. " You do us wrong if you think that so much is known to nobody in England." He glared at me like a man who hears a jest, but cannot tell whether it conceals earnest or not. " Open the case, sir," I continued, in raillery. " Make sure all is there. Come, you owe me that much." To my amazement he obeyed me. He opened the case and searched through certain papers which it con- tamed ; at the end he sighed as though in relief, yet his suspicious air did not leave him. " Now perhaps, sir," said I, squaring my elbows, "you 11 explain the comedy." That he could not do. The very impossibility of any explanation showed that I had, in the most unex- pected fashion, stumbled on some secret with him even as I had before with Darrell. Was his secret Darrell's or his own, the same or another? What it was I could not tell, but for certain there it was. He had no resource but to carry the matter with a high hand, and to this he betook himself with the readiness of his nation. " You ask an explanation, sir ? " he cried. " There's nothing to explain, and if there were, I give explana- tions when I please, and not to every fellow who chooses to ask them of me." " I come, thou comest, he comes — 'tis a very mys- terious phrase," said I. " I can't tell what it means. And if you won't tell me, sir, I must ask others." "You'll be wiser to ask nobody," he said, menac- ingly. " Nay, I shall be no wiser if I ask nobody," I re- torted, with a smile. Jc Vicns, Ta Viens, H Vient» 131 "Yet you'll tell nobody of what has passed," said he, advancing towards me with the plain intention of imposing his will on me by fear, since persuasion failed. I rose to my feet and answered, mimicking his insolent words, — " I give promises, sir, when I please, and not to every fellow who chooses to ask them of me." "You shall give me your promise before you leave this room," he cried. His voice had been rising in passion and was now loud and fierce. Whether the sound of it had reached the room abo or whether the Duke and Cartord had grown w / f one another, I do not know, but as the French ^tntleman uttered this last threat Car- ford opened the door, stood aside to let his Grace enter, and followed himself. As they came in, we were in a most hostile attitude ; for the Frenchman's pistol was in his hand, and my hand had flown to the hilt of my sword. The Duke looked at us in astonish- ment. " Why, what's this, gentlemen ? " he said. " Mr. Dale, are you at variance with this gentleman ? " But before I had time to answer him, he had stepped for- ward and seen the Frenchman's face. " Why, here is M. de Fontelles ! " he cried, in surprise. " I am very pleased to see you, sir, again in England. Carford, hrre is M. de Fontelles. You were acquainted with him when he was in the suite of the French Ambas- sador. You carry a message, sir ? " I listened keenly to all that the Duke's words told me. M. de Fontelles bowed low but his confusion was in no way abated, and he made no answer to his Grace's question. The Duke turned to me, saying with some haughtiness, — " This gentleman is a friend of mine, Mr. Dale. Pray, why was your hand on your sword ? " " Because the gentleman's pistol was in his hand, sir." ;:^: 13* Simon Dale. 'f r. "You appear always to be very ready for a quarrel, Mr. Dale said the Duke, with a glance at Carford. Pray, what's the dispute ? " "I'll tell your Grace the whole matter," said I wTth ^"°"g^' ^°^ J^ had nothing to blame myself ;; No, I won't have it told," cried M. de Fontelles. u -\t s,P^y.Pleasure to hear it," said the Duke coldly. ^ Well, sir. It was thus," said I, with a candid air. 1 protestec to this gentleman that my French was sadly to seek ; he was polite enough to assure me that 1 spoke It well. Upon this I owned to some small knowledge, and for an example I said to him, '/'aime tu atmes, tlatmc' He received the remark, sir, with the utmost amiability." " He could do no less," said the Duke, with a smile, but he would have it that this didn't exhaust my treasure of learning. Therefore, after leaving me for a moment to set straight a difference that had arisen between his servants and our host, he returned, put away a leathern case that he had left on the table (concerning w^hich indeed he seemed more uneasy than would be counted courteous here in England, seeing that I had been all the while alone in the room* V. ith it), and allowed me to resume my exhibition of French-speaking. To humour him and to pass away the hour during which I was deprived of the pleasure of attending your Grace " " Yes, yes, Mr. Dale. Don't delay in order to com- pliment me," said the Duke, smiling still. " I leant across the table, sir, and I made him a speech that sent him, to all seeming, half-way out of his senses ; for he sprang up, seized his case, looked at the fastenings, saw to the priming of his pistol, and finally presumed to exact from me a promise that I would consult nobody as to the perplexity into which this strange behaviour of his had flung me. To that I m, Je Viens, Tu Vicns, 11 Vicnt. 133 demurred, and hence the quarrel with which I regret most humbly that your Grace should have been troubled." " I'm obliged to you, Mr. Dale. But what was this wonder-working phrase ? " "Why, sir, just the first that came into my head. I said to the gentleman — to M. de Fontelles, as I understand him to be called — I said to him softly and gently — /e vienSy tu vicns " The Duke seized me by the arm, with a sudden air of excitement. Carford stepped forward and stood beside him. ''Je viens, tu viens . . . Yes! And any more?" cried the Duke. "Yes, your Grace," I answered, again amazed. " I completed what grammarians call the Single Number by adding " // vient ; whereupon — but 1 have told you." '' II vient ?' cried the Duke and Carford, all in a breath. " // vient,'' I repeated, thinking now that all the three had run mad. Carford screened his mouth with his hand and whispered in the Duke's ear. The Duke nodded and made some answer. Both seemed infi- nitely stirred and interested. M. de Fontelles had stood in sullen silence by the table while I told the story of our quarrel ; now his eyes were fixed intently on the Duke^ face. ** But why," said T, " that simple phrase worked such strange agitation in the gentleman, your Grace's wisdom may discover. I am at a loss." Still Carford whispered, and presently the Duke said, — "Come, gentlemen, j^ou've fallen into a foolish quarrel where no quarrel need have come. Pray be friends again." M. de Fontelles drew himself up stiffly. S34 Simon Dale« !l j-.- ! ■ ) • 1 M: i: '.'W ■ Ci^' lA ■^' ■■ ' >■ $'' m" " I asked a promise of that gentleman and he re- fused It me," he said. "And 1 asked an explanation of that gentleman and he refused it ne," said I, just as stiffly. ,,/.n^,^^^ ^^^"' ^'■- ^^^^ ^^^^^ give hii promise to me. Will that be agreeable to you, Mr. Dale ? " " I'm at your Grace's commands in all things," I answered, bowing. "And you'll tell nobody of M. de Fontelles' agita- tion ? ** " If your Grace pleases. To say the truth, I don't care a fig for his fierceness. But the explanation, sir?" "Why, to make all level," answered the Duke, smiling and fixing his gaze upt .i the Frenchman, " M. de Fontelles will give his explanation to me." " I cry agreed, your Grace ! " said I. " Come, let him give it. "To me, Mr. Dale, not to you," smiled the Duke. " What, am I not to hear why he was so fierce with me?" " You don't care a fig for his fierceness, Mr. Dale," he reminded me, laughing. I saw that I was caught, and had the sense to show no annoyance, although I must confess to a very lively curiosity. " Your Grace wishes to be alone with M. de Fon- telles ? " I asked, readily and deferentially. "For a little while, if you'll give us leave," he answered, but he added to Carford, " No, you needn't move, Carford." So I made my bow and left them, not well pleased, for my brain was on the rack to discover what might be the secret which hung on that mysterious phrase and which I had so nearly surprised from M. de Fon- telles. " The gist of it," said I to myself as I turned to the Je Viens, To Vicns, II Vient 135 kitchen, "lies, f I am not mistaken, in the third member. For when I had said /e vietis, tu viens, tiie Duke interrupted me, crying, ' Any more?' " I had made for the kiichen, since there was no other room open to me, and 1 found it tenanted by the French servants of M. de Fontelles. Although peace had been made between them and the host, they sat in deep dejection ; the reason was plain to see in two empty glasses and an empty bottle that stood on a table between them. Kindliness, aided, it may be, by another motive, made me resolve to cure their despondency. " Gentlemen," said I in French, going up to them, "you do not drink! " They rose, bowing, but I took a thi/d chair be- tween them and moiloned them to be seated. " We have not the wherewithal, sir," said one, with a wistful smile. " The thing is mended as soon as told," I cried, and, calling the host, I bade him bring three bottles. *' A man is more at home with his own bottle," said I. With the wine came new gaiety, and with gaiety a flow of speech. M. de Fontelles would have admired the fluency with which I discoursed with his servants, they telling me of travelling in their country, I describ- mg the incidents of the road in England. " There are rogues enough on the way in both coun- tries, I'll warrant," I laughed. "But perhaps you carry nothing of great value and laugh at robbers ? " " Our spoil would make a robber a poor meal, sir, but our master is in a different plight." " Ah ! He carries treasure ? " "Not in money, sir," answered one. The other nudged him, as though to bid him hold his tongue. " Come, fill your glasses," I cried, and they obeyed very readily. " Well, men have met their death between here and 136 Simon Dale* London often enough before now," I pursued, medi- tatively, twisting my glass of wine in my fingers " But with you for his guard, M. de Fontelles should be sate enough." "We're charged to guard him with our lives and not leave him till he comes to the Ambassador's house." "But these rogues hunt sometimes in tlirees and fours," said I. "You might well lose ont of your number." " We're cheap, sir," laughed one. " The King of France has many of us." " But if your master were the one ?" " Even then provision is mad'^." " What ? ^ Could you carry his message — for if his treasure isn't money, I must set it down as tidings — to the Ambassador / " They looked at one another rather doubtfully. But I was not behindhand in filling their glasses. " Still we should go on, even without Monsteur," said one. " But to what end ? " I cried, in feigned derision. " Why, we too have a message." " Indeed. Can you carry the King's message ? " "None better, sir," said the shorter of the pair, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye. " For we don't understand it." " Is it dif^cult then ? " " Nay, it's so simple as to seem without meaning." " What, so simple — but your bottle is empty ! Come, another?" " Indeed no, Monsieur^ " A last bottle between us ! I'll not be denied." And I called for a fourth. When we were well started on the drinking of it, I asked carelessly, — " And what's your message ? " Je Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient. '37 But neither the wine nor the negligence of my ques- tion had quite lulled their caution to sleep. They shook their heads, and laughed, saying, — " We're forbidden to tell that." "Yet, if it be so simple as to have no meaning, what harm in telling it ? " "But orders are orders, and we're soldiers," an- swered the shrewd short fellow. The idea had been working in my brain, growing stronger and stronger till it reached conviction. I determined now to put it to the proof. "Tut," said I. "You make a pretty secret of it and I don't blame you. But I can guess your riddle' Listen. If anything befell M. de Fontelles, which God forbid "Amen, amen," they murmured, with a chuckle. You two, or if fate left but one, that one, would ride on at his best speed to London, and there seek ?"V .'^ Ambassador of the Most Christian King. Isn t It so? *=• ;' So much, sir, you might guess from what we've said. "Aye, aye, I claim no powers of divination. Yet I II guess a ittle more. On being admitted to the presence of the Ambassador, he would relate the sad tate of his master, and would then deliver his message and that message would be—" I drew my chair fori ward between them and laid a finger on the arm of each. That message," said I, "would be just like this-and indeed it s very simple, and seems devoid of all rational meaning. "/^ viens." They started. //^jj^^/w. They gaped. ^^Ilvicntr I cried trium- phantly, and their chairs shot back as they sprang to their feet, astonishment vivid on their faces. For me 1 sat there laughing in sheer delight at the excellence ^ u Z ^*"^, ^"^ ^^^ shrewdness of my penetration. What they would have said, I do not know The H\ 138 Simon Dale* door was flung open and M. dc Fontelles appeared. He bowed coldly to me and vented on his servants the anger from which he was not yet free, calhng them drunken knaves and bidding them see to their horses and lie down in the stables, for he must be on his way by daybreak. With covert glances at me which implored silence and received the answer of a reassuring nod, they slunk aw.iy. I bowed to M. de Fontelles with a merry smile ; I could not conceal my amusement and did not care how it might puzzle him. I strode out of the kitchen and made my way up the stairs. I had to pass the Duke's apartment. The light still burned there, and he and Carford were sit- ting at the table. I put my head in. " If your Grace has no need of me, I'll seek my bed," said I, mustering a yawn. " No need at all," he answered. " Good-night to you, Simon." But then he added, "You'll keep your promise to me ? " " Your Grace may depend on me." "Though in truth, I may tell you that the whole affair is nothing ; it's no more than a matter of gallan- try— eh, Carford? " " No more," said my Lord Carford. " But such matters are best not talked of." I bowed as he dismissed me, and pursued my way to my room. A matter of gallantry might, it seemed, be of moment to the messengers of the King of France. I did not know what to make of the mystery, but I knew there was a mystery. " And it turns," said I to myself, " on those little words "// vienty Who is he? Where comes he? And to what end ? Perhaps I shall learn these things at Dover." There is this to be said. A man's heart aches less when his head is full. On that night I did not sigh above half my usual measure. >, CHAPTER XL The Gentleman from Calafs. Good fortune and bad had combined to make me somewhat more of a figure in the eyes of the Court than was warranted by my abilities or my station. The friend of Mistress Gwyn and the favourite of the Duke of Monmouth (for this latter title his Grace's signal kindness soon extorted from the amused and the envious) was a man v/hom great folk reco^Tnised and to whom small folk paid civility. Lord Carford had become again all smiles and courtesy; Darrell who arrived in the Secretary's train, compensated in cordiality for what he lacked in confidence ; my lord Arhngton himself presented me in most flatterincr terms to the French King's envoy, M. Colbert de Croissy, who, in his turn, greeted me with a ^varmth and regarded me with a curiosity that produced equal gratification and bewilderment in my mind. Finally the Duke of Monmouth insisted on having me with him in the Castle, though the greater part of the gen- tlemen attached to the Royal and noble persons were sent to lodge in the town for want of accommodation within the walls. My private distress, from which I recovered but slowly, or, to speak more properly, sup- pressed with difficulty, served to prevent me from be- coming puffed up with the conceit which this success might well have inspired. The first part of R^ttv Nacr/^fti'a nr-'>^— t- Stood fulfilled, aye, as I trusted, utterly finished and • 1 ,' 140 Simon Dale* accomplished ; the rest tarried. I had guessed that there was a secret, what it was remained unknown to me and, as I soon suspected, to people more important. The interval before the arrival of the Duchess of Or- leans was occupied in many councils and conferences ; at most of them the Duke of Monmouth was present, and he told me no more than all the Court conjectured when he said that Madame d'Orleans came with a project for a new French Alliance and a i.esh war with the Dutch. But there were conferences at which he was not present, nor the Duke of Buckingham, but only the King, his brother (so soon as his Royal High- ness joined us from London), the French envoy, and Clifford and Arlington. Of what passed at these my master knew nothing, though he feigned knowledge ; he would be restless, when I, having used my eyes, told him that the King had been with M. Colbert de Croissy for two hours, and that the Duke of York had walked on the wall above an hour in earnest conversa- tion with the Treasurer. He felt himself ignored and poured out his indignation unreservedly to Carford. Carford would frown and throw his eyes towards me, as though to ask if I were to hear these things, but the Duke refused his suggestion. Nay, once he said in jest, — " What I say is as safe with him as with you, my lord, or safer." I wondered to see Carford indignant. "Why do you say safer, sir?" he asked haughtily, while the colour on his cheeks was heightened. " Is any man's honour more to be trusted than mine?" "Ah, man, I meant nothing against your honour, but Simon here has a discretion that heaven does not give to every one." Now when I see a man so sensitive to suspicion as to find it in every careless word, I am set thinking whether he may not have some cause to fear suspi- The Gentleman from Calais* 141 ssed that known to mportant. iss of Or. iferences ; 3 present, tijecturcd 2 with a ifcsh war at which [ham, but yal High- ivoy, and these my owledge ; my eyes, olbert de York had conversa- lored and Carford. i^ards me, lings, but 2 he said you, my aughtily, ed. " Is ine?" • honour, does not picion as thinking ar suspi- cion. Honesty expects no accusation. Carford's readmess to repel a charge not brought caught my notice, and made me ponder more on certain other conferences to which also his Grace my patron was a stranger. More than once had I found Arlington and Carford together, with M. Colber'. ■-> their company, and on the last occasion of s ich a., encounter Car- ford had requested me not ton C!'t.ion l. is whereabouts to the Duke, advancmg the l,ri\ .al pntext that he should have been engaged on his C : hc; ':, business. His Grace was not our schoolmaster, iiut I was deceived, most amiably deceived, and held my tongue as he prayed. Yet I watched him close, and soon, had a man told me that the Duke of York thought it well to maintain a friend of his own in his nephew's confi- dence, I would have hazarded that friend's name witjiout fear of mistake. So far the affair was little to me, but when Mistress Barbara came from London the day before Madame was to arrive, hardly an hour passed before I per. ccived that she also, although she knew it not, had her part to play. I cannot toll what reward they of- fered Carford for successful service ; if a man who sells himself at a high price be in any way less a vil- lain than he who takes a penny, I trust that the price was high : for in pursuance of the effort to obtain Monmouth's confidence and an ascendency over him, Carford made use of the ladv whom he had courted and as I believed still courtel, for his own wife. He threw her in Monmouth's way by tricks too subtle for her to detect, but plain to an attentive observer. I knew from her father that lately he had again begged her hand, and that she had listened with more show of favour. Yet he was the Duke's very humble ser- vant in all the plans which that headstrong young man now laid against the lady's peace and honoun Is there need to state the scheme more plainly ? In r'fl 142 Simon Dale« # I ! «' those days a man might rise high and learn great se- crets, if he knew when to shut his eyes and how to knock loud before he entered the room. I should have warned her. It is true, but the mis- chief lay in the fact that by no means could I induce her to exchange a word with me. She was harder by far to me than she had shown herself in London. Perhaps she had heard how I had gone to Chelsea ; but whether for good reason or bad, my crime now seemed beyond pardon. Stay ; perhaps my condition was below her notice ; or sin and condition so worked together that she would have nothing of me, and I could do nothing but look on with outward calm and hidden sourness while the Duke plied her with flatteries that soon grew to passionate avowals, and Carford paid deferential suit when his superior was not in the way. She triumphed in her success as girls will, blind to its perils as girls are ; and Mon- mouth made no secret of his hopes of success, as he sat between Carford's stolid face and my downcast eyes. " She's the loveliest creature in the world," he would cry. "Come, drink a toast to her!" I drank si- lently, while Carford led him on to unrestrained boasts and artfully fanned his passion. At last — it was the evening of the day before Ma- dame was to come — I met her v*rhere she could not avoid me, by the Constable's Tower, and alone. I took my courage in my hands and faced her, warning her of her peril in what delicate words I could find. Alas, I made nothing of it. A scornful jest at me and my righteousness (of which, said she, all London had been talk»iig a little while back) was the first shot from her battery. The mention of the Duke's name brought a bl'.'^h and a mischievous smile, as she an- swered, — " Shouldn't I make a fine Duchess, Mr. Dale ? The Gentleman from Calais* 143 "Aye, if he made you one," said I, with gloomy bluntness. "You insult me, sir," she cried, and the flush on her face deepened. " Then I do in few words what his Grace does in many," I retorted. I went about it like a dolt, I do not doubt. For she flew out on me, demanding in what esteem I held her, and in what her birth fell short of Anne Hyde's — "who is now Duchess of York, and in whose .service I have the honour to be." " Is that your pattern ? " I asked. " Will the King interpose for you as he did for the daughter of Lord Clarendon? " She tossed her head, answering, — "Perhaps so much interference will not be needed." "And does my Lord Carford share these plans of yours? " I asked, with a sneer. The question touched her ; she flushed again, but gave way not an inch. " Lord Carford has done me much honour, as you know," said she, " but he wouldn't stand in my way here." "Indeed he doesn't!" I cried. "Nor in his Grace's!" " Have you done, sir? " said she, most scornfully, " I have done, madame," said I, and on she swept. "Yet you shall come to no harm," I added to my- self, as I watched her proud free steps carry her away. She also, it seemed, had her dream ; I hoped that no more than hurt pride and a heart for the moment sore would come of it. Yet if the flatteries of princes pleased, she was to be better pleased soon, and the Duke of Monmouth seem scarcely higher to her than Simon Dale. Then came Madame in the morning from Dunkirk, escorted by the Vice-Admiral, and met above a mile 144 Simon Dale. lii: from the coast by the King in his barge ; the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, and my Duke (on whom I at- tended) accompanying his Majesty. Madame seemed scarcely as beautiful as I had heard, although of a very high air and most admirable carriage and address, and my eyes, prone, I must confess, to seek the fairl est face, wandered from hers to a lady who stood near, gifted with a delicate and alluring, yet childish beauty,' who gazed on the gay scene with innocent interest and a fresh enjoyment. Mada.ne, having embraced her kinsmen, presented the lady to his Majesty by the name of Mademoiselle Louise Renee de Perrencourt de Qu6rouaille (the name was much shortened by our common folk in later days) and the King kissed her hand, saying that he was rejoiced to see her— as in- deed he seemed to be, if a man might judge by the time that he spent in looking at her and the careless- ness with which he greeted the others in attendance on Madame. ''And these are all who come with you, sister?" he asked. She answered him clearly, almost loudly, — " Except a gentleman who is to join me from Calais to-morrow, with messages from the King." I heard no more, being forced to move away and leave the royal group alone. I had closely examined all who came. For in the presence of Madame I read /e vicns, in our Kir-^'s, Tu vicns ; but I saw none whose coming would make the tidings // vicnt worthy of a special messenger to London. But there was a gen- tleman to arrive from Calais. I had enough curiosity to ask M. le Comte d'Albon, who (with his wife) ac- companied Madame and stood by me on deck as we returned to land, who this gentleman might be. " He is called M. de Perrencourt," the Count replied, " and is related remotely to the lady whom you saw with Madame." e Duke of lom I at- ic seemed I of a very 1 address, : the fair- :ood near, h beauty, t interest embraced ty by the rrencourt ;d by our :issed her sr — as in- [e by the ; careless- :tendance ;ter?" he )m Calais Lway and examined ae I 1 sad ne whose rthy of a IS a gen- curiosity wife) ac- ck as we )e. t replied, you saw The Gentleman from Calais. 145 I was disappointed, or rather checked. Was M. de Perrencourt so important that they wrote // viaa about him and sent the tidings to London ? After some time, when we were already coming near to shore, I observed Madame leave the King and go walking to and fro on the deck in company with Mon- mouth. He was very merry and she was very gra- cious ; I amused myself with watching so handsome and well-matched a pair. I did not wonder that my Duke was in a mighty good .emper, for, even had she been no Princess, her company was such as would please a man's pride and content his fancy. So I leant against the mast, thinking it a pity that they troubled their pretty heads with Dutch wars and the like tiresome matters, and were not con cent to ornament the world, leaving its rule to others. But presently I saw the Duke point towards me, and Madame's glance follow his finger; he talked \o her again and both laughed. Then, just as we came by the landing-stage she laid her hand on his arm, as though in command! He laughed again, shrugging his shoulders, then raised his hand and beckoned to me. Now I, while watchinfy, had been most diligent in seeming not to watch, and It needed a second and unmistakable signal from his Grace, before I hastened up, hat in hand. Madame was laughmg, and, as I came, I heard her say, "Yes but I will speak to him." The Duke, with another shrug, bade me come near, and in due form oresented me. She gave me her hand to kiss, saying with a smile that showed her white teeth,- - " Sir, I asked to be shown the most honest man in Dover, and my cousin Monmouth has brought vou to me." "^ I perceived that Monmouth, seeking how to enter- tain her, had not scrupled to press me into his service. Ihis I could not resent, and since I saw that she was not too dull to be ansvvcrcd in the spirit of her address, I made her a low bow and said, — 146 Simon Dale* m w >*•' His Grace, Madame, conceived you to mean in Dover Castle. The townsmen, I believe, are very honest." ^ " And you, though the most honest in the Castle, are not very honest ? " " I take what I find, Madame," I answered. '■' So M. Colbert tells me," she said, with a swift glance at me. " Yet it's not always worth taking." ''I keep it, in case it should become so," I an- swuied, for I guessed that Colbert had told her of my encounter with M. de Fontelles ; if that were so, she might have a curiosity to see me without the added inducement of Monmouth's malicious stories. " Not if it be a secret ! No man keeps that," she cried. " He may, if he be not in love, Madame." " But are you that monster, Mr. Dale ? " said she. "Shame on the ladies of my native land! Vet I'm glad ! For, if you're not in love, you'll bemor. vjady to serve me, perhaps." " Mr. Dale, Madame, is not incapable of failing in love," said Monmouth, with a bow. " Don't try his virtue too much." " He shall fall in love then with Louise," she cried. Monmouth made a grimace and the Duchess sud- denly fell to laughing, as she glanced over her shoulder towards the King, who was busily engaged in conver- sation with Mile, de Qu^rouaille.' " Indeed, no ! " I exclaimed, with a fervour that I had not intended. No more of that pari of Betty Nasroth's prophecy for me, and the King's attentions were already particular. " But if I can serve - - :r Royal Highness, I am body and soul at your seivcc " Body and soul ? " said she. "Ah, you mean sa - ing— what is it? Haven't you reservations? " " His Grace has spared me nothing," said I, with a reproachful glance at Monmouth. m The Gentleman from Calais* H7 '•The more told of you the better you're liked, Simon," said he, kindly. " See, Madame, we're at the landing and there's a crowd of loyal folk to greet you." " I know the loyalty of the English well," said she, in a low voice and with a curling lip. " They have their reservations like Mr. Dale. Ah, you're speaking, Mr. Dale?" "To myself, Madame," I answered, bowing .o- foundly. She laughed, shaking her head at me, '^nd passed on. I was glad she did not press m:^, for what I had said was, " Thank God," and I might likely enough have told a lie if she had put me to the ques- tion. That night the King entertained his sister at a great banquet in the hall of the Castle, where there was much drinking of toasts, and much talk of the love that the King of France had for the King of England, and our King for the other King, and we for the French (whereas we hated them) and they for us (although they wasted no kindness on us); but at least every man got as much win ^s he wanted, and many of them more than they had fair occasion for ; and among these last I must count the Duke of Mon- mouth. For after the rest had risen from table he sat there still, calling Carford to join him, and even bidding me sit down by his side. Carford seemed in no haste to get him away, although very anxious to relieve me of my post behind his chair, but at last, by dint of upbraiding them both, I prevailed on Car» ford to offer his arm and the Duke to accept it, while I supported him on the other side. Thus we set out for his Grace's quarters, making a spectacle sad enough to a moralist, but too ordinary at Court for any remark to be excited by it. Carford insisted that he could take the Duke alone ; I would not budge. My lord grew offensive, hinting of busybodies who i I ;il I 'I X48 Simon Dale* came between the Duke and his friends. Pushed hard I asked the Duke himself if I should ieaveJdS He bade me stay swearing that I was an honest fel- low and no Papist, as wevt some h knew. I saw frl'nrlifT'^ V ^'l ^'^'^ '^'^ "^^^^^^^^ «^ve the eu^ trance of his chamber, and that not ovcr-pl.tinly, But we got him ,n and into a scat, and the door shut Inen he called for more wine, and Carford ;.t onr- brought It i.o liim and pledged him once and again Monmouth ar.'nki?\^ deep, •^b'^^"* "He's had more than he can carry already" I w'Sm 'n^^'""'^ ^"^'^^ '^'^'S^^ to the Duke, cry. ing, Mr. Dale Here sa.ys that your Grace is cirunkf" ll^u '"''^^'i]^ ^y^^^ "'^^^^ ^^^ the Duke answered good humouredly, — "Truly I am drunk, but in the legs only, my o-ood Simon. My head is clear, clear as daylight, or^ the ^= K,, .1 \?^J)'^, cunningly, and caught each ^1 1 J ^•l^"''- y^'^ ^°°^ Protestants here?" he asked with a would-be shrewd, wine-muddled glance Sound and true, your Grace," said Carford. Then he whispered to me, " Indeed, I think he's ill. Pray run for the King's physician, Mr. Dale." ^ '• Nay, he'd do well enough, if he were alone with IT^; easyTfi'nd "' ''' ^'^""^"'^ P"^^"^^' ^^ ^-^' I cared not a jot for Carford's anger, and was deter- mined not to give ground. But we had no more time lor quarrelling. in 'fL^"i-^' J^'^^Jr-^'^^^^ *° "^y ^^ther as any man dlnre V^' ^'^ '^t ^"^"' ^" maudlin confi. dcnce. But you know what's afoot ? " ;; A new war with the Dutch, I'm told, sir," sai." i. A fig for the Dutch! Hush, we must . 'k ow, there may be P .. "sts about. There a I ^t the Castle, Carford. Hush, hush! Som ... mv uncle s one, some say the Secretary's one. ^'entle- he %.. The Gentleman from Calais. 149 • Pushed leave him. lonest fel- IV. I saw 'e the en- nly. But Icor shut, i ;>t once nd again, ready," I )uke, cry. s drunk." answered my *^ood tt, or the ight each 3 here?" d glance, i. Then 11. Pray 5ne with my lord, as deter- ore time my man n confi. sa'-' J, t .^.k ^' - .e in my ntle. men, I — I say no more. Traitors have said that my father is " Carford interrupted him. " Don't trouble your mind with these slanders, sir," he urged. " I won't believe it. I'll stand by my father. But if the Duke of York— But I'll say no more." His head fell on his breast. But in a moment he sprang to his feet, crying, *' But I'm a Protestant. Yes, and I'm the King's son." He caught Carford by the arm, whispering, " Not a word of it. I'm ready. We know what's afoot. We're loyal to the King ; we must save him. But if we can't — if we can't, isn't there one who —who ?" He lost his tongue for an instant. We stood look- ing at him, till he spoke again. "One who would be a Protestant King?" He spoke the last words loud and fiercely : it was the final effort, and he sank back in his chair in a stupor. Carford gave a hasty glance at his face. "I'll go for the physician," he cried. "His Grace may need blood-letting." I stepped between him and the door as he advanced. " His Grace needs nothing," said I, " except the discretion of his friends. We've heard foolish words that we should not have heard to-night, my lord." " I am sure they're safe with you," he answered. "And with you ?" I retorted, quickly. He drew himself up haughtily. "Stand aside, sir, and let me pass." " Where are you going? " " To fetch the physician. I'll answer none of your questions." I could not stop him without an open brawl, and that I would not encounter, for it could lead only to my ow n expulsion. Yet I was sure that he would go straight to Arlington and that every word the Duke ISO Simon Dale. had spoken would be carried to York and perhaps to the King before next morning. The King would be informed, if it were thought possible to prejudice him against his son; York at least would be warned of the mad scheme which was in the young Duke's head I drew aside and with a surly bow let Carford pass. He returned my salutation with an equal economy of politeness, and left me alone with Monmouth, who had now sunk into a heavy and uneasy sleep. I roused him and got him to bed, glad to think that his unwary tongue would be silent for a few hours at least. Yet what he had said brought me nearer to the secret and the mystery. There was indeed more afoot than the war with the Dutch. There was, if I mistook not a matter that touched the religion of the King. Mon- mouth, whose wits were sharp enough, had gained scent of it ; the wits went out as the wine went in and he blurted out what he suspected, robbing his knowledge of all value by betraying its possession. Our best knowledge lies in what we are not known to know. I repaired, thoughtful and disturbed, to my own small chamber, next the Duke's ; but the night was fine and I had no mind for sleep. I turned back again and made my way on to the wall, where it faces towards the sea. The wind was bi owing fresh and the sound of the waves filled my ears. No doubt the same sound hid the noise of my feet, for when I came to the wall, I passed unheeded by three persons who stood in a group together. I knew all and made haste to pass by ; the man was the King himself, the lady on his right was Mistress Barbara; in the third I recognised Madame's lady, Louise de Qu^rouaille. I proceeded some distance further till I was at the end of the wall nearest the sea. There I took my stand, looking not at the sea but covertly at the little group! Presently two of them moved away ; the third curt- it. i> » ' tJMt^Jk^. The Gentleman from Calais* 151 terhaps to would be idice him led of the head. I )ass. He nomy of who had 1 roused is unwary ast. Yet ecret and than the ok not, a g. Mon- i gained went in, )bing his )ssession. :nown to my own ight was ed back 2 it faces . and the 3ubt the 1 I came ions who de haste the lady third I aille. I the end y stand, e group, rd curt- seyed low but did not accompany them. When they were gone, she turned and loant on the parapet of the wall with clasped hands. Drawn by some impulse I moved towards her. She was unconscious of my approach until I came quite near to her; then she turned on me a face stained with tears and pale with agitation and alarm. I stood before her, speechless, and she found no words in which to address me. I was too proud to force my company on her and made as though to pass on with a bow ; but her face arrested me. "What ails you, Mistress Barbara?" I cried, im- petuously. She smoothed her face to composure as she answered me, — " Nothing, sir." Then she added, carelessly, " Un- less it be that sometimes the King's conversation is too free for my liking." " When you want me, I'm here," I said, answering not her words but the frightened look that there was in her eyes. For an instant I seemed to see in her an impulse to trust me and to lay bare what troubled her. The feeling passed ; her face regained its natural hue and she said petulantly, — " Why, yes, it seems fated that you should always be there, Simon ; yet Betty Nasroth said nothing of it." '* It may be well for you that I'm here," I answered hotly ; for her scorn stirred me to say what I should have left unsaid. I do not know how she would have answered, for at the moment we heard a shout from the watchman who stood looking over the sea. He hailed a boat that came prancing over : le waves ; a light answered his signal. Who cam-.: to the Castle? Barbara's eyes and mine sought the ship; we did not know the stranger, but he was expected ; for a minute later 152 Sfmon Dale* Darrell ran quickly by us with an eager look on his tace , with hrni was the Count d'Albon who had come with Madame, and Depuy the Duke r.f "»^ork's servant They went by at the top of th, .. ^^peed and In visible excitemciit. Barbara forgot her anger and haughti- ness in fresh, girlish interest. " Who can it be? " she cried, coming so near to me that he sleeve touched mine, and leaning over the wall towards where the ship's black hull was to be seen far bclcw in the moonlight by the jetty. " Doubtless it's the gentleman whom Madame -ex- pects," said I. Many minutes passed, but through them Barbara and I stood silent side by side, '^hen the party came back through the gate, whita had been opened fo. them. Depuy walked first, carryincr a small trunk; two or three servants followed with more luggage ; then came Darrell in company with a short man who walked with a bold and confident air. The rest passed us, and the last pair approached. Now Da- roll saw Mistress Barbara and doffed hi.-, hat to her. The new- comer did thehkeand more; he halted immediately opposite to us and 'ooked curiou lyat her, sparing a curious glance for m . I uowed ; bhe waited unmoved until the gentleman said to Darrell, — " Pray present me." "This, madame," said Darrell, in whose voice there was a ring of excitement and tremulous agitation, - is M. de Perrencourt, who has the V iiour of servin^^ her Royal Highness the Duc^ ss. This lady, sir, i? Mistress Barbara Quinton, n- honour to the Duchess of York and now in a 2nc, ice on Madame." Barbara made a curtsey, M. de Perrencourt bov -d. H;.^: eyes were fixed on her face ; he studied her openly and fearlessly, yet the regard was difficult to resent, it was so calm, assured and dignified. It seemed be- yond challenge, if not beyond reproach. I stood by ,'A \ / The Gentleman 'rom Calais. 153 in silence, angry at a scrutiny so prolonged, but with- out title to interfere. ^ ' " "I trust madame, that we shall be better ac quainted, he said at last,iand with a lingering look at her face passed on. I turned to her ; she wJs eaz- ing alter him with eager eyes. My presence seemed forgotten; I would iiut remind her of if I turned away in silence, and hastened af--r Darrell and his companion. The curve of the wall hid them from my sight, but I quickened my pace ; I gained on them, for now I heard their steps ahead ; 1 ran round the next corner, for I was ablaze with curiosity to see more of this man, who came at so strange an hour and yet was expected; who bore himself so loftily and > et^ was but a gentleman-in-waiting as I was! Round : le next corner I should come in sight of him. Round . .,vent, and I came plump into the Irms of my t"he°patr"' ^^''^"'^^^ ^tood there, squarely across '' WhiUier av Simon ? " said he, coldly. I halted, stoo still, looked him in the face. He ""f^vi^ ^^^^ .^/^h ^ ?l^^"^' self-controlled smile. Why, said I, " I m on my way to bed, Darrell. Let me pass, I beg you." " A moment later will serve," said he ''Not a moment," I replied testily and caught him by the arm. He was stiff as a rock, but I put out my strength, and in another instant should have thrown him aside. But he cried in a loud angry voice,— ''By the King's orders, no man is to pass this way." Aniazed I fell back. But over his head, some twenty yards from us, I saw two men embracing one another ivarmly. Nobody else was near; Darrell's eyes were fixed on me, and his hand detained me in an eager grasp. But I looked h.'rd at the pair there anead t me, there was a cloud over the m^^n now in a second it passed. The next moment the two f ' 154 Simon Dale* had turned their backs and were walking off together Darrell, seeing my fixed gaze, turned also. His face was pale, as if with excitement, but he spoke in cool level tones. " It's only M. Colbert greeting M. de Perrencourt," said he. "Ah, of course!" I cried, turning to him with a smile. "But where did M. Colbert get that Star?" For the glitter of the decoration had caught my eye, as it sparkled in the moonlight. There was a pause before Darrell answered. Then he said, — "The King gave him his own Star to-night, in compliment to Madame." And in truth M. Colbert wore that Star when he walked abroad next morning, and professed much gratitude for it to the King. I have wondered since whether he should not have thanked a humbler man. Had I not seen the Star on the breast of the gentle- man who embraced M. de Perrencourt, should I have seen it on the breast of M. Colbert de Croissy ? In truth I doubt it. I*. - li *»: -jiWtti'iibi.. CHAPTER Xn. The Deference of His Grace the Duke. Certainly he had some strange ways, this M. de Perrencourt. It was not enough for him to arrive bv night nor to have his meeting with M. Colbert (whose btar Darrell made me observe most particularly next mornmg) guarded from intruding eyes by the King-'s own order. He showed a predilection for darkness and was visible m the daytime only in Madame's apart- ment or when she went to visit the King. The other trench gentlemen and ladies manifested much curi- °'IV'aJ°!!''^'"*"^.^^^ ^°'^" a"d neighbourhood, and with Madame and the Duke of Monmouth at their head took part in many pleasant excursions. In a came fro^ T^' Q"^^^" fso and the Duchess of York came from London, and the doings grew more ?av f"^ ?T^' ^"^^- ^' Perrencourt ^waT Tt to^be no?n ft L-ff P'f ^TV° >""^^ ^""'•^d him ; he did was mtle Ll°°^- °-i'^^^ ^K^ ^^"^ °f the Castle, and was little seen inside it. I myself did not set eyes afterThari ^h 17? '^''/ ."?^ ^'•^^ ^^^^^ °f ^^"^ ' but ?Iw 1.