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PARSON KELLY 
 
H r)iTT t' 
 
 BUT IM GRIEVED I HAVE NO VIRGIL." 
 
 Se^ page i6o. 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 BY 
 
 A. E. W. MASON 
 
 AND 
 
 ANDREW LANG 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 
 
 1900 
 
aiPT 
 
MAlhJ 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BARON TANNEGUY DE WOGAN 
 
 The Representative of a House illustrious for its A7ttiguity , 
 
 In Prosperity splendid: in Exile and Poverty gay 
 
 and constant : of Loyalty tcnshakenj 
 
 This Narrative^ founded on the deeds of his Ancestor^ 
 The Chevalier Nicholas de Wogan. 
 
 A. E. W. M. 
 A. L. 
 
 200 
 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The authors wish to say that the proceedings of 
 Lady Oxford are unhistorical. Swift mentions a 
 rumour that there was such a lady, but leaves her 
 anonymous. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 I. The Parson expresses Irreproachable Senti- 
 ments AT THE MaZARIN PaLACE I 
 
 II. Mr. Wogan refuses to Acknowledge an Unde- 
 sirable Acquaintance in St. James's Street 17 
 
 III. Mr. Wogan instructs the Ignorant Parson in 
 
 the Ways of Women 28 
 
 IV. Shows the Extreme Danger of knowing Latin 43 
 V. A Literary Discussion in which a Critic, not 
 
 for the first time, turns the tables upon 
 
 AN Author 62 
 
 VI. Mr. Nicholas Wogan reminds the Parson of a 
 
 Night at the Mazarin Palace 78 
 
 VII. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu has a word to 
 
 say about Smilinda 88 
 
 VIII. Mr. Kelly has an Adventure at a Masquer- 
 ade Ball 96 
 
 IX. Wherein the Chivalrous Mr. Kelly behaves 
 
 with Deplorable Folly no 
 
 X. What came of Mr. Kelly's Winnings frOxM 
 
 the South Sea 123 
 
 XI. The Parson departs from Smilinda and 
 
 learns a number of Unpalatable Truths . 139 
 XII. The Parson meets Scrope for the Third Time, 
 
 and what came of the Meeting 150 
 
 XIII. Of the Rose and the Rose-Garden in Avignon 162 
 
 XIV. Of the Great Confusion produced by a Bal- 
 
 lad and a Drunken Crow 185 
 
 XV. At the Deanery of Westminster 206 
 
 XVI. Mr. Wogan acts as Lightning Conductor at 
 
 Lady Oxford's Rout 225 
 
 XVII. Lady Oxford's ' Coup de Theatre ' 248 
 
 XVIII. Wherein a New Fly discourses on the inno- 
 cence of the Spider's Web 257 
 
X CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XIX. Stroke and Counter-stroke 264 
 
 XX. Mr. Scrope bathes by Moonlight and in 
 
 HIS Peruke 283 
 
 XXI. In which Mr. Kelly surprises Smilinda . . 301 
 XXII. An Eclogue which demonstrates the Pas- 
 toral Simplicity of Corydon and Strephon 317 
 
 XXIII. How THE Messengers captured the wrong 
 
 Gentleman ; and of what Letters the 
 Colonel burned 328 
 
 XXIV. Mr. Wogan w^ears Lady Oxford's Livery, but 
 
 does not remain in her Service 353 
 
 XXV. How THE Miniature of Lady Oxford came by 
 
 A Mischance ... 371 
 
 XXVI. Mr. Wogan Traduces his Friend, with the 
 
 Happiest Consequences 387 
 
 XXVII. How, by keeping Parole, Mr. Kelly broke 
 
 Prison 398 
 
 XXVIII. Mr. Wogan again invades England, meets the 
 elect Lady, and bears witness to her 
 Perfections 404 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PARSON EXPRESSES IRREPROACHABLE SENTI- 
 MENTS AT THE MAZARIN PALACE 
 
 " What mighty quarrels rise from trivial things ! " 
 
 SO wrote Mr. Alexander Pope, whom Nicholas 
 Wogan remembers as a bookish boy in the 
 little Catholic colony of Windsor Forest. The 
 line might serve as a motto for the story which 
 Mr. Wogan (now a one-armed retired colonel of 
 Dillon's Irish Brigade in French Service) is about to 
 tell. The beginnings of our whole mischancy busi- 
 ness were trivial in themselves, and in all appearance 
 unrelated to the future. They were nothing more 
 important than the purchase of a couple of small 
 strong-boxes and the placing of Parson Kelly's patri- 
 mony in Mr. Law's company of the West. Both of 
 these events happened upon the same day. 
 