^^ .K b^h^^^,h»"^ i^^'^y olten, and the more I saw him the more I wondered. Oi a truth his retir- ng behaviour was dictated by no want of assurance nor by undue modesty ; he was not abashed in the presence of the great and bore himself as composedly before the King as in the presence of a l.ckey. It d-. piam, tov/, tiiat uc cnjoyea iVladame s confidence in no common degree, for when affairs of State were dis- 156 Simon Dale* ir" cussed and all withdrew saving Madame, her brothers and the Secretary (even the Duke of Monmouth not being admitted), the last we saw as we made our bows and backed out of the doorway would be M. de Per- rencourt standing in an easy and unconstrained atti- tude behind Madame's chair, and manifesting no over- powering sense of the signal honour paid to him by the permission to remain. As may be supposed, a theory sprang up to account for the curious regard this gentleman commanded ; it was put about (some said that Lord Arlington himself gave his authority for the report) that M. de Perrencourt was legal guardian to his cousin Mile, de Qu^rouaille, and that the King had discovered special reasons for concil- iating the gentleman by every means, and took as much pains to please him as to gain favour with the lady herself. Here was a good reason for M. de Perrencourt's distinguished treatment and no less for the composure and calm with which M. de Per- rencourt accepted it. To my mind, however, the manner of M. de Perrencourt's arrival and the incident of M. Colbert's Star found scarcely a sufficient ex- planation in this ingenious conjecture ; yet the story, thus circulated, was generally accepted . and served its office of satisfying curiosity and blunting question well enough. ^ Again (for my curiosity would not be satisfied, nor the edge of my questioning be turned) — what had the Duke of Monmouth to gain from M. dc Perrencourt? Something it seemed, or his conduct was most myste- rious. He cared nothing for Mile, de Qur^ouaille and I could not suppose that the mere desire to please his father would have weighed with him so strongly as to make him to all appe^^rance the humble servant of this French gentloman. The thing was brought home most forcibly to my mind on the third evening after ]\I. dc Perrencourt's arrival. A private conference v/as held l-H brothers outh not 3ur bows . de Per- ned atti- no over- him by posed, a s regard Jt (some Luthority 'as legal and that r conciL took as with the ■ M. de no less de Per- :ver, the incident :ient ex- le story, 1 served [question fied, nor had the mcourt? t myste- lille and lease his jly as to t of this me most sr M. do veto liUnJ The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 1 5 7 and lasted some hours; outside the closed doors we all paced to and fro, hearing nothing, save now and then Madame's clear voice, raised, as it seemed, in ex- hortation or persuasion. The Duke, who was glad enough to escape the tedium of State affairs but at the same time visibly annoyed at his exclusion, saun- tered _ listlessly up and down, speaking to nobody. Perceiving that he did not desire my company I with- drew to a distance, and, having seated myself in a retired corner, was soon lost in consideration of my own fortunes past and to come. The hour grew late • the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, having offered and accepted compliments and gallantries till inven- tion and complaisance alike were exhausted, dropped off one by one, in search of supper, wine or rest I sat on in my corner. Nothing was to be heard save the occasional voices of the two musketeers on guard on the steps leading from the second story of the keep to the State apartments. I knew that I must move soon, for at night the gate on the stairs was shut. It was another of the peculiar facts about M. de Perren- court that he alone of the gentlemen-in-waiting had been lodged within the precincts of the royal quarters occupying an apartment next to the Duke of York' who had his sister Madame for his neighbour on the other side. The prolonged conference was taking place in the King's Cabinet, further along the passage Suddenly I heard steps on the stairs, the word of the night was asked, and Monmouth's voice made answer 'Saint Denis'; for just now everything was l;rench in compliment to Madame. The steps con- tinued to ascend ; the light in the corridor was very dim but a moment later I perceived Monmouth and Carford. Carford's arm was through his Grace's, and he seemed to be endeavouring to restrain him. Mon- mouth shook him off with a laugh and ar oath. " Im not going to listen," he'cried. " Why should (!'i-! 1 1 ,i^ 158 Simon Dale* I listen ? Do I want to hear the King praying to the Virgin?" " Silence, for God's sake, silence, your Grace ! " im- plored Carford. " That's what he does, isn't it ? He and the Queen's Chaplain and the " " Pray, sir ! " "And our good M. de Perrencourt, then?" He burst into a bitter laugh as he mentioned the gentle- man's name. I had heard more than was meant for my ears, and what was enough (if I may use a distinction drawn by my old friend the Vicar) for my understanding. I was in doubt whether to declare my presence or not. Had Monmouth been alone, I would have shown my- self directly, but I did not wish Carford to be aware that I had overheard so much. I sat still a moment longer in hesitation ; then I uttered a long yawn, groaned, stretched myself, rose to my feet, and gave a sudden and very obvious start, as I let my eyes fall on the Duke. "Why, Simon," he cried, "what brings you here?" " I thought your Grace was in the King's Cabinet," I answered. " But you knew that I left them some hours since." " Yes, but having lost sight of your Grace, I sup- posed that you'd returned, and while waiting for you I fell asleep." My explanation abundantly satisfied the Duke ; Carford maintained a wary silence. " We're after other game than conferences to-night," said Monmouth, laughing again. "Go down to the hall and wait there for me, Simon. My lord and I are going to pay a visit to the ladies of Madame and the Duchess of York." I saw that he was merrj'- with wine; Carford had been drjnkinp" too-, but he nrew onlv more crlum and ^^f'l I iiflwBi*!* Jt. g to the e!" im. Queen's ?" He 2 gentle- ars, and rawn by ding. I : or not. )wn my- •e aware moment I yawn, i gave a s fall on here?" abinet," 5 since." , I sup- for you Duke ; i-night," [ to the i and I me and 3rd had II m ^rtr] The Deference of His Grace the Duke* 159 malicious with his liquor. Neither their state nor the hour seemed fitted for the visit the Duke spoke of, but I was helpless, and with a bow took my way down the stairs to the hall below, where I sat down on the steps that led up to one of the loop-holes. A great chair, standing by the wall, served to hide me from observation. For a few moments nothing occurred. Then I heard a loud burst of laughter from above. Feet came running down the steps into the hall, and a girl in a white dress darted across the floor. I heard her laugh and knew that she was Barbara Quin- ton. An instant later came Monmouth, hot on her heels, and imploring her in extravagant words not to be so cruel and heartless as to fly from him. But where was Carford? I could only suppose that my lord had the discretion to stay behind when the Duke of Monmouth desired to speak with the lady whom my lord sought for his wife. In my humble judgment a very fine, large, and subtle volume might be composed on the canons of eavesdropping — when a man may listen, when he may not, and for how long he may, to what end, for what motives, in what causes and on what provocations. It may be that the Roman Divines who, as I under- stand, are greatly adept in the science of casuistry, have accomplished already the task I indicate. I know not ; at least I have nowhere encountered the result of their labours. But now I sat still behind the great chair and listened without doubt or hesita- tion. Yet how long I could have controlled myself I know not, for his Grace made light of scruples that night and set bounds at naught. At first Mistress Barbara was merry with him, fencing and parrying in confideii.' that he would use no roughness nor an un- due vth'-mence. But on he went, and presently a note of a'lrm sounded in her voice, as she prayed him to suffer her to depart and return to the Duchess, who muist have need of hen l:ii i6o Sfinon Dale* " Nay, I won't let you go, sweet mistress. Rather, I can t let you go." " Indeed, sir, I must go,'* she said. " Come, I will call my Lord Carford, to aid me in persuading your Grace." He laughed at the suggestion that a call for Car- ford would hinder him. "He won't come," he said, "and if he came, he would be my ally, not yours." She answered now haughtily and coldly, "Sir, Lord Carford is a suitor for my hand. It is in your Grace's knowledge that he is." " But he thinks a hand none the worse because I've kissed it," retorted Monmouth. "You don't know how amiable a husband you're to have, Mistress Bar- bara." I was on my feet now, and, peering round the chair which hid me from them, I could see her standing against the wall, with Monmouth opposite to her. He offered to seize her hand, but she drew it away sharply. With a laugh he stepped nearer to her. A slight sound caught my ear, and, turning my head I saw Carford on the lowest step of the stairs ; he was looking at the pair and a moment later stepped back- wards, till he was almost hidden from my sight though I could still make out the shape of his figure' A cry of triumph from Monmouth echoed low but in- tense through the hall; he had caught the elusive hand and was kissing it passionately. Barbara stood still and stiff. The Duke, keeping her hand still in his, said mockingly, — " You pretty fool, would you refuse fortune ? Hark madame, I am a king's son." ' I saw no movement in her, but the lirht was dim. H€ went on, lowering his voice a little, yet not much. " And I may be a king ; stranger things have come to pass. Wouldn't you like to be a queen.?" He V ■% '■^''h,,jk*- The Deference of His Grace the Duke^ 1 6i laughed as he put the question ; he lacked the care or the cunning to make even a show of honesty. " Let me go," I heard her whisper in a strained, timid voice. " Well, for to-night you shall go, sweetheart, but not without a kiss, I swear." She was frightened now and sought to propitiate him, saying gently and with attempted lightness,— " Your Grace has my hand prisoner. You can work your will on it." " Your hand ! I mean your lips this time," he cricd- in audacious insolence. He came nearer to her, his arm crept round her waist. I had endured what I could, yes, and as long as I could ; for I was persuaded that I could serve her better by leaving her unaided for the moment. But my limit was reached ; I stepped out from behind the chair. But in an instant I was back again. Monmouth had paused ; in one hand he held Barbara's hand, the other rested on her girdle, but he turned his head and looked at the stairs! Voices had come from there ; he had heard them as I had, as Barbara had. "You can't pass out," had come in a blustering tone from Carford. Stand aside, sir," was the answer, in a calm, impera- tive voice. Carford hesitated for a single i.istant, then he seemed to shrmk away, making himself small and leaving free passage for a man who came down the steps and walked confidently and bp;;kly across the hall towards where the Duke stood w th Ha^jara. Above us, at the top of the stairs, there were the sound of voices and the t. e^d of feet. The conference was broken up and the pa Lies to it were talking in the passage on their way to regain their own apartments. 1 paid no heed to them ; my eyes were fixed on the -.u^^Ci vviiw ;.amc bu uoidlvana unabashed up to the l62 Simon Dale Duke. I knew him now ; he was M. de Perrencourt. Madame's gentleman. ' Without wavering or pausing, straight he ivalked. Monmouth seemed turned to stone ; I could see his face set and rigid, although light failed me to catch that look in the eyes by which you may best know a man s mood. Not a sound nor a motion came from Larford. Barbara herself was stiff and still, her regard bent on M. de Perrencourt. He stood now directly over agamst her and Monmouth; it seemed Ion- before he spoke. Indeed I had looked for Mon- mouth s voice first, for an oath of vexation at the in- terruption, for a curse on the intruder and a haughtv order to him to be gone and not interfere with xvhat concerned his betters. No such word, nor any words issued from the mouth of the Duke. And still M de 1 errencourt was silent. Carford stole covertly from the steps nearer to the group until, gliding across the hall he^was almost at the Frenchman's elbow. Still M. de Perrencourt was silent. Slowly and reluctantly, as though in deference to an order that he loathed but dared not disobey, Mon- mouth drew his arm away ; he loosed Barbara's hand, She drew back, leaning against the wall; the Duke stood with his arms by his side, looking at the man who interrupted his sport and seemed to have power to control his will. Then at last in crisp, curt, un- gracion? tones, M. de Perrencourt spoke. •* I thank you. Monsieur le Due," said he. " I was sure that you would perceive your error soon. This is not the lady you supposed, this is Mistress Quinton. °5f '"e to speak with her, pray give me leave." Ihe King would not have spoken in this style to his pampered son, and the Duke of York himseK dared not have done it. But no touch of uneasiness or se f-distrust appeared in M. de Perrencourt's smooth, cutting speech. Truly he was high in errencourt, tie walked, lid see his e to catch 2st know a :anie from her regard )W directJy :med lonj;^ for Mon- at the in- i haughty with what my words, till M. de ;rtly from across the ow. Still erence to 3ey, Mon- ra's hand, the Duke : the man ive power curt, un- " I was . This is Quinton. s style to : himself neasiness encourt's high in The Deference of His Grace the Dtske« 163 Madame's confidence and likely enough a great man in his own country, but, on my life, I looked to see the hot-tempered Duke strike him across the face. Even I, who had been about to interfere myself, by some odd momentary turn of feeling, resented the in- solence with which Monmouth was assailed. Would he not resent it much more for himself ? No. For an instant I heard his quick breathing, the breathing of a man who fights anger, holding it under with great labour and struggling. Then he spoke ; in his voice also there was passion hard held. " Here, sir, and everywhere," he said, " you have only to command to be obeyed."* Slowly he bent his head low, the gesture matching the humility of his words while it emphasised their unwillingness. The strange submission won no praise. M. de Per- rencourt did not accord the speech so much courtesy as lay in an answer. His silent slight bow was all his acknowledgment ; he stood there waiting for his com- mand to be obeyed. Monmouth turned once towards Barbara, but his eyes came back to M. de Perrencourt. Carford ad- vanced to him and offered his arm. The Duke laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. For a moment they stood still thus, then both bowed low to M. de Perrencourt, who answered with another of his slight inclinations of the head. They turned and walked out of the hall, the Duke seeming almost to stagger and to lean on Carford, as though he sought to steady his steps. As they went they passed within two yards of me, and I saw Monmouth's face pale with rage. With a long indrawing of my breath I drew back into the shadow of my shelter. They passed, the hall was empty save for myself and the t\vo who stood there by the wall. I had no thought now of justifying my part of e-'ivem!! opper. Scruples were drcvncd in excitement ; 164 Simon Dale* ^Ja keen interest bound me to my place with chains of iron. My brain was full of previous suspicion thrice magnified ; all that was mysterious in this man came back to mc ; the message I had surprised at Canter- V.^tT^.^"^^"'",? ^^'°."2h my head again and again. Yet I bent myself to the task of listening, resolute to mtv'''^ ''^'■^- ^^f' "^y '^^''^ ^-"re in vain M de lerrencourt was of different clay from his Grace the Duke. He was indeed speaking now, but so low mv J,f=^ ^M ""^ no more than a gentle murmur reached ??L M 1'^ ^'' gestures aid ; they were as far from Monmouth's jovial violence as his tones from the Duke s reckless exclaiming. He was urgent but courteous, most insistent yet most deferential. Mon- mouth claimed and challenged, M. de Perrencourt seemed to beseech and woo. Yet he asked as thounh none could refuse, and his prayer presumed a favour- able ans;yer. Barbara listened in quiet ; I could not tea whether fear alone bound her, or whether the soft courtly voice bred fascination also. I was half-mad that i could not hear, and had much ado not to rush out, unprovoked, and defy the man before whom my master had bowed almost to the ground, beaten and dismayed. At last siie spoke a few hurried, imploring words. 'No, no " she panted. " No ; pray leave me. No." ^ M. de Perrencourt answered gently and beseech- ingly,— "Nay, say * not yet,' madame." ^ They were silent again, he seeming to regard her intently. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands ; yet, dropping her hands ahnost immedi- ately, she set her eyes on his. I saw him shake his head. " For to-night then, good-night, fairest lady," said he. He took her hand and kissed it lightly, bowing very lew and respectfully, she looking d( " " ^4. u: VJWVVli ttt llilii Ub 1 chains of cion thrice i man came at Canter, and again, resolute to e in vain I 1 his Grace but so low lur reached ^ere as far tones from argent but ial. Mon- errencourt as though d a favour- could not er the soft 3 half-mad lot to rush whom my •eaten and words, me. No." beseech- 5gard her with her immedi- ;hake his dy," said 7y bowing at him uS The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 165 he stooped. Then he drew away from her, bowing again and repeating again, — " For to-night, good-night." With this he turned towards the stairs, crossing the hall with the same brisk, confident tread that had niarked his entry. He left her, but it looked as though she were indulged, not he defeated. At the lowest step he paused, turned, bowed low again. This time she answered with e deep and sweeping curtsey. Then he was gone, and she was leaning by the wall again, her face buried in her hands. I heard her sob, and her broken words reached me, — " What shall I do ? Oh, what shall I do ? " At once I stepped out from the hiding-place that had shown me such strange things, and, crossing to her, hat m hand, answered her sad, desolate question. "Why, trust in your friends. Mistress Barbara," said I, cheerily. '' What else can any lady do ? " "Simon!" she cried eagerly, and, as I thought, gladly ; for her hand flew out to mine. " You here ? " " And at your service always," said I. " But have you been here ? Where did you come from r" "Why, from c^cross the hall, behind the chair there," I answered. '^Ve been there a long while back. Hi» Grace told me to wait in the hall and in the hall I waited, though the Duke, having other things to think of, forgot both his order and his servant." *' Then you heard T " she asked, in a whisper. ''All, I think, that the Duke said. Lord Carford said nothing. I was about to interrupt his Grace when the task was better performed for me. I think madame, you owe some thanks to M. de Perrenl court." " You heard what he said ? " "The last few words only," I answered, regret- r..ii-- ay. z66 Simon Dale. She looked at m. for an instant, and then said, with a dreary httle smile,— ^" I'm to be grateful to M. de Perrencourt^ " ^ " I know no other man who could or would have rid you of the Duke so finely. Besides, he appeared to treat you with much courtesy." " Courtesy, yes ! " she cried, but seemed to check m/nf \^^''i.'''' ''V"^ ^''^^^ agitation, and a mo- ment later she covered her face and I heard her sob agam. "Come, take heart," said I. "The Duke's a great man, of course, but no harm shall come to you, Mis- tress Barbara. Your father bade me have my services m readmess for you, and although I didn't need his order as a spur, I may pray leave to use it as an ex- cuse for thrust! as;> myself on you." /'u^i'^^^i' I- ' ^'5 glad to see you, Simon. But what snail 1 dor* i\,,, i ieaven, why did I ever come to this place ? " That can be mended by leaving it, madame." "But how? How can I leave it.?" she asked despairingly. ' •' The Duchess will grant you leave." ♦' Without the King's consent ? " "But won't the King consent? Madame will ask for you; she's kind." ''Madame won't ask for me ; nobody will ask for me. "Then if leave be impossible, we must go without leave, if you speak the word." " Ah, you don't know," she said, sadly. Then she caught my hand again and whispered hurriedly and fearfully : " I 'm afraid, Simon. I— I fear him. What can I do? How can I resist? They can do what they will with me, what can I do ? If I weep, they ixJ!? . ' '^ T t"^. .^.^ ^^"S^' ^^^y take it for consent. What can 1 do ? ■ -iMWRaaWto*!. ■m^. The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 1 67 There is nothing that so binds a man to a woman as to feel her hand seeking his in weakness and appeal. I had thought that one day so Barbara's might seek mine and I should exult in it ; nay, might even let her perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamt is come, but where was my exultation? There ., a choking in my throat and I swallowed twice before I contrived to answer, — " What can wc do? you mean, Mistress Barbara." "Alas, alas," she cried, between tears and laughter, •'what can we — even we— do, Simon ? " I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old days before my apostasy and great offence. I was glad of it, for if I was to be of service to her wc must be friends. Suddenly she said,— "You know what it means— I can't tell you: you know?'' ' "Aye, I know," said I, "none better. But the Duke sha'n't have his way." " The Duke ? If it were only the Duke— Ah ! " She stopped, a new alarm in her eyes. She searched my face eagerly. Of deliberate purpose I set it to an immutable stolidity. "Already he's very d cile," said I. " See how M. de Perrencourt turned and twisted him, and sent him off crestfallen." She laid her hand on my arm. "If I might tell you," si J said, " a thing that few know here; none but the King and his near kindred and one or two more." "But how came you to know of it?" I inter- rupted. " I— I also came to know it,'*" she murmured. " There are many ways of coming t- know thing," said I " One is by being told ; anotner, ma ;ame, is by finding out. Certainly it was amazing how M. de i errencourt dealt with his Grace ; aye, and with my M IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) k A ^ .V '^ J 1.0 I.I tUtM 12.5 ■luu IL25 i 1.4 m 1.6 Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716) 872-4503 ^^ i68 5imon Dale. I '• K Lord Carford, who shrank out of his path as though he w^rdfufu-ie^t''"^^' ' ''' "^^ ^^"-^-^ ^^'^-t ^Ur^''''''uC '^^ ^^^^spered, in eagerness mingled with yourfifer''"'^"' ''^^'' "'' >^°" ^^^'"^^ Sifence, for kh4 ' tJ 'n. f A?"k u' ^^^°"gh h^ had been a vx/ ^* •. i^ '"^ ^'h>' ^- Colbert wears the Kind's ^^tar the Kings Star embrace and kiss M. de Perrencourt the night that he arrived ? " i^errencourt " It was you ? " thL^^ '''^' ^' madame. Tell me on whose account ' /r4«?""^"' ^'"' '" ^""^^"' ^^^^3^^"S the words " A^nM? hanging to my arm now, full of eagerness. And tel me now what M. de Perrencourt said to couWn^h^i'rl''' '" ^^"' ^" ^^"'^ ^" '^^ ^^at I A blush swept over her face ; her eyes, losing th<^ round ^'''''^^"'^"t' dropped in confusion to the u J ca"'t tell you," she murmured. madame-i-^""''''" ^^'^ ^' "^^""^ '^ ^^^'^ *^"^* "^^> ]]^h, Simon, you know I trust you." ^ Yet you were angry with me." Not angry-I had no right-I mean I had no " V ^"^''y- ^~^ ^^^^ grieved. • .i p '^^ "cP*^ ^^ grieved no longer, madame." licrT^f^^f "" ' " ^^'"^ ^,he, very gently. I felt the lightest pressure on my hand, the touch of two slim hngers, speaking of sympathy and comradeship. u S^.u ' 1 " hring you safe out of it ! " I cried. But how, how? Simon, I fear that he has " "The Duke? «< i^. 'Hf} The Deference of His Gtacc the Doke, 169 "No, the— the other— M. de Perrencourt ; he has set his heart on— on what he told me." ." A man ma)^ set his heart on a thing and yet not wm It, said I, grimly. '* Yes, a man— yes, Simon, I know ; a man rnav '* Aye, and even a " " ^^f\ ^"^^^ • ^^ y^^ ^^^^^ overheard— your life wouldn t be safe if you were overheard " " What do I, care ? " ^ "But I care!" she cried, and added very hastily, u^^^ I care, because I want your help." You shall have it. Against the Duke of Mon- mouth, and against the " " Ah, be careful." I would not be careful. My blood was up. Mv voice was loud and bold as I gave to M. de Perren- court the name that was his, the name by which the frightened lord and the coward Duke knew him, the name that gave him entrance to those inmost secret conferences, and yet kept him himself hidden and half a prisoner in the Castle. The secret was no se- cret to me now. "Against the Duke of Monmouth,'* said I, sturdily, and also, if need be, against the King of France " T ^^^^^^V^"^^^ ""^ ""y ^"^ »" ^la*""!- I laughed, till I saw her finger point warily over my shoulder. With a start 1 turned and saw a man coming down the ^ fh* ." ^^f "^^"^ ¥'l ^^^ ^"Sht Star gleamed on his breast. He was M. Colbert de Croissy lie stood """ « l\?J°'^^'^'^^?' P^^""S ^^ "^ through the gloom. Who speaks of the King of France here?" he said suspiciously. ' "I, Simon Dale, gentleman in waiting to the Duke ot Monmoutn, at your Excellency's service " I an- ^^r.lri! ^^W'"^ towards him and making my bow. What have you to say of my master?" he de- manded. m ! H 170 li t r»t ii Simon Dale« For a moment I was at a loss; for although my heart was full 01 things that I should have taken much pleasure in saying concerning his Majesty, they were none of them acceptable to the ears of his Majesty's Envoy. I stood, looking at Colber'., and my eyes fell on the Star that he wore. I knew that I committed an imprudence, but for the life of mc I could not with- stand the temptation. I made another bow, and, smiling easily, answered M. Colbert. " J was remarking, sir," said I, " that the compliment paid to you by the King of England in bestowing on you the Star from his Majesty's own breast, could not fail to cause much gratification to the King of France." He looked me hard in the eyes, yet his eyes fell to the ground before mine. I warrant he took nothing by his searching glance and did v/ell to give up the conflict. Without a word and with a stiff little bow, he passed on his way to the hall. The moment he was gone, Barbara was by me. Her face was alight with merriment. " Oh, Simon, Simon ! " she whispered, r r/ingly. " But I love you for it ! " And she was ^' up the stairs like a flitting moonbeam. Upon this I, having my head full and to spare of many matters, and my heart beating quick with more than one emotion, thought my bed the best and safest place for me, and repaired to it without delay. " But I'll have some conversation with M.de Perren- court to-morrow," said I, as I turned on my pillow and sought to sleep. \lWt ^ '- ljr™lw3ftl(lM«li>w»*, lough my iken much they were Majesty's y eyes fell :ommitted not with- bow, and, >mpliment towing on could not f France." /es fell to k nothing ve up the ittle bow, 3ment he v^as alight >vingly. up the ) spare of dth more md safest y- le Perren- •illow and CHAPTER Xin. The Meed of Cwriosity. The next morning my exaltation had gone I woke a prey to despondency and sickness of soul Not only did difficulty loom large and failure seem in- evitable, but a disgust for all that surrounded me seized on my mind, displacing the zest of adventure and the excitement of enterprisf^. But let me not set my virtue too high. It is better to be plain. Old maxims of morality and a standard of right acknowl- edged by all but observed by none have little power over a young man's hot blood ; to be stirred to indig- nation, he must s-e the wrong threaten one he re spects, touch one he loves, or menace his own honour and pride. I had supported the scandals of this Court, of which I made a humble part, with shrugs, smiles, and acid jests ; I had felt no dislike for the chief actors and no horror at the things they did or at- tempted ; nay, for one of them, who might seem to sum up in her own person the worst of all that was to be urged against King and Court, I had cherished a desperate love that bred even in death an obstinate and longing memory. Now a change had come over me ; I seemed to see no longer through my own care- less eyes but with the shamed and terrified vision of the girl who, cast into this furnace, caught at my hand as offering her the sole chance to pass unscathed through the fire. They were using her in their schemes ; she was to be sacrificed. First she had been chosen as the lure with which to draw forth Mon- 172 Simon Dale* ■j 'f; mouth's ambitions from their lair and reveal them to the spying eyes of York and his tool Carford ; if that plan were changed now, she would be no better for the change. The King would and could refuse this M. de Perrencourt (I laughed bitterly as I muttered his name) nothing, however great ; without a thought he would fling the girl to him, if the all-powerful finger were raised to ask for her. Charles would think himself well paid by his brother king's complaisance towards his own inclination. Doubtless there were great bargains of policy a-making here in the Castle, and the nature of them I made shift to guess. What was it to throw in a trifle on either side, barter Bar- bara Quinton against the French lady, and content two princes at a price so low as the dishonour of two ladies ? That was the game ; otherwise whence came M. de Perrenc< .as court and Monmouth's deference? The King saw eye to eye with M. de Perrencourt, and the King's son did not venture to thwart him. What matter that men spoke of other loves which the French King had ? The gallants of Paris might think us in England rude and ignorant, but at least we had learnt that a large heart was a prerogative of royalty which even the Parliament dared not question. With a new loathing I loathed it all, for it seemed now to lay aside its trappings of pomp and brilliancy, of jest and wit, and display itself before me in ugly naked- ness, all unashamed. In sudden frenzy I sat up in my bed, crying, " Heaven will find a way ! " For surely heaven could find one, where the devil found so many! Ah, righteous wert thou, Simon Dale, so soon as unrighteousness hurt thee ! But Phineas Tate might have preached until the end of time. Earlier than usual by an hour Jonah Wall came up from the town, where he was lodged, but he found me up and dressed, eager to act, ready for what might chance. I had seen little of the fellow lately, calling The Meed of Curiosity. 173 on him for necessary services only and ridding myself of his sombre company as quickly as I could. Yet I looked on him to-day with more consideration; his was a repulsive form of righteousness, grim and gloomy, but it was righteousness, or seemed such to me agamst the background of iniquity which threw It up in strong relief. I spoke to him kindly, but, taking no heed of my advances, he came straight up to me and said brusquely, "The woman who came to your lodging in London is here in Dover. She bids you be silent and come quickly. I can lead you." I started and stared at him. I had set " Finis " to that chapter; was fate minded to overrule me and write more? Strange also that Jonah Wall should play Mercury ! ,. "She here in Dover? For what?" I asked, as calmly as I could. " I don't doubt for sin," he answered, uncompromis- ingly. ^ ''Yet you can lead me to her house? " said I, with a smile. " I can," said he, in sour disregard of mv hinted banter. "^ '' I won't go," I declared. "The matter concerns you, she said, and mVht concern another." ^ It was early, the Court would not be movino- for two hours yet. I could go and come, and thc^reby lose no opportunity. Curiosity led me on and with it the attraction which still draws us to those we have loved, though the love be gone and more pain than . pxeasure wait on our visiting. In ten minutes I was ' tollowing Jonah down the cliff and plunged thence into a narrow street that ran curling and curving to- wards the sea. Jonah held on quickly and without Hesitation, until we reached a confined alley and came to a halt before a mean house. X74 Simon Dale* I! i " She's here," said Jonah, pointing to the door and twisting his face as though he were swallowing some- thing nauseous. I could not doubt of her presence, for I heard her voice singing gaily from within. My heart beat quick and I had above half a mind not to enter. But she had seen us and herself flung the door open wide Shelodged on the ground floor, and in obedience to her beckoning finger I entered a small room. Lodg- ing was hard to be had in Dover now and the apart- ment served her (as the bed, carelessly covered with a curtain, showed) for sleeping and living. I did not notice what became of Jonah, but sat down, puzzled and awkward, in a crazy chair. "What brings you#here.?" I blurted out, fixincr my eyes on her, as she stood opposite to me, smiling and swaying to and fro a little, with her hands on her hips. "Even what brings you. My business," she an- swered. " If you ask more, the King's invitation. Does that grieve you, Simon?" " No, madame," said I. " A little, still a little, Simon ? Be consoled ! The Kiijg invited me, but he hasn't come to see me. There lies my business. Why hasn't he come to see me ? I hear certain things, but my eyes, though they are counted good if not large, can't pierce the walls of the Castle yonder, and my poor feet aren't fit to pass its threshold." " You needn't grieve for that," said I, sullenly. ^ •' Yet some things I know. As that a French lady is there. Of what appearance is she, Simon ? " " She is very pretty, so far as I've looked at her." "Ah, and you've a discriminating glance, haven't you ? Will she stay long ? " " They say Madame will be here for ten or fourteen days yet." The Meed of Coriosity, 175 " And the French lady goes when Madame goes ? " " I don't know as to that." " Why, nor I neither." She paused an instant. " You don't love Lord Carford ? " Her question came abruptly and unlocked for. " I don't know your meaning." What concern had Carford with the French lady ? " I think you are in the way to learn it. Love makes men quick, doesn't it .^ Yes, since you ask (your eyes asked), why, I'll confess that I'm a little sorry that you fall in love again. But that by the way. Simon, neither do I love this French lady." Had it not been for that morning's mood of mine, she would have won on me agiin and all my resolul tions gone for naught. But she, not knowing the working of my mind, took no pains to hide or to soften what repelled me in her. I had seen it before and yet loved ; to her it would seem strange that be- cause a man saw, he should not love. I found myself sorry for her with a new and pitiful grief, but passion did not rise in me. And concerning my pity I held my tongue , she would have only wonder and mockery for It. But I think that she was vexed to see me so unmoved ; it irks a woman to lose a man, however little she may have prized him when he was her own. Nor do I mean to say that we are different from their sex m that ; it is, I take it, nature in woman and man alike. " At least we're friends, Simon," she said, with a augh. ''And at least we're Protestants." She laughed again. I looked up with a questioning glance. " And at least we both hate the French," she continued. " It's true ; I have no love for them. What then ? What can we do ? " She looked round cautiously, and, coming a little nearer to me, whispered, — " Late last night I had a visitor, one who doesn't 176 Simon Dale* love me greatly. What docs that matter? We row now in the same boat. I speak of the Duke of Buck- mgham." " He is reconciled to my Lord Arlington by Ma- dame s good offices," said I. For so the story ran in the Castle. " Why, yes, he's reconciled to Arlington as the dog to the cat when their master is by. Now there's a thing that the Duke suspects ; and there's another thing that he knows. He suspects that this treaty touches more than war with the Dutch ; though th:at I hate, for war swallows the King's money like a well." " Some passes the mouth of the well, if report-speaks true, I observed. Ij Peace, peace ! Simon, the treaty touches more." "A man need not be duke nor minister to suspect that," said I. ^ "Ah, you suspect? The King's religion?" she whispered. I nodded ; the secret was no surprise to me, though I had not known whether Buckingham were in it. "And what docs the Duke of Buckingham know? " I asked. " Why, that the King sometimes listens to a wo- man's counsel," said she, nodding her head and smil- ing very wisely. " Prodigious sagacity ! " I cried. " You told him that, may be? " "Indeed he had learnt it before my day. Master Simon. Therefore, should the King turn Catholic, he will be a better Catholic for the society of a Catholic lady. Now this Madame — how do you name her?" "Mademoiselle de Qu^rouaille? " "Aye. She is a most devout Catholic. Indeed her devotion to her religion knows no bounds. It's like mine to the King. Don't frown, Simon. Loyalty is a virtue." H The Meed of Curiosity* 177 "And piety also, by the same rule and in the same unstinted measure?" I asked, bitterly. " IJeyond doubt, sir. liut the French King has sent word fiom Calais " "Oh, from Calais! The Duke revealed that to you?" I aslced, with a smile I could not smother. There was a limit then to the Duke's confidence in his ally ; for the Duke had been at Paris and could be no stranger to M. de Perrencourt. "Yes, he told mc all. The King of France has sent word from Calais, where he awaits the signing of the treaty, that the loss of this Madame Querouaille would rob his Court of beauty and he cannot be so bereft. And Madame, the Duke says, swears she can't be robbed of her fairest Maid of Honour ('tis a good name that, on my life) and left desolate. But Madame has seen one who might make up the loss, and the King of France, having studied the lady's picture, thinks the same. In fine, Simon, our King feels that he can't be a good Catholic without the counsels of Madame Qu6rouaillc, and the French King feels that he must by all means convert and save so fair a lady as — is the name on your tongue, nay, is it in your heart, Simon?" "I know whom you mean,' 1 answered, for her rev- elation came to no more than what I had scented out for myself. " But what says Buckingham to this ? " "Why, that the King mustn't have his way, lest he should thereby be confirmed in his Popish inclinations. The Duke is Protestant, as you are — and as I am, so please you." " Can he hinder it ? " "Aye, if he can hinder the French King from hav- ing his way. And for this purpose his Grace has need of certain things." " Do you carry a message from him to me? " " I did but say that I knew a gentleman who might } ( fii 178 Simon Dale* supply his needs. They are four: a heart, a head a hand, and perhaps a sword." "AH men liave them, then." " The first true, the second long, the third stronL- and tlie fourth ready." ^' '• I fear then that I haven't all of them." "And for reward " " I know. I lis life, if he can come off with it." Nell burst out laughing. " He didn't say that, but it may well reckon up to much that figure," she admitted. " You'll think of it Simon.?" ' "Think of it? I! Not I!" "You won't?" " Or I mightn't attempt it." "Ah ! You will attempt it? " " Of a certainty." " You're very ready. Is it all honesty ? " " Is ever anything all honesty, madame— savinjr your devotion to the King? " " And the French lady's to her religio:i .>" laughed Nel!. "On my soul I think the picture that'' the Kmg of France saw was a fair one. Have you looked on it, Simon ? " " On my life I don't love her." "On my life you will." " You seek to stop me by that prophecy ? " "I don't care whom you love," said she. Then her face broke into smiles. " What liars women are ! " she cried. "Yes, I do care; not enough to grow vvnnkled, but enough to wish I hadn't grown half a lady and could " "You stop?" " Could— could— could slap your face, Simon." "It would be a light infliction after breaking a man's heari.," said I, turning my cheek to her and beckoning with my hand. The Meed of Curiosity. 179 " You should have a revenge on my face ; not in kind, but in kindness. I can't strike a man who won't hit back." She laughed at me with all her old entic- ing gaiety. I had almost sealed the bargain ; she was so roguish and so pretty. Had we met first then, it is very likely she would have made the offer and very cer- tain that I should have taken it. But there had been other days ; I sighed. *' I loved you too well once to kiss you now, mis- tress,". said I. •'You're mighty strange at times, Simon," said she, sighing also, and lifting her brows. " Now I'd as lief kiss a man I had loved as any other." " Or slap his face ? " " If I'd never cared to kiss, I'd never care for the other either. You rise ? " •' Why, yes. I have my commission, haven't I ? " " I give you this one also, and yet you keep it?" " Is that slight not yet forgiven ? " " All is forgiven and all is forgotten — nearly, Si- mon." At this instant — and since man is human, woman persistent, and courtesy imperative, I did not quarrel with the interruption — a sound came from the room above, strange in a house where Nell lived (if she will pardon so much candour) but oddly familiar to me. I held up my hand and listened. Nell's rippling laugh broke in. " Plague on him ! " she cried. " Yes, he's here. Of a truth he's resolute to convert me, and the fool amuses me." " Phineas Tate," I exclaimed, amazed ; for beyond doubt his was the voice. I could tell his intonation of a penitential psalm among a thousand. I had heard it in no other key. "You didn't know? Yet that other fool, your ser- iiil i8o Simon Dale* llJ vant, is always with him. They've been closeted to- gether for two hours at a time." " Psalm-singing?" " Now and again. They're often quiet too." He preaches to you ? " "Only a little; when we chance to meet at the door he gives me a curse and promises a blessing; no " It's very little to come to Dover for " pany oncrsil-/''"'" ''""' ^"'^'' ^'' ^''' °^ "^^ ^°"^- It was true but it did not solve my wonder at the presence of Phineas Tate. What bro^ught the fellow? Had he too sniffed out something of what was afoot OuerT'^'^^^^' ^°/^'^ religion%ven as Louise de Querouaille fought for hers, though in a most differ- ent lashion.? I had reached the door of the room and was in the passage. Nell came to the threshold and stood there smiling I had asked no more questions and made TSl'^'n '. ^ 1^"^''^ ^^''^^ Buckingham must not show himself in the matter, and that all was left to me, heart, head, hand, sword, and also that same re- ward If 1 were so lucky as to come by it. I waited for a moment half expecting that Phineas, hearing my voice, would show himself, but he did not appean Nell vvaved her hand to me; I bowed and took my leave turning my steps back towards the Castle. The Court would be awake, and whether on my own ac- the"c °^ "^^ "^^ commission's sake I must be I had not mounted far before I heard a puffing and ' ^InT^^Af'^"?- ^^'^ ^°""^ P^^^^'^ to come from Jonah Wall, who was toiling after mc, laden with a large basket I had no eagerness for Jonah's society, but rejoiced to see the basket ; for my privato store ot tood and wine had run low. and if a man is to find l^i The Meed of Curiosity* i8i :loseted to- GO." eet at the lessing ; no )f my com- ider at the the fellow ? was afoot, Louise de lost differ- was in the 'ood there and made must not vas left to t same re- I waited s, hearing ot appear. took my 5tle. The y own ac- must be uffing and jme from -n with a s society, k^at'j store is to find out what he wants to know, it is well for him to have a pasty and a bottle ready for those who can help him. "What have you there?" I called, waiting for him to overtake me. He explained that he had been making purchases in the town and I praised his zeal. Then I asked him suddenly, — "And have you visited your friend, Mr. Tate?" As I live, the fellow went suddenly pale, and the bottles clinked in his basket from '^e shaking of his hand. Yet I spoke mildly enough. " I — I have seen him but once or twice, sir, since I learnt that he was in the town. I thought you did not wish me to see him." " Nay, you can see him as much as you like as long as I don't," I answered in a careless tone, but keeping an attentive eye on Jonah. His perturbation seemed strange. If Phineas' business were only the conver- sion of Mistress Gwyn, what reason had Jonah Wall to go white as Dover cliffs over it ? We came to the Castle and I dismissed him, bid- ding him stow his load safely in my quarters. Then I repaired to the Duke of Monmouth's apartments, wondering in what mood I should find him after last night's rebuff. Little did he think that I had been a witness of it. I entered his room ; he was sittino- in his chair, with him was Carford. The Duke's face was as glum and his air as ill-tempered as I could wish. Carford's manner was subdued, calm, and sym- pathetic. They were talking earnestly as I entered, but ceased their conversation at once. I offered my services. " I have no need of you this morning, Simon," answered the Duke. " I'm engaged with Lord Car- ford." I retired. But of a truth that morning every one in 1^2 Simon Dale* if' ' w the Castle was engaged with some one else. At every turn I came on couples in anxious consultation. The approach of an intruder brought immediate silence, the barest civility delayed him, his departure was re' ceived gladly and was signal for renewed consultation. Well, the King sets the mode, and the King, I heard, was closeted with Madame and the Duke of York. But not with M. de Perrencourt. There was a hun- dred feet of the wall, with a guard at one end and a guard at the other, and mid-way between them a soli- tary figure stood looking down on Dover town and thence out to sea. In an instant I recognised him, and a great desire came over me to speak to him! He was the foremost man alive in that day, and I longed to speak with him. To have known the great is to have tasted the true flavour of your times. But how to pass the sentries? Their presence meant that M. de Perrencourt desired privacy. I stepped up to one and offered to pass. He barred the way. "But I'm in the service of his Grace the Duke of Monmouth," I expostulated. "If you were in the service of the devil himself you couldn't pass here without the King's order," retorted the fellow. "Won't his head serve as well as his order?" I asked, slipping a crown into his hand. " Come, I've a message from his Grace for the French gentleman. Yes, it's private. Deuce take it, do fathers always know of their sons' doings ? " " No, nor sons all their fathers' sometimes," he •chuckled. "Along with you ciick, and run if you ^ hear me whistle ; it will mean my officer is coming." ! I was alone in the sacred space with M. de Perren- court. I assumed an easy air and sauntered along, till I was within a few yards of him. Hearing my step then, he looked round with a start and asked peremp- torily, — :^. The Meed of Curiosity. 183 "What's your desire, sir?" By an avowal of himself, even by quoting the King's order, he could banish me. But if his cue were con- cealment and ignorance of the order, why, I might in- dulge my curiosity. " Like your own, sir," I replied, courteously, " a breath of fresh air and a sight of the sea." He frowned a little, but I gave him no time to speak. "That fellow though," I pursued, "gave me to un- derstand that none might pass; yet the King is not here, is he?" " Then how did you pass, sir ? " asked M. de Perren- court, ignoring my last question. " Why, with a lie, sir," I answered. " I said I had a message for you from the Duke of Monmouth, and the fool believed me. But we gentlemen in attend- ance must stand by one another. You'll not betray me? Your word on it ? " A slow smile broke across his face. "No, I'll not betray you," said he. "You speak French well, sir." " So M. de Fontelles, whom I met at Canterbury, told me. Do you chance to know him, sir ? " M. de Perrencourt did not start now ; I should have been disappointed if he had. " Very well," he answered. " If you're his friend you're mine." He held out his hand. " I take it on false pretences," said I, with a laugh, as I shook it. " For we came near to quarrelling-. M. de Fontelles and I." " Ah, on what point ? " "A nothing, sir." " Nay, but tell me." " Indeed I will not, if you'll pardon me." "Sir, I wish to know. I ins I beg." A stare from me had stopped the * insist ' when it was half-way I'.'ri J • i; 284 Simon Dale* gWtWMi : through his lips. On my soul, he flushed ! I tell my children sometimes how I made him flush ; the thing was not done often. Yet his confusion was but mo- mentary, and suddenly, I know not how, I in my turn became abashed witli the cold stare of his eyes, and when he asked me my name, I answered baldly, with never a bow and never a flourish, "Simon Dale." " I have heard your name," said he, gravely. Then he turned round and began looking at the sea again. Now had he been wearing his own clothes (if I may so say) this conduct would have been appropriate enough ; it would have been a dismissal and I should have passed on my way. But a man should be con- sistent in his disguises, and from M. de Perrencourt, gentleman in waiting, the behaviour was mighty un- civil. Yet my revenge must be indirect. •' Is it true, sir," I asked, coming close to him, " that the King of France is yonder at Calais ? So it's said." " I believe it to be true," answered M. de Perren- court. " I wish he had come over," I cried. " I should love to see him, for they say that he's a very proper man, although he's somewhat short." M. de Perrencourt did not turn his head, but again I saw his cheek flush. To speak of his low stature was, I had heard Monmouth say, to commit the most dire offence in King Louis' eyes. " Now how tall is the King, sir ? " I asked. " Is he as tall as you, sir?" M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the truth, I began to be a little uneasy ; there were cells under the Castle and I had need to be at large for the coming few daj's. "For," said I, "they tell such lies concerning princes." Now he turned towards me, saying, — The Meed of Curiosity. 185 de Perrcn- concerning " There you're right, sir. The King of France is of middle size, about my own height." For the life of me 1 could not resist it. I said noth- ing with my tongue, but for a moment I allowed my eyes to say, " But then you're short, sir." He under- stood, and for the third time he flushed. " I thought as much," said I, and with a bow I began to walk on. But, as ill-luck would have it, I was not to come clear off from my indiscretion. In a moment I should have been out of sight. But as I started I saw a gen- tleman pass the guard, who stood at the salute. It was the King; escape was impossible. He walked straight up to me, bowing carelessly in response to M. de Perrencourt's deferential inclination of his per- son. "How came you here, Mr. Dale?" he asked, ab- ruptly. "The guard tells me that ho informed you of my orders and that you insisted on passing." M. de Perrencourt felt that his turn was come ; he stood there smiling. I found nothing to say ; if I repeated my fiction of a message, the French gentle- man, justly enraged, would betray me. " M. de Perrencourt seemed lonely, Sir," I answered at last. "A little loneliness hurts no man," said the King. He took out his tablets and began to write. When he was done, he gave me the message, adding " Read it." I read, "Mr. Simon Dale will remain under arrest in his own apartment for t.venty-four hours, and will not leave it except by the express command of the Kinn-." I made a wry face. ^^ " If the Duke of Monmouth wants me — " I began. " He'll have to do without you, Mr. Dale," ilitcr- rupted the King. "Come, M. de Perrencourt, will you give me your arm ? " And off he went on the French gentleman's arm, leaving me most utterly !.., i86 Simon Dale. abashed and cursing the curiosity that had brought me to this trouble. ^ u " ?P., "^"5\ f^*" ^^^ I^uke of Buckingham's Moni? head said I to myself ruefully, as I made my way towards the Constable's Tower in which his Grace was lodged, and where I had my small quarters Indeed I might well feel a fool ; for the next twenty, four hours during which I was to be a prisoner, would in all likelihood see the issue in which I was pledged to bear a part. Now I could do nothing. Yet at least I must send speedy word to the town that I was no longer to be looked to for any help, and when I reached my room I called loudly for Jonah Wall. It was but the middle of the day, yet he was not to be seen. I walked to the door and found, not Jonah but a guard on duty. ' " What are you doing here?" "Seeing that you stay here, sir," he answered, with a grin. Then the King was very anxious that I should obey his orders, and had lost no time in ensurincr my obedience ; he was right to take his measures, for standing where I did, his orders would not have re- strained me. I was glad that he had set a guard on me in lieu of asking my parole. For much as I love sm, I hate temptation. Yet where was Jonah Wall, and how could I send my message? I flung myself on the bed in deep despondency. A moment later the door opened and Robert, Darrell's servant, entered. " My master begs to know if you will sup with him to-night, sir." "Thank him kindly," said I, "but if you ask that gentleman outside, Robert, he'll tell you that I must sup at home by the King's desire. I'm under arrest, Robert. " My master will be grieved to hear it, sir, and the more because he hoped that you would bring some ..'f'tW- The Meed of Curiosity. 187 wine with you, for he has none, and he has guests to sup with him." "Ah, an interested invitation! How did Mr. Dar- rell know that I had wine?" "Your servant Jonah spoke of it to me, sir, and said that you would be glad to send my master some." "Jonah is liberal! But I'm glad, and assure Mr Darrell of it. Where is my rascal ? " " I saw him leave the Castle about an hour ago • just after he spoke to me about the wine." " Curse him ! I wanted him. Well, take the wme. There are six bottles that he got to-day." "There is French wine here, sir, and Spanish. May I take either ? " i- • "Take the French in God's name. I don't want u ,• Z^ ^^ ^^"''^^ °^ ^^^"ce. Stay, though, I believe Mr. Darrell likes the Spanish better." " Yes, sir, but his guests will like the French." " And who are these guests ? " Robert swelled with pride. , " ^|!l?"g|?J. J^l'^h would have told you, sir," said .-ri. M ^'"^ '^ ^° ^"P with my master." ' Then, said I, '« Fm well excused. For no man knows better than the King why I can't come." T I- }T r °,?'' ^*? ^"""^^^ ^"d we"t off grinning. ' °^.'"&J.^f^' fell again to cursing myself for a fool, and in this occupation I passed the hours of the after- noon. . I CHAPTER XIV. The King's Cop. , At least the Vicar would be pleased ! A whimsical joy 111 the anticipation of his delight shot across mv gloomy meditations as the sunset rays threaded their way through the narrow window of the chamber that was my cell. The thought of him stayed with me amusing my idleness and entertaining my fancy I could imagine his wise contented nod, far from sur prise as the poles are apart, iuU of self-approval as an egg of meat. For his vision had been clear, in him faith had never wavered. Of a truth the prophecy which old Betty Nasroth spoke (foolishness thoucrh it were) was through Fortune's freak two parts fulfilled What remained might rest unjustified to my o-reat content ; small comfort had I won from so much as had come to pass. I had loved where the King loved and my youth though it raised its head again, still reeled under the blow ; I knew what the King hid-^ aye, it might be more than one thing that he hid • mv knowledge landed me where I lay now, in close con- finement with a gaoler at my door. For my own choice I ^yould crave the Vicar's pardon, would com- pound with destiny, and, taking the proportion of fate s gifts already dealt to me in lieu of all, would go in peace to humbler doings, beneath the dignity of dark prophecy, but more fit to give a man quiet days and comfort in his life. Indeed, as my Lord Quinton had said long ago, there was strange wine in the King's fi. The King's Cup* 189 cup, and I had no desire to drink of it. Yet who would not have been moved by the strange working of events which made the old woman's prophecy seem the true reading of a future beyond guess or reasonable fore- cast ? I jeered and snarled at myself, at Betty, at her prophecy, at the Vicar's credulity. But the notion would not be expelled ; two parts stood accomplished, but the third remained. " Glamis thou art, and Caw- dor, and shalt be what thou art promised ! " — I forget how it runs on, for it is long since I saw the play, though I make bold to think that it is well enough written. Alas, no good came of listening to witches there, if my memory holds the story of the piece rightly. There is little profit, and less entertainment, in the record of my angry desponding thoughts. Now I lay like a log, again I ranged the cell as a beast his cage. I cared not a stivr for Buckingham's schemes, I paid small heed to Nell's jealousy. It was naught to me who should be the King's next favourite and although I, with all other honest men, hated a Popish King, the fear of him would not have kept me from mv sleep or from my supper. Who eats his dinner the less though a kingdom fall? To take a young man's appetite away and keep his eyes open o' nights needs a nearer touch than that. But I had on me a horror of what was being done in this place ; they sold a lady's hon- our there, throwing it in for a make-weight in their bargain. I would have dashed the scales from their hands, but I was helpless. There is the truth, a man need not be ashamed for having had a trifle of honesty about him when he was young. And if my honesty had the backing of something else that I myself knew not yet, why, for honesty's good safety, God send it such backing always! Without some such aid, it is too often brought to terms and sings small in the end. The evening grew late and darkness had fallen. I ' ( i! ,. 190 Simon Dale* M t I 1 resolute asleep. opened elbow. g-oler. turned again to my supper and contrived to eat and to drink a glass or two of wine. Suddenly I remembered Jonah Wall and sent a curse after the negligent fellow, wherever he might be, determining that next morning he should take his choice between a drubbing and dis- missal. Then I stretched myself again on the pallet, to see whether a man could will himself But I had hardly closed my eyes when I them again and started up, leaning on my There was somebody in conversation with my The conference was brief. " Here's the King's order," I heard, in a haughty, careless tone. " Open the door, fellow, and be quick." The door was flung open. I sprang to my feet with a bow. The Duke of Buckingham stood before me, surveying my person (in truth, my state was very di- shevelled) and my quarters with supercilious arnuse- ment. There was one chair and I set it for him ; he sat down, pulling off his lace-trimmed gloves. "You are the gentleman I wanted?" he asked. " I have reason to suppose so, your Grace," I an- swered. " Good," said he. "The Duk^ of Monmouth and I have spoken to the King on your behalf." I bowed grateful acknowledgments. " You are free," he continued, to my joy. "You'll leave the Castle in two hours," he added, to my con- sternation. But he appeared to perceive neither effect of his words. "Those are the King's orders," he ended, composedly. " But," I cried, " if I leave the Castle how can I fulfil your Grace's desire?" " I said those were the King's orders. I have some- thing to add to them. Here, I have written it down, that you may understand and not forget. Your lan- tern there gives a poor light, but your eyes are youngs Read what is written, sir." The King's Cup* Z9X eat and to membered mt fellow, t morning g and dis- :he pallet, 11 himself :s when I \g on my 1 with my haughty, be quick." feet with )efore me, s very di- ns amuse- ' him ; he sked. :e, I an- uth and I "You'll ) my con- her effect ders," he 3W can I Lve some- it down, four lan- •e youngo I took the paper that he handed me and read : •' In two hours' time be at Canonsgate. The gate will be open. Two serving-men will be there with two horses. A lady will be conducted to the gate and de- livered into your charge. You will ride with her as speedily as possible to Deal. You will call her your sister, if need arise to speak of her. Go to the hostelry of the Merry Mariners in Deal, and there await a gen- tleman, who will come in the morning and hand you fifty guineas in gold. Deliver the lady to this gentle- man, return immediately to London, and lie in safe hiding till word reaches you from me." I read and turned to him in amazement. " Well," he asked, " isn't it plain enough ? " " The lady I can guess," I answered, " but I pray your Grace to tell me who is the gentleman." "What need is there for you to know? Do you think that more than one will seek you at the Merry Mariners Tavern, and pray your acceptance of fifty guineas? " " But I should like to know who this one is." "You'll know when you see him." ' With respect to your Grace, this is not enough to tell me." " You can't be told more, sir." " Then I won't go." He frowned, and beat his gloves on his thigh impa- tiently. "A gentleman, your Grace," said I, "must be trusted, or he cannot serve." He looked round the little cell and asked signifi- cantly, — " Is your state such as to entitle you to make con- ditions?" " Only if your Grace has need of service? which I can give or refuse," I answered, bowing. His irritation suddenly vanished, or seemed to van- ish. He leant back in his chair and laughed. f9> Simon Dale- stand one anotlier. This s°rWc'c if „n ' ''■,'''^.''- sin,plc. But if you're iluern/pZ' ll vl^^ ^tk^: tic, you must use your sword VVoII if I ^ iH^^tSn^t'wHFE^- V, iiuMnry in iJcal. If success attended thf^ nf l"en%rttrf ofr ^^^" "^-' P-videf f ^d ;:You'11 accept this task?" asked the Duke. iJfh.T^i'^^'c^V^'^^'^ ^- '^^ I'errencourt and jrrat- ify the Duke of Monmouth. If I refused it another lailcd M de Perrencourt would triumph If 1 J cepted, I should accept in the fixed intent , of nla'' ing traitor to one of my employers. I minh ^Z Buckingham's turn, I shoulcl siek to t.^ilt ivW « pljl? ^?r,^ V"^ "^y fifty guineas ? " I asked, laitn 1 he answered, with a shrug. "Youn^r M. ^mouth ,s enough his father's son to have hi"s pociv .■ v^ravK empty." "^^ in^nt '' "^"""^'^ ^ '''"^''^ ""^ P°^"^ °f ^^^"^stry in an cried?'^'' "^^ ""^'"y ^^^ ^^^^ ^'^^>^ ^'^"^ the Castle," I r . The Kin8:'s Cup. He face. started, leant fonvard, and looked hard "What 193 in my o you mean? what do you know? lie asked plainly enough, although silently. But I had '. i^^r!} \^^}^} ^" iiPP^-arance of zeal and innocence rcsston no ^>at 1 alflcd his curiosity, and my guileless exp.... gave his suspicions no food. Perhaps, too, he had v.ish to enquire. There was little love between him and Monmouth, for he had been bitterly offended by the honours and precedence assigned to tlie Duke • only a momentary coincidence of interest bound them' together in this scheme. If the part that concerned liuckingham were accomplished, he would not break his heart on account of the lady not bein-^ ready for .Alonmouth at the hostelry of the Merry I\hiriners. at' r^l^^^M' ^^f"' ^^^^ ^"-'^ understand one another, i\lr. iJale? said he, rising. "Well enough, your Grace," I answered with a bow. and I rapped on the door. The gaoler opened it. 'Mr. Dale is free to go where he will within the Lastle. \ ou can return to your quarters," said Buck- ingham. The soldier marched off. Buckingham turned to me. "Good fortune in your enterprise," he said. " And 1 give you joy on your liberty." The words were not out of his mouth when a lieu- tonauc and two men appeared, approaching us at a rapid walk, nay almost at a run. They made directly for us, the Duke and I both watching them. The officers sword was drawn in his hand, their daggers '''TJ{'^^ 'I ^^^ "^"^^^^'^ o^ the soldiers' muskets ^ W hat s happened aow ? " asked Buckingham, in a ^vhlsper. '' » ' » .n7!'^f"JT'r '''''' """^ ^°"" ^" coming. The lieuten- ant halted before us, crying, "In the King's name, I arrest you, sir." On my soul, you've a habic of being arrested, sir " 194 Simon Dale* I! I ■ f IS said the Duke, sharply. - What's the cause th time? " I don't know," I answered, and I asked the offi. cer, "On what account, sir? " " The King's orders," he answered, curtly. "You must come with me at once." At a sign from him his men took their stand on either side of me. Verily my liberty had been short ! " I must warn you that we shall stand at nothing if you try to escape," said the officer, sternly. " I'm not a fool, sir," I answered. " Where are vou going to take me ? " ^ " Where my orders direct." "Come come," interrupted Buckingham, impa- \v n^'u- "°^ ^^ "^"^^ mystery. You know me? Well, this gentleman is my friend and I desire to know where you take him." " I crave your Grace's pardon, but I must not an- swer. "Then I'll follow you, and discover," cried the iJuke, angrily. u jI^^ ^°^'" ^^^ce's peril," answered the officer, firmly. It you insist, I must leave one of my men to detain you here. Mr. Dale must ^^o alone with me." Wrath and wonder were eloquent on the proud Duke s face. In me this new misadventure bred a species of resignation. I smiled at him, as I said,— * My business with your Grace must wait, it seems " " Forward, sir," cried the officer impatiently, and I was marched off at a round pace, Buckingham not at- tempting to follow, but turning back in the direction of the Duke of Monmouth's quarters. The confed- erates must seek a new instrument now; if their pur- pose were to thwart the King's wishes, they mi-ht not hnd what they wanted again so easily. I was conducted straight and quickly to the keep and passed up the steps that led to the corridor in e cause this ked the offi. irtly. " You from him his me. Verily irn you that escape," said here are you jham, impa- know me ? I desire to lust not an- cried the ificer, firmly. m to detain le." the proud ture bred a I said, — t, it seems." :ntly, and I lam not at- \e direction "he confed- f their pur- ;hey might ► the keep, corridor in The King's Cup, ig^ which the King was lodged. They hurried me along, ana I had time to notice nothing until I came to a ffj "w ' ^T^. '"^. ^t( ^^l ^^'^^^-^ng, on the western ide. Here I found Darrell, apparently on guard, for his sword was drawn and a pistol in his left hand. ^^ Here, sir, is Mr. Dale," said my conductor. Good, answered Darrell, briefly. I saw that his face was very pale, and he accorded me not the least sign of recognition. " Is he armed ? " he asked •^You see I have no weapons, Mr. Darrell," said I. stimy. ' tt'efr^*^^^ ^"*'"'" ^°"^"^^"^^<^ Darrell, ignoring me JaJ'^T}""^^ ^""^ """Sry. The soldiers obeyed the order, j f^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ D3.vrdl, but he would not meet my gaze; the point of his sword tapped the floor on which It rested, for his hand was shaking likeaS' ^^ 1 here s no weapon on him," announced the officer. Very well. Leave him with me, sir, and retire with your men to the foot of the steps. If you hear a whistle, return as quickly as possible." The officer bowed, turned about and departed, fol- lowed by his men. Darrell, and I stood facing one another for a moment. ^ rell?" ^f-T'^^V'^^il^}^'^ mesinlng of this, Dar- rail? I cried. ' Has Madame brought the Bastille over with her and are you made Gove?nor ? " ^ He answered not a word. Keeping his sword still in readiness, he knocked with the mu?zle of Ts pis to "da' t:\ 1^ ^n- ^^K"" "^^"^^"^ '^' --^ opened Giffo^J'l .1. ^^""^ ^"'- J^'" ^'''^ ^^^^ Sir Thomas D rnH hL ^""""l was flung wide, a gesture from So Hni. me enter. I stepped in, he followed, and the door was instantly shut close behind us. 1 shall not readily forget the view disclosed to me by the flaring oil lamps hung in sconces to the ancient • .noky walls, i was in a narrow room, low and not Z96 Simon Dale* oTn'lf t. ? furnished with faded richness and hung flo.. K ^^'^^^. '''^'^ mouldering tapestries. The ^^H li^^'A^' ''"^ ""^^^" f'°"^ t'"^^ ^"d use. In the m^dle of he room ^vas a long table of polished oak wood ; in the centre of it sat the King, on his left vrl Yori?"on'fr ^^O'-l^-^-d beyond fi'er the Duk^ York ; on the King's right at the end of the table vva an empty chair; Clifford moved towards it now and bevf ni'r''' ""^J '^c^^"' ^'^^ Arlington, then Col- kL^%^'T."^' 'K^P'^'^^^ Envoy of the French i^mg JNext to our King was another empty chair an Perrencourt leant easily over the back of it, with his eyes fixed on me. On the table were materials fo? writing, and a large sheet of paper faced the King-or M. de Perrencourt ; it seemed just between them. Iheie was nothing else on the table except a bottle of wine and two cups ; one was full to the brim, wh-'le the liquor in the other fell short of the top of the^Ia^s save M. de Perrencourt all seemed disturbed; the King s swarthy face appeared rather pale than swarthy, and his hand rapped nervously on the table. All this I^saw, while Darren stood rigidly by me, sword in fac^fi^^;^^ 'vi! *^^ ^''^.^^ 'P^^^ ' ^^^ d^l^c^te subtle lace lit up with recognition. .;,M^n^o'/ ^'''•'' ^P°^'^" ^'''^^ *^^s gentleman," she said, in a low voice. brrad.""^ T ff •%' fi ^l\ ^? Perrencourt, under his Dreath. I think he hardly knew that he spoke for hL'thoughS.''''''^ '^'" ""''"'' unconscious outcome of silence. Madame bowed in apologetic submission M. de Perrencourt took no heed of the gesture 1 though he did not speak again.. A moment lalc^ he" J ^*" ^EHwh#fc«Btv- . jss and hung istries. The use. In the polished oak 1 his left was the Duke of he table was 1 it now and •n, then Co]- the French pty chair, an :, but M. de it, with his naterials for lie King — or ween them. t a bottle of brim, while ' of the glass vere silent ; turbed ; the lan swarthy, e. All this e, sword in icate subtle eman," she under his spoke, for outcome of to impose Jubmission. gesture, al- nt later he The Kingf's Cup. 197 laid his hand on Colbert's shoulder and whispered to him. 1 thought I heard just a word, it was " P^on- telles." Colbert looked up and nodded. M. de Per- rencourt folded his arms on the back of the chair and his face resumed its impassivity. Another moment elapsed before the King spoke. His voice was calm, but there seemed still to echo in it a trace of some violent emotion newly passed ; a slight smile curved his lips, but there was more malice than mirth in it. " Mr. Dale," said he, " the gentleman who stands by you once beguiled an idle minute for me by telling me of a certain strange prophecy made concerning you which he had, he said, from your own lips, and in which my name— or at least some king's name— and yours were quaintly coupled. You know what I refer to?" I bowed low, wondering what in heaven's name he could be at. It was, no doubt, high folly to love Mis- tress Gwyn, but scarcely high treason. Besides, had not I repented and forsworn her ? Ah, but the second member of the prophecy ? I glanced eagerly at M. de Perrencourt, eagerly at the paper before the King. There were lines on the paper, but I could not read them, and M. de Perrencourt's face was fully as baf- fling. "^ "If I remember rightly,' pursued the King, after hstenmg to a whispered sentence from his sister, "the prediction foretold that you should drink of my cup Is it not so ? " ^" " It was so, Sir, although what your Majesty quotes was the end, not the beginning of it." For an instant a smile glimmered on the King's face ; it was gone and he proceeded gravely,— " I am concerned only with that part of it. I love prophecies and I love to see them fulfilled. You see that cup there, the one that is not quite full. That 198 Simon Dale. ■if: cup of wine was poured out for me, the other for my friend M de Perrencourt. I pray you, drink of my cup and let the prophecy stand fulfilled." In honest truth I began to think that the Kinjr had drunk other cups before and left them not so full Yet he looked sober enough, and the rest were grave and mute. What masquerade was this, to brin^ me under guard and threat of death to drink a cup of wme .? I would have drunk a dozen of my free will for the asking. ' ;'V our Majesty desires me to drink that cup of wme ? I asked. ^ "If you please, sir, the cup that was poured out for me. " With all my heart," I cried, and, remembering my manners, I added, "and with most dutiful thanks to your Majesty for this signal honour." ^ d ^^'•■' ^^/^b' to be seen, yet certain, ran round the table. Madame stretched out a hand towards the cup as though with a sudden impulse to seize it ; the Kincr caught her hand and held it prisoner. M. de Perren" court suddenly dragged his chair back, and, passing in front of It, stood close over the table. Colbert looked up at him, but his eyes were fixed on me, and the Envoy went unnoticed. " Then come and take it," said the King. I advanced, after a low bow. Darrell, to my fresh wonder, kept pace with me, and when I reached the table, was still at my side. Before I could move his sword might be through me or the ball from his pistol in my brains. The strange scene began to intoxicate me. Its stirring suggestion mounting to my brain like fumes of wine. I seized the cup and held it high in my hand. I looked down in the King's face, and thence to Madam e's ; to her I bowed low and cried,— "By his Majesty's permission I will drain this cup to the honour of the fairest and most illustrious Prin- cess, Madame the Duchess of Orieans." The Km8:'s Cup. jg^ The Duchess half rose from her seat, cryinir in a The King still held her hand. " Drink it to me, Mr. Dale," said he I bowed to him and put the cup to my lips I wa f™^™. ">« King turned to M. de Perrencourt as if in doubt, the French man met his glance and nodded. " M. de Perrencourt is our guest," said the Kins- " He must do as he will." . ■> u uie js.mg. M. de Perrencourt, having thus obtained permission Ltlir h'^wlldenied him ?), leant one h?nd on the table and, bendmg across towards me, saic' in slow calm, yet nnpressive tones,— ' " The King, sir, was wearied with business »n,1 parched wth talking; of his goodness he detected in me the same cond tion. So h^e bade my good friend boftl^nf^°°'' '"^Fil ^'- D^'-^^l' fumish^hTrn wtha b " hat trKi^^t ^HI °-^^» brought a boTtl" say'. iA ?'b;:rsi tt' Ki:rt:to'^ ^x^^ now ^' Its my own wme then!" I cried, smiling " He spoke the truth, did he? "pursued M de P^r ?: Mr-^JarreT?^^^'"^- " " '^ ''----elJi '^ 'yi: 200 Simon Dale. i! ■ . 4 , " Even so, sir," I answered. " Mr. Darrell's wine was out and I sent him some bottles of mine by his servant. ' ^ "You knew for what he needed it?" I had forgotten for the moment what Robert said and hesitated in my answer. M. de Perrcncourt looked mtently at me. " I think," said I, " that Robert told me Mr. Barrel! expected the King to sup with him." " He told you that ? " he asked, sharply, u 'TJ^' ^. remember that," said I, now thoroughly bewildered by the history and the catechism which seemed necessary to an act so simple as drinking a glass of my own wine. M. de Perrencourt said nothing more, but his eyes were still set on my face with a puzzled, searchincr expression. His glance confused me and I looked round the table. Often at such moments the merest trifles catch our attention, and now for the first time I observed that a little of the wine had been spilt on the polished oak of the table ; where it had fallen the bright surface seemed rusted to dull brown. I noticed the change and wondered for an idle second how it came that wine turned a polished table dull. The thing was driven from my head the next moment by a brief and harsh order from the King. " Drink, sir, drink." Strained with excitement, I started at the order, and slopped some of the wine from the cup on my hand. I felt a strange burning where it fell, but again the King cried, " Drink, sir." ^ I hesitated no more. Recalling my wandering wits and determining to play my part in the comedy, what- ever it might mean, I bowed, cried, " God save your Majesty," and raised the cup to my lips. As it touched them, I saw Madame hide her eyes with her hand and M. de Perrencourt lean further across the til '\ m\.m\ w-x- arrell's wine mine by his Robert said, Perrencouit Mr. Darrell thoroughly hism which 1 drinking a 3ut his eyes 3, searching id I looked the merest le first time een spilt on d fallen the . I noticed :ond how it dull. The moment by s order, and n my hand, t again the dering wits aedy, what- save your ips. As it es with her across the IHK KIN(i's (UP.— PACK h i 1'^ '{ ■A i 1 i .W-.O^ The King's Cup. 20I table, while a short quick gasp of breath came from where Darrell stood by my side. ^ I knew how to take off a bumper of wine No sippings and swallowings forme! I laid my tongue well down m the bottom of my mouth that the liquor hpfdh r^ fair passage to my gullet and threw^my head back as you see a hen do (in thanks to heaven hey say, though she drinks only water). Then I tilted the cup and my mouth was full of the wine I wa. conscious of a taste in it. a strange acrid taste Why, ,t was poor wine, turned sour; it should go back to-morrow; that fool Jonah was a fool in fu t,ir^; ^"^' 5'°"^ ^J^^''"^^^ ^^' °ff^""g this acrid stuff to a friend. And he gave it to the King! It was the cruellest chance. Why-^ ^ Suddenly, when I had gulped down but one jrood tTe"tabb' Yer/'- ^? .^--e^-t lean right across tiie table. Yet I saw him dimly, for my eves seemeH to grow glazed and the room to spin mund me^he SfmTac'es '^^^^^^^^^^'-^ strange 'shapes and :;ei;d dim faces, and a singing sounding in my ears as though the sea roared there, and not on D^ver Beach There was a wom,„. 3,, ,„d a man's arm shot out at me. 1 felt a sharp blow on my wrist, the cud was dashed from my hand on to the stone floor bre'akTn^ mto ten thousand pieces, while the wbe made I puddle at my feet. I stood there for an ins ant struck motionless, glaring into the face that was opposite to mine. It was M. de Perrencourt's, no lon4 calm bu? pale and twitching. This was the last tCg I saw clearly. The King and his companions were IsedTn a shifting mass of trunks and faces, the walls raced IT^s'lKirr^" °l^'r^^ ^°^^^^ -^ freTted in my ears. I caught my hand to my brow and staggered • I could not stand, I heard a clatter as thoufh of a word falling to the floor, arms were stretched^ out to eceive me and I sank into them, hearing a murmur close by me, " Simon, Simon ! " ^ murmur 202 Simon Dale* Yet one thing more I heard, before my senses left me, a loud, proud, imperious voice, the voice that speaks to be obeyed, whose assertion brooks no con- tradiction. It rang in my ears where nothing else could reach them, and even then I knew whence it came. The voice was the voice of M. de Pcrrcncourt, and it seemed that he spoke to the King of England. '• Brother," he cried, '' by my faith in God, this gen tleman is innocent, and his life is on our heads, if he lose it." I heard no more. Stupor veiled me round m an un- penetrable mist. The figures vanished, the tumultu- ous singing ceased. A great silence encompassed me, and all was gone. ■* -I OUPTER XV. M. dc Pcffcncourt Whispers. Slowly the room and the scene came back to me disengaging themselves from the darkness which had settled on my eyes, regaining distinctness and their proper form. I was sitting in a chair and there were wet bandages about my head. Those present before ?ff ^^uf '^'^^ '^''^ ^- ^^ Perrencourt, whose place at the table was vacant ; the large sheet of paper and he materials for writing had vanished. There was a ^.f .\ ^ n"? ^^ ^i' n/"^' "^^^ ^° Arlington ; here now sat the Dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, carrv- ing on a low conversation with the Secretary. The King lay back in his chair, frowning and regarding with severe gaze a man who stood opposite to him almost where I had been when I drank^of the Kin^s rZ A K'\'^T'^ ^^''^^^ ^"^ ^^'^ lieutenant of the Guards who had arrested me, and between them, with kh hlnT ^'It "'"^^^^ ^^'' ^^'■^^^hed and stained ir^l ^^°?5^'^»th panting breath and gleaming eyes, firmly held by either arm, was Phineas Tate thi Rani ter. ihey had sent and caught him then, while I lav unconscious. But what led them to suspect him ? ^ Ihere was the voice of a man speaking from the him, for their bodies came between, but I recognised llV'T. uZ'. ^'I'^ ^--"'^ -fvant.^ It wis he. then, who had nut th lowing that, they must have m on Jonah's track, and, in fol- come on Phineas, 204 Simon Dale« " We found the two together," he was saying, " this man and Mr. Dale's servant who had brought the wine from the town. Both were armed with pistols and daggers, and seemed ready to meet an attack. In the alley in front of the house that I have named " "Yes, yes, enough of the house," interrupted the King, impatiently. •* In the alley there were two horses ready- We attacked the men at once, the lieutenant and I mak- ing for this one here, the two with us trying to se- cure Jonah Wall. This man struggled desperately, but seemed ignorant of how to handle Jtiis weapons. Yet he gave us trouble enough, and we had to use him roughly. At last we had him, but then we found that Jonah, who fought like a wild cat, had wounded both the guards with his knife, and, although himself wounded, had escaped by the stairs. Leaving this man with the lieutenant I rushed down after him, but one of the horses was gone, and I heard no sound of :oofs. He had got a start of us and is well out of Dover by now." I was straining all my attention to listen, yet my eyes fixed themselves on Phineas, whose head was thrown back defiantly. Suddenly a voice came from behind my chair. "That man must be pursued," said M. de Perren- court. "Who knows that there may not be accom- plices in this devilish plot? This man has planned to poison the King, the servant was his confederate. I say, may there not have been others in the wicked scheme ? " "True, true," said the King, uneasily. "We must lay this Jonah Wall by the heels. What's known of him?" Thinking the appeal was made to me, I strove to ri'^-e. M. de Perrcncourt's arm reached over the back of my chair and kept me down. I heard Darrell take I' ^■. It mr M. dc Perrcncooft "Whispers. 205 up the story and toll what he knew— and it was as much as I knew— of Jonah Wall, and what he knew of rhincas Tate also. " It is a devilish plot," said the King, who was still greatly shaken and perturbed. Then Phineas spoke loudly, boldly, and with a voice full of the rapturous fanaticism which drowned con- science and usurped in him religion's place. " Here," he cried, " are the plots, here are the devil- ', "^r"^ \ ^^'^^''^^ ^° y^'" ^^^^'■^'^ Aye, what do you plot here ? Is this man's life more than God's Truth ? Is God s Word to be lost that the sins and debauchery of this man may continue.? " His long lean fore-finger pointed at the King. A mute consternation fell for an instant on them all and none mterrupted him. They had no answer ready or his question ; men do not count on such questions l>eing asked at Court, the manners are too good there "Here are the plots! I count myself blessed to uic in the effort to thwart them ! I have failed, but ' ihcrs shall not fail ! God's Judgment is sure. Vvhat '!o you here, Charles Stuart? " M. de Perrencourt walked suddenly and briskly round to where the King sat and whispered in his ear. The King nodded and said,— "I think this fellow is mad, but it's a dangerous madness." * Phineas did not heed him, but cried aloud,— " And you here— are you all with him ? Are you all apostates from God .? Are you all given over to the superstitions of Rome? Are you all here to barter God's word and " The King sprang to his feet. " I won't listen," he cried. '' Stop his cursed mouth ! 1 wont listen!" He looked round with fear and alarm in his eyes. I perceived his gaze turned towards his son and Buckingham. Following it, I saw their . 206 Simon Dale. faces alight with eagerness, excitement and curiosity. Ariington looked down at the table, Clifford leant his head on his hand, at the other end the Duke of York had sprung up like his brother and was glaring angrily at the bold prisoner. DarreJi did not wait to be bidden twice, but whipped a silk hanakerchief from his pocket. " Here and now the deed is being done ! " cried Phineas. " Here and now—" He could say no more, in spite of his desperate struggles he was gagged and stood silent, his eyes still burning with the message which his lips were not suffered to utter. The King sank back in his seat, and cast a furtive glance round the table. ■ Then he sighed as though in relief and wiped his brow. Monmouth's voice came clear, care- less, confident. " What's this madness ? " he asked. •' Who here is bartering God's Word ? And for what, pray ? " No answer was given to him ; he glanced in insolent amusement at Ariington and Clifford, then in insolent defiance at the Duke of York. _" Is not the religion of the country safe with the King ? " he asked, bowing to his father. ^ " So safe, James, that it does not need you to cham- pion it," said the King dryly ; yet his voice trembled a little. Phineas raised that lean fore-finger at him again and pointed. " Tie the fellow's arms to his side," the King commanded in hasty irritation ; he sighed again when the finger could no longer point at him and his eyes again furtively sought Monmouth's face. The young Duke leant back with a scornful smile, and the consciousness of the King's regard did not lead him to school his face to any more seemly ex- pression. My wits had come back now, although my head ached fiercely and my body was full of acute pain ; but I watched all that passed and I knew that, come what might, they would not let Phineas speak. Yet Phineas could know nothinir. Nay. but the lay, M. de Perrencourt Whispers. 207 shafts of madness, often wide, may once hit the mark. The paper that had lain between the King and M. de Perrencourt was hidden. Again the French gentleman bent and whispered m the King's car. He spoke long this time and all kept silence while he spoke, Phincas because he must, the lieutenant with surprised eyes, the rest in that seeming indifference which, as I now knew, masked their real deference. At last the King looked up, nodded, and smiled. His air grew calmer and more assured, and the trembling was gone from his voice as he spoke. •'Come, gentlemen," said he, " while we talk, this ruttian who has escaped us makes good pace from Do- ver. ^ Let the Duke of Monmouth and the Duke of Buckingham each take a dozen men and scour the country for him. I shall be greatly in the debt of either who brings him to me." The two Dukes started. The service which the King demanded of them entailed an absence of several hours from the Castle. It might be that they, or one of them, would learn something from Jonah Wall, but It was far more likely that they would not find him, or that he would not suffer himself to be taken alive. Why were they sent and not a couple of the officers on duty ? But if the King s object were to secure their absence, the scheme was well laid. I thought now that I could guess what M. de Perrencourt had said in that whispered conference. Buckingham had the dis- cretion to recognise when the game went against him. He rose at once with a bow, declaring that he hastened to obey the King's command, and would bring the fel- low in, dead or alive. Monmouth had less self-control. He rose indeed, but reluctantly and with a sullen frown on his handsome face. " It's poor work looking for a single man over the countryside," he grumbled. I 5ti 308 Simon Dale* 11 Your devotion to me will inspire and guide you James, observed the King. A chance of mocking an! other made him himself again as no other cure could Come, lose no time." Then the King added, " Take this fellow away and lock him up. Mr. Darrell see that you guard him well and let nobody come near M. de Perrencourt whispered. " Above all, let him speak to nobody. He must tell what he knows only at the right time," added the King. "When will that be.'" asked Monmouth audibly yet so low that the King could feign not to hear and smiled pleasantly at his son. But still the Duke lin- gered, although Buckingham was gone and Phineas late had been led out between his custodians. His eyes sought mine and I read an appeal in them. That he desired to take me with him in pursuit of Jonah Wall, I did not think; but he desired above all thin^rs to get me out of that room, to have speech with me to know that I was free to work out the scheme which Buckingham had disclosed to me. Nay, it was not unlikely that his search for Jonah Wall would lead him to the hostelry of the Merry Mariners at Deal. A:id for my plan too, which differed so little yet so much from his, for that also I must be free. I rose to my feet, delighted to find that I could stand well and that my pains grew no more severe with movement. "I am at your Grace's orders," said I. "May I ride with you, sir?" ^ The King looked at me doubtfully. "I should be glad of your company," said the Duke, " if your health allows." "Most fully, sir," I answered, and turning to the King I begged his leave to depart. And that leave I should, as I think, have obtained, but for the fact that once again M. de Perrencourt whispered to the King I guide you, mocking an- cure could. Ided, " Take Darrell, see ' come near -le must tell added the th audibly, ;o hear and e Duke lin- nd Phineas dians. His lem. That t of Jonah e all things :h with me, leme which it was not Id lead him )eal. And it so much rose to my 11 and that ent. . " May I said the ng to the lat leave I e fact that the King. M. dc Perrencourt Whispers. 209 The King rose from his seat, took M. de Perrencourt's arm and walked with him to where his Grace stood. I watched them, till a little stifled laugh caught my attention. Madame's face was merry, and hers the laugh. Sh2 saw my look on her and laughed again, raising her finger to her lips in a swift stealthy motion. She glanced round apprehensively, but her action had passed unnoticed ; the Duke of York seemed sunk in a dull apathy, Clifford and Arlington were busy in conversation. What did she mean ? Did she confess that I held their secret and impose silence on me by a more than royal command, by the behest of bright eyes and red lips which dared me to betray their confidence? On the moment's impulse I bowed as- sent ; Madame nodded merrily and waved a kiss with her dainty hand; no word passed, but I felt that I, being a gentleman, could tell no man alive what I sus^ pected— aye, what I knew, concerning M. de Perren- court Thus lightly are pledges given when ladies ask them. The Duke of Monmouth started back with a sudden angry motion. The King smiled at him ; M. de Per- rencourt laid a hand, decked with rich rings, on his lace cuff. Madame rose, laughing still, and joined the three. I cannot tell what passed— alas, that the mat- ters of highest interest are always elusive !