 It was early in February of the year 1719, and 
 the streets of Paris were deep in snow. Wogan, 
 then plotting for King James's cause, rode into Paris 
 from St. Omer at ten o'clock of the forenoon, and 
 just about the same hour Parson Kelly, plotting too 
 in his way, drove through the Orleans gate. 
 
 I 
 
2 PARSON KELLY 
 
 A few hours later the two men met in the Marais, 
 or rather Nicholas Wogan saw the skirts of Kelly's 
 coHt vanishing. into, a.rx ironmonger's shop, and ran 
 in after him. KeHy wa's standing by the counter 
 with a lady on either side of him, as was the dear 
 man's wont; though their neighbourhood on this 
 occasion was the merest accident, for the Parson 
 knew neither of them. 
 
 'Sure it's my little friend the lace merchant,' 
 said Wogan, and clapped his hand pretty hard on 
 the small of his friend's back, whom he had not seen 
 for a twelvemonth and more. Kelly stumbled a 
 trifle, maybe, and no doubt he coughed and splut- 
 tered. One of the ladies dropped her purse and 
 shuddered into a corner. 
 
 ' Quelle bete sauvage I' murmured the second with 
 one indignant eye upon Nicholas Wogan, and the 
 other swimming with pity for Mr. Kelly. 
 
 * Madame,' said Wogan, picking up the purse and 
 restoring it with his most elegant bow, 'it was pure 
 affection.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' said Kelly, as he rubbed his shoul- 
 der; * but, Nick, did you never hear of the bear that 
 smashed his master's skull in the endeavour to stroke 
 off a fly that had settled on his nose? That was pure 
 affection too.' 
 
 He turned back to the counter, on which the shop- 
 man was setting out a number of small strong-boxes, 
 and began to examine them. 
 
 ' Well, you must e'en blame yourself, George,' 
 said Nick, ' for the mere sight of you brings the 
 smell of the peat to my nostrils and lends vigour to 
 my hand.* 
 
PARSON KELLY 3 
 
 This he said with all sincerity, for the pair had been 
 friends in county Kildare long before Kelly went to 
 Dublin University, and took deacon's orders, and was 
 kicked out of the pulpit for preaching Jacobitism in 
 his homilies. As boys they had raced bare-legged 
 over the heather, and spent many an afternoon in fight- 
 ing over again that siege of Rathcofifey Castle which 
 an earlier Nicholas Wogan had held so stoutly for 
 King Charles. The recollection of those days always 
 played upon VVogan's foolish heartstrings with a 
 touch soft as a woman's fingers, and very likely it 
 now set George Kelly's twanging to the same tune ; 
 for at Wogan's words he turned himself about with a 
 face suddenly illumined. 
 
 ' Here, Nick, lay your hand there,' said he and 
 stretched out his hand. 'You w^ill be long in Paris? ' 
 
 * No more than a night. And you? ' 
 
 * Just the same time.* 
 
 He turned again to the counter, and busied him- 
 self with his boxes in something of a hurry, as though 
 he would avoid further questioning. Wogan blew 
 a low whistle. 
 
 Maybe we are on the same business, eh?' he 
 asked. 'The King's business?' 
 
 * Whisht, man,' whispered Kelly quickly, and he 
 glanced about the shop. ' Have you no sense at all? ' 
 
 The shop was empty at the moment, and there was 
 no reason that Wogan could see for his immoderate 
 secrecy. But the Parson was much like the rest of 
 the happy-go-lucky conspirators who were intrigu- 
 ing to dislodge the Elector from the English throne 
 — cautious by fits and moods, and the more often 
 when there was the less need. But let a scheme get 
 
4 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ripe for completion, and sure they imagined it com- 
 pleted already, and at once there would be letters left 
 about here, for all the world to read, and a wink and 
 a sly word there, so that it was little short of a miracle 
 when a plot was launched before it had been dis- 
 covered by those it was launched against. Not that 
 you are to attribute to Mr. Wogan any superior 
 measure of reticence. On the contrary, it is very 
 probable that it was precisely Mr. Wogan's tongue 
 which George Kelly distrusted, and if so, small blame 
 to him. At any rate, he pursed up his lips and stiff- 
 ened his back. Consequence turned him into a ram- 
 rod, and with a voice pitched towards the shopman: 
 ' I am still in the muslin trade,' said he, meaning 
 that he collected money for the Cause. * I shall 
 cross to England to-morrow.' 
 