— but a moment later Monmouth fell back with as sour a look as I have ever seen on a man's face, bowed slightly and not over-courteously, faced round and strode through the doorway, opening the door for himself I heard Madame's gay laugh, again the King spoke, Madame cried - Fie," and hid her far e with her hand. M. de Perrencourt advanced towards me ; the King caught his arm. " Pooh, he knows already," muttered M. de Perrencourt, half under his breath, but he gave way, and the King came to me first. "Sir," said he, "the Duke of Monmouth has had ;it.' H 2IO Simon Dale. the dutiful kindness to release his claim on your present services and to set you free to serve me." I bowed very low, answering, — ^ " His Grace is bountiful of kindness to me and has given the greatest proof of it in enabling me to serve your Majesty." "My pleasure is," pursued the King, "that you attach yourself to my friend M. de Perrencourt here and accompany him and hold yourself at his disposal until further commands from me reach you." M. de Perrencourt stepped forward and addressed me. "In two hours' time, sir," said he, - I beg you to be ready to accompany me. A ship lies yonder at the pier, waiting to carry his Excellency, M. Colbert de Croissy, and myself to Calais to-night on business of moment. Since the King gives you to me, I pray your company." ^ "Till then, Mr. Dale, adieu, * said the King. " Not a word of what has passed nere to-night to any man —or any woman. Be in readiness. You know enough, I think, to tell you that you receive a great honour^iii M. de Perrencourt's request. Your discretion will show your worthiness. Kiss Madame's hand and leave us." u J^fy ^°^^ smiled at me and I stood half bewildered. Go, said M. de Perrencourt with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. The two turned away. Madame held out her hand towards me, I bent and kissed it. II Mr. Dale," said she, "you have all the virtues."' "Alas, Madame, I fear you don't mean to com- mend me." " Yes, for a rarity, at least. But you have one vice." " It shall be mended, if your Royal Highness will tell Its name." ^ " Nay, I shall increase it by naming it liut here it is; your eyes are too wide open, Mr. Dale." M. dc Pcffcncooft "Whispers. 211 im on your /e me." me and has me to serve " that you icourt here, his disposal 1." 1 addressed '^ you to be ider at the Colbert de business of me, I pray " Not ;o any man ow enough, t honour in retion will hand and Dewildered. h, clapping Madame kissed it. virtues." in to com- : one vice." ^hness w^ill 3ut here it " My mother, Madame, used to accuse me of a trick of keeping them half shut." " Your mother had not seen you at Court, sir." "True, Madame, nor had my eyes beheld your Royal Highness." She laughed, pleased with a compliment which was well in the mode then, though my sons may ridicule it, but as she turned away, she added, — " I shall not be with you to-night, and M. de Per- rencourt hates a staring eye." J I was warned and I was grateful. But there I " stopped. Since Heaven had given me my eyes, noth- ing on earth could prevent them opening when matter worth the looking was presented. And perhaps they might be open, and yet seem shut to M. de Perren- court. With a final salute to the exalted company I went out ; as I went they resumed their places at the table, M. de Perrencourt saying, " Come, let us finish. 1 must be away before dawn." I returned to my quarters in no small turmoil ; yet my head, though it still ached sorely from the effect of tasting that draught so fortunately dashed from my hand, was clear enough, and 1 could put together all the pieces of the puzzle save one. But that one chanced to be of some moment to me, for it was my- jelf. The business with the King which had brought M. de Perrencourt so stealthily to Dover was finished, or was even now being accomplished; his presence and authority had reinforced Madamc's persuasions and the treaty was made. But in these high affairs I had no place. If I would find my work I must look else- where—to the struggle that had arisen between M. de Perrencourt and his Grace the Duke of Monmouth, in which the stakes were not wars or religions, and the quarrel of simpler nature. In that fight Louis (for I did not trouble to maintain his disguisein my thoughts) had won, as he was certain to win, if he put forth his 213 Simon Dale. strength. My heart was sore for Mistress Barbara. I knew that she was to be the spoil of the French King's victory, and tliat the loss to the beauty of his Court caused by the departure of Mile, de Querouaille was to find compensation. But still where was my part ? I saw only one thing, that Louis had taken a likmg for me, and might well choose me as his instru- ment, if an instrument were needed. But for what and where it was needed I could not conceive ; since all France was under his feet and a thousand men would sprmg up to do his bidding at a word— aye, let the bidding be what it might and the task as disgrace- ful as you will. What were the qualities in me or in my condition that dictated his choice baffled conjecture. Suddenly came a low knock on the door. I opened it and a man slipped in quickly and covertly. To my amazement I saw Carford. He had kept much out of sight lately ; I supposed that he had discovered all he wanted from Monmouth's ready confidence, and had carried his ill-won gains to his paymaster. But, sup- posing that he would keep up the comedy, I said stiffly, — " You come to me from the Duke of Monmouth my lord ? " He was in no mood for pretence to-night. He was hi a state of great excitement, and, brushing aside all reserve, made at once for the point. "I am come," said he, '* to speak a word with you. In an hour you're to sail for France ? " " Yes," said I. " Those are the King's orders." " But in an hour you could be so far from here that , he with whom you go could not wait for your return," •' Well, my lord ? " " To be brief, what's your price to fly and not to sail ? " _ We were standing, facing one another. I answered him slowly, trying to catch his purpose. M. de Per rencouf t "Whispers. 213 'ss Barbara. the French auty of his Querouaille ^re was my lad taken a 3 his instru- ct for what eive; since usand men "d — aye, let as disgrace- Tie or in my jnjecture. I opened y. To my luch out of 'ered all he e, and had But, sup- :dy, I said lonmouth, ;. He was igr aside all with you. ders." 1 here that , ar return," nd not to answered I have done French King " Why are you willing to pay me a price ? " said I. " For it's you who pays? " " Yes, I pay. Come, man, you know why y o\i go and who goes with you ? " " M. de Perrencourt and M. Colbert go," said I. " Why I go, I don't know." " Nor who else goes ? " he asked, looking in my eyes. I paused for a moment and then answered, — " Yes, she goes." •' And you know for what purpose ? " " I can guess the purpose." " Well, I want to go in your place, with that fool Monmouth, and the would suit me well for a master." " Then ask him to take you also." " He will not ; he'll rather take you." "Then FU go," said I. He drew a step nearer to me. I watched him closely, for, on my life, I did not know in what mood he was, and his honour was ill to lean on as a waving reed " What will you gain by going? " he asked. " And if you fly, he will take me. Somebody he must take." " Is not M. Colbert enough ? " He looked at me suspiciously, as though he thought that I assumed ignorance. "You know very well that Colbert wouldn't serve his purpose." " By my faith," I cried, " I don't know what his purpose is." " You swear it ? " he asked, in distrust and amaze- ment. " Most willingly," I answered. " It is simple truth." He gazed at me still as Jiough but half convinced. n TUo.n iirl^of'c trrMir r»iirr«r»cA in ornino- ? " VlP a«?ked. Then what's your purpose in going ? )bey my orders. Yet I have a ] )U he asked rpose and 214 Simon Dale« one I had rather trust with myself th.„ with you, my " Pray, sir, what is it ? " IferTmomenf n7'' *''">''>' ''^° Soes also." a sneerlngTaugh '''"""^ '"'P"'"' ^' ^roke into ;; You go to^guard her? ■■ he said. I dotrSes rrfoTe^^^rartti^'-^r"^' :''"'^ my lord." ^ '"'"'' '"'° y°""' hands, he'lsked' ^■"' '"" ''"^ "°^' -"' y°" -rve her?" vei^nXi'l rSe^-" ' '^ ^-- -<^ »d the his'^^L'^X slVrd"^'"'' ^° ' " "^^ "■■^'^- -" ^'^PPed "Who says that Mr. Dale shall not go? " . A man stood in the doorway, plainly attired w^=,r ng boots, and a cloak that hal hid hUace Yet I back I r ^f ^f°"^. ■'"'=* >"•■"• Car ord shrank back, I bowed, and we both bared our heads M de servfce^s 'fam' not'tf b" ^'''V •'^'=^""" ^ gentleman's and whtn T ,'"' f°''"'' '"'» accepting them, and when I say a gentleman shall go with me he me, i^aricrd found no words in which to answer 1,;™ hut h.s eyes told that he would have gLn the worTd lH7t ^^™'-<^?g^i»=t M. de Perrencourt, or indeed against the pa.r of us. A gesture of the newcomer's with you, my Js also." le broke into ^dily. "And your hands, serve her?" His manner ' he was civil d. " I have • me leave." red and the and clapped :tired, wear- ace. Yet I ord shrank ids. M. de ig his eyes gentleman's ting them, le, he goes, t?" iswer him, the world , or indeed evvcomer's M. de Perrencouft Whispers* 215 arm motioned him to the door. But he had one sen. tence more to hear before he was suffered to slink away. *' Kings, my lord," said M. de Perrcncourt, " may be compelled to set spies about the persons of others. Ihey do not need them about their own." Carford turned suddenly white and his teeth set I thought that he would fly at the man who rebuked him so scornfully, but such an outbreak meant death • he controlled himself. He passed out and Louis, with a careless laugh, seated himself on my bed. I stood respectfully opposite to him. " Make your preparations," said he. " In half-an- nour s time we depait." I obeyed him, setting about the task of falling my saddle-bags with my few possessions. He watched me in silence for awhile. At last he spoke. " I have chosen you to go with me," he said, " be- cause although you know a thing, you don't speak of blind " "S^^ >'°" ^^^ ^ ^^'^"S' yo" can appear I remembered that Madame thought my blindness defiaent, but I received the compliment in silence. Ihese great qualities," he pursued, "make a man's tortune. You shall come with me to Paris " "To Paris, sir?" "Yes. I'll find work for you there, and those who do my work^ck neither reward nor honour. Come ^'^A ^^ ^^} ^^ ^^^"^ ^ ^'"S to serve as another." ' Your Majesty is the greatest Prince in Christen- dom said I. For such indeed all the world held him ' Yet even the greatest Prince in Christendom fears some things," said he, smiling. "Surely nothing, sir." " Why, yes. A woman's tongue, a woman's tears, a woman s rage, a woman's jealousy ; I say, Mr. Dale, a woman s jealousy. 2l6 Simon Dale* It was well that my preparations were done, or they had never been done. I was staring at him now with my hands dropped to my side. An'A^"'i."''''"'^'^i.'' ^^ P"'-sued. "That is little." And he shrugged his shoulders. thon^hf ^? . ""'^r^'^' ^'^ ?°"''^'' ^" ^" conscience," luT.l iVP^^'tP.^ "">" ^'^^^ betrayed something of the thought, for King Louis smiled. ' But I am more than a husband," he pursued " I am a lover, Mr. Dale." pursuea. i Not knowing what comment to make on this, I made none I had heard the talk about his infatua- tion, but It was not for me to mentfon the lady's name. Nor did the King name her. He rose and approached me, looking full in my face ;; Neither sf ' '^^' ^ husband nor a lover? " he asked. " You know Mistress Quinton ? " "Yes, sir." hJtri''^'''^ *S ""^ ,"°^'' ^"^ ^^ whispered to me, as he had whispered to the King in the Council Chamber. Vvith my favour and such a lady for his wife a gentleman might climb high." ' .},^l^'i^^'''''^ordsand I could not repress a start. At last the puzzle was pieced, and my part plain. I knew now the work I was to do, the price of the reward I was to gain. Had he said it a month before when I was not yet trained to self-control and con! cealment, king as he was, I would have drawn my sword on him. For good or evil, dissimulation is soon inTl!-^ ^^!i- ^ Sre^^i^^'^ I repressed my agitation, and hid my disgust. King Louis smiled at me, deem! mg what he had suggested no insult. Ja in'' "^^^^'"g shall take place at Calais," he said ; and I (I wonder now to think of it) bowed and smiled. 1 u ""^IJ '" ^- quarter-of-an-hour," said he, and left me with a gracious smile. H U»l»4w„ M. dc Pcrrcncouf t "Whispers. It is little." •ursued. " I I stood there where I was for the best part of the time still left to me. I saw why Carford desired the mission on which I went ; why Madame bade me prac ase the closing of n.y eyes; how my fortune was to come from the hand of King Louis. An English gen° eman and his wife would travel back with the Kin-. Itl n^ ^vo^'lJ.give his favour to both ; and the lad^ was Barbara Quinton. ^ I turned at last and made my final preparation. It rriT'i'i'^^^"^'^^ '^>^P'^^°1 ^"^ hid it about me and 1 buckled on my sword, seeing that it moved easily in the sheath. By fortunes will, I had to redeem the pledge which I had given to my lord ; his daughters honour now knew no safety but in my arm mhe oddsl' ^''^ '^'"^'' '^' '^^'"^^ ^^^' ^"^^°^ iJJl''^ r^'^'^r f^^' "J""^ "P°" "^^- I had lived of men L 1 Ju '""^^'^ ^''"°"'" ^^^"^^^ dead, and wo- Sac; T r^ ^" "^^"' ?^ve everything for wealth or from her t. ''^" Su'^u^.""^ ^^'' "^ ^^^''d had come ^?M . t ^° "?''• ^he had scorned Monmouth, but Tdfove th^tl''' Tr/" '"''^' "" ^- d^ Perrenciurt ? went 'wkhTS T ^"^ ^'' ^^^'""'"S °" ^^- She WJtT fl ^^' ^u PT^"^0"'-t ; did she go willingly? |:^'tt| CHAPTER XVL M* dc Pcrrcncouft Wonders. As I walked briskly from my quarters down to the sea, M. de Perrencourt's last whisper, " With my fa- vour and such a lady for his wife a gentleman might climb high," echoed in my ears so loudly and insist- ently as to smother all. thought of what had passed in the Council Chamber and to make of no moment for me the plots and plans alike of Kings, Catholics and Ranters. That night I cared little though the King had signed away the liberties of our religion and his realm ; I spared no more than a passing wonder for the attempt to which conscience run mad had urged Phineas Tate, and in which he in his turn had involved my simpleton of a servant. Let thcin all plot and plan: the issue lay in God's hand, above my knowl- edge and beyond my power. My task was enough and more than enough for my weakness ; to it I turned, with no fixed design and no lively hope, with a prayer for success only and a resolve not to be King Louis' catspaw. A month ago I might have marvelled that he offered such a part to any gentleman : the illusions of youth and ignorance were melting fast ; now I was left to ask why he had selected one so humble for a place that great men held in those days with open profit and without open shame ; aye, and have held since. For although I have lived to call myself a Whig, I do not hold that the devil left England for good and all with the House of Stuart, (( '.'Ai-. M. dc Perrencoof t Wonders. 219 Dwn to the ""ith my fa- nan might and insist- i passed in [loment for :holics and I the King on and liis ,vonder for had urged id involved I plot and my knowl- as enough it I turned, :h a prayer ling Louis' lied that he illusions of low I was mble for a with open have held I myself a ngland for We were on the quay now, and the little ship lay ready for us. A very light breeze blew off the land, enough to carry us over if it held, but promising a long passage ; the weather was damp and misty. M. Colbert had shrugged his shoulders over the prospect of a fog ; his master would hear of no delay, and the King had sent for Thomas Lie, a famous pilot of the Cinque Ports, to go with us till the French coast should be sighted. The two kings were walking up and down together in eager and engrossed conversa- tion. Looking about, I perceived the figures of two women standing near the edge of the water. I saw Colbert approach them and enter into conversation ; soon he came to me and with the smoothest of smiles bade me charge myself with the care of Mistress Quinton. '* Madame," said he, " has sent a discreet and trust- worthy waiting-woman wiHi her, but a lady needs a squire, and we are still hampered by business." With which he went off to join his master, bestowing an- other significant smile on me. I lost no time in approaching Barbara. The woman with her was stout and short, having a broad hard face ; she stood by her charge square and sturdy as a sol- dier on guard Barbara acknowledged my salutation stiffly; she was pale and seemed anxious, but in no great distress or horror. But did she know what was planned for her or the part I was to play ? The first words she spoke showed me that she knew nothing, for when I began to feel my way, saying, *' The wind is fair for us," she started, crying, "For us.? Why, are you coming with us ? " I glanced at the waiting-woman who stood stolidly bv. " She understands no English," said Barbara, catch- ing my meaning. " You can speak freely. Why are you coming?" 830 Simon Dale. " Nay, but why are you going? " She answered me with a touch of defiance in her voice. " The Duchess of York is to return with Madame on a visit to the French Court, and I go to prepare for her coming. ^ ^ So this was the story by which they were inducin^r her to trust herself in their hands. Doubtless thev might have forced her, but deceit furnished a better way. Yet agitation had mingled with defiance in her voice. In an instant she went on, — /'You are coming, in truth are you? Don't jest with me. •" " Indeed I'm coming, madame. I hope my com- pany is to your liking? " '* But why, why ? " "M. de Perrencourt has one answer to that ques- tion and I another." Her eyes questioned me, but she did not put her question into words. With a little shiver she said,— " I am glad to be quit of this place." "You're right in that," I answered, gravely. Her cheek flushed and her eyes fell to the ground. " Yes," she murmured. " But Dover Castle is not the only place where dan- ger lies," said I. " Madame has sworn—" she began, impetuously. "And M. de Perrencourt ? " I interrupted. " He— he gave his word to his sister," she said, in a very low voice. Then she stretched her hand out towards me, whispering, " Simon, Simon ! " ^ I interpreted the appeal, although it was but an marticulate cry, witnessing to a fear of dangers un- known. The woman had edged a little away, but still kept a careful watch. I paid no heed to her. I must give my warning. " My services are always at your disposal. Mistress . . •JPW''' fli i jj t, „ , M. dc Peffcncouft Wonders. 221 iance in her where dan- Barbara," said I, "even without the right to them that M. de Perrencourt purposes to give you." • " I don't understand. How can he — ? Why, you wouldn't enter my service ? " She laughed a little as she made this suggestion, but there was an eagerness in her voice ; my heart an- swered to it, for I saw that she found comfort in the thought 6{ my company. "M. de Perrencourt," said I, "purposes that I should enter your service, and his also." "Mine and his?" she murmured, puzzled and alarmed. I did not know how to tell her, I was ashamed. But the last moments fled and she must know before we were at sea. " Yonder, where we're going," I said, " the word of M. de Perrencourt is law and his pleasure right." She took alarm and her voice trembled. " He has promised— Madame told me," she stam- mered. "Ah, Simon, must I go.' Yet I should be worse here." " You must go. What can we do here ? I go will- ingly." '" For what ? " " To serve you, if it be in my power. Will you listen ? " x- / "Quick, quick. Tell me ! " "Of all that he swore, he will observe nothing. Hush, don't cry out. Nothing." I feared that she would fall, for she reeled where she stood. I dared not support her, " If he asks a strange thing, agree to it. It's the only way." "What? What will he ask?" " He will propose a husband to you." She tore at the lace wrapping about her throat as though it were choking her ; her eyes were fixed on m 222 Simon Dale* Ml mine. I answered her gaze with a steady regard, and her\:heek grew red with a hot blush. "His motive you may guess," said I. "There is convenience in a husband." I had put it at last plainly enough, and when I had said it I averted my eyes from hers. " I won't go," I heard her gasp. "I'll throw myself at the King's feet." " He'll niake a clever jest on you," said I, bitterly. " I'll implore M. de Perrencourt " " His answer will be — polite." For a while there was silence. Then she spoke again in a low whisper ; her voice now sounded hard and cold, and she stood rigid. "Who is the man?" she asked. Then she broke into a sudden passion, and, forgetting caution, seized me by the arm, whispering, " Have you your sword ? " " Aye, it is here." " Will you use it for me ? '* "At your bidding." " Then use it on the body of the man." " I'm the man," said I. "You, Simon!" Now what a poor thing is this writing, and how small a^ fragment of truth can it hold! " You, Simon ! " The words are nothing, but they came from her lips full-charged with wonder, most incredulous, yet coloured with sudden hope of deliverance. She doubted, yet she caught at the strange chance. Nay, there was more still, but what I could not tell ; for her eyes lit up with a sudden sparkle, which shone a brief moment and then M^as screened by drooping lids. "That is why I go," said I. "With M. de Perren- court's favour and such a lady for my wife I might climb high. So whispered M. de Perrencourt himself." " You ! " she murmured again ; and again her cheek was red. L*^iL.. M. de Perrencourt Wonders. aas " We must not reach Calais, if we can escape by the way. Be near me always on the ship, fortune may give us a chance. And if we come to Calais, be near me while you can." *' But if we can't escape? " I was puzzled by her. It must be that she found in my company new hope of escape. Hence came the light in her eyes, and the agitation which seemed to show excitement rather than fear. But I had 4o answer to her question, " If we can't escape ? " Had I been ready with fifty answers, time would have failed for one. M. Colbert called to me The King wasem' ' cing his guest for the last time; the sails were '■ ;td; Thomas Lie was at the helm. I hastened to ..uey M. Colbert's summons. He pointed to the King; going forward, I knelt and kissed the hand extended to me. Then I rose and stood for a moment, in case it should be the King's pleasure to address rne. ^ M. de Perrencourt was by his side. The King's face wore a smile and the smile broad- ened as he spoke to me. " You're a wilful man, Mr. Dale," said he, " but fortune is more wilful still. You would not woo her, therefore woman-like she loves you. You were stub- born, but she is resolute to overcome your stubborn- ness. But don't try her too far. She stands waiting for you, open-armed. Isn't it so, my brother?" "Your Majesty speaks no more than truth," an- swered M. de Perrencourt. " Will you accept her embraces ? " asked the King. I bowed very low and raised my head with a cheer- ful and gay smile. " Most willingly," I answered. " And what of reservations, Mr. Dale ? " "May it please your Majesty, they do not hold across the water." '■'- Good. My brother is more fortunate than I. God be with you, Mr. Dale." Mi! 224 Simon Dale* lA. n iwf errand LT^lLllfi.^ ^."^ *^ ^'"^ smiled. "Be off withtou ••!.?!= -r^v? ^^'••■' * benediction. offered to follow b„;-,„! "? ^°"^ '"='°": I ''^d me back The Tense o^ f.l 7*^ '''"" "' Colbert sent whelming and bftter Whl''n fh"''^™^ °" '"''' °^"- part I should be seni for Zil „f '""^ "u""' '°' -"y me. I could Less uHi u^" ?°"^ ''^"^ "<=^d "f ^mt»orto^fed-?r:^Hi^^^i^^^^^ iet-nVin\^nd°Ll'f ■•, a'^b^i^f^or'S' iire"^'^,"' strange tone in which " You S m™ ^" ^»J /'T r'^ '?,'"y5«-' forbade me. Buri was sick [wth the world, and turned from the boat to Jaze over the sea. There is a power in the quiet water bv niUt oftZttlZlT't ■?"■"'" "Ip-^^^^ in the'soTfap ill King smiled, benediction, •atient laugh, ig with you." 'ent on board y as Thomas I us so as to I turned and 'Q made way. : for the crew 3elow; I had Colbert sent on me, over- ame for my had need of was passing wiedge of it. an torn and 3s, however ' at me, the onder at the ly. Once I Lie's boat, s a diamond thought of lone. The had struck IS sick with ze over the r by night ; the soft lap ment that, mind, I do eep waters omes then to die and M. dc Pcffcncouft Wonders. 335 have an end of the tossing of life and the unresting dissatisfaction of our state. That night the impulse came on me mightily, and I fought it. forcing myself to look, refusing the weakness of flight from the se- ductive siren. For I was fenced round with troubles and of a sore heart ; there lay the open country and a heart at peace. Suddenly I gave a low exclamation; the water which had fled from us as we moved, seeming glad to pass us by and rush again on its race undisturbed, stood still. From the swill came quiet, out of the shimmer a mirror disentangled itself and lay there on the sea, smooth and bright. But it grew dull in an instant ; I heard the sails flap, but saw them no more. A dense white vapour settled on us, the length of my arm bounded my sight, all movement ceased and we lay on the water, inert and idle. I leant beside the gunwale, feeling the fog moist on my face, seeing in Its baffling folds a type of the toils that bound and ettered me. Now voices rose round me and again fel ; the crew questioned, the Captain urged, I heard Colbert s voice, as he hurried on deck, the sufficient answer was all around us; Avhere the mist was there could be no wind ; in grumbling the voices died away. 1 he rest of what passed seems even now a strancre dream that lean hardly follow, whose issue alone I know, which I can recover only dimly and va.^uelv in my memory. I was there in the stern, leaning over, listening to the soft sound of the sea as ThomiTs Lie's boat rolled lazily from side to side and the water mur. mured gently under the gentle stroke. Then came voices again just by my shoulder. I did not move. 1 knew the tones that spoke, the persuasive, command- ing tones, hard to resist, apt to compel. Slowly I turned myself round ; the speakers must be within eight or ten feet of me, but I could not see them. Still they came nearer. Then I heard the sound of a 226 II £< ' it V Simon Dale gentleman whom vou des.Ve f'. ""i^' "^^^ ^"^ ^^'^ trouble you no mo^re Indeed t '^'^^ ""'^^ ^"^ ^'^^ company is a^Tree ihlp tv^ .. "romer tor one whose and then leave you." ' '^'"^ y°" '° '"■". Barbara's sobs ceaqpH • i a;a persuasions won her to renn^ J'",' '™"'^'^'' "'«' '''^ seemed that the mist JS^,""","'?""' *° "-"s'- It their figures. 'KnSlTat'at'the'^" thick; I saw must myself be seen, 1%^ ^l ttiSra^t""""" ' I am here, at Mistress Quinton's servke;- M. de Perrencourt (to call him ^f\\] K„ u- i. name) came forward and g opeThis wav tol.'^''''" whispering in French,— ^ ° "^^ ^^^' "All is easy. Be gentle with her. Why, she turn, you of her own armrH f ah ,..:n „/ -^^ ^,? S"^"s to you of her own accord ! All willgo-smoothTy '' "" of It, sir," I said. " Will you " You may be sure leave her with me?" " "' "^"' ' ""'''^- " ^'^^ ^^ ;; Yes," he answered. " I can trust you, can't I?" behiL-^tL ^mVt's ^d ^cretr ^'" ' ^^ -^' ^^^"^^ stood Jn^lu A ""^ ^^ '''^"t towards where Lie stood, and I heard a murmur of voices as he pnH tl.! helmsman spoke to one another Then tL^"^ ^^'^ W;h't:n;^r°S?mof ^ "''"^ "^ ' " ^he -u^ured. " I'm As she spoke, I felt on my cheek the cold breath of ; I M. dc Pcrrcncooft Wonders* 22' on ready feet, h strong voice, ^'rom my heart ', we'll find the with and I'll : mvself fortu- for one whose 3ur sake, your ■ you to him, )nder that his t to trust. It ' thick ; I saw ne moment I ant. ^ice." >y his chosen y to my arm, hy, she turns moothly." " Will you I, can't I?" ered, smiling 30W he drew s where Lie i he and the I heard no 5se darkness, ■a's, it came ured. " I'm Id breath of the wind. Tur ing my full face, I felt it more. The breeze was risii -•. the sails flapped again, Thomas Lie's boat buffeted the waves with a quicker beat. When I looked towards her, I saw her face, framed in mist, pale and wet with tears, beseeching me. There at that moment, born in danger and nursed by her help- lessn'^ss, there came to me a new feeling, that was yet an old one ; now I knev- that I would not leave her. Nay, for an instant I was tempted to aban- don all effort and drift on to the French shore, look- ing there to play my own game, despite of her and despite of King Louis himself. But the risk was too desperate. " No, I won't leave you," I said, in low tones that trembled under the fresh burden which they bore. But yes, the wind rose, the mist began to lift, the water was running lazily from under our keel, the little boat bobbed and danced to a leisurely tune. *' The wind serves," cried Thomas Lie. " We shall make land in two hours, if it hold as it blows now." The plan was in my head. It was such an impulse as coming to a man seems revelation and forbids all questioning of its authority. I held Barbara still by the hand and drew her to me. There, leaning over the gunwale, we saw Thomas Lie's boat moving after us. His sculls lay ready. I looked in her eyes and was answered with wonder, perplexity, and dawning intelligence. " I daren't let him carry you to Calais," I whispered. " We should be helpless there." " But you— it's you." " As his tool and his fool," I muttered. Low as I spoke, she heard me, and asked despairingly, — " What then, Simon ? What can we do ? " "If I go there, will you jump into my arms? The distance isn't far." ** Into the boat I Into your arms in the boat ? " 228 Simon Dale. ^^^^H: '1', ^^BmM ^H^n ^Dii H^^' ^^Ht"'! ^li ' 5 It we re seen ? " " We're no worse off." "Yes, I'll jump, Simon." and the mist now lifted now al n I ? T^'^^ '''^"' fold. , I gripped .«a'ba.7slrd"^ttperinr^Bl Then I stood sauare ^n .t '^ "° ^^'""^ happened. "Now!" For the h! ." *^1 ''^'^^ ^"^ whispered *^i-""fc,. iviy Kniie was on the ronp nnri t c^,. j fri^hist^dt^rea^'^W^i.^^^^^^^^^^ laughed derisively^ The astTtranrw^,^"'"""?"'',^ the ship forged ahead bu? then the man^°n"ri,''°'''^' -ale gathered himself ogetheran'd%":„Va"c SssTe u,4N«»ii_^ M. de Perrencourt Wonders* 229 hance if we go h, though the > steady blast, led us in close ispering, "Be side, followed Thomas Lie's broad in the rm happened, id whispered ft I scarcely than I knew, into my arms an oath rang' eared on the irbara was in ing to mine, roughly— for ne — and laid o the figure me the face ut drew my bound the ill thick and id I severed le by one I i my head, a pistol and :citement, I rone, slowly on the gun- : across the water between us. He came full on the top of me, and we fell together on the floor of the boat. By the narrowest chance we escaped foundering, but the sturdy boat proved true. I clutched my assailant with all my strength, pinning him arm to arm, breast to breast, shoulder to shoulder. His breath was hot on my face. I gasped " Row, row." From the ship came a sudden alarmed cry, " The boat, the boat ! " But already the ship grew dim and indistinct. " Row, row," I muttered ; then I heard the sculls set in their tholes and with a slow faltering stroke the boat was guided away from the ship, moving nearly at a right angle to it. I put out all my strength. I wa%by far a bigger man than the King and I did not spare him. I hugged him with a bear's hug and his strength was squeezed out of him. Now I was on the top and he below. I twisted his pistol from his hand and flung it overboard. Tumultuous cries came from the blurred mass that was the ship ; but the breeze had fallen, the fog was thick, they had no other boat. The King lay still. " Give me the sculls," I whis- pered. Barbara yielded them , her hands were cold as death when they encountered mine. She scrambled into the stern. I dragged the King back — he was like a log now — till he lay with the middle of his body under the seat on whi h I was ; his face looked up from between my feet. Then I fell to rowing, choosing no course except that our way should be from the ship, and ready, at any movement of the still form below me, to drop my sculls and set my pistol at his head. Yet till that need came I bent lustily to my work, and when I looked over the sea the ship was not to be seen, but all round hung the white vapour, the friendly accomplice of my enter- prise. That leap of his was a gallant thing. He knew that and that I stood where UH srrent 230 Simon Dale* ■4- no motive of prudence could reach and no fear restrain me. If I were caught, the grave or a French prison would be my fate ; to get clear off, he might suppose that I should count even the most august life in Christendom well taken. Yet he had leaped, and be- fore heaven I feared that I had killed him. If it were so, I must set Barbara in safety, and then follow him where he was gone ; there would be no place for me among living men, and I had better choose my own end than be hunted to death like a mad dog. These thoughts spun through my brain, as my arms drove the blades into the water, on an aimless course through the mist, till the mass of the ship utterly disappeared and we three were alone on the sea. Then the fear overcame me ; I rested on my oars, and, leaning over to where Barbara sat in the stern, I shaped with awe-struck lips the question, " Is he dead ? My God, is he dead ? " She sat there, herself, as it seemed, half-dead. But at my words she shivered and with an effort mastered her relaxed limbs. Slowly she dropped on her knees by the King and raised his head in her arms. She felt in her bosom and drew out a flask of salts, which she set to his nostrils. I watched his face ; the mus- cles of it contracted into a grimace, then were smoothed again to calmness ; he opened his eyes. "Thank God," I muttered to myself; and the peril to him being gone by, I remembered our danger, and taking out my pistol, looked to it, and sat dangling it in my hand. Barbara, still supporting the King's head, looked up at me. " What will become of us ? " she asked. "At least we sha'n't be married in Calais," I an- swered, with a grini smile. " No," she murmured, and bent again over the King. ii««„ii^. o fear restrain French prison light suppose ugust life in aped, and be- in. If it were :n follow him place for me 3ose my own dog. These y arms drove mless course ship utterly on the sea. on my oars, in the stern, stion, " Is he ilf-dead. But fort mastered on her knees r arms. She f salts, which Lce ; the mus- , then were led his eyes, d the peril to • danger, and it dangling it ad, looked up i. !;)alais," I an- ain over the M. dc Pcffcncouft Wonders. 231 Now his eyes were wide-opened, and I fixed mine on them. I saw the return of consciousness and in- tclligence ; the quick glance that fell on me, on the oars, on the pistol in my hand, witnessed to it. Then he_ raised himself on his elbow, Barbara drawing quickly away, and so rested an instant, regarding me still. He drew himself up into a sitting posturerand seemed as though he would rise to his feet. I raised the pistol and pointed it at him. " No higher, if you please," said I. " Ifs a mat- ter of danger to walk c.bout in so small a boat, and you came near to upsetting us before." He turned his head and saw Barbara, then ^azed round on the sea. No sail was to be seen and the fog still screened the boat in impenetrable solitude. The sight brought to his mind a conviction of what his plight was. Yet no dismay nor fear showed in his tace. He sat there, regarding me with an earnest curiosity ; at last he spoke. ;; You were deluding me all the .time ? " he asked, l^ven so, said I, with an inclination of my head. Vou did not mean to take my offer? " '^ Since I am a gentleman, I did not." "I also am accounted a gentleman, sir." 'Nay, I took you for a prince," said I. He made me no answer, but, looking round him again, observed,— ^ ''The ship must be near. But for this cursed" fog she would be in sight." ^ " It's well for us she isn't," I said. "Why, sir?" he asked, brusquely. " If she were, there's the pistol for the lady, and this sword ^here for you and me," said I, coolly. For a man may contrive to speak coolly, though his bearing be a he and his heart beat quick. ;; You daren't," he cried, in amazement. 1 snouid be unwilling," 1 conceded. i ^ ^^^^^w • < ^^H :i J ^MmIL. 232 Simon Dale* For an instant there was silence. Then came Bar- bara s voice, soft and fearful, — "Simon, the fog lifts." It vyas true. The breeze blew and the (ocr lifted. Louis eyes sparkled. All three of us, by one impulse, looked round on the sea. The fresh wind struck my cheek and the enveloping folds curled lazily away. Barbara held up her hand and pointed. Away on the right dimly visible, just detached from ^le remaininfj clouds of mist, was a dark object, sitting high on the water. A ship it was, in all likelihood the King's ship We should be sighted soon. My eyes met the King s and his were exultant and joyful; he did not yet be- heve that I would do what I had said, and he thought that the trap closed in on us again. For still the mist rose and in a few moments they on the ship must see us. ^ " You shall pay for your trick," he said, between his teeth. "It is yeiy likely," said I. "But I think that the debt will be paid to your Majesty's successor." Still he did not believe. I burst into a laugh of grim amusement. These great folk find it hard to un- derstand how sometimes their greatness is nothing and the thing is man to man ; but now and then for- tune takes a whim and teaches them the lesson for her sport. " But since you are a king," said I, "you shall have your privdege. You shall pass out before the lady, bee, the ship is very plain now. Soon we shall be plain to the ship. Come, sir, you go first." He looked at me now, puzzled and alarmed. "I am unarmed," he said. " It is no fight," I answered. Then I turned to Bar- bara. " Go and sit in the stern," I said, " and cover your face with your hands." " Simon, Simon," she moaned, but she obeved m.e len came Bar. he fog lifted, '■one impulse, nd struck my 1 lazily away. Away on the he remaining ; high on the e King's ship. St the King's, i not yet be- d he thought still the mist ship must see , between his [link that the ssor." o a laugh of t hard to un- i is nothing, and then for- esson for her ou shall have )re the lady. we shall be >» med. imed to Bar- " and cover obeved mp. J. — — , mm ii HO\S -111. vol llIK, SIK i"'— ha(;h 23.V M. de Pcffcncouf t Wonders. 233 and threw herself down, burying her face in her hands. I turned to the King. " How will you die, Sir," said I quietly, and, as I be- neve, m a civil manner. A sudden shout rang in my ears. I would not 'ook away from him, lest he should spring on me or rlinir himself from the boat. But I knew whence the shout came for it was charged with joy and the relief of un- bearable anxiety. The ship was the King's ship and his servants had seen their master. Yet the^- would "?^ -n'^ ^?.fi^^ without his orders, and with the risk ot killing him ; therefore, I was easy concerning mus- ket shot. But we must not come near enough for a voice to be heard from us, and a pistol to carry to us. How will you die?" I asked, again. His eyes questioned me. I added, ** As God lives I will." And 1 smiled at him. h:l!l CHAPTER XVIL What BcfcU My La^t Gwinca. There is this in great station, t"hat it imparts to a man a bearing sedate in good times and debonnaire in evil. A king may be vinkinged, as befell him whom in my youth we called the Royal Martyr, but he need not be unmanned. He has tasted of what men count the best, and having found even in it much bitterness, turns to greet fortune's new caprice smiling or un- moved. Thus it falls out that though princes live no better lives than common men, yet for the most part they die more noble deaths; their sunset paints all their sky, and we remember not how they bore their glorious burden but with what grace they laid it down. Much is forgiven to him who dies becomingly, and on earth as in heaven there is pardon for the part- ing soul. Are we to reject what we are taught ihat God receives ? I have need enough of forgiveness to espouse the softer argument. Now King Louis, surnamed the Great, havmg more matters in his head than the scheme I thought to baffle, and (to say truth) more ladies in his heart than Barbara Quinton, was not minded to die for the one or the other. But had you been there (which heaven for your sake forbid, I have passed many a pleasanter night) you would have sworn that death or life weighed not a straw in the balance with him, and that he had no thought save of the destiny God had m.arked for him and the realm that called him master. iJi.L..,. -'4 liim master. What Befell My Last Guinea, 235 So lofty and serene he was, when he perceived my resolu ion and saw my pistol at his head. On my aith, the victory was mine, but he robbed me of mv triumph and he, submitting, seemed to put terms on me who held him at my mercy. It is ail a trick no doubt ; they get it in childhood, as (I mean no harm by my comparisons) the beggar's child learns to whine In truth said he, with a smile that had not a trace of wryness, - 1 have chosen my means ill for this one Jls the' wtld'r^ "'^^ ^'^^ ' ^'^^^^ ^'^^^- ^^'^> G-d *• By deputy, Sir," said 1. "And deputies don't do His will always? Come 11 w' ^^^,,^1"^ hour you hold the post^and fiTk well. Wear this for my sake ; " and he'^handed across ? ^^/ dagger with a handle richly wrought and studded with precious stones. ^ I mTI ^^'"^ '■ y^^ ^ '^^P* "'> ^^''S^^ o^ the trigger, said he'.n^'T you my word, though not in wo?ds," Dlace ' ' All ' r "''"'^'/"^ "^y ^^^P°" back in iis place. Alas, for a sad moment!" he cried "I must bid farewell to Mistress Barbara. Yet (this he It many changes. I pray you may never need friends Kinf of F^'"' '^'r if ^"^••^^^y ^° ^«"g -« Louis r King of France. Call on him by the token of his img and count him your humble servant." With this he stripped his finger of a fine brilliant, and sinking on his knee in the boat, took her hand very delicatel/ and. having set the ring on her finger, kissed her hand on^the sWp ^ ^'' ^''"'"'^^' ^"""^ '^'^""''^ ^'' ^y^'"^t " Row me to her," he commanded me. shortlv bnf iTl t^^T'^y. ^"^. b^"^ ,*^ "^y °a^-^- In faith, I "-=h I hau that air, it s worth a fortune to a man! 236 , Simon Dale* Soon we came to the side of the ship. Over it looked the face of Colbert, amazed that I had stolen his king, and the face of Thomas Lie, indignant that I had made free with his boat ; by them were two or three of the crew agape with wonder. King Louis paid no respect to their feelings and stayed their ex- clamations with a gesture of his hand. He turned to me, saying in low tones and with a smile, — ^ "You must make your own terms with my brother, sir. It has been hard fighting between us, and I am in no mood for generosity." I did not know what to answer him, but I stam- mered, — " i ask nothing, but that your Majesty should re- member me as an honest man," "And a brave gentleman," he added gravely, with a slight inclination of his head. Then he turned to .Bar- bara and took her hand again, bowing lo , and saying, " Madame, I had meant you much goou pi my heart, and my state forced me to mean you jome evil. I prr.y you remember the one and forget the other." He kissed her hand again with a fine grace. Jt was a fair sounding apology for a thing beyond defence. I admired while I smiled. But Barbara did not smile. She looked up in his face, then dropped on her knees in the boat and caught his hand, kissing it twice and trying to speak to him. He stood looking down on her; then he said softly, ''Yet I have forgiven your friend," and gently drew his hand away. I stood up, baring my head. He faced round on me and said abruptly, " Thi affair is between you and me, sir." "I am obedient to a command I did no^ 2ed," said I. " Your pardon. Cover your head. I do not value outward signs of respect where the will is wanting. Fare you well." What Befell My Last Guinea. , but I stam- ity should re- 237 At a sign from him Colbert stretched out a hand Not a question, not a word, scarcely now a show of wonder came rrom any, save honest Lie, whosHyes stood ou of h.s^head and whose tongue was sti 1 olw because It could not speak. The Kmg leapt Xlv on the deck of his ship. "^ ^ ^^^^^^^Y Lie. Make ail sail for Calais." ^ nn^ZlVr^^ to him, none questioned him. He saw no need for explanation and accorded no enlicrhten men t I marvelled that fear or respect for any mTn could so bind their tongues. The King wave7thl^m away ; Lie alone hesitated, but Colbert caught him bv the arm and drew him off to the helm. The co^^rse n'tlfeTem No ''P ^^'^^^/J--^- The King stood in the stern Now he raised his hat from hi? head and bowed low to Mistress Barbara. I turned to se- how she took the salutation; but her face vvas dovvn: cast, i-esting on her hands. I stood and lifted my h\T then I sat down to the oars. I saw Ki g LouiV set! courtly smile, and as our ways .^ted asmider his to France where he ruled, mine to England where I aSer'r'^""^ ?"' alnding-place, we^ent i^Uo 'one another s eyes a long look, as of men who have meas! ured strength, and part each in his own pride eaThTn respect, for the powers of his enemy. In u h ?t was something to have played a winning hand with The tiiough I could not serve him in his affairs of love I would gladly have fought for him in his wars! ' and thrsTv r "r.M," \^' ^f''^- ^^^^-^ ^^--^^ breaking and the sky cleared till the cliffs were dimly visible behind us. I pulled the boat round, and set Lr head or home Barbara sat in the stern, pale and still cv hausred by the efforts and emotion if^ 'he ni^tTl*^" raThr?hrnth"'uT^"f- ^^^^^^^^^'^^ left'her' nu^b ratner than thankful ; and m truth, if she looked into ; ! 1' ■ 238 Simon Dale* the future, her joy must be dashed with sore apprc hension. M. de Perrencourt was gone, the Duke of Monmouth remained ; till she could reach her father I was her only help, .u.d I d:xxi-d not show my face in Dover. But these thoughts Avcre for myself, not for her, and, seeking to cheer her, I 1< ..nt forward and said, — " Courage, Mistress Barbara." And T add. .1 agani, " At least we sha'n't be married, you ^nd I, in Calais.'' She z.i:uT ^ be clioosers even in their stratagems, and, ii need were, 1 must hold her to her word. Now we were at the land and the keel of our boat grated on the sliingle We disembarked under the shcu.ovv of the cliffs at the eastern end of the bay all was oolitude save for a little house standing some way back from the sea, half way up the cliff, on a level platform cut m the face of the rock. It seemed a hshermans cottage; thence might come breakfast, and tor so much our guinea would hold good. There was a recess in the cliffs anc> here I bade Barbar-^ sit and rest herself, sheltered from view on eithci -,ide while I went forward to try n,y luck at the cottage! She seemed reluctant to be left but obeyed me, stand- ing and watching while I took my way, which I chose cautiously keeping myself as much within the shadow as might be. I had sooner not have ventured tl's much exposure, but it is ill to face starvation for safety s sake. The cottage .ay ab ait a h ndred yards off and soon I approached it. It was hard on six o'clock now and I looked to find the inmates up and stirring. I -won- dered also whet''. Monmouth wore ,;one to await Jiarbara and myself at the Merry Mariners in Deal- alas, we were too near the trys^-'-c-.place ! Or hao he heard by now that the bird was ^own from his lure and caged by that M. de rrr' court who h -d treated him so cavalierly ? I cr a i t tell. Here was the cotta-e; but I stood sti., suddenly, amazed and cau- tious. For there, in the peaceful morning, in the sun s kmdly light, there lay across the threshold the body of a man; his eyes, wide-opened, stared at the sky but seemed to see nothing of what they gazed at What Befell My Last Guinea* 243 his brown coat was stained to a dark rusty hue on the breast, where a gash in the stuff showed the passajre of a sword. His hand clasped a long knife and hi^ face was known to me. I had seen it daily at my up- rising and lying-down. The body was that of Jonah Wall, in the flesh my servant, in spirit the slave of 1 hineas Tate, whose teaching had brought him to this pass. ** The sight bred in me s ft horror and endurin^ caution. The two Dukes had been dispatched, sorel? ^ agunst their will, in chase of this man. Was it to their hands that he had yielded up his life and by their doing that he lay like carrion.? It mi-ht well be that he had sought refuge in this cottage, and ^laving found there death, not comfort, had been flung t -rth a corpse. I pitied him ; although he had been p. ■ y to a plot which had well-nigh caused my own death and taken no account of my honour, yet I was sorr^ ior him. He had been about me ; I grieved for ami a^ for the cat on my hearth. Well, now in death he rncd me; it was some recompense. I lifted my hat as I stole by him and slunk round to the side of the house. There was a window there, or rather a window-frame, for glass was there none : it stood some SIX feet from the ground and I crouched beneath it, for I now heard voices in the cotta^r ^^ _ I wish the rascal hadn't fought," said onS voice. But he flew at me like a tiger, and I had much ado .f^^PJl.""- . , ^^^^ compelled to run him through." Yet he might have served me alive," said another. Your Grace is right. Fou although we hate these foul schemes, the men had the root of the matter in them. •; They were no Papists at least," said the second Voice. " But the King will be pleased." " Oh, a curse on the King, although he's what he is ( ^rt 244 Simon Dale* lu "l.^-, H^ve"^ you heard? When I returned to the Castle from my search on the other side of the town, seeking you or Buckingham-by the way, where " Back in his bed, I warrant, sir." •' The lazy dog ! Well, then they told me she was gone with Louis. I rode on to tell you, for. said l! tie King may hunt his conspirators himself now. But who went with them?" walThe manT" '''^^ ''^°"'^^'' '^ ^ '^^ ^^'^^ ^^"^°" ^^^^ " The scoundrel ! It was he ! He has deluded us most handsomely He was in Louis' pay, and Louis at^hhn""'' ^'^^ '^'^ ^^'"^ ^"^^^'' ^^'°^^ '^ ^^^^ him^"^*^^^ yo"^ <^race's leave to be the first man at ''In truth I'm much obliged to you, my Lord Car- uW^^'"} ^ ^° "'y^^^f' ""d*-^'- the window. r^r. ;i";.Vu''t"'. /".^''^"S to Deal," cried Mon- mouth. - Oh, I wish I had the fellow here ' She's gone, Carford, God's curse on it, she's gone ' The prettiest wench at Court ! Louis has captured her. rore heaven, if only I were a king!" ;; Heaven has its own times, sir," said Carford, in- sidiously. But the Duke, suffering from disappointed desire, was not to be led to affairs of State. "She's gone," he exclaimed, again. "By God sooner than lose her, I'd have married her." ' This speech made me start. She was near him: what if she had been as.near him as I and had heard , those words? A pang shot through me, and, of its own accord, my hand moved to my sword-hilt " She is beneath your Grace's station. The spouse of your Grace may one day be—" Carford inter- rupted himself with a laugh, and added, "what God wills. eturned to side of the way, where ne she was for, said I, now. But imon Dale Icluded us and Louis »at if I get rst man at Lord Car- ried re! >ne ! Mon- She's The :ured her. arford, in- appointed By God, tear him; lad heard md, of its It. he spouse )rd inter- vhat God What Befell My Last Guinea. 345 " So may Anne Hyde," exclaimed the Duke. «' But 1 forget. You yourself had marked her." " I am your Grace's humble servant always," an- swered Carford, smoothly. ^ Monmouth laughed. Carford had his pay, no doubt and I trust it was large ; for he heard quietly a laugh that called him what King Louis had graciously pro- posed to make of me. I am glad when men who live by dirty ways are made to eat dirt. , "And my father," said the Duke, '' is happy She IS gone Querouaille stays; why, he's so enamoured that he has charged Nell to return to London to-dav or at the latest by to-morrow, lest the French ladv s virtue should be offended." ^ At this both laughed, Monmouth at his father, Car- ford at his king. ' "What's that? " cried the Duke, an instant later. ^ Now what disturbed him was no other than a most imprudent exclamation wrung from me bv what I heard ; it must have reached them faintly, yet it was enough. I heard their swords rattle and their spu?s Ti? /fi ^^^^ 'P'^"^ ^° ^^'^^^ feet. I slipped hastily behind the cottage. But by good luck at this instant came other steps. As the Duke and Carford ran to the door, the owner of the cottage (as I judged him to be) walked up, and Carford cried,— cT,!!^^'' l^^ fisherman! Come, 'sir, we'll make him fellow r' "'^'''' ''''^' ^^^^ ^'^^ f^^ t^^^ h^^ses, "They have been fed, my lord, and are ready." was the answer. '^ flJ f^ "°^ ??"" "^^'•e speech, but only (to my relieH the tramp of feet as the three went off together. I stole cautiously out and watched them heading for the top of the cliff. Jonah Wall lay still wher^e he was and when the retreating party were out of si^rht, I did not hesitate to search his body for money" I 'E ii' t 246 Simon Dale* Ww^ had supplied his purse, but now his purse was emotier than mine. Then I stepped into the cottrge sfeknJ not money but food. Fortune was kindef here and rewarded me with a pasty, half eaten, and a jug of ak won W ''t -^ ^^^"'" ^^y' ^'^' ^y the Dukf in his wonted profusion, a guinea. The Devil has whimsical ways ; I protest that the temptation I suffered here was among the strongest of my life ! I could repay the fellow some day; two guineas would be more^l an twice as much as one^by far. Yet I left the pleasant aTi'Ts'fir^th'/"''"'^^"^' ^^ ^"^>^ ^^- pas?ytT?he ale, as for the jug— a man must not stand on nice scruples and Monmouth's guinea would more than pa" I made my way quickly back to Barbara with the poor spoils of my expedition. I rounded the bluff of cliff that protected her hiding-place. Again I stood for me. The recess was empty ! But a moment late? I was reassured ; a voice called to me, and I saw her some thirty yards away, down on the sea-beach I set down pasty and jug and turned to watch. Then I perceived what went on ; white feet were visible in the out^^d bact' '"'"^^'"^ '" '"^ ""' ^' '^' ''^' ^^I'^d readl''f.ulf /""P^"^ ""^u'^f in making breakfast ready, said I, turning my back. But she called out to me again saying how delightful was the cool water. bo 1 locK-ed and saw her gay and merry. Her hat was in her hand now, and her hair blew free L the breeze. She had given herself up to the joy of 1 e ^arc the rebound from the strain of the night left me sad and apprehensive. I sat down and rested mv head on m,y hands waiting till- she came back. When she came ..he would not take the food I offered her but stood a moment, looking at me with puzzled eyes before she seated herself near. ^ ' What Befdl My Last Guinea. 247 tion^^"'^^ sad," she said, ahnost as though in accusa- u w^.^"^^ ^ ^^ Otherwise, Mistress Barbara ? " I asked We re in some danger, and what's worse, we've hardly a penny. ^^' But we've escaped the greatest peril," she reminded " True, for the moment." «« We— you won't be married to-night," she laughed, with rismg colour, and turning away as though a tuft of rank grass by her had caught her attention, and for some hidden reason much deserved it. ;'By God's help we've come out* of that snare" said 1, gravely. ' She said nothing for a moment or two ; then she turned to me again, asking,— "If your friend furniSics money, can we reach London in two days?" " I'm sorry," I answered, " but the journey ivill need nearer three, unless we travel at the King's pace or the Duke of Monmouth's." ^ ^ ''You needn't come all the way with me Set m.- sa^e on the road, and go where your business caTls " For what crime is this punishment ? " I a^-ked with a smile. ' ^"■" "No, I'm serious. I'm not seeking a compliment from you. I see that you're sad. You hTve been very kind to me, Simon. You risked life and liberty to save me. ^^^^.y "Well, who could do less? Besides, I had mven ' my promise to my lord, your father " She made no reply, and I, desiring to warn her against every danger, related what had passed at the cottage, omitting only Monmouth's loud-mouthed threats against myself. At last, moved by some m pulse of curiosity rather than anythmg higher I r^- i' 24S Simon Dalc# peated how the Duke had said that, sooner than lose her altogether, he would have married her, and how my Lord Carford had been still his humble servant in this project as in any other. She flushed again as she heard me and plucked her tuft of grass " Indeed,'' I ended, " 1 believe his Grace spoke no more than the truth; I've never seen a manCiVIn "And you know well what it is to be in love, don't fl,!' ^f 7 .i"''^^''", ^ answered, calmly, although I thought that the taunt might have been spared. ^u u J^'^ri^ ""^y ^^^^ '^^ tl^at some day I shall kiss the hand of her Grace the Duchess." 'J You think I desire it.? " she asked. " I think that most ladies would." Jr LiT'^ ^f'^ '^•" .^^'^ 'P'^"^ "P ^"d Stamped Jier toot on the ground, crymg again, "Simon, I do not desire It I wouldn't be his wife. You smile! You don't believe me ? " " No ofTer is refused until it's made," said I, and, with a bow that asked permission, I took a draught of She looked at me in high anger, her cheek suiTused with underlying red, and her dark eyes sparkling. I wish you hadn't saved me," she said, in a fury, rhatwe nad gone forward to Calais?" I asked, maliciously. ' " Sir, you're insolent." She flung the reproof at me like a stone from a catapult. But then she re- peated, " I wouldn't be his wife." . " Well then, you wouldn't," said I, setting down the jug and rising. " How shall we pass the day ? For we mustn t go to Dover till nightfall." /'Imust be all day here with you.?" she cried, in visible consternation. ' " You must be all day here, but you needn't be with What Befell My Last Guinea. 249 stretching of n^'n'XY';, ^-"> ^ ^e.^d'TT ^^' 1 my eyes, a little ri.^tl,v,„ "'"-• ' "eard, as I opened hand flew o the b ,t? ^ =«"f=body moving'; my loolen I little wa;reliL^re,t5:;- rgZ^o ve?tirsL^'"'^^ f mg my gaze she looked romid. "' ^=^'- voice.^"" ^'"''' "^' ^" ^'-=." ^'^ said, in a timid I exdifmed""'' "'"" ^ ''"'"''' ''--^ ^een on guard ! " th^' Ta°st tt'!.ornC'" I Tf- : '-' "-" "°t ■•" you I'm afraid Tsp'L Jn,':f;,t„°yt ^o^'"'^^ "^^' assuref r? ' ^"™ '^ ''>""S'" '° ''.•' I fastened to " You were indifferent to what I said ?" =1... . • ^ m Jnr ify-^^sltd^-;' r^'^-'-r^"^' °' -^^^^^^^^^^ in a mood L be men/ "' '" '"'"■' "S^'" ""^ ' *=•' deSservan'randltf; ",rr"^°^^">^' ' ^^ ^o" held at your d?spo",1 " "" ^ ''"™ '" *^ »°^W is •' -ivt.11, It I, tiue! 1 criorl " An t i? yours. Set'" T <-n^u ^4. ^"'-"- . ^^-n 1 have is bendin.on my knee with '"^ '"■''.'°>"' ^"'""''' ='"''■ it to Mistre.^BaSar """^^''^■d ''^-'ad, presented 250 Simon Dale* •■ Mine ? " ''""' ''"' "'' ^°"''" ^"'"^ '' ""^t humbly. " Most lieartily." vefy dSv 'and b.f ^ Pf'^ ^^"\fi"g«' and thumb very aamtily, and before I knew what she was doinu or could have moved to hinder her, if I had the m nd' strenShln'l'Ih"'" ■°^''- ''" t^^'' ''"<' with alT her saM BSr'i'"" ^''^''^ "''^' ^ ^^-« '° <^'' with it," t regarding it nost humbly. r and thumb e was doing, ad the mind, with all her ng waves. do with it," CHAPTER XVm. Some Mighty Silly Business* "In truth, madame," said I, "it's the wont of your sex. As soon as a woman knows a thing to be hers entirely, she'll fling it away." With this scrap of love's lore and youth's philosophy, I turned my back on my companion, and, having walked to where the battered pasty lay beside the empty jug, sat down in high dudgeon. Barbara's eyes were set on the spot where the guinea had been swallowed by the waves, and she took no heed of my remark nor of my going. Say that my pleasantry was misplaced, say that she was weary and strained beyond her power, say what you will in excuse, I allow it all. Yet it was not reason to fling my last guinea into the sea. A flash of petulance is well enough and may become beauty as summer lightning decks the sky, but fury is for terma- gants, and nought but fury could fling my last guinea to the waves. The offence, if offence there were, was too small for so monstrous an outburst. Well, if she would quarrel, T was ready ; I had no patience with such tricks ; they weary a man of sense ; women serve their turn ill by using them. Also I had done her some small service. I wo\\i] die sooner than call it to her mind, but it would have been a grace in her to re- member it. The afternoon came ^lew to its height and waned as I lay, back to sea and face to cliff, thinking now of all that had pat^sed, now of what was before me. spar- 25> Simon Dale* ' i: ing a moment's fitful sorrow for the poor wretch who lay dead there by the cott:;ge door, but returning al- ways in resentful mood to my lost guinea and Barbara's sore lack of courtesy. If she needed me, I was ready, but heaven forbid that I should face fresh rebuffs by seeking her ! I would do my duty to her and redeem my pledge. More could not now be looked for, nay, by no possibility could be welcome ; to keep away from her was to please her best. It was well, for in that her mind jumped with mine. In two hours now we could set out for Dover. " Simon, I'm hungry." The voice came from behind my shoulder, a yard or two away, a voice very meek and piteous, eloquent of an exhaustion and a weakness so great that, had they been real, she must have fallen by me, not stood up- right on her feet. Against such stratagems I would be iron. I paid no heed but lay like a log. " Simon, I'm very thirsty too." Slowly I gathered myself up, and, standing, bowed. "There's a fragment of the pasty," said I, "but the jug is empty." I did not look in her face and I knew she did not look in mine. " I can't eat without drinking," she murmured. " I have nothing with which to buy liquor, and there's nowhere to buy it." " But water, Simon? Ah, but I mustn't trouble you. 'I " I'll go to the cottage and seek some." " But that's dangerous." " You shall come to no hurt." " But you ? " "Indeed I need a draught for myself. I should have gone after one in any case." There was a pause, then Barbara said, — " I don't want it. My thirst has passed away." Some Mighty Silly Business. 253 wretch who she did not tn't trouble . I should " Will you take the pasty? " " No, my hunger is gone too." I ^T^'^n^^''\'}' , ^^ ^t°«d '" silence for a moment. 1 11 walk a httle," said Barbara. "At your pleasure," said I. "But pray don't go far, there may be danger." ^ She turned away and retraced her steps to the beach. The instant she was gone, I sprang up, seized the jug and ran at the best of my speed to the cottage. Jonah Wall lay still across the entrance, no living creature was in sight. I darted in and looked round for water; a pitcher stood on the table, and I filled my jug hastily. Then with a smile of sour triumph I hurried back by the way I had come. She should have no cause to complain of me. I had been wronged, andwas nimded to hug my grievance, and keep the merit of the difference all on my side. That motive too commonly underlies a seeming patience of wron^ I would not for the world enrich lier with a just qua", rel, therefore I brought her water, aye, although she feigned not to desire it. There it was for her, tet her take It if she would ; or leave it if she would, and I set the jug down by the pasty. She should not say that I had refused to fetch her what she asked, aU though she had, for her own good reasons, flung mv guinea into the sea. She would come soon, then would be my hour. Yet I would spare her: a gentle, man should show no exultation; silence would serve to point the moral. But where was she? to say truth, I was impatient tor the play to begin, and anticipation grew flat with waiting. I looked down to the shore but could not see her. I rose and walked forward till the beach lav open before me. Where was Barbara^ A sudden fear ran through me. Had any madness seized the girl, some uncontrolled whim made her flv i.^iiii..^, ^.ii^ Cu-uiu iiuL PC- SO fooiisn. ijut where ^54 Simon Dale* was she? On the moment of the question aery of surprise rang from my lips. There ahead of me, not on the shore, but on the sea was Barbara. The boat was twelve or fifteen yards from the beach, Barbara's face was towards me, and she was rowing out to sea ! Forgetting pasty and jug, I bounded down. What new folly was this ? To show herself in the boat was to court capture. And why did she row out to sea? In an instant I was on the margin of the water. I called out to her, she took no heed ; the boat was heavy, but putting her strength into the strokes she drove it along. Again I called, and called unheeded. Was this my triumph ? I saw a smile on her face. Not she, but I, afforded the sport then. I would not stand there, mocked for a fool by her eyes and her smile. " Come back," I cried. The boat moved on. I was in the water to my knees. "Come back," I cried. I heard a laugh from the boat, a high nervous laugh ; but the boat moved on. With an oath I cast my sword from me, throwing it behind me on the beach, and plunged into the water. Soon I was up to the neck, and I took to swimming. Straight out to sea went the boat, not fast, but relentlessly. In grim anger I swam with all my strength. I could not gain on her. She had ceased now even to look where my head bobbed among the waves ; her face was lifted towards the sky. By heaven, did she in very truth mean to leave me ? I called once more. Now she answered. " Go back," she said. " I'm going alone." " By heaven, you aren't," I muttered with a gasp, and set myself to a faster stroke. Bad to deal with are women ! Must she fly from me and risk all be- cause I had not smiled and grinned and run for what she needed, like a well-trained monkey? Well, I would catch her and brinL^ her back. r/ ition a cry of ,d of me, not a. The boat ich, Barbara's g out to sea ! down. What the boat was jv out to sea? the water. I the boat was le strokes she ed unheeded, on her face. I would not eyes and her water to my a laugh from e boat moved me, throwing ged into the .nd I took to the boat, not swam with all ler. She had head bobbed wards the sky. to leave me ? ne." with a gasp, to deal with d risk all be- run for what :ey? Weil, 1 'come rack,' I CRIED."— HAIJE 2C . wat Some Mighty Silly Business. 255 But catch her I could not. A poor oarsman may beat a fair swimmer, and she had the start of me. Steadily out to sea she rowed, and I toiled behind. If her mood lasted— and hurt pride lasts long in dis- dainful ladies who are more wont to deal strokes than to bear them~my choice was plain. I n drown there like a rat, or turn back a beaten cur. das fur my triumph ! If to have thought on it were sin, I was now chastened. But Barbara rowed on. In very truth, she meant to leave me, punishing herself if by that she might sting me. What man would have shown that folly— or that flower of pride ? Yet vas I beaten? I do not love to be beaten, above all when the game has seemed in my hands. I had a card to play, and, between my pants, smiled grimly as it came into my mind. I glanced over my shoulder; I was hard on half-a-mile from shore. Wo- men are compassionate ; quick on pride's heels there comes remorse. I looked at the boat ; the interval that parted me from it had not narrowed by an inch, and its head was straight for the coast of France. I raised my voice, crying,— '' Stop, stop." No answer came. The boat moved on. The slim hgure bent and ros^ .gain, the blades moved throufdi the water. Well then, the card should be played— the ^•"ick of a wily gamester, but my only resource. "Help, help!" I cried, and letting my legs fall and raising my hands over my head, I inhaled a full breath and sank like a stone, far out of si ht beneath the water. Here I abode as long as I could ; then, after swimming some yards under tho surface, I rose and put my head out again, gasping hard and clearing my matted hair from before my eyes. I could scarcely stifle a cry. The boat's head ^^ .s turn J now, and J5arbara was rowing with furious speed te wards where 1 -lad sunk, her head turned over her shoulder and IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4 /. Va v.. 1.0 ^US US I.I f »" 1^ yi i U I L6 8 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 i\ \ :\ > ^ > * J ^ 7. 2s6 Simon Dale. her eyes fixed on the spot. She passed by where I was but did not see me. She reached the spot, and dropped her oars. " Help, help ! " I cried a second time, and stayed long enough to let her see my head before I dived be- low. But my stay was shorter now. Up again, I looked for her. She was all but over me as she went by; she panted, she sobbed, and the oars but just touched water. I swam five strokes and caught at the gunwale of the boat. A great cry broke from her. The oars fell from her hands. The boat was broad and steady ; I flung my leg over and climbed in, panting hard. In truth I was out of breath. Bar- bara cried, " You're safe ! " and hid her face in her hands. We were mad both of us, beyond a doubt, she sobbing there on the thwart, I panting and dripping in the bows. Yet for a touch of such sweet madness now, when all young nature was strung to a delicious contest and the blood spun through the veins, full of life ! Our boat lay motionless on the sea, and the setting sun caught the undergrowth of red-brown hair that shot through Barbara's dark locks. My own state was, I must confess, less fair to look on. I controlled my voice to a cold steadiness, as I wrung the water from my clothes. " This is a mighty silly business, Mistress Barbara," said I. I had angled for a new outburst of fury, my catch was not what I loclced for. Her hands were stretched out towards me, and her face, pale and tearful, pleaded with me. " Simon, Simon, you were drowning ! Through my — my folly ! Oh, will you ever forgive m.e ? If — if you had come to hurt, I wouldn't have lived." "Yet you were running away from me ! " " I didn't dream that you'd follow. Indeed I didn't ress Barbara," ideed I didn't Some Mighty Silly Business. 257 think that you'd risk death." Then her eyes seemed to [all on my dripping clothes. In an instant she snatcned up the cloak that lay by her and held it towards me, crying, " Wrap yourself in it " ♦' Nay, keep your cloak," said I, " J shall be warm enough with rowing. I 'pray you, madame, tell me the meanmg of this freak of yours." Ah ^.^^'"t^' i"°i!?"'^:, }- ^^'' ^'^^•■S'^^ "^e^ Simon. Ah how I shuddered when I looked round on the water and couldn t see you ! I vowed to God that if you were saved—" She stopped abruptly. My death would have been on your conscience ? " 1 asked. "Till my own death," she said. drmJned!'''"'^'^"'^''' '^'"^ ^' " ^'"^ ""^'^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^"'^ '' It's enough that you were in peril of it," she mur- mured, woefully. " I pray heaven," said I, cheerfully, - that I may never be in greater. Come, Mistress Barbara, spor^ for sport, trick for trick, feint for feint. I think your in ention of leaving me was pretty much as real as this peril of drowning from which I have escaped." sld?"' At" ' '''^'•^ ^'¥ '^'" implored me, fell to her - Tn f ^f r^^^'°" of ,^^'onder spread over her face. In truth I meant to leave you," she said. And why, madame ? " " Because I burdened you." ;; But you had consented to accept my aid." While you seemed to give it willingly But I had angered you in the matter of that— "^ " ;; Aye, of that guinea. Well, it was my last." yes, of the guinea. Although I was foolish vet I could not endure your-" Agafn she hesita ed.' ^ "Pray let me hear?" said I. lataer i.iaa puzed. said she. 2S8 Siinon Dale* " So you were for trying fortune alone ? " •* Better that than w'ith an unwilling defender," said she. ••Behold your injustice!" I cried. "For, rather than 'ose you, I have faced all, even drowning ! " And I laughed. »> Her eyes were fixed on my face, but she did not speak. 1 believe she feared to ask me the question that was in her dark eyes. But at last she murmured, — " Why do you speak of tricks ? Simon, why do you laugh } " '* Why, since by a trick you left me — indeed I can- not believe it was no trick." " I swear it was no trick ! " " I warrant it was. And thus by a trick I have con- trived to thwart it." "By a trick?" " Most assuredly. Am I a man to drov/n with a half-a-mile's swimming in smooth water.?" Again I laughed. She leant forward and spoke yet imperiously, — "Tell me the truth. Were you and distress ? " "Not a whit," said I, composedly, wouldn't wait for me." Slowly came her next question, — " It was a trick then '■ " " And crowned with great success," said I. "All a trick?" " Throughout," I answered. Her face grew set and rigid, and, if it might be, yet paler than before. I waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. She drew away the cloak that she had offered me, and, wrapping it about her shoulders, Mnth- drew to the stern of tne boat. I took her place and laid hold of the oars. n agitated voice. indeed in danger "But you Some Mighty Silly Business. 259 indeed I can- k I have con- " What's your pleasure now, madame? " I asked " What you will," she said, briefly. I looked at her, she met my gaze with a steady re- gard. I had expected scorn, but found grief and liurt Accused by the sight, I wrapped myself in a cold flip, pancy. ^ "There is small choice," said I. "The beach is there, and that we have found not pleasant. Calais is yonder, where certainly we must not go. To Dover then ? Evening falls, and if we go gently it will be dark before we reach the town." " Where you will. I care not," said Barbara, and she folded her cloak so about her face that I could see little more of her than her eyes and her brows. Here at length was my triumph, as sweet as such joys are • mahce is their fount, and they smack of its bitterness! Had I followed my heart, I would have prayed her pardon. A sore rpirit had impelled her, my revenge lacked justice. Yet I would not abase myself, being now in my turn sore, and therefore obstinate. With slow strokes I propelled the boat towards Dover town For half an hour I rowed ; dusk fell, and I saw the lights of Dover. A gentler mood came on me I rested an instant, and, leaning forward, said to Bar- bara, — "Yet I must thank you. Had I been in peril, you would have saved me." No answer came. " I perceived that you v^ere moved by my fancied danger," I persisted. Then she spoke clearly, calmly and coldly. " I wouldn't have a dog drown under my e] she. " The spectacle is painful." I performed such a bow as 1 could, sitting there and took up my oars again. I had made my advance ; if such were the welcome, no more should come from me. I rowed slowly ou, then lay on my oars awhile, my eyes," said 26o »' i ' -w Simon Dale* waiting for darkness to fall. The night came, misty again and chill, I grew cold as I waited (my clothes were but half dry) and would gladly have thumped myself with my hands. But I should have seemed to ask pity of the statue that sat there, enveloped in the cloak, with closed eyes and pale unmoved face. Sud- denly she spoke, — " Are you cold, sir ? " " Cold ? I am somewhat over-heated with rowin"-, madame," I answered. " But I pray you, wrap your cloak closer round you." " I am very well, I thank you, sir." Yet cold I was, and bitterly. Moreover I was hun- gry and somewhat faint. VVas Barbara hungry? I dared not ask her lest she should find a fresh mockery in the question. Wlv - T ventured to beach the boat a little way out of Dover, it was quite dark, being -hard on ten o'clock. I offered Barbara my hand to alight, but she passed it by unnoticed. Leaving the boat to its fate, we walked towards the town. " Where are you taking me ?" asked Barbara. " To the one person who can serve us," I answered. " Veil your face, and it would be well that we shouldn't speak loud." " I have no desire to speak at all," said Barbara. I would not tell her whither she went. Had we been friends, to bring her there would have taxed my persuasion to the full ; as our affairs stood, I knew she would lie the night in the street before she would go. But if I got her to the house, I could keep her. But would she reach the house ? She walked very wearily, faltering in her step, and stumbling over every loose stone. I put out my arm to save her once, but she drew away from it, as though I had meant to strike her. At last we came to the narrow alley ; making a sign i\ ..i . V Some Mighty Silly Business. 261 to Barbara, I turned down it. The house was in front ot me ; al was quiet, we had escaped detection. Why who should 00k for us ? We were at Calais with Kins Louis, at Calais where we were to be married ' Looking at the house. I found the upper windows Jil^^J'^ had been the quarters of Phineas Tate, and the King had found him others. But below there was a light. "Will it please you to wait an instant, while I co forward and rouse my friend ? " I asked. - I shall see then whether all is safe." "I vyill wait here," answered Barbara, and she leant against the wall of the alley, which fronted the house In much trepidation I went on and knocked with mv knuckles on the door. There was no other course, yet I did not know how either of them would take my action the lady within or the lady without, she whom 1 asked for succour or she in whose cause I sought it , My entry was easy ; a man servant and a maid were just within, and the house seemed astir. My request for their mistress caused no surprise ; the girl opened the door of the room. I knew the room and gave my iTr^N.l^i."'^ u F^^fu^c ^'"^^^^ ^^' ^"^ a moment later Nell herself stood before me , ".f/^"^ the Castle or Calais, 'from Deal or the devil ? she cried. In truth, she had a knack of tell- ing you all she knew in a sentence. •'Why from half-way between Deal and the devil," \f }' T, ^""^ ^ ^^""^ ^^'^t Monmouth on one side and M. de Perrencourt on the other, and am come safe through. " A witty Simon ! But why in Dover a^rain ^ " "For want of a friend, mistress. Am I come to " With all my heart, Simon. What would you ? " Means to go to London." " Now Heaven is kind ! I go there myself in a few # ■t J hours. You stare. In truth, it's worth a stare. But the King commands. How did you get rid of Louis? " I told her briefly; she seemed barely to listen, but looked at me with evident curiosity, and, as I think, with some pleasure. "A brave thing!" she cried. "Come, I'll carry you to London. Nobody shall touch you while you're hid under the hem of my petticoat. It will be like old times, Simon." ** I have no money," said I. " But I have plenty. For the less the King comes, the more he sends. He's a gentleman in his apolo- gies. Her sigh breathed more contentment than re- pining. " So you'll take me with you ? " "To the world's end, Simon, and if you don't ask that, at least to London." " But I'm not alone," said I. She looked at me for an instant. Then she began to laugh. "Whom have you with you? " she asked. " The lady," said I. She laughed still, but it seemed to me not very heartily. " I'm glad," she said, " that one man in England thinks me a good Christian. By heaven, you do, Simon, or you'd never ask me to aid your love." "There's no love in the matter," I cried. "We're at daggers drawn." " Then certainly there's love in it," said Mistress Nell, nodding her pretty head in a mighty sagacious manner. " Does she know to whom you've broujrht her?" ^^ " Not yet," I answered, with a somewhat uneasy smile. " How will she take it ? " " She has no other help," said I. 1^. Some Mighty Silly Business. 3u don't ask TIC not very Ve brought 263 "Oh, Simon, what a smooth tonfrue is vours ' " She paused, seeming to fall into a rcv?dc. Then she looked at me wickedly. Axien mil theToaS?"'^ ^''"'' ^^"^y '"'^ ''^^>' *° ^^^"^ ^^'^ Pc^Is of ;; Her peril is greater here, and mine as great." officIrl%ootp^.ds?'""'' Monmouth's rage, soldiers, " A fig for them all ! " " Another peril ? " " For her or for me ' " pal'sTithU^oul"'" ''''''' ^^"' '^"'"^ "»' ~ " By your very door." ran Ittt^U^;! '"'" "'^' ''^"' """^ ^'^^'s'''-^' ^"« Barh^li"""'^' "r!"' 't""*^ "P ™"' ^^r just as she ,c «hed murmuring low, soft consolations. ^ I stood bv in stoopii?ri,7t".H 'rf' "^ ^''* ''"'" ^"" commanded, and, man^staf^d N^^ The maid and the '"wif ! u ^^^^ ^^"^ ^^^ door sharply on them What have you done to her.?" she cried to me in a," I pieced ^""^ ""^ ^^'^ "^^"^^ ^^^^ the sea 264 Simon Dale* ^f " And why ? Oh, hold your peace and let us be ! " To question and refuse an answer is woman's way; should it be forbidden to Nell, who was woman from crown to sole? I shrugged my shoulders and drew off to the far end of the room. For some moments I heard nothing and remained very uneasy, not know- ing whether it were allowed me to look or not, nor what passed. Then I heard Barbara's voice. " I thank you, I thank you much. But where am I, and who are you ? Forgive me, but who are you ? " " You're in Dover, and safe enough, madame," an- swered Nell. "What does it matter, who I am ? Will you drink a little of this to please me?" " No ; but who are you ? I seem to know your face." " Like enough. Many have seen it." " But tell me who you are." "Since you will know, Simon Dale must stand sponsor for me. Here, Simon ! " I rose in obedience to the summons. A thing that a man does not feel of his own accord, a girl's eyes will often make him feel. I took my stand by Nell boldly enough, but Barbara's eyes were on mine and I was full of fear. " Tell her who I am, Simon," said Nell. I looked at Nell. As I live, the fear that was in my heart was in her eyes. Yet she had faced the world and laughed to scorn all England's frowns. She un- derstood my thought and coloured red. Since when had Cydaria learnt to blush? Even at Hatchstead my blush had been the target for her mockery ! " Tell her," she repeated, angrily. But Barbara knew. Turning to her I had seen the knowledge take shape in her eyes and grow to revul- sion and dismay. I could not tell what she would say ; but now my fear was in no way for myself. She seemed to watch Nell for awhile in a strange ningling ■'Mimi must stand Some Mighty Silly Business. 265 of horror and attraction. Then she rose and <:t;il go7^':]^vrnoS;-:ft.d^J^'- "™— uldyou Barbara paused, took one step more, paused acrain ^^ I sha n t harm you," said Nell. Then she iV^S "d You needn t touch me, if you will have t so^But n^Doie ^'^'She t't ' ""^ '^^^ ^l"^°" = ^^ "^ -^ -" ^ another huPh ''V ^'^T .-''^^^^' but she ended with anotncr laush, You needn't touch me. Mv miid i. For pys sake, Mistress Barbara-" I be^an of her"h '; I """n ^'^"' ^"''^"'"S "^^ back with f motion tne room She turned her eyes on me, and her whim- per sounded clear through all the room. "" "Isit— ? she asked. heai' '' ^^^'''"' ^^'""°' ^^>^"'" ^^'■'^ I' bowing my bret" r!"fnd fall'^'V ''k'"^u^ ^^"^^^ ' ^ ^^^ ^^^r Ser cheek! ' '""^ ^ ''"^^^' ^'^^ P^^^^^ '^^^ked "Yes, I'm Nelly," said she, and laughed again. Barbara s eyes now met hers. ** " You were at Hatchstead ? " " Yes," said Nell, and now she smiled defiantiv • proud motion of the hand forbade? NeH's approach^ " But~^ """ " ^° '" ^ moment," stammered Barbara. Nell held on^^ hand V-ri- -i, 1 = -— nana. \ ^ry slowly, very timidly, 266 Simon Dale* with fear and shame plain on her face, she drew nearer, and put out her other hand to liarbara. liar- bara did not resist her, but let her come nearer. Nell's glance warned me not to move, and I stood where I was, watchin^^ them. Now the clasp of the hand was changed for a touch on the shoulder, now the com- forting arm .sank to the waist and stole round it, full as timidly as ever gallant's round a denying mistress. Still I watched, and I met Nell's bright eyes, which looked across at me, wet and sparkling. The dark hair almost mingled with the ruddy brown, as Barbara's head fell on Nell's shoulder. I heard a little sob, and Barbara moaned, — " Oh, I'm tired, and very hungry." " Rest here, and you shall have food, my pretty," said Nell Gwyn. " Simon, go and bid them give you some." I went, glad to go. And as I went I heard, " There, pretty, don't cry." Well, women love to weep. A plague on them, Ihough they need not make us also fools. u f , my pretty,' CHAPTER XK. A Night on the Road, JudgmcnlTmV'sfirparXn"'' ;"-I-"-"co a hasty that his hopos ca^rv Wm ™, ', . "°"'-' """^ """der born of dcSre ra L "a'cf S'^-/' conclusions feared had passed off so so/Hv ^h'.f i ■; """'^""S ' levelled. , ^It did°L?^e: e 'X mfnd'^^ha^'t'heT'"^".' raise their heads atrain and tuT ( f\ -^ "^"^^ Barbara's scorn 1reldo-'« ^''^^^ °^ ^^'^'^'' schooled NeU ?i m ?,n? . '5'^^'^ ^°'" ^''"tue's chain The fires of war bursmouH^ ^^^i^ness of demeanour smoke showi4 only h^,°e ,'^^^^^ faintest puff of alert to avoid an outbretl. ? um ^ '^^^ ^" the came and my hopes " ew tn I '^ f"^^''^ "^ outbreak can write the tlW n. fJ ^^"^^^"ce. But then-I of hers maderelmtfyTnto t^/r^T'l^^^^^^ ^^vil I was a man, and 7man vvhn^''!i' ?^ ^'"''^'^ Gwyn. then twice intolerable tLTi^shl^^^^^ ^^' minion, that I should be frZ ^'^j'aim her do- serve another with a sed,l^~"^>'; ^^^t ^ should seem devotionTfor the of?enr.'T ""u'^' "^'^^^ ^^» was forgotten, my Lck ^r • touchmg the guinea fo -II, luy mock drowning well- ' ' * ning well-nigh forgiven, .1 "^ 268 Simon Dale* K' I . V : ■ and although Barbara had few words for me, they were such that gratitude and friendship shone in them through the veil of embarrassment. Mistress Nell's shrewd eyes were on us, and she watched while she aided. It was in truth her interest, as she conceived, to carry Barbara safe out of Dover; but there was kindness also in her ample succour; although (ever slave to the sparkle of a gem) she seized with eager gratitude on Louis' jewelled dagger when I offered it as my share of our journey's charges, she gave full return. Barbara was seated in her coach, a good horse was provided for me, her servant found me a sober suit of clothes and a sword. Thus our strange party stole from Dover before the town was awake, Nell obeying the King's command which sent her back to London, and delighting that she could punish him for it by going in our company. I rode behind the coach, bearing myself like a serving-man until we reached open country, when I quickened pace and stationed myself by the window. Up to this time matters had gone well ; if they spoke, it was of service given and kindness shown. But as the day wore on and we came near Canterbury the devil began to busy himself. Perhaps I showed some discouragement at the grow- ing coldness of Barbara's manner, and my anxiety to warm her to greater cordiality acted as a spur on our companion. First Nell laughed that my sallies gained small attention and my compliments no return, that Barbara would not talk of our adventures of the day before, but harped always on coming speedily where her father was and so discharging me from my forced service. A merry look declared that if Mistress Quin- ton would not play the game another would : a fusillade of glances opened, Barbara seeing and feign- ing not to see, I embarrassed, yet chagrined into some return ; there followed words, half-whispered, half- aloud, not sparing in reminiscence of other days and A Night on the Road. 269 mischievously pointed with tender sentiment The challenge to my manhood was too temp ,^' the iov of encounter sweet. Barbara grew utter ytilen? {7 ■ng with eyes downcast and lips set in a disapprovai that needed no speech for its exoressinn t^^m J bolder nmf. M,.ir j '*-" 'i-b expression. iJolder and Doaercame Nell s advances ; when I sought to droo bdnnd she ca led me up; if I rode ahead she swore to m'a^ain^' '7 d.ver gallop his horses till she came 'tisTo \7, since we ItT.:^^^^^'?^ ^'' and turned'naughty eyes . ^Barbara.' '"^"''' fl-^"^? "I'S^'^ ^''''^^ ^°"^e through without declared the Ki t%f n" "^ ^°'^' °^ ,^'^^^y- The doings of t It Kmg at Dover had set the country in some stir there was no love of the French and less o" thi Pooe ' came"sTeh'.d"bf'f"' ^^^^P^ loudly, why' MaS' vXlt ', ^^i^^^'^ l^een seen m Canterbury, the Duke of Th^v ^^A ^Tl" ^ ^^"^^ entertainment there To her They did not know what I knew, but they were un easy concerning the Kind's relirrion nnH Tk • Vf^f M-^ii ^ A. , fc> ^ religion and their own \ct Nell must needs put her head well out of u^n* their houses Xl ? ^"'X' ^'f^''"- '^' "^^'^^ o"t of uieir nouses. A few looked askance at our orotecfor ing in his mistress's popularity. E exulted in it, and threw ph- vcn so she herself all round nods and smiles 270 Simon Dale* aye, and, alas, repartees conceived much in the same spirit as the jests that called them forth. I could have cried on the earth to swallow me, not for my own sake (in itself the scene was entertaining enough, however little it might tend to edification), but on account of Mistress Barbara. Fairly I was afraid to ride forward and see her face, and dreaded to re- member that I had brought her to this situation. But Nell laughed and jested, fhnging back at me now and ag^in a look that mocked my glum face and de- Glared her keen pleasure in my perplexity and her scorn of Barbara's shame. Where now the tenderness and sympathy which had made their meeting beauti- ful ? The truce was ended and war raged relentless. We came to our inn ; I leapt from my horse and fore- stalled the bustling host in opening the coach door. The loons of townsmen and their gossiping wives lined the approach on either side ; Nell sprang out, merry, radiant, unashamed ; she laughed in my face as she ran past me amid the plaudits ; slowly Barbara fol- lowed ; with a low bow I offered my arm. Alas, there rose a murmur of questions concerning her; who was the lady that rode with Nell Gwyn, who was he that, although plainly attired, bore himself so proudly? Was he some great lord, travelling un- known, and was the lady—? Well, the conjectures may be guessed and Mistress Quinton heard them. Her pride broke for a moment and I feared she would weep ; then she drew herself up and walked slowly by with a haughty air and a calm face, so that the mur- mured questions fell to silence. Perhaps I also had my share in the change, for I walked after her, wear- ing a fierce scowl, threatening with my eyes, and hav- ing my hand on the hilt of my sword. The host, elate with the honour of Nell's coming, was eager to offer us accommodation. Barbara ad- dressed not a word either to Nell or to me, but fol- \ A Night on the Road. 271 lowed a maid to the chamber allotted to her N.ll was m no such haste to hide hersel from J^ew She and Nnll r' '"°°''''r '■" / ^''^■■■■- F°°d was b,ou4t to Pa^ttke nfT^fJ'" ''■°™ '■" entertainment, flew •^Rnf H^ ! '^i '' "'"'■y eagerness, said ' '"""■"' 2"'"'°" supwitlrus?" she Mistress Quinton, it seemed, had no appetite for a aT er"?cV Ndl°T '"^i °"", chamber.Td refused u service. Well laughed and bade me fall tn T obeyed, being hungry in spite of my dis" omfort I was resolute not to quarrel with her She h,d worn!" to ikve escaped Lt?h ■?'", '■ri ' =^>'' "°' o«^ 1 -I cbcapea. ±Jut she had tried me sorelv and while we ate, she plied me with new diallen^es of°rn;r fo^tt^re-r^^ui^n"" -''"'- ^' ^^^ ing'ly.'"' """"'' '''°''' ''"''" '° y""'" "ied Nell, mock- ". M ^ *' 'i' '' ^""''■e "°t with mc," I retorted "Make the trial ! Behold, I'm (irmly eaed here I " do^ the ladv's ?