 * Indeed and will you now? ' said Wogan, who was 
 perhaps a little contraried by his friend's reserve. 
 * Then I '11 ask you to explain what these pretty 
 boxes have to do with the muslin trade?' 
 
 ' They are to carry my samples in,' replied Kelly 
 readily enough; and then, as if to put Wogan's ques- 
 tions aside, 'Are you for England, too?' 
 
 * No,' said Wogan, imitating Mr. Kelly's import- 
 ance ; * I am going to visit my Aunt Anne at Cadiz ; 
 so make the most of that, my little friend.' 
 
 Wogan was no great dab at the cyphers and the 
 jargon of the plots, but he knew that the Duke of 
 Ormond, being then in Spain, figured in the corre- 
 spondence as my Aunt Anne. It was now Kelly's 
 turn to whistle, and that he did, and then laughed 
 besides. 
 
 * I might have guessed,' said he, * for there 's a 
 
PARSON KELLY 5 
 
 likely prospect of broken heads at all events, and to 
 that magnet you were never better than a steel filing.' 
 
 * Whisht, man,' exclaimed Wogan, frowning and 
 wagging his head preposterously. ' Is it yourself 
 that 's the one person in the world to practise 
 mysteries? Broken heads, indeed ! ' and he shrugged 
 his shoulder as though he had a far greater business 
 on hand. Kelly's curiosity rose to the bait, and he 
 put a question or two which Wogan waived aside. 
 The Parson indeed had hit the truth. Wogan had 
 no business whatsoever except the mere fighting, but 
 since the Parson was for practising so much dignified 
 secrecy, Wogan would do no less. 
 
 To carry the joke a step further, he turned to the 
 counter, even as Kelly had done, and examined the 
 despatch-boxes. He would buy one, to convince 
 Kelly that he, too, was trusted with secret papers. 
 The boxes were as like to one another as peas, but 
 Wogan discovered a great dissimilitude of defects. 
 
 * There 's not one of them fit to keep a mouldy 
 cheese in,' said he, tapping and sounding them with 
 his knuckles, * let alone — ' and then he caught him- 
 self up with a glance at Kelly. * However, this 
 perhaps may serve — but wait a little.' He felt in 
 his pockets and by chance discovered a piece of 
 string. This string he drew out and carefully meas- 
 ured the despatch-box, depth and width and length. 
 Then he put the tip of his thumb between his teeth 
 and bit it in deep thought. * Well, and it must serve, 
 since there 's no better ; but for heaven's sake, my 
 man, clap a stouter lock on it ! I could smash this 
 with my fist. A good stout lock; and send it — wait 
 a moment ! ' He glanced towards Kelly and turned 
 
6 ' PARSON KELLY 
 
 back to the shopman. * I '11 just write down where 
 you are to send it to.' 
 
 To Kelly's more complete mystification he scrib- 
 bled a name and an address on a sheet of paper, and 
 folded it up with an infinity of precautions. 
 
 *Send it there, key and all, by nine o'clock to- 
 morrow morning.' 
 
 The name was Mr. Kelly's, the address the inn at 
 which Mr. Kelly was in the habit of putting up. 
 Wogan bought the box merely to gull Kelly into the 
 belief that he, also, was a Royal messenger. Then 
 he paid for the box, and forthwith forgot all about 
 it over a bottle of wine. Kelly, for his part, held 
 his despatch-box in his hand. 
 
 * Nick, I have business/ said he as soon as the 
 bottle was empty, * and it appears you have too. 
 Shall we meet to-night? Mr. Law expects me at the 
 Mazarin Palace.' 
 