^ T'^'Se while I ?aced ^J.e cor i. thJnJr Jfy compliments returned to me but lotWnV ItT"'"" °f ."»= '«'^'. ^I'e had"eed of Jwth'h-f; coVc^^^i^lTuV^^Jn^f 'Af fXl'° ''-'^ W^-Zd'-leTusf ''^^^■'""^^^ icr oea, she must pray mc to defer mv business till nHu^xTe ZiT''"' f'""^"^ GwynLd m"e goodl "Jj,"':- 1 lie maid tripped off smiling. ■kl 272 Simon Dale* Plague on her ! I cried, angrily and loudly. A laugh greeted the exclamation, and I turned to see Nell standing in the doorway of the room where we had supped. ;• I knew, I knew ! " she cried, revelling in her triumph, her eyes dancing in delight. - Poor Simon ! Alas, poor Simon, you know little of women ! But come, you re a brave lad and I'll comfort you. Besides you have given me a jewelled dagger. Shall I lend it you agam, to plunge in your heart, poor Simon?" 1 don t understand you. I have no need of a dagger, I ansvyered stiffly ; yet, feeling a fool there in the passage, I followed her into the room " Your heart is pierced already ? " she a'sked. " Ah but your heart heals well ! I'll spend no pity on you.'' i here was now a new tone in her voice. Her eyes still sparkled in mischievous exultation that she had proved right and I come away sore and baffled. But when she spoke of the healing of my heart, there was an echo of sadness ; the hinting of some smothered sorrow seemed to be struggling with her mirth. She was a creature all compounded of sudden changino- moods ; I did not know when they were true, wheS feigned in sport, or to further some device. She came rear now and bent over my chair, saying gently — Alas, I m very wicked ! I couldn't help the folk cheering me, Simon. Surely it was no fault of mine?" You had no need to look out of the window of the coach," said I, sternly. "But I did that with never a thought. I wanted the air. I " Nor to jest and banter. It was mighty unseemly, 1 swear. -^ ■'' " In truth I was wrong to jest with them," said Nell, remorsefully. "And within, Simon, my heart was aching with shame, even Avhile I jested. Ah, you don t know the shame I feel ! " A Night on the Road. ht. I wanted ity unseemly, 273 shlme fran.'''"'''" ' ^^^"^"^^' " ' Relieve you feel no more'' tha^ ^^^desm AlTIf ^'^^ • 7^^ '^'^ ^ "If only, Sinfonl- she s i'rl /'^ '/^^^'^ ^^^^^^y- near ./Wir by the^ back of he hai^^'^^Brtr^ past pray iKr " she <-nrl^^ .: u- . "^"^^ *hat s ^Yet I havrbecn o so^' i"^^'"^''^-^'" '"°^^^ woefully. " T ^■u 1 I ^°"^^ service to you ' " and cl "^ ''°" '°^ ■' '"°^' l-eartily/said I, still stiff her ^ccou',,^""' ^"''^ ^"°"S '"-^^y- Simon, it was on put Tot' i,;j rt'and' ^ft witft? Qr',r°" *"•" ^°" pavement?" '' ^'^^ ^^^^ fellows on the " She did not bid me but T H,vi if u there." ' '^ ^ *^'^ '^ because she was she:°o°uld?o?^'e^r^^;' C: ^^?,'o"rHT.'"' ■'^^' ""' " It was always the £m. K J ^''u '''''™ "8="'"- murmured Ne,l/..A^yV:non''ra7o-ev\T, ^^^ you had a kindness for me " "^ ^'"'" '" ^^^^^^ „ ,V . ''. '"■=" you had more." " Ye',' h-^°"' knowledge why now I have no more " pass without wor-i^ inH fi. siience. But messages who carry t dhi^s f rom '. T fPeechless Mercuries is full of whispel- n Js and X '^ •^^l"'"'- ^^''^ ^^e air sand sounds whichfh?.. , "'^ ^'.^"^ ^°'^ ^^ ^ thou- poreal ear be deaf dVi i ^'^',? ^'^°"-^^^ ^^^^ d"" cor- d.af. Did she stili amuse herself or was r 274 Simon Dale* there more? Sometimes a part, assumed in play or malice so grows on the actor that he cannot, even when he would, throw aside his trappings and wash trom his face the paint which was to show the passion that he played. The thing takes hold and will not be thrown aside ; it seems to seek revenge for the light assumption and punishes the bravado that feigned without feehng by a feeling which is not feint. She was now, for the moment if you will, but yet now, in earnest. Some wave of recollection or of fancy had come over her and transformed her jest. She stole round til her face peeped into mine in piteous bewitch- ing pleading, asking a sign of fondness, bringing back tlie past, raising the dead from my heart's sepulchre. Ihere was a throbbing in my brain ; yet I had need of a cool head. With a spring I was on my feet. "I'll go and ask if Mistress Barbara sleeps," I stammered. '' I fear she may not be well attended " "You'll go again? Once scorned, you'll go again, Simon? Well, the maid will smile; they'll make a story of it among themselves at their supper in the kitchen. The laugh of a parcel of knaves and wenches ! Surely it is a small thing ! But men will face death smiling who run wry-faced from such ridicule. I sank in my chair again. But in truth did I desire to go ? The dead rise, or at least there is a voice that speaks from the tomb. A man tarries to listen. Well if he be not lost in listening ! With a sigh Nell moved across the room and flung the window open. The loiterers were gone, all was still, only the stars looked in, only the sweet scent of the night made a new companion. ^ "It's like a night at Hatchstead," she whispered. Do you remember how we walked there together? It smelt as it smells to-night. It's so long ago ! " She came quickly towards me and asked " Do you hate i' % A Night on the Road. 275 riirew herself in a chair near me and fixed lier eves on vWth '.iTaTioT?"':^ 'T"" ^^^ [-^' grave'andTun^ timfdiff £. ' ^^ '^^^ '"'^^ '^^^"^1- thus, the nevv timidity became her marvelously. r"a3 mnrf fr''?"'"S °f '^^'-■'■y feature, seemed to gain knoTvI S^e 'of Tef hett'^^r kn"'^^"- ='"" ,'° and wmi hir th^S ' ''"" ™' "'^' «° '^°"™ of ing lips, had power to raisin m^^ ''°"l ^'"'^ P""'" picture spread IHce a veT^ ■ ." " P'cture, and the screen between me andTh? ,1""^ ''""^ °" <^''"™^. » ween me and the alluring eyes that sought 276 Simon Dale* m l«i. Tr.% PJ^^ovoking witchery. She did not know her word s work, and laughed again to sec me crow vet more grave at Barbara's n mic. ^ ^ I raised my eyes to hers, she read the thought She tossed her head, flinging the brown cur s bafk i hei eyes winkled merrily, and she said in a soft whisper half smothered in a rising laugh,- But, Simon, the King also is away." the Kin^ "°U '"^ ^^ the King and thought nothing of the King. It was not there I stuck. Nay, and I did not stick on any score of conscience. Yet^ 'stick d d fan i?r. Vr ^''^ ^ ^""^^ ''^''' She seemed o tail into a sudden rage, crying .X'coTh ? ''" ^° '^°" ^^^^^ ^'^^ -"^^ >^- tofday ;; I would hear nothing that was not for my ears." hear it."^'^ ^'^"^ ''''^"'^' ^"^ "^ ^''"tJ^ y°" f^ar to hefr^it.' ^^^ ^'"^^ "^^^ ''''^" ^^ '^'^ '^'^- I ^^^'•ed to she^sa?d^°l'^" ^'V' /^ S°°^ ^^°"^^t fellow/ sne said, but somewhat forward for his station' So she said and leant back with half-closed lids You know the trick these great ladies have? By heaXen mv B^le th'".'' '^' ™"^^^ >^"" • F«^ I'll swea'r o" "o^; M^'^ress QuTnto" " °^ ''''^'''' ^'"^°"- ^^"' ^'^ ,.,1' ^j u ^''^ "°''" ^^''^ "' ^°''« and angry, and wishinir to °"nowv„'" ■■'"'"? '°'-u"^^ "^'"^ ^hThad dearm^e a man's wav 'S^''"" "'*.*' ""? '"' '"^'^^ '^^ ^»'d- 1''= door shelY^V '^''■^. "°'- Go and sigh outside her aoor, sne won t open it to you. A Night on the Road. ,7^ sof^™ me!"' "'" '° -"^ ''eai.>, coaxing and seeking to .h:;V"ute^°";r;^:,S:n^l!;^^Pr; ;• -f, ? ecla.ed once I had come near to- Well T'toIH h ''" ''"" things tl,at it should please you to hit LTT grew mighty short with me, and on t le top cfme ' '°-ef sn:: shoJil;:;- z!:tc£S^ •4Tm;th:t°?o^aTrrortr:;\^tio!l'f°"t "^ J^''^^orglraV;^e^S'-°st k^pt tt:tr1lT- " P^rst?„r.^ -J «■>» 4 bacKas'tVrr ! '" der any lady sl^uld'speakt of"'^' "^"^^'^ ' *°"- turn fo; yo^^r kindness'^to her °' ^°"- "^ ^" ^^" '- her 'ha'n'd !-es't:d" fefcn'"" ^", "^^ "^^ "^^ "°-. aTd'ehlnent--— -"-^^^^ J sat and looked at her- vr-t ti,„ u S" look at heronlv tl,p Vv^^^' yf;''!"".?'! I seemed to ■"■things is stampedclear an°d . '' '°°"' '^'"^ "' '"'- Nell moved a little awav.^H* 3". "!' ""^ memory. early of ?he%o,d nf Wd' "'"''' ^'"f^'ve must be my bed." " ''"' y°" good-night and go to take'lt"butM,eraid'iff>^ "" ''^^ """"^ ' ' "'d "o* :'rdfx;'ers-'--=\h:d";r -'e:"|rertmt^-C;SnfbuVrde'°.: p . 278 Simon Dale* answer in words. We were in the corridor now, and she led the way. Once she turned her head and again looked at me. It was a sullen face she saw, but still I lullowed. " Tread lightly ! " she whispered. " There's her door, we pass it, and she would not love to know that you escorted me. She scorns you herself, and yet when another " The sentence went unendcd. In a tumult of feeling still I followed. I was half mad with resentment against Barbara ; swearing to myself that her scorn was nothing to me, I shrank from nothing to prove to my own mind the lie that my heart would not receive. "The door!" whispered Nell, going delicately on her toes with uplifted fore-finger. I cannot tell why, but at the word I came to a stand. Nell, looking over her shoulder and seeing me stand, turned to front me. She smiled merrily, then frowned, then smiled again with raised eyebrows. I stood there as though pinned to the spot. For now I had heard a sound from within. It came very softly. There was a stir as of some one moving, then a line of some soft sad song, falling in careless half-conscious- ness from saddened lips. The sound fell clear and plain on my ears, though I paid no heed to the words and have them not in my memory ; I think that in them a maid spoke to her lover who left her, but I am not sure. I listened. The snatch died away and the movement in the room ceased. All was still agai«, and Nell's eyes were fixed on mine. I met them squarely, and thus for awhile we stood. Then came the unspoken question, cried from the eyes that were on mine in a thousand tones. I could trace the play of her face but dimly by the light of the smoky lan- tern, but her eyes I seemed to see plain and clear. I had looked for scorn th jre, and, it might be, amuse- ment. I seemed to see (perhaps the imperfect light delicately on A Night on the Road. 279 played tricks), besides lure and raillery, reproach sor- row, and, most strange of all, a sort of Then envy, finger moved in came a smile and ever so lightly her beckoning. The song came no more through the closed door, my ears were empty of it; but not my heart; there it sounded still in its soft pleading cadence. Poor maid, whose lover left her! Poor maid, poor maid! I looked full at Noll but did not move. The lids drooped over her eyes, and their lights went out. She turned and walked slowly and alone along the corridor. I watched her goinrr, yes wistfully I watched. But I did not follow, for the snatch of song rose in my heart. There was a door at the end of the passage, she opened it and passed though. For a moment it stood open, then a hand stole back and slowly drew it close. It was shut. 1 he click of the lock rang clear and sharp through the silent house. " C31APTER XX. The Vicar's Proposition. I do not know how long I stood outside the door there in the passage. After awhile I began to move softly to and fro, more than once reaching the room where I was to sleep, but returning again to my old post. I was loth to forsake it. A strange desire was on me. I wished that the door would open, nay, to open it myself, ard by my presence declare what was now so plain to me. But to her it would not have been plain, for now I was alone in the passage, and there was nothing to show the thing which had come to me there, and there at last had left me. Yet it seemed monstrous that she should not know, possible to tell her to-night, certain that my shame-faced tongue would find no words to-morrow. It was a thing that must be said while the glow and the charm of it were still on me, or it would find no saying. The light had burnt down very I vc and gave forth a dim fitful glarr, hardly conqucrj- >. ;.ie dark )e". Now, again, I was standing stilV 'ost in ny struggle. Presently, with glad amazement, as though there had come an unlooked-for answer to my prayer, I heard a light step within. The footfalls seemed to hesitate ; then they came again, the bolt of the door shot back, md a crack of faint light showed. "Who's there?" asked Barbara's voice, trembling with alarm or some o:.iier agi*:-don which made her tones quick and timid. 1 made no answer. The door opened a little wider. m* The Vicar's Froposition. her com.ng, I would wmn.ivhn"''' "" ' '""• ^^^"'^^^ ■I'd not know wlut to "; ti'^.t^^'V,'"/''-''!, >>o«. f"r I speech a hundred times -tw.^ ''i'' ^'-'''ea«ed my found me dumb. Yet the mn,?r ?'/"!■ '}• "«<=^a„ce °" -T^;;^""^!' '/^'-'^^ toVive-'^'e'w'o 1 '^" *- -"' -£5e|^V;^oS "Why .i T , . sorry 1 roused vou " • tam- I wasn't asleep," she qa.Vl -ru she added, " I-i Vho,mhff J'^'^" ^''^^C'' a p.use time. Good-night "^^ ^°" ^^^ "^^^^ there some -' ': 's^ptK^sKt^ s^^I^/^f ^^-^^ ^--'-t ^or our companion gone to bed?'' '^^'"' '^^^^ ^^^^^J' ^' ^^ i5ome little while back " siid T tu ^es to her face, I said " l'.^ ^^"'^ '^'^'"& ^y sleep." ' '^'^' ^ '« sorry that you don't uiih^'il^irfti'^Jitie^-^^-^r sorrows," she returned, ;: Good-night,; sll, tea '"^ "^^ ^ P^^ Good-n,ght," said I. in The pt^^ge'^^^^' '''^ ^°- ^^-ed, I was alone again ^^^''^^^^^^^^^^ -—-ho reads my call Simon Dale a fooTi wm nT '^" ^? '^""^^ ^"^ but a he be moved to flin^ tL K 1°"^^^^^" ^^ ^im ; jnd all, not enduring morf nf . u^ ^^^^ ^""^ ^o^d Dale, why I will hLmbrasI- hfm"'f ^^ ^^""K ^^ ^imon hearsed brave speeches for hi. ^ .'^ ^^ ^^^^ "^^^^ ^e- himself tongue-tied in hl?^ mistress' ear and found ^^'hatdid heathen? I wa'e^r7h'?''uM ^"^ '^ he hatl., a dolt with most hi J5u"L^^^^-h,le calling himsel V "u.ic.cy, yet he set some of 282 Simon Dale* the blame on her shouldcrj, crying that he would have spoken had she opened the way, that it was her reticence, her distance, her coldness which froze his eloquence ; and that to any other lady in the whole world he could have poured forth words so full of fire that they must have inflamed her to a passion like to his own and burnt down every barrier which parted her heart from his. Therefore at that moment he searched for accusations against her and found a bitter- tasting comfort in every offence that she had given him, and made treasure of any scornful speech, rescu- ing himself from the extreme of foolishness by such excuse as harshness might afford. Now Barbara Quinton had told Mistress Nell that I was forward for my station. What man could, what man would, lay bare his heart to a lady who held him to be forward for his station? These meditations took me to my chamber, whither I might better have gone an hour before, and lasted me fully two hours after I had stretched myself upon the bed. Then I slept heavily ; when I woke it was high morning. I lay there a little while, thinking with no pleasure of the journey before me. Then having risen and dressed hastily, I made my way to the room where Nell and I had talked the night before. I did not know in what mood I should find her, but I de- sired to see her alone and beg her to come to some truce with Mistress Quinton, lest our day's travelling should be over thorns. She was not in the room when I came there. Looking out of window I per- ceived the coach at the door ; the host was giving an eye to the horses and I hailed him. He ran in and a moment later entered the room. " At what hour are we to set out? " I asked. "When you will," said he. " Have you no orders then from Mistress Gwyn ? " " She left none with me, sir." The Vicar's Proposition. 283 ''Left none? "I cried, amazed. "Vou didn't knfvvh ; pu'ose ?' Vu\' '1'^'''^'' post-chaise and set out L^u^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^ired a you and the ofher lady wouw"[r/^?' ''"'"? "^^ ^^at lier; and that, for her 0!^^ ^^ ^' ^'^^^ ^'^'^^out you. But she left a ^^L ^'""^ ''''^'y ^^ both of there on the table " '"'"^^ ^''' >'«"• See, it lies ^n^^^^t^:zt:^:f^^-'^r'^^^^p- The and amusement. I vvaTnn. '-^ !f ?^^^^"^ ^"'-^^-^ity moreentertainm;nt tHn InLn'^^^'t i° ^^^^^''^ ^''^^ before I opened the packet R^^ ^"^^ ^'"^ ^^^^"^ tantly. Then I unfast^ened N' 'r ' '"''^'^r''"'" ^^^"^■ tamed ten guineas wmnnrH ?^'" t P^'^el. It con- the inside of the paper^^as wnl?/'''^'" ^'^^'^ ^"^ ^n awkward scrawl (I Tar th. 1 .•'" ^ ""^'^ laborious Nell much parns) 'In oav ff "'^"^^ ?^ '' ^"^^ P°«r It was all of^her hand thafi hV "' "^'^S^er. E. G." message seemed to sneak n.'H ^^"f ^^^n ; the brief I deluded myse f her skni ">!' '? ^"''- ^^^^aps not serve her^far She h.H '"'^^ 9^ P^" ''^'^^d of it, and I was grieved that^'she' 1.'V' '''' '^' ^""^ fashion. ^ ^^^^ ^be had gone in this fca^^sKa;;^i^^rarS ^"."^^ ^^^"^^'^^^ I turned to find Barbirf O ^ 1"^^ ^'^f °" ^^e table, the room Her .,vf f- Q ""^o" ^n the doorway of sure o? welcome 177' ""i;^' '■' '^^°"^b she wereLt rassmen s m hunt\Vor'h""^?[ '^ ?'^^^^'^ ^"^ba- though in search fSrtme'body ''^ ^^^'^^ ^^^^ - ;;Bu\>:^T^i!i?^l3^^^^ ^- ^^-ce. "She's pfone." safH T a j u ,. innl> gone," said L " I haven't ;eeper tells me that she has been ^--s. But she has lefT^^'the ^cl m ImHwI 2S4 Simon Dale* walked to the window and looked out. "Yes, and my horse is there, and her servant with his horse.^ " But why is she gone ? Hasn't she left — — ? " She has left ten guineas also," said I, pointing to the pile on the table. "And no reason for her gomg? , , , ,. . " Unless this be one," 1 answered, holding out the piece of paper. '* I won't read it," said Barbara. « It says only, ' In pay for your dagger. " Then it gives no reason." "Why, no, it gives none," said I. " It's very strange," murmured Barbara, looking not at me but past me. Now to me, when I pondered over the matter, it did not seem altogether strange. Yet where lay the need to tell Mistress Barbara why it seemed not altogether strange? Indeed I could not have told it easily, seeing that, look at it how you will, the thing was not easy to set forth to M'stress Barbara. Doubt- less it was but a stretch of fancy to see any meaning in Nell's mention of the dagger, save the plain one that lay on the surface ; yet had she been given to conceits, she might have used the dagger as a figure for some wound that I had dealt her. " No doubt some business called her," said I,^ rather lamely. " She has shown much consideration in leav- ing her coach for us." " And the money ? Shall you use it ? " " What choice have I ? " Barbara's glance was on the pile of guineas. I put out my hand, took them up, and stowed them in my purse ; as I did this, my eye wandered to the windo\v^ Barbara followed my look and my thought also. I had no mind that this new provision for our needs should share the fate of my last guinea. "You needn't have said that!" cried Barbara, it. " Yes, and his horse." left ?" 1 I, pointing to lolding out the IQT, ara, looking not the matter, it ;t where lay the it seemed not lot have told it 1 will, the thing irbara. Doubt- 26 any meaning 2 the plain one ; been given to ,gger as a figure •," said I, rather deration in leav- t?" guineas. I put ,ved them in my 1 to the window. :hought also. I n for our needs The Vicar's Proposition. 28- filching; although, as may be seen, I had said noth. moYeTa^taid TktfrtsVSl ""'™'^" ="^""- ^^ corridor last niglTl'med^' tte^ '?o,trtrn'" t '^^ Hte%e=^?:-te -i^ S '- discomfort t Ian w "n vve w "'"'^ '" "^'"" greater mood called up a Hke in m. nn^ ^t /^^"^P^"'^"- Her self whether forthkTi^^ 1 ' ^"'^ l^^g^n to ask my- away ^""^ "^^"^ ^^" ^^ ^"ve poor Nell Thus in gloom we made ready to set forth Mv^plf prepared to mount my horse. I offered to hand Ba bara mo the coach. Then she looked at me I noted 1 , for she had not done so much for an C; pas? a s ight CO our came on her cheeks, she glanced ?ound aoT:LlrIt:iLr '• ' -- ^"^-^ --^elndTa' "You ride to-day al'so ? " she asked. could nni"! *^^^ had tormented me was still alive ; I could not deny myself the pleasure of a retort so aot mv'sTation" t"' 'f/^'^^'l^'y' -^r^-S '^ I ha^eTea,?^ my station. I would not be so forward as to sit in the coach with you." The flush on her cheek ^deepened uddenly, she stretched out her hand a littL wav IZuff" """ l"^ S^^ ['P^ P^^^^d as though she vvere about to speak. But her hand fell again and her lios shut on unuttered words ^ ^" As you will," she said, coldly. " Pray bid them cried Barbara, | Of our journey I will say no more. There is noth- 286 Simon Dale* ing in it that I take pleasure in telling, and to write its history would be to accuse either Barbara or my- self. For two days we travelled together, she in her coach, I on horseback. Come to London we were told that my lord was at Hatchstead ; having dispatched our borrowed equipage and servants to their mistress, and with them the amount of my debt and a most grate- ful message, we proceeded on our way, Barbara in a chaise, I again riding. All the way Barbara shunned me as though I had the plague and I on my side showed no desire to be with a companion so averse from my society. On my life I was driven half-mad and had that night at Canterbury come again — well, Heaven be thanked that temptation comes sometimes at moments when virtue also has attractions, or which of us would stand ? And the night we spent on the road decorum forbade that we should so much as speak, much less sup, together ; and the night we lay in London I spent at one end of the town and she at the other. At least I showed no forwardness ; to that I was sworn and adhered most obstinately. Thus we came to Hatchstead, better strangers than ever we had left Dover, and, although safe and sound from bodily perils and those wiles of princes that had of late so threatened our tranquillity, yet both of us as ill in temper as could be conceived. Defend me from any such journey again ! But there is no likelihood of such a trial now, alas ! Yes, there Avas a pleasure in it ; it was a battle, and, by my faith, it was close drawn between us. The chaise stopped at the Manor gates, and I rode up to the door of it, cap in hand. Here was to be our parting. '^ I thaiik you heartily, sir," said Barbara in a low voice, with a bow of her head and a quick glance that would not dwell on my sullen face. '• My happiness has been to serve you, madame," I The Vicar's Proposition. , madame," I [rk^me'io you^""™ °"'^ "-"' "'y ""« "as been so way alone to my mother's house '' ""^ The^ifth'Tn rtri"'ti°;;3-^a.'^;^= ?i;'^'™£ "7 ?• tr^ ave^nue, that\l^^;^?ie^ S;"i''LTLl7hi!?^ and great debtf cT'Ssc'.To'n'',?" [^.vS,,*;.::-'-; eadmg on to much that I did not seel fev taken yet perhaps mother to some fancies that men would wonder to find in Mistress Gwyn ' ^ ,,." '■ 'P }"=ar'ily 5;lad to be here ! " I cried loosing th» cTSn the',"" "'"S''"S "'y-'f - o the high\rm! cnair in the chimney comer. .f^I?^ mother received this exclamation as a tribute brought Mistress Barbara safe to the Manor in the second place at being quit of her society. ' ^ ^ am very curious to learn, Simon," said the Vicar t"k^:e'"wh:/ T' T^'^'' '^^y'^^ 1- hand uprn my knee, what passed at Dover. For it seem., i-^ me hat there, if at any place in the world the prophecy which Betty ^as'roth spoke concer'nLl 'f!l .'1 ii; ■■'■■-■ '1' d '■;■ ..■ :■■ r,i t ! 288 Simon Dale* '' Should find its fulfilment," ended the Vicar, pla, cidly. ' ^ " Are we not finished with that folly vet ? " asked my mother. ^ ' "Simon must tell us that," smiled the Vicar "In good time, in good time," I cried again. T 1 *^y "'^ ^'■^^' ^^^^'^ ^^^ ^y lord come here from London? . " ^^^y' a ^veek ago. My lady was sick and the phy- sician prescribed the air of the country for her But my lord stayed four days only and then was gone agam. & '^ \ ?Jn^^^^ ^"^ ^^* upright in my seat. 1 What, isn't he here now?" I asked, eagerly. vyny, bimon, said my good mother with a laugh, we looked to get news from you, and now we have news to give you ! The King has sent for my lo^d • 1 saw his message. It was most flattering and spoke of sonie urgent and great business on which the King desired my lord's immediate presence and counseL bo he set out two days ago to join the King with a large train of servants, leaving behind my lady, who was too sick to travel." ^* I was surprised at these tidings and fell into deep consideration. What need had the King of my lord's counsel, and so suddenly? What had been done at Dover would not be opened to Lord Quinton's ear. \\as he summoned as a Lord of Council or as his daughter s father ? For by now the King must know certain matters respecting my lord's daughter a::d a humble gentleman who had striven to serve her as far as his station enabled him and without undue for- wardness. We might well have passed my lord's coach on the road and not remarked it among the many that met us as we drew near to London in the evening. I hac' not observed his liveries, but that went for nothing. I took heed of little on that The Vicar's Proposition. 289 laTThT TeLtl^'irZ-l "f''^^' ^"''^^- Where into mym1nd"hat M i P ' summons? It came mongers from Calais a^id th.f'l'r"^?"' ^'''^ =^"t >"«- i"g to fulfil ?„";„'<^^her vat' t^',"«K""''^'" ''^ f *" accomplishment I had thwartTrl Ti !>""" .''"'"^^ new life to me If mv ".!^ i' ^'"•" «io"ght was broke off; th" Vicar'^h^H "■'"" "°' fi"i=*hed- I is fumilS:".'. ^"■' '" ^°°' '™= ^- ''-'' i^-now all. It fortu™ smli? ..''' "''^- '•='P'"^°"=ly- " Then, Simon, To T^eaVk",'"'' "f"^ f''°*"' ">°^t damnably." ™anne to s earr'talkirr ^"^^"^^ 'adies is\ad of all. Yet Se mv m f^ ^ ^>''^y'"='" '^ ■'™"t away in offence and^^.^K/ f"^ ""^ *''=*^'- drew neve^yet t^Ythe'^^i»;?^;^;r"> -^Po'ogy "Yet ;F"? °K ="'^h prophecies," said I, sourly. held more bvthLthfn'h''"''^ "-"^-^d- F°^ he me heloved V, f f • ''y ^"^ 2°°'' ''^'"'"ne of mine • "You "'i'J ^l^P™=«^hed somewhat timidly, asked '' '°'"' '° ^'^y ^i"' «^. Simon?" she said^?' ""' *'™ °' ">' "f^- '° '^' -s I know, madame," "Thanks to God ! " she murmured softlv liad jiot hold of n.? 17 ? faraway. Despondency 390 Simon Dale* i' ' Iw and the tricky creature shut the door in my face with a laugh. Betty Nasroth's prophecy was7dfilled but Its accomphshment left me in no better state nav I should be compelled to count myself lucky if ' I came off unhurt and were not pursued by the an^er of those great folk whose wills and whims^ I had Crossed ? must he quiet in Hatchstead, and to lie quiet in Hatch s ead was hell to me-aye. hell, unless\y ome m'ra' he'alln tL'.'"' "".';"' °"^ "^^^ '' slfould turn to heaven. That was not for me; I was denied youth's gone";?ry. ''' '^^"''''''^ ^"^^^ ^"^ ^"^^itions The Vicar and I we.e alone now, and I could not hlrH "J^"' ^'"^ ^y '""'"^' ^h^t had passed. He heard with rare enjoyment ; and although his interest declined from its zenith so soon as I had told the a J eves TcFr''^' ^^'frJ' '" '^'' '''' -^^h twinkl^g eyes No comment did he make, but took snuff fre. Yet"! h^;d L'7.''^.\'?i^' '''I ^^^^" '"^° medtoion Yet 1 had been fired by the rehearsal of my own storv and my thoughts were less dark in hue.^ The news concerning Lord Quinton stirred me afresh Mv ad might again be needed ; my melancho y was Hnted with pleasant pride as I declared to mysdf that it should not be lacking, for all that I had bee flsed a one would not use a faithful dog, much less a gentle man who, doubtless by no medt of his own but vet Ss's' he'trr^l'rl '^"^ ^^ "^^"i^" ^^-^- To c^- ess the truth, I was so persuaded of my value that I looked for every moment to bring me a sur^mons and Sfuf in"' V ^^t'"^^,!; '''' ^^-^' respectful/et sToTiat'BarbtLl^l;;otf '''''' ^^^^^ "^^ ^^ ^'^ sudd^n^y!'"''"'^ '^'' ^''^^^"'•^Nell.V' asked the Vicar, "Aye," said I, " I loved her." '* You love her no more ? " i- i my arm and The Vicar's Proposition. ^^ Vour age is twenty-four ? " * es, I am twenty-four " ;; And you love her no longer? " 1 tel you, no longer, sir." and thumb and u^'tl?' v^ orfhe^oIdTo hf '"^^^ "you love some other woman, Simo„ ° '° '"' "°''' evena/^ne;ho°h:L?ds"'an"o:h "''. ^'i"''''"" "« and needed no:n\w:rtoronTm h",;'^fe's"' ^'^« some other woman. Simon." s^airhe. an^d"jh^e?e '?eff a h7ndred''to'esthit'' fi?"''/: ."'"^ ^ '"'d ">y^elf another tliat "was? T,- i"°- '^ 1°^^'° ^e told by had not- ^'""^ ' '"'g'" have been in love, "Ah, who goes there?" exclaimed rt. ir- spnngmg nimbly to the window ami ?i„i.- ^ ^"''"'- S.700."' '--° ^-~eSi°^ri; vantt?o^d1 r'a^Tdly^paf ?"'l:rht''?f ^^ "^^ *- -- towards the Manor gates ' '"' *■" ''°"^'= ^'^'^ ^^^ "^^ol^^uL^t?^" -''■ "'^ Vicar. .1 think It IS and I think he does " said T • ^n^ f a single moment I stood there in the mtwL f /u ' room^hesitating, wavering, miserable "^''^^ "' '^^ What ails you, Simon ? Why shouldn'f t^xr t j Carford go to the Manor? " cried^he^tr "^^ ^^''^ i-et him OT» <-r» fU^ J-.-M r M -r . *_'-'**• go devil my hat from the table where it lay I cried, and I seized 292 Simon Dale* The Vicar turned to me with a smile on his h'ps. "Go, lad," said he, " and let me not hear you again deny my propositions. They are founded on an ex- tensive observation of humanity and " Well, I know not to this day on what besides. For I was out of the house before the Vicar completed his statement of the authority that underlay his pro- positions. CHAPTER XXL The Strange Conjoncturc of Two Gentlemen. I HAVE heard it said that King Charles laughed most heartily when he heard how a certain gentleman had tricked M. de Perrencourt and carried off from his clutches the lady who should have gone to pre- pare for the Duchess of York's visit to the Court of Versailles. " This Uriah will not be set in the fore- front of the battle," said he, "and therefore David can't have his way." He would have laughed, I think, even although my action had thwarted his own schemes, but the truth is that he had so wrought on that same devotion to her religion which, according to Mistress Nell, inspired Mile, de Qu^rouaille, that by the time the news came from Calais he had little doubt of success for himself although his friend M. de Perrencourt had been bafHed. He had made his treaty, he had got his money, and the lady, if she would not stay, yet promised to return. The King then was well content, and found perhaps some sly satisfaction in the defeat of the great Prince whose majesty and dignity made any reverse which befell him an amusement to less potent persons. In any case the King laughed, then grew grave for a moment while he declared that his best efforts should not be wanting to reclaim Mistress Quinton to a sense of her duty, and then laughed again. Yet he set about re- claiming her, although with no great energy or fierce- ness ; and when he heard that Monmouth had other 994 Simon Dale. views of the lady's duty, he shrugged his shoulders, saying. " Nay, if there be two Davids, I'll wajrer a crown on Uriah." ** It is easy to follow a man to the door of a house but if the door be shut after him and the pursuer not invited to enter, ho can but stay outside. So it fell out with me, and being outside I did not know what passed within nor how my Lord Carford fared with Mistress Barbara. I flung myself in deep chagrin on the grass of the Manor park, cursing my fate, myself, and, if iiot Barbara, yet that perversity which was in all women, and, by logic, even in Mistress Barbara. But although I had no part in it the play went on and how It proceeded I learnt afterwards; let me now leave the stage that I have held too long and pass out of sight till my cue calls me again. ^ This evening then, my lady, who was very sick, be- ing in her bed and Mistress Barbara, although not sjck, very weary of her solitude and longing for the time when she could betake herself to the same refuo-e (for there is a pride that forbids us to seek bed tSo early, however strongly we desire it) there came a great knocking at the door of the house. A gentle- man on horseback and accompanied by two servants was without and craved immediate audience of her ladyship. Hearing that she was abed he asked for JMistress Larbara and obtained entrance; yet he would not give his name, but declared that he came on urgent business from Lord Ouinton. The excuse served and Barbara received him. With surprise she found Carford bowing low before her. I had told her enough concerning him to prevent her welcome beincr warm. I would have told her more, had she afforded me the opportunity. The imperfect knowledge that she had caused her to accuse him rather of a timidity in face of powerful rivals than of any deliberate design to set his love below his ambition and to use The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 295 her as his tool. Had she known all I knew, she would not have hstened to him. Even now she made some pretext for declming conversation that night, and would have withdrawn at once ; but he stayed her re- treat, earnestly praying her for her father's sake and Her own to hear his message, and asserting that she was in more danger than she was aware of. Thus he persuaded her to be seated. " What is your message from my father, my lord ? " she aslccd coldly, yet not uncivilly. " ALuLimc, I have none," he answered, with a blunt- ness not id calculated. "I used the excuse to <-ain admission, fearing that my own devotion to you would not sufifice, well as you know it. But although I have no message, I think that you will have one soon. Nav you must listen." For she had risen. " I listen, my lord, but I will listen standing." ^^ '' You're hard to me, Mistress Barbara," he said. "But take the tidings how you will ; only pay heed to them. He drew nearer to her and continued. " To- morrow a message will come from your father. You have had none for many days? " " Alas, no ! " said she. " We were both on the road and could ser.d no letter to one another." '* To-morrow one comes. May I tell you what it will say?" " How can you know what it will say, my lord ? " " I will stand by the event," said he, sturdily. " The coming of the letter will prove me right or wrong. It will bid your mother and you accompany the mes- senger " " My mother cannot " " Or, if your mother cannot, you alone, with some waiting-woman, to Dover." " To Dover ? " cried Barbara. " For what purpose ?" bhe shrank away from him, as though alarmed by the very name of the place whence she had escaped. 296 Simon Dale* .1 He looked full in her face and answered slowly and significantly, — " Madame goes back to France and you are to ^ro with her." ^ Barbara caught at a chair near her and sank into it. He stood over her now, speaking quickly and ur- gently. "You must listen," he said, "and lose no time in acting. A French gentleman, by name M. de Fon- telles, will be here to-morrow ; he carries your father's letter and is sent to bring you to Dover." " My father bids me come ? " she cried. " His letter will convey the request," answered Car- ford. /'Then I will go," said she. " I can't come to harm with him, and when I have told him all, he won't al- low me to go to France." For as yet my lord did not know of what had befallen his daughter, nor did my lady, whose sickness made her unfit to be bur- dened with such troublesome matters. " Indeed you would come to no harm with your father, if you found your father," said Carford. Come I will tell you. Before you reach Dover mv lord will have gone from there. As soon as his letter to you was sent, the King made a pretext to dispatch him into Cornwall ; he wrote again to tell you of his journey and bid you not come to Dover till he sends for you This letter he entrusted "to a messenger of my Lord Arlington s who was taking the road for Lon- don. But the Secretary's messengers know when to hasten and when to loiter on the way. You are to nave set out before the letter arrives." Barbara looked at him in bewilderment and terror • he was to all seeming composed and spoke with an air of honest sincerity. " To speak plainly, it is a trick," he said, " to induce you to return to Dover. This M. de Fontelles has mswered Car- The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 297 here*' letS^arirst'"' ""■ "' ^""'^"^^^ «» "e shouldn't haveVer„T„rt'ro.^;it'="''''-°"S''- ^'^ ^ And wliy are you come, my lord'? " she asked must^have foreseen ; he had uJ^^^'l^Xl^.lt othe'r^'did^not Z-:; '" 'Vhe"'"/.^"^!'^^'' y°"- '^^ fe%ned ind1g:;:«o'n h^^rie'^'Vy'ta^e'" but!"'"- the French King would have been no per"i to vou •'j;: would have come too late " '^ ^ " • "^ " Wl,""''';^"'"'' ^'"' •■'"•' """'"^'i painfully,- mu^TlZ h '"f™'' '%'"'gl'ty," he pursued, "we must hght by guile, not force; when we can't on„^I we must delay; we must check, where we an "'IC You know my meaning, to you I couldn't put it mZ' o "mJ;; ^"i"°"' ' .'^^^'^ '^P°'<^" plainly to tUDi?!.: of Monmouth, praying something from him in mv own game as well as yours He is a nnKi^^P ■ ^ madame, and his offence should be nirdoned M™'"' u;ho caused it. Had I thwarted K^en" y,tt o'uld We^d'^n™ mL!''""^ ^"' >'°"^^- ^-v 'he is your The defence was clever enough to bridle her indig- I' J i'. ) I 29S Simon Dale« nation. He followed up his advantage swiftly, leaving her no time to pry for a weak spot in his pleading. " By heaven," he cried, " let us lose no time on past troubles. I was to blame, if you will, in execution, though not, I swear, in intention. But here and now is the danger, and I am come to guard you from it." " Then I am much in your debt, my lord," said she, still doubtful, yet in her trouble eager to believe him honest. " Nay," said he, " all that I have, madame, is yours, and you can't be in debt to your slave." I do not doubt that in this speech his passion seemed real enough and was the more effective from having been suppressed till now, so that it appeared to break forth against his will. Indeed, although he was a man in whom ambition held place of love, yet he loved her and would have made her his for passion's sake as well as for the power that he hoped to wield through her means. I hesitate how to judge him ; there are many men who take their colour from the times, as some insects from the plants they feed on ; in honest times they would be honest, in debauched they follow the evil fashion, having no force to stand by themselves. Perhaps this lord was one of this kidney. " It's an old story, this love of mine," said he, in gentler tones. " Twice you liave heard it, and a lover who speaks twice must mourn once at least ; yet the second time I think you came nearer to heeding it. May I tell it once again? " " Indeed it is not the time — " she began, in an agi- tated voice. " Be your answer what it may, I am your servant," he protested. " My hand and heart are yours, al- though yours be another's ! " " There is none — I am free — " she murmured. His eyes were on her and she nerved herself to calm, say- dame, is yours, egan, in an agi- The Strange Coni«nct«te of Two Gentlemen. 299 "ovv. You may acceo -" ^"''' '^"^ '"'^""«i°n you do not aSTptTny^W^ Srlss Ba^b ^'*''°"?'! come with me?'' ""stress Barbara, you'll '; Come with you ?" she cried. seek^y^ou^tther i'„°C:r:':°ir"''o"^ ""T '°»-*- -"' there4 no safet^ buUn flii'hi "°" "'^ '^""' "'-"ame. yo'; h^arTtl^'ry ra^h:;^'^" "" *^^^^""S. Didn't letter camr'hrrugh Tlfe Du'ke 1^"°^''^''?^ »' •■- &?h\rd:s"''"^^^^ H^Lre^/teTnTar^rT^- '' '^ ""P"-'^'-" yo7a°r:'^'^:: T^r^r^rr" i^ '''"■ - " whose aid you could seek ?'! T •''^''">' °"'^'- regarding her intently. "^S"" '"^ P='"^«'', She sat in sore distress, twisting her hands in her ' ^" Hatchstead ? " asked Carford and bluntly, 3ldlv 300 Simon Dale* If It " I don't know where he is. He brought me here, but I have heard nothing from him since we parted." " Then surely he is gone again ? " " I don't know," said Barbara. Carford must have been a dull man indeed not to discern how the matter lay. There is no better time to press a lady than when she is chagrined with a rival and all her pride is under arms to fight her inclination. " Surely, or he could not have shown you such in- difference — nay, I must call it discourtesy." " He did me service." " A gentleman, madame, should grow more, not less, assiduous, when he is so happy as to have put a lady under obligation." He had said enough, and restrained himself from a further attack. ** What will you do?" he went on. "Alas, what can I do?" Then she cried, "This M. de Fontelles can't carry me off against my will." " He has the King's commands," said Carford. " Who will resist him ? " She sprang to her feet and turned on him quickly. "Why, you," she said. "Alone with you I cannot and will not go. But you are my — you are ready to serve me. You will resist M. de Fontelles for my sake, aye, and for my sake the King's commands." Carford stood still, amazed at the sudden change in hsr manner. He had not conceived this demand and it suited him very ill. The stroke was too bold for his temper ; the King was interested in this affair and it might go hard with the man who upset his plan and openly resisted his messenger. Carford had calculated on being able to carry her off and thus defeat the scheme under show of ignorance. The thing done and done unwittingly might gain pardon ; to meet and defy the enemy face to face was to stake all his fortune on a desperate chance, He was dumb. Bar- himself from a The Strange Conjuncttire of Two Gentlemen. 301 ^&^^::^,^,' ''"^''^ '^^' -P--d wonder ;;You hesitate, sir?" she asked. ^ The danger is great," he muttered. You spoke of discourtesy just now. my lord " ^^ You do not lay it to my charge ? " ^ His face grew white with passion. She accused him of covvardice and plainly hinted to him that if 1- let hini be as discourteous and indifferent as his s^Hen see L^artord s face. \ et he was in the net of her cL] lenge now and a bold front alone would serve '^" must answer for it, yVu s'hall have^he proof.""^ '^^' .= fT *h^"\yo"^iny lord," said she, with a little bow as though she asked no more than her due in demand' ingthathe should risk his head for her. '"fdM not doubt your answer." i am not KnuT''" ul^^^^ il^''^ "° ^^"s^' madame," said he verv une'ai^^et '"^' '^ ^°"^' "^^ ^°"^-^ ^^^ signs ^flZ ^."^^"1'" J ^^"""^ y°"'" s^'d she. "It grows late my lord By your kindness I shall sleep neacefulv and without fear. Good-night." She mo^veK^^ the door but turned to him again, sayin- - I o nv s'^kneL"'?' '"^ r^" '°^?'^^^'^>^ --^ g-e '-y to sickness I cannot entertain you suitably while mv t^eat vo r! Tf ^^ y? ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ i""' hey ;^1^ treat you well for my father's sake, and a messa^ie from me can reach you easily " message Curford had strung himself to give the promise, m i-i or b tJ t] h d k ai o; a] 302 Simon Dale. whether he would fulfil it or not lay uncertain in the future. Yet for so much as he had done, he had a mind to be paid. He came to her, and, kneelmg, took her hand ; she suffered him to kiss it. _ ^^ "There is nothing I wouldn't do to wm my prize, he said, fixing his eyes ardently on her face. " I have asked nothing but uhat you seemed to offer," she answered, coldly. " If it be a matter of bargain, my lord " • ^ 1, J "No no," he cried, seeking to catch again at her hand as she drew it away and with a curtsey passed ^^Thus she left him without so much as a backwarc slance to promise further favour. So may a lady, i\ she plays her game well, take all and promise nothing Carford, refused even a lodging in the house, crossec in the plan by which he had reckoned on getting Bar bara into his power, driven to an enterprise for whic he had small liking, and left in utter doubt wheth ^ the success for which he ran so great a risk woul ..- profit him, may well have sought the inn to whicl " Barbara commended him in no cheerful mood. ' waser he swore a round oath or two, as he and hiro servants made their way thither through the dark anjwj knocked up the host, who, keeping country hours, ws^a already in his bed. It cost them sonie minutes t r< rouse him, and Carford beat most angrily on the doo 'e At last they were admitted. And I turned away. ^' For I must confess it; I had dogged their step not able to rest till I saw what would become of Ca>n ford. Yet we must give love his due; if he takes "• man into strange places, sometimes he shows hi ^y things worth his knowing. If I, a lovesick fool, hi watched a rival into my mistress' house and watch< him out of it with devouring jealousy, aye, it 1 h; chosen to spend my time beneath the Manor window rather than in my own comfortable chair, why 1 hi m li b. C( n: »3 ef lay uncertain in the had done, he had a IT, and, kneeling, took ss it. do to win my prize," on her face. ^vhat you seemed to If it be a matter of :o catch again at her vith a curtsey passed much as a backwarc ir. So may a lady, i and promise nothing g in the house, crossec koned on getting Bar n enterprise for whir I utter doubt wheth so great a risk woul The Strangfc Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 303 done only what many who are now wise and sober gentlemen have done in their time. And if once in hat same park I had declared my heart broken for the sake of another lady, there ar revolutions in hearts as in states, and, after the rebels have had their day, the King com.^s to his own again. Nay, I have known some who were very loyal to King Charles, and yet said nothing hard of Oliver whose yoke they .Thn, ^ H °'n ^ ""'" '^y "^"S-^^ ^g^'"st mv usurpe?^ w 1? -^^ '^ Qf^f " ^^y have come to her own again! «,• K. 1^ W'^''''^ '^'°"'^ "°^ ^^ve ^^'' I' Simon Dale, might be the greatest fool in the King's dominions and he sulking while another stormed the citadel on which I longed to plant my flag. But the victor should not be Larford. Among gentlemen a quarrel is easily come by ; yokels may mouth their blowsy sweetheart's name and fight openly for her favour over their mugs of ale; we quarrel on the state of the kingdom, the #11 of the cards, the cut of our coats, what you will. ^;.arford and I would find a cause without much search- no cheerful mood or two, as he and ght the inn to whicP"g- I was so hot that I was within an ace of sum- moning him then and there to show by what right he ■rode so boldly through my native village ; that offence ■ through the clari< anjwould serve as well as any other. Yet prudence pre- ling country hours, W2 jailed. The closed doors of the inn hid the party hem some minutes t roni my sight, and I went on my way, determined to .St angrily on the doo^e about by cock-crow, lest Carford should steal a nd I turned away. "narch. id dogged their step But as I went, I passed the Vicar's door. He stood would become of Ca^n the threshold, smoking his long pipe (the good his due; if he takes "an loved Virginia and gave his love free rein in the etimcs he shows hi'Yening)and gazing at the sky. I tried to slink by I, a lovesick fool, hc"m fearing to be questioned, but he caught sight of ss' house and watchc^y figure and called me to him; but he made no jealousy, aye, if I 1^= ^ ,frfi?5^ ^° ^he manner of our last parting. Lth the Manor windoi "Whither away, Simon? " he asked, •table chair, why I h " To bed, sir," said I. 1 t 304 Simon Dale* " It is well," said he. "And whence?" " From a walk, sir." His eyes met mine and I saw them twinkle. He waved the stem of his pipe in the air, and said, — " Love, Simon, is a divine distempei of the mind, wherein it paints bliss with woe's palate and sees | heaven from hell." " You borrow from the poets, sir," said I, surlily. ** Nay," he rejoined, " the poets from n^.e, or from any man who has or has had a heart in him. What, Simon, you leave me ? " For I had turned away. •'It's late, sir," said I, "for the making of rhapso-| dies." "You've made yours," he smiled. " Hark, what's J that?" As he spoke there came the sound of horses* hoofs. A moment later the figures of two mounted menj emerged from the darkness. By some impulse, know not what, I ran behind the Vicar and shelterec myself in the porch at his back. Carford's arrival hacl set my mind astir again and new events found read)| Vvelcome. The Vicar stepped out a pace into the roacf with his hand over his eyes, and peered at the strangers| " What do you call this place, sir ? " came in a lou(| voice from the nearer of the riders. I started at tht| voice ; it had strilck on my ears before, and no En^ lishman owned it. " It is the village of Hatchstead, at your service,'] answered the Vicar. " Is there an inn in it ? " " Ride for half-a-mile and you'll find a good one." " I thank you, sir." I could hold myself in no longer, but pushed th^ Vicar aside and ran out into the road. The horsej men had already turned their faces towards the inni and walked along slowly, as though they were wearyj " Good-night," cried the Vicar — whether to them oj hence ? " them twinkle. He air, and said, — tempei of the mind, je's palate and sees ir," said I, surlily. ;ts from n'-.e, or fromi eart in him. What,! lad turned away. le making of rhapso-j led. " Hark, what's] und of horses' hoofs. two mounted menj 3y some impulse. Vicar and shelterec Carford's arrival ha( ' events found read] a pace into the roac| ;ered at the strangers sir? " came in a lou( ers. I started at th^ before, and no Enj :ad, at your service,'! 11 find a good one." nger, but pushed thj le road. The horsej ices towards the inni igh they were wearyj -whether to them o| 'ii. viKNT I -i>a(;k 305. m::* ^^- '^i iv-; g:^?":- »»«'.^1¥ The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 305 on h;™?^ 'i°stooTr„'r^„'i,^ZT\ ;'"<-■ ''r- ^'°-'' ing form of the n a n u , 1 ' "=".«:'""? 'I'e retreat- that all v^aS not fi'i w' T*;,"" T' " "iKl" be prophecy should no bh,d the f""' ^^"'l^ ^'"^^''''^ thcylom: °1,t:"th:v"fn'"-, ?" ^^•'"' "-"d did foes? If friends th.inds to my mouth and bellowed?- . ' P"' "^ 3o6 Simon Dalc« An oath broke from Fontclles. I darted into the middle of the road, and for a moment stood there. lauLdiinir acrain. He had wheeled his horse round, but did not advance towards me. 1 take it that he was amazed, or, it may be, searching a bevvi dered nriemory. •' // vicnt t " 1 cried again in my folly, and, turning, ran down the road at my best speed, laughing sti 1. Fontelles made no effort to follow me, yet on 1 ran till I came to my mother's house. Stopping there, panting and breathless, I cried in the exuberance of triumph,— " Now she'll have need of me ! ' Certainly the thing the Vicar spoke of is a distem. per Whether divine or of what origin, I will not have judged by that night's prank of mine. '' They'll do very well together at the inn, I laughed, as I flung myself on my bed. \ I darted into the ent stood there, horse round, but e it that he was ildercd memory. Uy, and, turning, d, laughing still. , yet on 1 ran, till ng there, panting ice of triumph, — :e of is a distem- irigin, I will not mine. le inn," I laughed, CHAPTER XXn, The Device of Lord Carfofd, It is not my desire to assail, nor is it my part to detend, the reputation of the great. There is no such purpose m anything that I have written here. History IS their judge, and our own weakness their advocate, borne said, and many believed, that Madame brought the young French lady in her train to Dover with the intention that the thing should happen which hap- pened. I had rather hold, if it be possible to hold, that a 1 rincess so gracious and so unfortunate m ant innocently, and m a.^ ijoled or overborne by the per- suasions of hei Kinsmen, and perhaps by some specious pretext of htate policy. In like manner I am reluc- tant to think that she planned harm for Mistress Bar- bara, towards whom she had a true affection, and I will read in an honest sense, if I can, the letter which ?\^^ J ontelles brought with him to Hatchstead. In It Madame touched with a light discretion on what had passed, deplored with pretty gravity the wayward- ness of men and her own simplicity, \\hich made her a prey to their devices and rendered her less useful to her friends than she desired to be. Yet now she was warned, her eyes were open, she would guard her own honour and that of any who would trust to her. Nay he himself^ M. de Perrencourt, was penitent (even as was the Duke of Monmouth !), and had sworn to trouble her and her friends no more. Would not then her sweet Mistress Barbara, with whom (she vowed) she had fallen so mightily in love, come back to her 3o8 Simon Dale« and go with her to France, and be with her until the Duchess of York came, and, in good truth, as much longer as Barbara would linger, and Barbara's father in his kindness suffer. So ran the letter, and it seemed an honest letter. But I do not know ; and if it were honest, yet who dared trust to it ? Grant Madame the best of will, where lay her power to resist M. de Perrencourt? But M. de Perrencourt was penitent. Aye, his penitence was for having let her go, and would last until she should be in his power again. Let the intent of the letter he carried be what it might, M. de Fontelles, a gentleman of courage and high honour, believed his errand honest. He had not been at Dover, and knew nothing of what had passed there; if he were an instrument in wicked schemes, he did not know the mind of those who employed him. He came openly to Hatchstead on an honour- able mission, as he conceived, and bearing an invita- tion which should give great gratification to the lady to whom it was addressed. Madame did Mistress Quinton the high compliment of desiring her company, and would doubtless recompense her well for the ser- vice she asked. Fontelles saw no more and asked no more. In perfect confidence and honesty he set about his task, not imagining that he had been sent on an errand with which any man could reproach him, or with a purpose that gave any the right of questioning his actions. Nor did my cry of " // vient " change this mood in him. When he collected his thoughts and recalled the incident in which those words had played a part before, he saw in them the challenge of some one who had perhaps penetrated a State secret, and was ill-affected towards the King and the King's policy ; but, being unaware of any connexion between Mistress Barbara and M. de Perrencourt, he did not associate the silly cry with the object of his present mission. So also, on hearing that a gentleman was at The Device of Lord Carford. 309 visited the Manor, he was in no way disquieted but ou't CITh '^ ""'"' "">^ """J^"** ^*' gentlemen with- out tearing their company or their scrutiny. Gaily and courteously he presented himself to Bar- bara. Her mother lay still in bed, and she receiVed W?th . r K '^' T"" i°^^'^"^ °"t °" the terrace With a low bow and words of deference he declared his errand, and delivered to her the letter he bore thTlVT f ""'"a "^"^^"^ ^^^^ t« ^^^ 1^'^ o^-n hopes that Mistress Quinton would not send him back In. successful, but let him win the praise of a trustworthy messenger. Then he twirled his moustaches,TmYled fead'"the'len^ ""T^ ^'^ '^^ composure while she read the letter. Indeed he deserves some pity for women are not wont to spend much time on reason- l^h;rh M "" ''''^- ^^'^1" ^ "^^^ ^°"^^« «" ^ business which they suspect to be evil, they make no ado about holding him a party to it, and that without in- quiring whether he knows the thing to which he is setting his hand. Barbara read her letter through once and a second time; then without a word to Fontelles, aye, not so much as bidding him be seated, she called a servant and sent hini to the inn to summon Carford to her' biie spoke low and the Frenchman did not hear* When they were again alone together, Barbara walk'^d to the window, and stood there looking out Fon telles, growing puzzled and ill at ease, waited some moments before he ventured to address her ; her ai- ^!.j"°^j^"^^ ^^ ^° encourage him; her cheek was reddened, and her eyes were indignant. Yet at last he plucked up his courage. " I trust, madame," said he, " that I may carrv the fairest of answers back with me ? " ^ " What^answer is that, sir?" she asked, half-tur 1.0 him With u scornful glance. •\rt I' : i ' h I ■j I i H 310 Simon Dale* " Yourself, madame, if you will so honour me," he answered, bowing. " Your coming would be the an- swer best pleasing to Madame, and the best fulfilment of my errand. " She looked at him coolly for a moment or two, and then said, — " I have sent for a gentleman who will advise me on my answer." M. de Fontelles raised his brows, and replied some- what stiffly, — "You are free, madame, to consult whom you will, although I had hoped that the matter needed but little consideration." She turned full on him in a fury. "I thank you for your judgment of me, sir," she cried. " Or is it that you think me a fool to be blinded by this letter ? " " Before heaven — " began the puzzled gentleman. *' I know, sir, in what esteem a woman's honour is held in your country, and at your King's Court." " In as high, madame, as in your country, and at your Court." " Yes, that's true. God help me, that's true ! But we are not at Court now, sir. Hasn't it crossed your mind that such an errand as yours may be dangerous? " " I had not thought it," said he, with a smile and a shrug. " But, pardon me, I do not fear the danger." " Neither danger nor disgrace ? " she sneered. Fontelles flushed. " A lady, madame, may say what she pleases," he remarked, with a bow. " Oh, enough of pretences," she cried. " Shall we speak openly ? " •* With all my heart, madame," said he, lost be- tween anger and bewilderment. For a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but the shame of open speech was too great for her. lonour me," he 5uld be the an- : best fulfilment ent or two, and ^ill advise me on d replied some- whom you will, :ter needed but of me, sir," she le a fool to be ed gentleman, nan's honour is g's Court." country, and at tiat's true ! But ; it crossed your be dangerous? " th a smile and a r the danger." e sneered. she pleases," he •led. '* Shall we aid he, lost be- she would speak, )0 ereat for her. The Device of Lord Car f or d. 3 , i aid^her!^""'^"'^ ^""^ ''''"'^^' ^^ ^^"^^ ^*^ "°thing to " I won't speak of it," she cried. " It's a man's nart ^o te 1 you the truth, and to ask account from y^ou^" won t soil my lips with it. cnu\7lf^' ^°°^. ^ '^tP ^^^^'■^^ h^'-' seeking how he could assuage a fury that he did not understand. As God lives he began, gravely Barbara would not give him opportunity. ^ -i^arbara SlF'''^ r"'-n '^"^ '^"^^' " s^^"^ ^-^side and allow me to pass. I will not stay longer with you Let me / telles, deeply offended, utterly at a loss, flung •' M^^Zf " ?' ^''- f"^ .''°°^ "^^^^ to let her pass.^ ;; Misapprehend ? Yes, or apprehend too clearly ! " As 1 am a gentleman " ^ "I do not grant it, sir," she interrupted, fur^h^erhlt L'^'"" ' JT^'"^ ^Sain, he drew a pace fullv at hi^ Tl ' ''°°? ^°'' " "^°^^"t' lo°l could not make me suffer it J 1 ^//^g^rd for j^ou ady has against me, nor who has set th?°" ^'^^' '^'' her head. It cannot be vou ' V. ^^is nonsense in honour? You don't tLl? ^" '^''" ^ doubt my gentleman?" ^ ^^""^ me when I call myself a an.tr"trhfs\^ot^q\"::titl^^\?!-^' ^/P-t-g an -ere fact that CarfoV was stm^^^^^^^^^ '" ^^e . Come, my lord," ke crierl ''tT . , "; ^^^^ngyouthink'so long isn't vou^ '"^'" ^^'^'""'^ He assumed an air of chaflen^e ^ ^"''"'^ "^^^ ^ " , tarford was I hnv^ «^ j^ • perplexed. He could have tt\T'' ^^^S"'^ «"d *an with this fiery gentleman r'^"^^^^ "landed of him that helho frff"-- .J^^^ara had de- ommand. He mfghre ca°pi thn'l-n'" '"f ,.K'"g'' -y co„v,„ci„g Fontelles hrmself'Sh^aTt wt'f ttl 3H Simon Dak* then the in hands less honourable than his own , . V^encSman would in all likelihood abandon h.s-^^^^^ orise But with him would go Carford s hold on Bar- bara and his best prospect of winning her ; for in her trouWe lay his chance."^ If on the other hand he quar- rdlcd ope^nly with Fontellcs, he must face the con- sequent s he feared or incur Larbara's unmeasured scorn He could not solve the puzzle.and determmed to seek a respite. • .. u oM TTr^n - I do not doubt your honour, sir, he said. Fon- telles bowed gravely. " But there is more m this matter than you know. I must beg a few hours for consideration and then I will tell you all openly. " My orders will not endure much delay. "You can't take the lady by force. « I count on the aid of my friends and the Kmg s to persuade her to accompany me willingly. I do not know whether the words brought the idea suddenly and as if with a flash into Carford s head It may have been there dim and vague before, but now it was clear. He paused on his way to the door and turned back with brightened eyes. He gave a careless laugh, saying,— " My dear Fontelles, you have more than me to reckon with before you take her away." " What do you mean, my lord ? " "Why, men in love are hard to reason with, and with fools in love there is no reasoning at all. Come, I'm your friend, although there is for the moment a difficulty that keeps us apart. Do you chance to re- member our meeting at Canterbury? " Why, very well." , „ " And a young fellow who talked French to you ? Carford laughed again. " He disturbed you mightily by calling out " , " * // vunt / ' " cried Fontelles. all on the alert. " Precisely. Well, he may disturb you again. own ; then the andon his enter- d's hold on Bar- <; her ; for in her er hand he quar- 3t face the con- ra's unmeasured :and determined " he said. Fon- is more in this a few hours for all openly." delay." > md the King's to gly." brought the idea ) Carford's head, ague before, but way to the door, iyes. He gave a nore than me to reason with, and ng at all. Come, or the moment a you chance to re- French to you ? " rbed you mightily I on the alert. you again. The Device of Lord Car ford. 31S 1 ?y heaven, then he's here ? " Why, yes." mi'lSin ^Th^'-' "!^^'' "^ ^"^d those words to me^agam. The insolent rascal ! I'll make l^m pay ^^^ Insolent st.a, he is a suitor for MistrcTs Quinton's the quarrel br shifipH 1 J ^ a stroke indeed could Fontelles and I set bv ?he ."^ shoulders, and M. de of tljat diff erence'^a^ord' t.w\'ot;-:i'r;[t '" aI^ JT n^ot^he, would be the .nan to resist^Se^'i^g.^tn!: "' ?S!* "JT '^°'"^^ ^^ ''«■■« ? " <:ried Fontelles of MTst?s"a:inTo^„'^?^" '''''■ «^ '^ - ord'Teighbour "Dangerous then?" said,- ' ^^''°"^'' '"" t° ^hrug his shoulders, as he I ^"nr'tr^Sit^^intfer^beJ^'lf"' v"' '^f^ """■ telles was hot-temner^H TU ^ "onest, ivi. de Fon- toM t^hat he was'lTg-^' ^^'■ <.e4g^o/HTm:'|.Ltrttd-ftt"h,r ' - ^ox iviiat purpose do you seek him ? " "' 3i8 Simon Dale. " Madame," he answered, " I cannot tell you. She looked for a moment keenly m his face ; her breath came quick and fast, the hue of her cheek flashed from red to white. " Mr. Dale, said she, drawing herself up, "will not fear to meet you." , , .,.,_ Aeain Fontelles bowed, turned, and was gone, swiftly and eagerly stridmg down the avenue, bent on tind- '" Barbara was left alone wi^th Carford. His heavy frown and surly eyes accused her. She had no mind to take the part of the guilty. "Well, my lord," she said, " have you told this M. de Fontelles what honest folk would think of him and his errand ? " ■, r- e ^ " I believe him to be honest," answered Carford. ''You live the quieter for your belief! she cried, contemptuously. , t i • ♦■ " I live the less quiet for what I have seen just now," he retorted. , .., , There was a silence. Barbara stood with heaving breast, he opposite to her, still and sullen. She looked long at him, but at last seemed not to see him ; then she spoke in soft tones, not as though to him, but rather in an answer to her own heart, whose cry could go no more unheeded. Her eyes grew soft and veiled in a mist of tears that did not fall. (So I see it— she told me no more than that she was near crying). "I couldn't send for him," she murmured. 1 wouldn't send for him. But now he will come, yes, he'll come now." , ^ . • u i,- Carford, driven half-mad by an outburst which hi. own device had caused, moved by whatever of true love he had for her, and by his great rage and jealousy acrainst me, fairly ran at her and caught her by the wrist -Why do you talk of him? Do you love him?" he said, from between clenched teeth. The Device of Lord Carford. have seen just you love him?" 3«9 Thfn'she'^ar/-^^' '^"' '^^^-^"^•^' half-wonderin,. •' Yes." ''Nell Gwyn's lover?" said Carford. as k'came "^ '^''"' ""^ ^ '^^ ^^"^^^ ^^^^^^^^ Vou love him ? nelAo'^hfrn fnT^'n'^'^/'" '^^"" '^^ ^'^^ herself word '• she cried """"^^^.V'Tl " ^^' ^ ^•°''^' "°^ ^ rlnn'f f ! r ' ^°" ^ ^"^w what you arc I don t trust you ; forgive me, forgive me • but whit ever you are, for pity's sake, ah^ my dekr lord for" pity s sake, don't tell him. Not a word.^ ' ^°' Carford "°* '^^^^ °^ '^ '° ^' ^^ Fontelles," said seem^edTaTfl'sot"" "^^ '^"°"^' '^>' ^ ^^^^ ^^at do:'fteirsS"on!"^^ M.deFontelles! No, no, but scowY^°'^'' ^'^" ^'"' ^" ^ ^°'^^^ «"^i^^ "glier than a "You love this fellow?" "You have heard." "And he loves you ?" tol> Carford'? .^' I'^'t.^"^ '^T^- ^" ''' «^^"^ed now to le Larford s only hope. Barbara met his frlanrp an instant, and her answer to him was,- ^ '^ Go, go." " He loves you ? " "He loves you?" fh^,^" ^^""^ r"^ '^^''^^- ^^'^ ^ ^hile she said nothing • ?most"alltTel?"'' "°^'^' "^^"^^ ^^^ ^^f^ and ?celi"n|; sw^red.- '"'""'^""^^' «^^"^ed to have gone, she an! " I think not, my lord." 320 Simon Dale* He laughed. " Leave me," she said again, and he, in grace of what manhood there was in him, turned on his heel and went. She stood alone, there on the ter- race. Ah, if God had let me be there ! Then she should not have stood desolate nor flung herself again on the marble seat. Then she should not have wept as though her heart broke, and all the world were empty. If I had been there, not the < old marble should have held her, and for every sweetest tear there should have been a sweeter kiss. Grief should have been drowned in joy, while love leapt to love in the fulness of delight. Alas for pride, breeder of misery ! Not life itself is so long as to give atonement to her for that hour ; though she has said that one moment, a certain moment, was enough. isery ! Not life CR^PTER XXni. A Pkas;.at Penitence. There was this .^reat comfort in the Vicar's societv that, haying once and for all .tatcd the irre tumble proposition which I have recorded, he ct tl e mltte? a^one. Nothing was further from his thoughtr?han n regard to it. To say the truth, and I mean no i,n ^r. "''^'° t'"^ I" '^y''^^ ^'' ^he kair did not greatly engage his thoughts. Had Betty Nasroth dealt with It, the case would doubtless have bein altered anS he would have followed its fortune with a zest as keen sion But the prophecy had stopped short and all that was^ o moment for the Vicar in my caree I"''^ >" ]«^^' war, or State, was finished • I had done and undergone what fate declared ru id demanded thtlTthatThir- " ^'l''' -signation''lndet;'i tn fin^ V ^'^ '""""'^ ^^^'■^ ^^ wondered a little welf fovT-^ ^'"^'"F T°^ ^' ^"- This attitude was very vh e r cfed"ft l'"""^ ^""^. amusement in it eveJ^ mis or unes B.. . ^?"^P^s?d acquiescence in my ^nifS"^^^-"^^ bu/toVr^bldtr^^^^^^^^^^^ ^haWh 1 "'°''^ Im^"^, ^^^^ '^'"^' t° ^^ander by myself about the lanes, while he sat under the porch of his house With a crrppf "olnrv-f- -^n^^ ^„ u- Y OIJ^IS -, .o.ame upen on his knees. The .\l ¥ m r. ■I, 1 322 Simon Dale* book treated of Vaticination in all its branches, and the Vicar read diligently, being so absorbed in his study that he did not heed the approach of feet, and looked up at last with a start. M. de Fontelles stood there, sent on from the inn to the parsonage in the progress of his search for me. " I am called Georges de Fontelles, sir," he be- gan. ** I am the Vicar of this parish, at your service, sir," returned the Vicar, courteously. " I serve the King of France, but have at this time the honour of being employed by his Majesty the King of England." " I trust, sir," observed the Vicar, mildly, ** that the employment is an honour. " Your loyalty should tell you so much." " We are commanded to honour the King, but I read nowhere that we must honour all that the King does." " Such distinctions, sir, lead to disaffection, and even to rebellion," said Fontelles, severely. " I am very glad of it," remarked the Vicar, com- placently. I had told my old friend nothing of what concerned Barbara ; the secret was not mine ; therefore he had nothing against M. de Fontelles ; yet it seemed as though a good quarrel could be found on the score of general principles. It is strange how many men give their heads for them and how few can give a reason ; but God provides every man with a head, and since the stock of brains will not supply all we draw lots for a share in it. Yes, a pretty quarrel prom.ised ; but a moment later, Fontelles, seeing no prospect of sport in falling out with an old man of sacred profession, and amused, in spite of his principles, by the Vicar's whimsical talk, chose to laugh rather than to storm, and said with a chuckle, — W'l I *- ildly, " that the A Pleasant Penitence 323 " Well, kings are like other men." Very hke," agreed the Vicar. "In what can T serve you, sir ? " ^^ ^^" * ;; I seek Mr. Simon Dale," answered Fontelles. with'\^e fad"::?r'? " "^'^^ ''"°" ' ^^^^ ^^^^ y- poor?"'"^ tell that to him. Why do you call him '' ?e has been deluded by a high-soundinsr proohecv t:t:i'i:T,rj. ^^ ^^"^^ •" ^^^^^-^ shoL^iTite saM F:ite?i:s,":[^^ a^Lt ^'^" ' "^^" "'^ "^^^"-'" Vica'r',TighinT ''' '"" '" "'' " '^'^"'" ^^''^ ^^^ ^^^Nor even than one who dies," hazarded the French- Vica^-I'^mlfing' "' ""' ^^ irreligious," implored the dolnVy^^il^VraSe"^'""^^ °^'^'-- ^^"^^"^^ ^^ ;; Yet, sir" said he, "God made the world." Vicar. '' ^' ^""'^ ^ "^""'^^ ^^ "^^ deserve," said the I' He might well have made us bttter, sir." 1 here are very few of us who truly wish it " the Vicar replied. "A man hugs his sin." ^ ' ^ ,. ^ 1 He embrace, sir, is often delightful." FrinTiJi ^ "u^ understand you," said the Vicar, i^ontelles busmess was proceeding but slowly. A man on an errand should not allow himself to ta^ about the universe. But he was recalled to his task a moment later by the sight of my figure a quarter-o a mile away along the road. Within eager excamt Vicar, and rushed off in pursuit. The Vicar, who had JiJ^ no t taken his thumb from his page, opened his book 324 Simon Dale* I again, observing to himself, "A gentleman of some parts, I think." His quarrel with the Vicar had evaporated in the niists of speculation ; Fontclles had no mind to lose his complaint against me in any such manner, but he was a man of ceremony and must needs begin again with me much as he had with the Vicar. Thus ob- taining my opportunity, I cut across his preface, say- ing brusquely, — " Well, I am g\^d that it is the King's employment and not M. de P'errencourt's." He flushed red. " We know what we know, sir," said he. " If you have anything to say against M. de Perrencourt, con- sider me as his friend. Did you cry out to me as I rode last night ? " " Why, yes, and I was a fool there. As for M. de Perrencourt " " If you speak of him, speak with respect, sir. You Know of whom you speak." " Very well. Yet I have held a pistol to his head," said I, not, I confess, without natural pride. Fontelles started, then laughed scornfully. "When he, and Mistress Quinton, and I, were in a boat together," I pursued. "The quci.el then was which of us should escort the lady, he or I, and whether to Calais or to England. And although I should have been her husband had we gone to Calais, yet brought her here." '• You're pleased to talk in riddles." " They're no harder to understand than your errand is to me, sir," I retorted. He mastered his anger with a strong efifort, and in a few words told me his errand, adding that by Car- ford's advice he came to me. " For I am told, sir, that you have some power with the lady." !•'<> 1 eman of some iporated in the o mind to lose nanner, but he ds begin again car. Thus ob- is preface, say- ;'s employment 1 he. "If you rrencourt, con- )ut to me as I As for M. de pect, sir. You 1 to his head," ride, fully. id I, were in a Rii'el then was he or I, and id although I jone to Calais, in your errand effort, and in : that by Car- me power with A Pleasant Penitence 325 I looked full and intently in his face. He met my gaze unflmchmgly. There was a green bank by the roadside ; I seated myself ; he would not sit. but stood opposite to me. ';l will tell you, sir, the nature of the errand on which you come.- said I, and started on the task wi^h all the plainness of language that the matter required and my temper enjoyed. 4""cu n.inf !lf^u^ me without a word, with hardly a move- ment of his body ; his eyes never left mine all the while I was speaking. I think there was a sympathy between us, so that soon I knew that he was honest, while he did not doubt my truth. His face grew hard and stern as he hstened ; he perceived now the part he had been sent to play. He asked me but one question when I had ended,— " My Lord Carford knew all this?" " Yes, all of it " said I. " He was privy to all that passed. Engaged in talk, we had not noticed the Vicar's ap- proach. He was at my elbow before I saw him ; the large book was under his arm. Fontelles turned ^o him with a bow. " Sir," said he, " you were right just now." "Concerning the prophecy, sir?" " No, concerning the employment of kings," an- swered M. de Fontelles. Then he said to me, " We }Y;!^/"eet again, before I take leave of your village " With this he set off at a round pace down the road. I did not doubt that he went to seek Mistress Barbara, and ask her pardon. I let him ^^o ; he would not hurt her now. I rose myself from the green bank, for I also had work to do. " Will you walk with me, Simon ? " asked the Vicar. * Your pardon, sir, but I am occupied." " Will it not wait ? " 1 u^J^ ii_-i QcSiJc tiiUL ic snouiu. -iS.;^'. '^C£Bt!iS»S2Cra i I ji It ■ ! :if i 1 i .iii i' ! * 1 : w 1 I 1:1 t 326 Simon Dale* For now that Fontelles was out of the way, Carford alone remained. Barbara had not sent for me, but still I served her, and to some profit: It was now afternoon and I set out at once on my way to the Manor. I did not know what had passed between Barbara and Carford, nor how his passion had been stirred by her avowal of love for me, but I con- jectured that on learning how his plan of embroiling me with Fontelles had failed, he would lose no time in making another effort. Fontelles must have walked briskly, for I, although I ^id not loiter on the road, never came in sight of him, and the long avenue was empty when I passed the gates. It is strange that it did not occur to my mind that the clue to the Frenchman's haste was to be found in his last question ; no doubt he would make his excuses to Mistress Quinton in good time, but it was not that intention which le t his feet wings. His errand was the same as my ov ■ he sought Carford, not Barbara, even as I. He f ^und what he sought, I what I did not seek, but what, once found, I could not pass by. She was walking near the avenue, but on the grass behind the trees. J. caught a glimpse of her gown through the leaves and my quick steps were stayed as though by one of the potent spells that the Vicar loved to read about. For a moment or two I stood there motionless ; then I turned and walked slowly towards her. She saw me a few yards off and it seemed as though she would fly. But in the end she faced me proudly ; her eyes wer^ ery sad and I thought that she had been weep- .... , as I approached she thrust something — it looked 'ikr» ^.etter — into the bosom of her gown, as if in ler.:-^ lest I should see it. I made her a low bow. " I trust, madame," said I, "that my lady mends? " " I thank you, yes, although slowly." lady mends ? " A Pleasant Penitence 327 ^^^ And that you have taken no harm from your jour- ' I thank you, none." .. .'h~S,T ftp's f ?"■ "• «'"' '•■>" 1" .pu mustn t see Lord Carford." ' ' vVhy not ? I asked. " Re won't h„rf »>.« r. . least he should no, if n,y s^^rVcou d'sTop ht "°^ "' and flu'sri red!- '' '"-'' '^ "°' '"^V' she''.:^:„ured, " Well then, I will seek him." ' No, no, no," cried Barbara, in a passion that fear -surely ,t was th n and nothing eIse4nade"mperious I could not under, .nd her, fo?I knew noth^fof the confession which she had made, but wouldliot for ia'rrl^d him away? "°"^' '''' "^^' ""^^^ ^^ -^^ CaSs wr ■h''''M M"^. "' V^ ^^""^^ "^^ ^^°"^ Lord - iSf" I L ^ ^•'^''^' ^^^^^^ scornfully, eyes '"^ ' persistently refusing to meet my ;; What is he doing here ? " I asked ^^ He desires to conduct me to my father." My God, you won't go with him ^" For the fraction of a moment her dark eyes met mine, then turned away in confusion. ^ ^^ J^mean,' said I, " is it wise to go with him ?" ^-x course you meant that," murmured Barbara m^ li 'ill' m yA- s i 328 Simon Dale* " M. de Fontelles will troubl .. you no more," I remarked, in a tone as calm as though I stated the price of wheat ; indeed much calmer than such a vital matter was w )at to lot mand at our village inn. " What ? "^ she cried. " He will not ? " " He didn't know the trudi. 1 have told hiin. He is an honourable gentleman. ' that also, Simon ? " She came a Barbara fell back I bowed with " You've done step nearer me. " Ii was nothing to do," said I BPain, " Yet I am obliged to you," said she. careful courtesy. Why tell these silly things ? Every man has such in his life. Yet each counts his own memory a rare treasure, and it will not be denied utterance. *' I had best seek my Lord Carford," said I, more for lack of another thing to say than because there was need to say that. " I pray you — " cried Barbara, again in a marked agi- tation. It was a fair soft evening ; a breeze stirred the tree- tops, and I could scarce tell when the wind whispered and when Barbara spoke, so like were the caressing sounds. She was very different from the lady of our journey, yet like to her who had for a moment spoken to me from her chamber-door at Canterbury. "You haven't sent for me," I said, in a low voice. " I suppose you have no need of me ? " She made me no answer. " Why did you fling my guinea in the sea? " I said, and paused. " Why did you use me so on " Why haven't you sent for n She seemed to have nc n*^. que, ns. There was not' the desire of escape. Yei ■ ' *:'. way ? " I asked. I whispered. ■^r for any of these \a her eyes now save did not dismiss me. no more." I I stated the in such a vital age inn. ?" old h;in. He She came a bara fell back I bowed with man has such [lemory a rare ince. lid I, more for ise there was I a marked agi- irred the tree- ind whispered the caressing le lady of our oment spoken »ury. 1 a low voice. : sea ? " I said, ? " I asked, v^hispered. any of these tyes now save t dismiss me. A Pleasant Penitence. 329 and without dismissal I would not go. I had for- gotten Carford and the angry Frenchman, my qua ?el out "thlt"!^.^^' ?"' ^7 ^^"^ ^° ^^' bosom and drew h"de there L?'"'" ""^ ^'P'" ^^''^ ^ ^^^ '^'^ her nide there. Before my eyes she read, or seemed to hind Tif ' T^ ''^' "^^ ? '' ' ^hen she sh" he' nand on it. In a moment I was by her, very close • I looked full in her eyes and they fled behind cover' nerside. What had I to lose? Was I not alreadv banned for forwardness ? I would be fomard stlu and justify the sentence by an after crime I took roi"eTi"%ur no" H°l' ^^ "'"^' ^^^ started.'and The f.,^ff .• ?"" '''^"^'^ ^^"'^ ^"^ she did not fly. not v^; . ' °[^°^'"g victo'-y moved in my blood sendrth'n ""!,"' ^"' "^^ '° ^"°^^ that win you wH cause it TrfHll%-'"^!! ^".^'^"Itation, more sweet be- cause It IS still timid. I watched her face— it was very pale-and again took her hand. The lids of he? eyes rose now an instant, and disclosed entreaty I was ruthless; our hearts are strange, and cruelty or the desire of mastery mingled with live in my til t' ened grasp. One by one I bent her fingers b^ck • tlf: andtv.P'Pw Y ^" \P"^"^ '^^' ^^' streaked ti d and white. With one hand still I held hers, with the other I spread out the paper. '' You mustn' 7ead t ' ' h.L'^KTrM "^^' >^°" "^"^^"'t read it." I pafd no heed but held it up. A low exclamation of wonder broke from me. The scrawl that I had seen at Canter buo^ now met me again, plain and unmistakable infts laborious awkwardness. " In pay for your da-ger " ? Ndl'fl^'^T. ^T fi-e --rds'^the bounds o mZoJu^^t V^^ had seemed to say much in that narrow limit : and much she said now. ■1 I 330 Simon Dale* There was long silence between us; my eyes were intent on her veiled eyes. " You needed this to tell you ? I said, at last. " You loved her, Simon." I would not allow the plea. Shall not a thing that has become out of all reason to a man's own self, thereby blazon its absurdity to the whole world? "So long ago!" I cried, scornfully. " Nay, not so long ago," she murmured, with a note of resentment in her voice. Even then we might have fallen out ; we were m an ace of it, for I most brutally put this question,— • " You waited here for me to pass ? " I would have given my ears not to have said it; what availed that ? A thing said is a thing done, and stands forever amid the irrevocable. For an instant her eyes flashed in anger ; then she flushed suddenly, her lips trembled, her eyes grew dim, yet through the dimness mirth peeped out. " I dared not hope you'd pass, Simon, she whis- pered. " I am the greatest villain in tl e world ! " I cried. " Barbara, you had no thought that I should pass ! " Again came silence. Then I spoke, and softly, — " And you — is it long since you ? " She held out her hands towards me, and in an in- stant was in my arms. First she hid her face, but then drew herself back as far as the circle of my arm allowed. Her dark eyes met mine full and direct in a confession that shamed me but shamed her no more ; her shame was swallowed in the sweet pride of sur- render. , ^ , 1 " Always," said she, " always ; from the first through all ; always, always." It seemed as though she could not speak that word enough. In truth I could scarcely believe it; save when I looked in her eyes, I could not believe it. my eyes were d, at last. 3t a thing that an's own self, le world? ed, with a note we were in an lestion, — • ) have said it; hing done, and For an instant shed suddenly, et through the ion," she whis- orld ! " I cried, hould pass ! " and softly, — :, and in an in- d her face, but ircle of my arm and direct in a d her no more ; t pride of sur- the first through lOUgh she could t ; save when I : it. *r% 'Mi w. ■*». m. DO vol' KHMKMHKR V -I'AliK .^Jl. A Pleasant Penitence* ' m' 331 " But I wouldn't tell you, ' she saiH « T shou d never knmv ^i^ Y ^' ^ swore you you left me P- ^'"'°"' ^° ^^^ remember how Simon, when I flung your^^^^^^^^^^^ ;„ 1? ^"°^'- '^^' have known ! " gumea m the sea you must "On my faith, no," I lauFhed "Trl.VlnV .i. ioye in that, sweethekrt." ^ '^*'^" ^ ^^^ ^^^ " I'm glad there was no woman there f,. f^n what It meant," said Barbari - A n^ ^^^^ ^^^ bury I didn't know %\^ u ?^ ^''^" ''^ Canter- door that night" •• ^"' ^^"' ^""""^ht you to my ' 'o: f:f!:rd &■'"' -^ ' '"""-d her so far." and topped."' ^ ''"'■'' y°" ™i« through the door, 1' ^°" stopped for my voice ; what did I sav > " I herrd"arfta'y^d.?' '°'" "^'^ '"'^^-^^ ' ' ^ '-'' And ;; Ah, why didn't you tell me then ? " .. i.^^^ afraid, sweetheart." J Of what? Of what?" '^^t.^^' P^ >'°"' ^o" iiad been so cruel " launched at me the chiran !.( ? ' . ^^^" ^^^^ .ictment that ...;t:fi/d T^^VS^eT''^' '"^ '"" ul,^r» ^■""'' ''<"■ '"='<"•« my eyes here .ir where we are now, ., my own Manoi^ pa^rV' sa[d'Ba?: 332 Simon Dale. I took my arms from about her, and fell humbly on my knee. • .t • f*. " May I kiss so much as your hand ? said 1, m utter abasement. ^ , . ,, . r She put it suddenly, eagerly, hurriedly, to my lips. '' Why did she write to me ? " she whispered. " Nay, love, I don't know." ^^ " But I know. Simon, she loves you.' "It would afford no reason if she did. And 1 think " , " It would ; and she does, Simon, of course she does." „ " I think rather that she was sorry for " Not for mc ! " cried Barbara, with great vehe- mence. " I will not have her sorry for me ! " " For you ! " I exclaimed, in ridicule. (It does not matter what I had been about to say before.)^^ " For you ! How should she ? She wouldn't dare ! " " No," .aid Barbara. One syllable can hold a world of meaning. •' A thousand times, no ! " cried I. The matter was thus decided. Yet now, in quiet blood and in the secrecy of my own soul, shall I ask wherefore the letter cume from Mistress Gwyn, to whom the shortest letter was no light matter and to let even a humble man go some small sacrifice ? And why did it come to Barbara and not to me ? And why did it not say " Simon, she loves you," rather than the words that I now read, Barbara permitting me : ♦'Pretty fool, he loves you"? Let me not ask; not even now would Barbara bear to think that it was written in pity for her. " Yes, she pitied you and so she wrote, and she loves you," said Barbara, I let it pass. Shall a man never learn wisdom? " Tell me now," e '.d I, '' why I may not see Car- ford?" »| If fell humbly on said I, in utter ily, to my lips, hispcred. M J. ic did. And I , of course she or ith great vehe- r me ! e. (It does not before.) " For I't dare ! " ;an hold a world ;t now, in quiet soul, shall I ask stress Gwyn, to t matter and to sacrifice ? And me? And why ou," rather than permitting me : me not ask; not link that it was )te, and she loves arn wisdom ? nay not see Car- A Pleasant Penitence. 3,, SiZ^r saiTsh™ """' ^"''°''' '"^ -°" - you will, '' At^nlirr- o'Si;'' h'^^San, much puz^kd. ,. A "1" '■■''«''=" '"^l<-' no changes ? " than Icfrntselll-n •■^'^"' ^'"^ ""^'-"y '° die sooner '''?oTtold^W"'r~ , He knew, I told him." softly ..'-Ah V'/^ '°,'^'" him ?" slfe asked herself , "It was mosr;Xndy''hdde"n'"''/r' . v "You were looking in another face" siid <.h. now was not the moment for excuse Ud I W ^ .'roffe^^.'-'n'o^r'-^ ^"<^ wSi-liLr;;;^ Then we determined that Carford must immediately 334 Simon Dale* be sought, and set out for the house with intent to find him. But our progress was very slow, and the moon rose in the skies before we stepped out on to the avenue and came in sight of the house and the terrace. There was so much to tell, so much that had to slough off its old seeming and take on new and radiant apparel, things that she had understood and not I, that I had caught and she missed, wherein both of us had gone astray most lamentably and now stood aghast at our own sightlessness. Therefore never were our feet fairly in movement towards the house, but a sudden — "Do you remember?" gave them pause again ; then came shame tliat I had forgotten or indignation that Barbara should be thought to have forgotten, and in both of these cases the need for ex- piation and so forth. The moon was high in heaven when we stepped into the avenue and came in sight of the terrace. On the instant, with a low cry of surprise and alarm, Barbara caught me by the arm, while she pointed to the terrace. The sight miirht well turn us even from our engrossing interchange of memories. There were terrace, their figures standing out four men on the dense and black against the old grey walls whic- seemed white in the moonlight. Two stood impassive and motionless, with hands at their sides ; at their feet lay what seemed bundles of clothes. The other two were in their shirts; they were opposite one an- other, and their swords were in their hands. I could not doubt the meaning : while love held me idle, anger had lent Fontelles speed ; while I sought to perfect my joy, he had been hot to avenge his wounded honour. I did not know who were the two that watched unless they were servants ; Fontelles' fierce mood would not stand for the niceties of etiquette. Now I could re- cognise the Frenchman's bearing and even see Car- ford's face, although distance hid its expression. I was with intent to / slow, and the Dped out on to house and the 1 much that had ke on new and understood and d, wherein both ' and now stood riierefore never :irds the house, •?" gave them had forgotten :hought to liave he need for ex- high in heaven I came in sight prise and alarm, she pointed to n us even from :s. There were :s standing out ly walls whic-^ stood impassive sides ; at their les. The other Dposite one an- lands. I could d me idle, anger it to perfect my funded honour, t watched unless lood would not Jow I could rc- i oven see Car- A Pleasant Penitence. ^^^t amazed and at a loss vhnt- tr^ Ar. -u i . ^ "My mother lies sick in the house " when,m an mstant, the Fr'enchman lunged CaTford ci.ed out h.s sword dropped from his hand and he fell heavily on the gravel of the terrace The^Pr m"? T^'i ^''''^'"^ ^'^d ^'"^It do n beside hm tl^e oohroM^ '^'l "^.' ^^^"^ '''' P^-^' but stood, wi"h the pomt of his naked sword on the ground, looking at the man who had put an affront on him and whom he had now chastised. The sudden change that too^ me from love's pastimes to a scene so stern, depr ved rne of speech for a moment. I ran to Fontelle^s and jaced him, panting but saying nothing. He turned his eyes on me; they were calm, but shone still with the heat of contest and the sternness of resentment CarforTh ^ """"^ ^"'"^^"^ '^'^^ '^ towards where "My lord there," said he, "knew a thing that hurt my honour, and did not warn me of it.^ He knew that I was mao^e a tool and did not tell me. He knew tliat I was used for base purposes and sought to use me for h.s own also. He has his recompens^c " 1 hen he stepped across to where the green bank sloped down to the terrace, and, falling on one knee wiped his blade on the grass. ' Dression. was .Mi CHAPTER XXIV. A Comedy Before the King-. On the next day but one M. de Fontelles and I took the road together for London. Carford lay be- tween life and death (for the point had pierced his lung) at the inn to which we had carried him ; he could do no more harm and occasion us no uneasiness. On the other hand M. de Fontelles was anxious to seek out the French Ambassador, with whom he was on friendly terms, and enlist his interest ; first, to ex- cuse the abandonment of his mission, and in the sec- ond place, to explain the circumstances of his duel with Carford. In this latter task he asked my aid, since I alone, saving the servants, had been a witness of the encounter, and Fontelles, recognising (now that his rage was past) that he had been wrong to force his opponent to a meeting under such conditions, prayed my testimony to vindicate his reputation. I could not deny him, and moreover, though it grieved me to be absent from Quinton Manor, I felt that Barbara's interests and my own might be well served by a jour- ney to London. No news had come from my lord, and I was eager to see him and bring him over to my side ; the disposition of the King was also a matter of moment and of uncertainty; would he still seek to gain for M. de Perrencourt what that exacting gen- tleman required, or would he now abandon the strug- gle in which his instruments had twice failed him? His Majesty should now be returning from Dover, A Comedy Before the King. )ntelles and I arford lay be- d pierced his ried him ; he no uneasiness, as anxious to whom he was t ; first, to ex- id in the sec- s of his duel isked my aid, Deen a witness ;ing (now that ng to force his litions, prayed ion. I could p^rieved me to hat Barbara's ^ed by a jour- rom my lord, m over to my so a matter of : still seek to exacting gen- Ion the strug- : failed him ? from Dover, 337 him face to face had not weight wUh me for I h? lieved that he had a liking for me and n.tt T J Hi obtam from him better teLs in my own per on ttn bel'/e-rvld rnTsetTJn" ^;"mrc/edi^ \^\^^ '' there was enough of love°„?l<^ngt this h stt"! while I betook myself to the lodging which I h7rl shared with Darrell before we went to Dover T hoped to find him there and renlw ou frTendshin his feet n amazement at the sound of mv name T laughed heartily and flung myself into a Thair s^vin^ ''^How goes the Treaty of Dov.r ? '' ' ^ ^' ^^^^hrL--t-;?^ilJ^1---!,^-£,.^ em;^^a:■d:s.°"!?\!;:;;A:fc,r:e!r■^;h'a"trhte' someth ncr f-n cf.li f " A J -i--^ st-cins rnat i nave edly! I safd, - "^'^'"^ ''"''>' S^od-humour- "What, is there a secret in it ? " •' On mv1!?^''P '^ ^' ""r^ '^^^^ °"t ^^'^ hand, teres ed7 he l.^'l.'''' ^ ^'t'^ ^^"«^^ ^^^ ^^re in- 33S Simon Dale* " On my life," said I, " I'm obliged to you. What of Mile, de Querouaille? " " She has returned with Madame." " But will return without Madame?" " Who knows ? " he asked, with a smile that he could not smother. " God and the King," said I. " What of M. de Per- rencourt ? " " Your tongue's hung so loose, Simon, tha^ one day it'll hang you tight." '* Enough, enough. What then of Phineas Tate ? " " He is on board ship on his way to the plantations. He'll find plenty to preach to there." *' What ! Why, there's never a Papist sent now ! He'll mope to death. What of the Duke of Mon- mouth ? " ** He has found out Carford." "He has? Then he has found out the Secretary also ? " " There is indeed a distance between his Grace and my lord," Darrcll admitted. " When rogues fall out ! A fine saying that, Dar- rell. And what of the King ? " " My lord tells me that the King swears he won't sleep o' nights till he has laid a certain troublesome fellow by the heels." " And where is that same troublesome fellow ? " " So near me that, did I serve the King as I ought, Robert would now be on his way with news for my Lord Arlington." " Then his Majesty's sentiments are mighty unkind towards me? Be at peace, Darrell. I am come to London to seek him." " To seek him ? Are you mad ? You'll follow Phineas Tate ! " " But I have a boon to ask of the King. I desire him to use his good offices with my Lord Quintou. n,\ to you. What the Secretary You'll follow 'ing. I desire ^ord Quintoii. A Comedy Before the King* 339 For I am hardly a fit match for my lord's daughter and yet I would make her my wife.'' aaugnter, "I wonder," observed Darrell "thaf Tm.. c?«, who, being a heretic, must go to hell when^ou di^'aTe not more careful of your lift." ^ ' ^ Then we both fell to laughing. "Another thing brings me to* London " I pursued I must see Mistress Gvvyn." pursued. He raised his hands over his head. t 111 up the measure," said he. " The Kino- knows , you came to London with her and ,• - J ^ Knows that than all the rest" "^""'^ "^"'^^ed at '' Wh V nn ^'c;"^^'^ '"^^ happened on the journey?" iustZ^' Th 'T"' T^'"^ ^"'"''^*^^- " ^^'^ "^^"er is rthefourney!"'''"^ '°" "°^ ^^'"°" ^'^^^ ^-PP--d "He must learn it," I declared. "To-morrow tmi seek Mistress Gwyn. You shall send Robrt to take her pleasure as to the hour when I shall wait on her.'' bhe s in a fury w ith the King, as he with her." Un what account?" 1^' Already, friend Simon, you're too wise!" By heaven I know ! It's because Mile, de Querou- aille is so good a Catholic ? " V^crou Darrell had no denial ready. He shrugged his shoulders and sat silent ^^ ten^t"nn'f °"f^ ^ ^'"1'°^^ ^^^'^'-^^^ ^^^^ it was my in- tent.on to ask an audience from the King, I had not disclosed my purpose of seeing Mistress Nell. Yet it sTe h^H 'J" ""^ n^'"^l-for courtesy's sake. Of a truth thr, ^f.'^"'"' '"'^ g'-^^'^t service. Was I to take it as though ,f were my right, with never a word of thanks ? ..uiios ty -^Isc drew me, and that attraction which she Pat"2''h^' "'' '"J"' "V '''^'''- ^°^ ^-^"y ^-^ -h-e not% r tn.n ""Tf- ^ '''''' ^"'•^ ^^ "^y^^'^' ^"d did Twen in f ne- - ""'^ "^^ "°'.^^^^^ '" --' -^^ I's ot excitement, t lie ost of old Ilf 340 Simon Dale* feelings dead but not forgotten. When a man has loved, and sees her whom he loves no more, he will not be indifferent ; angry he may be, or scornful, amused he may be, and he should be tender ; but it will not be as though he had not loved. Yet I had put a terrible affront on her, and it might be that she would not receive me. As I live, I believe that but for one thing she would not. That turned her, by its appeal to her humour. When I came to the house in Chelsea, I was con- ducted into a small ante-chamber, and there waited long. There were voices speaking in the next room, but I could not hear their speech. Yet I knew Nell's voice ; it had for me always— aye, still — echoes of the past. But now there was something which barred its way to my heart. The door in front of me opened, and she was in the room with me. There she was, curtseying low in mock obeisance and smiling whimsically. " A bold man ! " she cried. " What brines vou here? Art not afraid ? " "Afraid that I am not welcome, yet not afraid to come." " A taunt wrapped in civility ! I do not love it." " Mistress Nell, I came to thank you for the ^rreat- est kindness " ^ H.."-^^ ^^ be kindness to help you to a fool!" said Mistress Nell. - What, besides your thanks to me, brmgs you to town ? " I must forgive her the style in which she spoke of Barbara. I answered with a smile, "I must see the King. I don't' know his purposes ' about me. Besides, I desire that he should help me to my — fool." ^ " If you're wise you'll keep out of his sight." Then she began to laugh. " Nay, but I don't know," said she. Then with a swift movement she was by me. A Comedy Before the King. :; Asyou wi„. wfars7alt-;r„7;^J,V.>''"^'^'^''- very sm^Jtlf"",; S'^ot^r'' "r™""' ^"^ '-^ '•-' tl.at I needn't t?y' at,,- ° y""' ', ■'.'r'rmber so well lady of ^vhom they sptak '• '"" ""^ ""'" F'''^"':'' ;:l'*'\F^f"':hlady! God forbid!" away then ! " ''' ' "''<=="■ y°" tried to run tatl,'n%'" "°' P^''"""='' ^= "'- best cure for temp- ,, J^esides the Km- and Mademoiselle ! " ■•M;s^if''b;7hT„t%^r-Part." It7l-Lys°eif..>''''^' ^''°"''' y- "o in the play? ■•' Vr!!f ' ^"rV ' ''"■S°' >'°"' Mistress Neil.- mMmmmm "Indeed I can think of none equal to it." ment nf ^^ . ■ "°,'' °PP°s>te to me. the embodi- 1' r' ;™ ^^'■y dull," I confessed, dull, savf to o,:: Z:Z, and^h^TstTrk^d'^ f ™^^ r trJ::;i?5.?" ■•-■-'- f- ,-::fc%o'uTo:; 342 Simon Dale* At the moment she spoke the handle of the door turned. Again it turned and was rattled. " I locked it," whispered Nell, her eyes full of mis- chief. , ,, ^ • ^ J Again and most impatiently the handle was twisted to and fro. " Pat, pat, how pat he comes ! " she whispered. A last loud rattle followed, then a voice cried m an- ger, "Open it, Ibid you open it." ''God help us!" 1 exclaimed, in sad perplexity. "It's the King?" . ^ . "Yes, it's the King, and, Simon, the piece begins. Look as terrified as you can. It's the King." "Open, I say, open!" cried the King, with a^thun- dering knock. I understood now that he had been in the other room, and that she had left his society to come to me ; but I understood dimly only why she had locked the door, and why she now was so slow in opening it. Yet I set my wits to work, and for further aid watched her closely. She was worth the watching. Without aid of paints or powders, of scene or theatre, she transformed her air, her manner, aye, her face also. Alarm and terror showed in her eyes as she stole in fearful fashion across the room, unlocked the door and drew it open, herself standing by it, stiff and rigid in what seemed shame or consternation. The agita- tion she feigned found some reality in me. I was not ready for the thing, although I had been warned by the voice outside. When the King stood in the door- way, I wished myself a thousand miles away. The King was silent for several moments; he seemed to me to repress a passion which, let loose, might hurry him to violence. When he spoke, he was smiling ironically and his voice was calm. " How comes this gentleman here?" he asked. The terror that Nell had so artfully assumed she e of the door i. es full of mis- le was twisted ^lispered. ice cried in an- ad perplexity. ; piece begins. Cing. r, with a thun- in the other come to me ; lad locked the in opening it. cr aid watched ling. Without )r theatre, she her face also, as she stole in eked the door :, stiff and rigid )n. The agita- me. I was not leen warned by )od in the door- away. moments ; he ■hich, let loose, 1 he spoke, he .s calm. he asked. Iv assumed she A Comedy Before the King. 343 appeared now, with eaual arf f^ a^c She a,,.wered i im,wiur,ty"c;rpol 1 °' '°"'^""- aske^ ^' 1 " T ' ■"'■• ^--"^ b^ here, Sir > " she asked, ^^ Ami to see no friends? Am' I to live aH ',[ ¥■'■ ^."K ''* "° friend of mine " ^^4:^.?oSi---:^e-r:l's-r^^i.„ ^Z .^f^',;Sl„t; ;—-.,-, farewell -. to bW I,:" h?ewen "";''l ""'t"'" f"^' " ^' ^ad come in the eomS""' rhefef C Sr H°\™™ V" ^"'^ u V ^i' ^ "^^^^ understood her answer. ^ easyl'gir "' ^^"^^' "^•■^^--'" ^- -i<^^ with an un- '' wl?h°^^ ^?° T'^ already," she flashed back. With me? he asked, and was answered bv a sweepmg curtsey and a scornful smile. ^ if h.f " '^ ^^"^"^ "'''"' ^'- ^^^^'" said he. " I knew It before and am now most convinced of it " I, sincerdy' '''^''' '"^ ""'"' ^^"'^ ^^^J^^^^ ^''<' '^'^^ ^jj';.^ don't mean that. You're bold to come here at "Mistress Gwyn is very kind to me." said I I directed a timid yet amorous glance at Nell The gance reached Nell, but on its way it struck the Kine nowTnym'n"' ""J ^-^J'^- J^ey .said, but he frown ed lauehter t"^ f T}^' 1^"" ^''^'^'^ '""'^ ^"dden mefntTo to'souTd."'^^' '°"^' ^"' ""^^^- '' -- l^^fl" .?!^^">"^-^': ^^^'^ «he, '' Simon and I. We were friends before wa- what I a II!. w c re stiii 344 Simon Dale* friends, now that I am what I am. Mr. Dale escorted me from Dover to London." " He is an attentive squire," sneered the King. " Ho hardly left my side," said Noll. " You were hampered with a companion." " Of a truth I hardly noticed it," cried iVelly, with man-nificent falsehood. I seconded hei efforts with a shrug and a cunning smile. "I begin to understand," said the King. "And when my farewell has been said, what then ? " " I thought that it had been said half-an-hour ago," she exclaimed. " Wasn't it ? " " You were anxious to hear it, and so seemed to hear it," said he, uneasily. She turned to me with a grave face and tender eyes. " Didn't I tell you here, just now, how the King parted from me ? " i was to take the stage now, it seemed. "Aye, you told me," said I, playing the agitated lover as best I could. " You told me that — that — but I cannot speak before his Majesty." And I ended in a most rare confusion. " Speak, sir," he commanded, harshly and curtly. " You told me," said I, in low tones, " that the King left you. And I said I was no king, but that you need not be left alone." My eyes fell to the ground in pretended fear. The swiftest glance from Nell applauded me. I would have been sorry for him and ashamed for my- self had I not remembered M. de Perrencourt and our voyage to Calais. In that thought I steeled myself to hardness, and bade conscience be still. A long silence followed. Then the King drew near to Nell. With a rare stroke of skill she seemed to shrink away from him and edged towards me, as though she would take refuge in my arms from his anger or his coldness. A Comedy Before the King. so seemed to 34S "Come I've never hurt you, Nellv " .snM i,„ Alas, that art should oulstr p „a „'„ l N . I .seen portrayed so finely f ,7rc?int^'' „?'T'' ','='^« that, however grratlv wounH, ,^ rcsentrnent of a love in turning away lon^st?, »,?,„' f "" '°^'-'. that, even forbidding and^' il,°Tfu's!n7 tlXT '''" ''" :r L-n .K.1 ^"" -">' --^"-r^^rr fy:: to::ffrLTios:£ette^'::f--ed -^/sayi^y.VVyTe^a^rusniri''^- ^'>- ''-"-d to sudd'e„ly"forwarJ "aulht^'n "'I'^'f' ^"' ^'" »P""g faced the King ^ "^ ''^"^' «"d' folding it, with"h1n?''"''°«°' "'■ " y°" =^"d him away, I'll go him and now "as the tf^t ofT'" '°' ^" P°^^" °«? n.;-^"ori It.-^nVuriti'"^ '-^ - - -» as seemed'htll^test wrath ''h'"/''^ "''''' <" -"at a smile bcntliriips aga?J "'' ''■°"" P^^^'^"^d, but feiytfo?:':':orhj'rg:;;i'^'r„'Y/° "^="" -•'1'=' yougo, Butwil,you^"£-eto':Sertr:^^^^^ I bowed low. presfnfe'for'aS?'" ' "™" ^°" ^'^-^ °- ^o^tess' I bowed again. "NaVb:rNirytc'''°rii'""''^i^"- - ' '^' >^°" "'". said he, smiimg now. ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT.3) 1.0 U& wmm 1.1 lit 1.25 1.4 i 2.2 2.0 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 '^ Ui 346 Simon Dale* lA., i "Come, I'm old and mighty ugly, and Mr. Dale is a strapping fellow. You must be kind to the unfortu- nate, Nelly." She was holding my hand still. The King took hers. Very slowly and reluctantly she let him draw her away. I did what seemed best to do ; I sighed very heavily and plaintively, and bowed in sad submission. " Wait till we return," said the King, and his tone was kind. They passed out together, and I, laughing yet ashamed to laugh, flung myself in a chair. She would not keep him for herself alone — nay, as all the world knows, she made but a drawn battle of it with the Frenchwoman — but the disaster and utter defeat which had threatened her she had averted, jealousy had achieved what love could not ; he would not let her go now, when another's arms ^eemed open for her. To this success I had helped her. On my life, I was glad to have helped her. But I did not yet see how I had helped my own cause. I was long in the room alone, and though the King had bidden me await his return, he did not come again. Nell came alone, laughing, radiant, and triumphant; she caught me by both hands, and swiftly, suddenly, before i knew, kissed me on the cheek. Nay, come, let me be honest; I knew a short moment before, but on my honour I could not avoid it courteously. " We've won," she cried. " I have what I desire, and you, Sinion, are to seek him at Whitehall. He has forgiven you all your sii.s and — yes, he'll give you what favour you ask. lie has pledged his word to me." " Does he know what I shall ask ? " " No, no, not yet. Oh, that I could see his face ! Don't spare him, Simon. Tell him— why, tell him all the truth — every word of it, the stark bare truth." " How shall I say it ? " " Why, that you love, and have ever loved, and will Mr. Dale is a to the unfortu- King took hers, him draw her I sighed very- sad submission. g, and his tone , laughing yet lir. She would as all the world of it with the i utter defeat erted, jealousy : would not let ;d open for her. I my life, I was it yet see how I ough the King not come again, id triumphant; 'iftly, suddenly, k. Nay, come, lent before, but rteously. : what I desire, Whitehall. He s, he'll give you his word tome." d see his face ! vhy, tell hini all bare truth." r loved, and will A Comedy Before the King, 347 ever love Mistress Barbara Quinton, and that you love cared'th^n"- "'"f ' ^""^' ^"^ ^'^'^ "^^^^ loved! no, nor Is that the whole truth ? " said I She vvas holding my hands stiH, she pressed them now and sighed lightly. pi«-bbca inem "Vvhy, yes it's the whole truth. Let it be the livetwri^e' T^^ '''"^ T'""'' ^'-^ ^ --one Hved when he s dead, or once loved when he loves no " You'llT'' ^f ^''? "'°''" '^"" '' ^••"^'" '^'^^ I- iouJl be ashamed to say anything- else " she whispered, looking up in my face. ^ ' ^^ kisse^Ter ifand.""^' ''" "^^ ^^'^"^^^'" ^^^ '' -^ I "You're not?" " No, not a whit. I think I should be ashamed had my heart never strayed to you." ' " Ah, but you say strayed ' " smnr'^Slf/drT ^"^^^''•''but asked forgiveness with a sm le. She drew her hand sharply away, crying - Go your ways, Simon Dale, go your ways go to your Barbara, and your Hatchstead, and you'^^^dulness and your nghteousness." ^ uuiness "We part in kindness? " I urged ishTv'bn."ir'"' V''°"^^]^ '^'' ^°"Id '^"^^v-er peev. :^' I'ne'a^s^he^epli^d,!^^^^^ ^"' '''^ '--'^' --'-^^ hear^thP !" """ l?vjng-kindness, Simon ; and when you hear the sour gird at me, say— why say, Simon that even a severe gentleman, such as you are once found With all my heart. " Nay, I care not what you sav," she burst out laughing again. " Begone, begone ! I swore to the Be"fnlV" ' "'"^' ^P^^'' '"^' ^^-" woi^TtoVou! 348 Simon Dale* I bowed and turned towards the door. She flew to me suddenly, as if to speak, but hesitated. I waited for her ; at last she spoke, with eyes averted and an unaccustomed embarrassment in i^er air, — "If — if you're not ashamed to speak my name to Mistress Barbara, tell her I wish her well, and pray her to think as kindly of me as she can." "She has much cause to think kindly," said I. " And will therefore think u nkindl y ! Simon, I bid you begone." "' She held out her hand to me, and I kissed it again. ''This time we part for good and all," said she. " I've loved you, and I've hated you, and I have nearly loved you. But it's nothing to be loved by me, who love all the world." " Nay, it's something," said I. " Fare you well." I passed out, but turned to find her eyes on me. She was laughing and nodding her head, swaying to and fro on her feet as her manner was. She blew me a kiss from her lips. So I went, and my life knew her no more. But when the strict rail on t' rs, I guard my tongue for the sake of Nelly and the last kiss she gave me on my cheek. CHAPTER XXV. The Mind of M. dc Fontellcs. fessas before ftirifk th n rad"L":7f Madt'e^- missed with a sVul'a!,'rTi;e':L"'.her'o", I^^.tS soon M.I.°'h 'n ^V" of wagers was whetlier or how soon Mile, de Querouaille would return to the shored kmedcur7os,-trr n ','"." Y'' '" ""' distastr„Tw Kiiea curiosity; I pushed along as fast as the throne ot them all as soon as I could. My part there was behmd me; the prophecy was fulfilled, and m v an^W- scene of the comedy which I was to play with thf Kmg; I was amused also to see how thoseVhom I knew to be .n the confidence of the Duke 0° YmkTnd Jn^i'Tr ^y'^ ""^ *'"> •"■■"Sled fear and wariness and hid distrust under a most deferential dvhtv They knew, it seemed, that I had guessed the r secrets' the Krnj'f f»'''' °' V","8"'-- °' ■■" their assault upon oeLe ^I„ r'- ,^ '°"eed to say to them, " Be at peace._ In an hour from now you will see my face no 35© Simon Dale* to their own puppet, grow ^^H' Wt^ 1 ; . A ^^^^^B: '^^^^|H ! tt ^H . I^H- j it T] 1 . The King sat in his chair, alone save for one gen- tleman who stood beside him. I knew the Earl of Rochester well by repute, and had been before now in the same company, although, as it chanced, I had never yet spoken with him. I looked for the King's brother and for Monmouth, but neither was to be seen. Having procured a gentleman to advise the King of my presence, I was rewarded by being beck- oned to approach immediately. But when he had brought me there, he gave me no more than a smile, and, motioning me to stand by him, continued his conversation with my Lord Rochester and his caresses of the little dog on his lap. " In defining it as the device by which the weak intimidate the strong," observed Rochester, " the philosopher declared the purpose of virtue rather than its ef.ct. For the strong are not intimidated, while the weak, falling slaves more helpless still." " It's a just retribution on them," said the King, ** for having invented a thing so tiresome." ^ " In truth, Sir, all these things that make virtue are given a man for his profit and that he may not go empty-handed into the mart of the world. He has stuff for barter ; he can give honour for pleasure, morality for money, religion for power." The King raised his brows and smiled again, but made no remark. Rochester bowed courteously to me, as he added, — " Is it not as I say, sir ? " and awaited my reply. " It's better still, my lord," I answered. " For he can make these bargains you speak of, and, by not keeping them, have his basket still full for another deal." Again the King smiled, as he patted his dog. " Very just, sir, very just," nodded Rochester, [lus by breaking a villainous bargain he is twice a ; for one gen- IV the Earl of n before now :hanced, I had for the King's ler was to be to advise the y being beck- when he had i than a smile, continued his id his caresses lich the weak Chester, " the Lie rather than lidated, while puppet, grow •id the King, ike virtue are le may not go )rld. He has for pleasure, :d again, but ourteously to my reply. ;d. " For he , and, by not I for another is dog. i Rochester, he is twice a The Mind of M. dc FontcUcs. 35 1 villain, and preserves his reputation to aid him in the "^ u*"! ^"^^^"^1 cheating of his neighbour." ''And the damning of his own soul," said the Kine softly. *»* "Your Majest> is Defender of the Faith. I will not meddle with your high office," said Rochester with a laugh. " For my own part I suffer from a hurtful sincerity ; being known for a rogue by all the town I am become the most harmless fellow in your Majesty s dominions. As Mr. Dale here says— I have the honour of being acquainted with your name, sir— my basket is empty and no man will deal with me." Ihere are women left you," said the King. «Ai!l*^ more expense than profit," sighed the Earl. Although indeed the kind creatures will most read- liy give for nothing what is worth as much." » •" u *^^' *^^^ ^""^ °^ ^^^ matter," said the King is that he who refuses no bargain however iniquitous and performs none however binding " ''Is a king among men. Sir," interposed Rochester Whitehdr' ' " ^''''" ^^ ^°"'' Majesty is here in " And by the same title ? " "Aye, the same Right Divine. What tliink you of my reasoning, Mr. Dale ? " ^ " I do not know, my lord, whence you came by It, unless the Devil has published a tract on the matter." " Nay, he has but circulated it among his friends " laughed Rochester. " For he is in no need of money froni the booksellers since he has a grant from God of the Customs of the world for his support." "The King must have the Customs," smiled Charles. " I have them here in England. But the smugglers cheat me." "And the penitents him. Sir. Faith, these Holy Churches run queer cargoes past his officers— or so 3S> Simon Dale* they say," ami with another bow to the King, and one of equal courtesy to me, he turned away and mingled in the crowd that walked to and fro. The King sat some while silent, lazily pulling the ^°?f,?.?^^ ^'f^' ^'^ ^"^^'■^- Then he looked up at me. ;'\yild talk, Mr. Dale," said he, "yet perhaps not all without a meaning." "There's meaning enough, Sir. It's not that I miss. " No, but perhaps you do. I have made many bar- gains ;^ you don't praise all of them ? " " It's not for me to judge the King's actions." " I wish every man were as charitable, or as dutiful But— shall I empty my basket ? You know of some of my bargains. The basket is not emptied yet." I looked full in his face ; he did not avoid my re- gard, but sat there smiling in a bitter amusement. "You are the man of reservations," said he "I remember them. Be at peace and hold your place tor listen to me, Mr. Dale." *• I ani listening to your Majesty's words." " It will be time enough for you to open your mouth when I empty my basket." His words, and even more the tone in which he spoke and the significant glance of his eyes, declared his meaning. The bargain that I knew of I need not betray nor denounce till he fulfilled it. When would he fulfil It ? He would not empty his basket, but still have something to give when he dealt with the King of France. I wondered that he should speak to me so openly ; he knew that I wondered, yet, thoueh his smile was bitter, he smiled still. I bowed to him and answered, — !!i^"^,"° ^^^^^'■' ^^^' °^ matters too great for me." •• That's well. I know you for a gentleman of great discretion, and I desire to serve you. You have some- thing to ask of me, Mr. Dale ? " e King, and one ay and mingled zily pulling the 3oked up at me. et perhaps not [fs not that I nade many bar- actions." ^\ or as dutiful, know of some ptied yet." t avoid my re- musement. said he. " I •Id your place. )rds." en your mouth e in which he eyes, declared of I need not When would is basket, but dealt with the lould speak to d, yet, though reat for me." ieman of great bu have some- Thc Mind of M. de FontcUes. 353 '• It is no more than your Majesty's favour for mv efTorts to win the woman whom I love " ^ He started a little, and for the first' time in all the conversation ceased to fondle the little d^/ she We Tou?" "''" ^°" ^°^^ ^ ^^"' ^^' -"^ does " She has told me so. Sir." kno3 U "sTady f"^'^ ""'^' >^°" *° ^^^-- 't- ^o I ^^•' Very well, Sir," I answered, in a ve^^ significant ...f!^ ^^u '''"'^^^ perturbed. A man come to his years vyill see a ready rival in every youtrhowever little other attraction there may be But perhrori had reated him too freely already : and nont^u'sed I n I •'^°"t^'^ ^!^P "P ^^^ Je^t no longer. Once, Sir, I said, "for a while I loved where the King loved, even as I drank of his cup." ^ I know, Mr. Dale. But you say 'once.' ' " It is gone by, sir." ^ •' But yesterday ? " he exclaimed, abruptly. her e'ff:r"sV:di;/'''"^''^"' ^'''^ ^"^ ' ^^^ ' — ^ed He did not answer for a moment, but bejran a^ain to play with the dog. Then raising his eycf t"o 'r^^e ^^j You were well enough ; she played divinely, Mr. " She played for life, Sir." h.**^^^^' poor Nelly loves me," said he," softly. "I had been cruel to her But I won't weary you with mv affairs. What would vn„ ? " ^ ^ "" you Mistress Gwyn, Sir, has been very kind to me. 354 Simon Dale* " So I believe," remarked the King. " But my heart, Sir, is and now has been for long irrevocably set on another." "On my faith, Mr. Dale, and speaking as one man to another, I'm glad to hear it. Was it so at Canter- bury ? " •' More than ever before, Sir. For she was there and " " I know she was there." " Nay, Sir, I mean the other, her whom I love, her whom I now woo. I mean Mistress Barbara Quinton, Sir." The King looked down and frowned ; he patted his dog, he looked up again, frowning still. Then a queer smile bent his lips and he said in a voice which was most grave, for all his smile, — "You remember M. de Perrencourt ?" " I remember M. de Perrencourt very well, Sir." " It was by his choice, not mine, Mr. Dale, that you set out for Calais." " So I understood at the time. Sir." "And he is believed, both by himself and others, to choose his men — perhaps you will allow me to say his instruments, Mr. Dale— better than any Prince in Christendom. So you would wed Mistress Quinton ? Well, sir, she is above your station." " I was to have been made her husband, Sir." " Nay, but she's above your station," he repeated, smiling at my retort, but conceiving that it needed no answer. "She's not above your Majesty's persuasion, or rather, her father is not. She needs none." " You do not err in modesty, Mr. Dale." " How should I, Sir, I who have drunk of the King's cup?" " So that we should be friends? " " And known what the King hid ! " s been for long r she was there tik of the King's The Mind of M. dc FontcUcs. !! A° *^^* ^^ "^"^^ ^^^^^ o*" f^ll torrether? " And loved where the King loved ?" 355 He made no answer to that, but sat silent for a great while. I was conscious that many eyes were on us, m wonder that I was so long with him; in specula- tion on what our business might be. and whence came the favour that gained me such distinction. I paid little heed, for I was seeking to follow the thoughts of the Kmg and hoping that I had won him to my side. I asked only leave to lead a quiet life with her whom I loved, setting a bound at once to my ambi- tion and to the plans which he had made concerning her Nay. I believe that I might have claimed some ho d over him, but I would not. A gentleman may not levy hush-money, however fair the coins seem in I'sa^d^ "^ ^^'^^ ^"^ '"""S^^ '"'P''''^ "'^' ^"^ "To-day I leave the town, Sir, whether I have what 1 ask of you or not; and whether I have what I ask ot you or not I am silent. If your Majesty will not grant it me, yet, in all things that I may be. I am your loyal subject." .^,111 To all this— perhaps it rang too solemn, as the words of a young man are apt to at the moments When his heart is v; )ved— he answered nothinjr, but. looking up with a whimsical smile, said,— "Tell me now; how do you love this Mistress Quinton ? At this I fell suddenly into a fit of shame and bash- tul embarrassment. The assurance that I had gained at Court forsook me. and I was tongue-tied as anv calf-lover. ^ II I— I don't know," I stammered. " Nay, but I grow old. Pray tell me, Mr. Dale," he urged, beginning to laugh at my perturbation. l^or my life I could not; it seems to me that the more a man feels a thing the harder it is for him to ™H>I 356 Simon Dale. utter; sacred things are secret, and the hymn must not be heard save by the deity. The King suddenly bent forward and beckoned. Rochester was passing by, with him now was the Duke of Monmouth. They approached; I bowed ow to the Duke, who returned my salute most cava- • iit-'rly.^ He had small reason to be pleased with me and his brow was puckered. The King seemed to nnd fresh amusement in his son's bearing, but he made no remark on it, and, addressing himself to Rochester, said, — * " Here, my lord, is a young gentleman much en- amoured of a lovely and most chaste maiden. I ask "i u^ u , f^'^ ^°^'-' °^ ^^'^ >«— ^o*" my memory fails— and behold he cannot tell me. In case he doesn't know what it is that he feels, I pray you tell him." Rochester looked at me with an ironical smile. ^ Am I to tell what love is?" he asked. " Aye, with your utmost eloquence," answered the Kmg, laughmg still and pinching his dog's ears Rochester twisted his face in a grimace, and looked appeahngly at the King. "There's no escape ; to-day I am a tyrant," said the Kmg. " Here then, youths," said Rochester, and his face was smoothed into a pensive and gentle expression. l^ove IS madness and the only sanity, delirium and the only truth, blindness and the only vision, folly and the only wisdom. It is " He broke off and *^"?AxJl"P^*'^"^^^' " ^ ^'^""^ forgotten what it is." Why, my lord, you never knew what it is," said the Kmg. "Alone of us here, Mr. Dale knows, and since he cannot tell us, the knowledge is lost to the world. James, have you any news of my friend, M. de Fontelles? " Such news as your Majesty has," answered Mon- mDuth. "And I hear that my Lord Carford will not die. The Mind of M. dc FontcIIes. the hymn must and beckoned, n now was the iched ; I bowed alute most cava- jleased with me Cing seemed to bearing, but he sing himself to r iman much en- maiden. I ask memory fails — :ase he doesn't Du tell him." lical smile. ^ed. answered the og's ears. ace, and looked yrant," said the jr, and his face itle expression. \r, delirium and ly vision, folly : broke off and liat it is." hat it is," said ale knows, and : is lost to the y friend, M. de mswered Mon- arford will not 357 the king.' 'Tde-'^JwilJs" '?'"-^ ^°^ ^^^^ '" -'^ . I I ,V"= K™"'--ni.-in about to kill liimself Sir?- .skcd Rochester, with a„ affected air'orgiLc'con- remember—" "" ^^^^^ ""'^^ ^°"c ^nce, you po^lR^o'i&wUh^^ sorted ^'i^t- J^s-d'ir.^. -• -- de. Monmouth started violently'and turned red. Mis admiration for tlnf in-t . •• • , foundL;- all'hl not^^rbetfLl^d ,'■ "^" DuteT^nmltt ^'"-"""'- -^ -'"-"tl;: be h,s wife, let him take her, in heaven's n-,me r %° as' M^t 7^^!, "^^ '" '" --^h of anotK^r liL he King." ""'""" "'"'' '" '"^ '^"'^ <°^ a Perfect his's^om" '■' "°* ^^""^ ''"' J'"""?" ='=ked the King of Aye, bii, let him have her." he answered, muster- 35^ Simon Dale* I-' I ing a smile. "And I hope soon to see your Court graced by her presence." Well, at that, I, most inadvertently, and by an error in demeanour which I now deplore sincerely, burst into a short sharp laugh. The King turned to me with raised eyebrows. " Pray let us hear the jest, Mr. Dale," said he. " Why, Sir," I answered, " there is no jest. I don't know why I laughed, and I pray your pardon hum- bly." " Yet there was something in your mind," the King insisted. " Then, Sir, if I must say it, it was no more than this : if I would not be married in Calais, neither will I be married in Whitehall." There was a moment's silence. It was broken by Rochester. " I am dull," said he. " I don't understand that observrtion of Mr. Dale's." " That may well be, my lord," said Charles, and he turned to Monmouth, smiling maliciously as he asked, " Are you as dull as my lord here, James, or do you understand what Mr. Dale would say ? " Monmouth's mood hung in the balance between anger and amusement. I had crossed and thwarted his fancy, but it was no more than a fancy. And I had crossed and thwarted M. de Perrencourt's also ; that was balm to his wounds. I do not know that he could have done me harm, and it was as much from a pure liking for him as from any apprehension of his disfavour that I rejoiced when I saw his kindly thoughts triumph and a smile come on his lips. " Plague take the fellow," said he, " I understand him. On my life he's wise ! " I bowed low to him, saying, " J thank your Grace for your understanding." Rochester sighed heavily. see your Court y, and by an error e sincerely, burst ing turned to me le," said he. 3 no jest. I don't our pardon hum- ■ mind," the King 'as no more than !!^alais, neither will [t was broken by t understand that d Charles, and he ously as he asked, [ames, or do you balance between sed and thwarted 1 a fancy. And I errencourt's also ; not know that he is as much from a prehension of his saw his kindly on his lips, e, " I understand thank your Grace The Mind of M. dc FontcIIes. 359 u Jy^^ '^^ wearisome," said he. " Shall we walk ? " You and James shall walk," said the Kin^ "I have yet a word for Mr. Dale." As they went he could find work for you here." hesiUtlon?^ ^""""^ ^^^"^ *° ^"'"^^^ ^'''^' ^^ ^^^ "^y '' The basket will not be emptied," said he in a low M h'T'°"' "°^''- ''^^ ^'^^ ^^ ^^P^i-^d nei her for M. de Perrencourt nor for the King of France You look very hard at n Mr. Dale,^but you needn'" search my face so closely. I will Jell you wharyou desire to know. I have had my price, but I do not empty my basket." Having said this, he sat leaning IS head on his hands with his eyes casi up at me TrL"-^ under his swarthy bushy brows There was a long silence then between us. For myself I do not deny that youthful ambition agahi cried to me to take his offer, while pride told me fhat even at Whitehall I could guard my honour^nd al that was mine. I could serve him ; since he told me ^is secrets, he must and would serve me. And he had in the end dealt fairly and kindly with me. .1, • King struck his right hand on the arm of his chair suddenly and forcibly. MvL'-!!!^^'^'" '^'"^ ^'' ^''^ ''"^y ''-'"'^ to sit here. My brother has a conscience, how long would he sit iiere? James is a fool, how long would he sit here ? 1 hey laugh at me or snarl at me, but here I sit, and here wil sit till my life's end, by God's grace or the 7u'>^P' My gospel is to sit here." 1 had never before seen him so moved, and never wdri^ k" ^ ^^u"i?'^ °^ ^'' ^'^^'^^ "°^ of the resolve which lay beneath his lightness and frivolity. Whence came that one unswerving resolution I know not ; yet I do_ not think that it stood on nothing better than his indolence and a hatred of going'again on Ts 360 Simon Dale. travels. There was more than that in it ; perhaps he seemed to himself to hold a fort and considered all stratagems and devices well justified against the en- emy. I made him no answer but continued to look at him. His passion passed as quickly as it had come and he was smiling again with his ironical smile as he said to me, — "But my gospel need not be yours. Our paths have crossed, they need not run side by side. Come man, I have spoken to you plainly, speak plainly to me. He paused and then, leaning forward, said,— "Perhaps you are of M. de Fontelles' mind? 'will you join him in his search ? Abandon it ! You had best go to your home and wait. Heaven may one day send you what you desire. Answer me sir Are you of the Frenchman's mind ? " Hi^s voice now had the ring of command in it and I could not but answer. And when I came to answer there was but one thing to say. He had told me the terms of my service. What was it to me that he sat there, if honour and the Kingdom's greatness and all that makes a crown worth the wearing must so, in order to his sitting there? There rose in me at once an inclination towards him and a loathing for the gospel that he preached ; the last was stronger, and. with a bow, I said,— ^ ' "Yes, sir, I am of M. de Fontelles' mind." He heard me, lying back in his chair. He said nothing, but sighed lightly, puckered his brow an instant and smiled. Then he held out his hand to me and I bent and kissed it. " Good-bye Mr. D.le," said he. " I don't know brothe"'^ y°" ^1 h^ve to wait. I'm hale and— so's my He moved his hand in dismissal, and, having with- drawn some paces, I turned and walked away. All observed or seemed to observe me ; I heard whispers L The Mind of M. dc FontcUcs. 36 1 that asked who I was, why the Kinjr had talked so long to me and to what service or hth office I was destined. Acquaintances saluted me and stared fn Sitr trSTh'^f" acknowledgment ^nd d^quick decisive tread that carried me to the door Now having made my choice, I was on fire to be gone y^t This chTrli^i: ^h'^ "^^ ^^^^^^- Kingit?ngs^n mfle on hi'. L 't''''^"^ °" 1^^^ hands and a flight h?ad I hLT. He saw me look, and nodded his Head. I bowed turned again, and was gone. Since then I have not seen him, for the paths that crossed diverged again. Yet, as all men know, he car- ried out his gospel. There he sat till his life's end whether by God's grace or the Devil's help I know Li ^^^V^herehe sat, and never did he empty his basket lest, havmg given all, he should have nothing to carry to market. It is not for me to judge him now ; but then, when I had the choice set before me there m his own palace, I passed my verdict. I do no repent of it For good or evil, in wisdom or in tolly in mere honesty or the extravagance of senti- ment, I had made my choice. I was of the mind of M. de Fontelles, and I went forth to wait till there Should be a king whom a gentleman could serve Vet to this day I am sorry that he made me tell him ot my choice. CHAPTER XXVL I G>ine Home* I HAVE written the foregoing for my children's sake that they may know that once their father played some part in great affairs, and, rubbing shoulder to shoulder with folk of high degree, bore himself (as I venture to hope) without disgrace and even with that credit which a ready brain and hand bring to their possessor. Here then I might well come to an end and deny myself the pleasure of a last few words in- dited for my own comfort and to please a greedy recol- lection. The children, if they read, will laugh. Have you not seen the mirthful wonder that spreads on a girl's face when she comes by chance on some relic of her father's wooing, a faded wreath that he has given her mother or a nosegay tied with a ribbon and a poem attached thereto ? She will look in her father's face and thence to where her mother sits at her needle-work, just where she has sat at her needle-work these twenty years, with her old kind smile and com- fortable eyes. The girl loves her, loves her well, but ■ — how came father to write those words ? For mother, though the dearest creature in the world, is not slim, nor dazzling, nor a Queen, nor is she Venus herself, decked in colours of the rainbow, nor a Goddess come from heaven to men, nor the desire of all the world, nor aught else that father calls her in the poem. In- deed what father wrote is something akin to what the Squire slipped^into her own hand last night ; but it is a stranere strain in which to write to mother, the dearest I Come Home* 3^3 children's sake father played ig shoulder to e himself (as I even with that bring to their Dme to an end t few words in- a greedy recol- l laugh. Have it spreads on a >n some relic of at he has given ribbon and a in her father's er sits at her ler needle-work smile and com- :s her well, but ? For mother, rid, is not slim, Venus herself, , Goddess come f all the world, the poem. In- kin to what the ight ; but it is a ler, the dearest maiden b-.ghs, her fatherisnot ashamed "h^ Vn sees her to whom he wrote and uTn . " ^- '" across the room at- i>:„ , t ' ', "'=" ™<= smi es daughter's winder all Te y^tsTat^"^^'" '° ^^ "er laugh. '' ^^^ ^" sewmg and another heS^falso^rhfsToveT!!-""''^ !'r''"'u°' ""^ -°""d, it. M. de Fontellerwn, r ' ''* "="'' ^"'"^'^'^ °« f™"" his which made mv Lord F"t "i'"' °" ""* 7prS^;:hfcfur^y tSlS^ 1f^^ vdence our own joy outweighs other^S Ld thu^ ve can pass through the world with unbroken helrts Sr^ut mi"P f '"^, *'"',/' ^""'e and passing hS ■ mr^ugft mmc- drew herself close to me. 366 Simon Dale« "Aye, be merry, to-night at least be merry, my sweet," said I. " For we have come through a forest of troubles and are here safe out on the other side." " Safe and together," said she. " Without the second, where would be the first ? " "Yet," said Barbara, " I fear you'll make a bad hus- band ; for here at the very beginning — nay, I mean before the beginning — you have deceived me." " I protest—! " I cried. ^ '[ For it was from my father only that I heard of a visit you paid in London." I bent my head and looked at her. " I would not trouble you with it," said I. " It was no more than a debt of civility." " Simon, I don't grudge it to her. For I am here in the country with you, and she is there in London without you." "And in truth," said I, "I believe that you are both best pleased." " For her," said Barbara, " I cannot speak." For a long while then we walked in silence, while the afternoon grew full and waned again. They mock at lovers' talk ; let them, say I with all my heart, so that they leave our silence sacred. But at last Bar- bara turned to me and said with a little laugh, — " Art glad to have come home, Simon ? " Verily I was glad. In body I had wandered some way, in mind and heart further, through many dark ways, turning and twisting here and there, leading I knew not whither, seeming to leave no track by which I might regain my starting-point. Yet although I felt it not, the thread was in my hand, the golden thread spun here in Hatchstead when my days were young. At length the hold of it had tightened and I, perceiving it, had turned and followed. Thus it had brought me home, no better in purse or station than I went and poorer by the loss of certain dreams I G>me Home* be merry, my irough a forest I other side." be the first?" nake a bad hus- ^ — nay, I mean ed me." at I heard of a aid I. " It was For I am here lere in London that you are ipeak." I silence, while n. They mock II my heart, so ut at last Bar- laugh,— n?" /andered some gh many dark here, leading I track by which et although I d, the golden my days were tightened and wed. Thus it irse or station :ertain dreams 367 souf ^T loot?'' ^'''- ^' .^ ^°P^' ^°""d in heart and soul. 1 looked now m the dark eves that we^m ITt- ll^^u"' .though there were their "^refuge "rand lav'ehe'r Bu^tJh T A' ^^2"^^^^ ^-" s^tiil T^ight avviv .nH ? ^^ ^""'^ ^^^^ ^'^' ^^^ J^st doubt faded avvay, and a smile came in radiant serenity on the ^" liri "'' ^^"^'"g down, I whispered,-!^ ' Aye I am glad to have come home." Her"heaSTen oTn.'^"'. '^/."^ '^^^^ '^^' ^ "^"^^ '^Y' - An^ u "^y shoulder, as she murmured,— And you have utterly forgotten her? " Her eyes were safely hidden. I smiled a<, T an swered " Utterly." smii.a as 1 an- See how I stood! Wilt thou forgive me, Nelly? forget ^hTl^^^ ^t^'u'l ^^PPy ^^ h^ •« ^"d still not think nlnfi"^' ^^h.ch have been. « What are you I l^.n ? [: ^'"^on?" my wife asks sometimes when I lean back m my chair and smile. 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