 ' Faith, then I '11 make bold to intrude upon him,' 
 said Nicholas, who, though Mr. Law kept open house 
 for those who favoured the White Rose, was but a 
 rare visitor to the Mazarin Palace, holding the finan- 
 cier in so much awe that no amount of affability could 
 extinguish it. 
 
 However, that night he went, and so learned in 
 greater particular the secret of the Parson's journey. 
 It was nine o'clock at night when Wogan turned the 
 corner of the Rue Vivienne and saw the windows of 
 the Mazarin Palace blazing out upon the snow. A 
 little crowd shivered and gaped beneath them, mak- 
 ing, poor devils ! a vicarious supper off the noise of 
 Mr. Law's entertainment. And it was a noisy party 
 that Mr. Law entertained. Before he was half-way 
 
PARSON KELLY 7 
 
 down the street Wogan could hear the peal of 
 women's laughter and a snatch of a song, and after 
 that maybe a sound of breaking glass, as though a 
 tumbler had been edged off the table by an elbow. 
 He was shown up the great staircase to a room on 
 the first floor. 
 
 ' Monsieur Nicholas de Wogan,' said the footman, 
 throwing open the door. Wogan stepped into the 
 company of the pretty arch conspirators who were 
 then mismanaging the Chevalier's affairs. However, 
 with their mismanagement Wogan is not here con- 
 cerned, for this is not a story of Kings and Queens and 
 high politics but of the private fortunes of Parson 
 Kelly. Olive Trant was playing backgammon in a 
 corner with Mr. Law. Madame de Mezieres, who 
 was seldom absent when politics were towards, graced 
 the table and conversed with Lady Cecilia Law. 
 And right in front of Mr. Wogan stood that mad- 
 cap her sister, Fanny Oglethorpe, with her sleeves 
 tucked back to her elbows, looking gloriously jolly and 
 handsome. She was engaged in mincing chickens 
 in a china bowl which was stewing over a little lamp 
 on the table, for, said she, Mr. Law had aspersed the 
 English cooks, and she was minded to make him eat 
 his word and her chicken that very night for supper. 
 She had Parson Kelly helping her upon the one 
 side, and a young French gentleman whom Wogan 
 did not know upon the other ; and the three of them 
 were stirring in the bowl with a clatter of their 
 wooden spoons. 
 
 ' Here 's Mr. Wogan,' cried Fanny Oglethorpe, and 
 as Wogan held out his hand she clapped her hot 
 spoon into it. ' M. de Bellegarde, you must know 
 
8 .^ PARSON KELLY 
 
 Mr. Wogan. He has the broadest back of any man 
 that ever I was acquainted with. You must do more 
 than know him. You must love him, as I do, for the 
 broadness of his back.' 
 
 M. de Bellegarde looked not over-pleased with the 
 civility of her greeting, and bowed to Wogan with an 
 affectation of ceremony. Mr. Law came forward 
 with an affable word. Olive Trant added another, 
 and Madame de Mezieres asked eagerly what brought 
 him to Paris. 
 
 ' He is on his way to join the Duke of Ormond at 
 Cadiz,' cried Kelly; ' and,' said this man deceived, * he 
 carries the most important messages. Bow to him, 
 ladies ! Gentlemen, your hands to your hearts, and 
 your knees to the ground ! It 's no longer a soldier 
 of fortune that you see before you, but a diplomatist, 
 an ambassador: His Excellency, the Chevalier 
 Wogan ; ' and with that he ducked and bowed, shak- 
 ing his head and gesticulating with his hands, as 
 though he were some dandified court chamberlain. 
 All the Parson's diplomacy had been plainly warmed 
 out of him in his present company. Mr. Law began 
 to laugh, but Fanny Oglethorpe dropped her spoon 
 and looked at Wogan. 
 
 * The Duke of Ormond?' said she, lowering her 
 voice. 
 
 'Indeed? and you carry messages?' said Miss 
 Olive Trant, upsetting the backgammon board. 
 
 * Of what kind? ' exclaimed Madame de Mezieres; 
 and then, in an instant, their pretty heads were clus- 
 tered about the table, and their mouths whispering 
 questions, advice, and precautions, all in a breath. 
 * It's at Bristol you are to land? ' ' The Earl Maris- 
 
PARSON KELLY . 9 
 
 chal is for Scotland? ' ' You carry 5,000 barrels, Mr. 
 Wogan?' meaning thereby stands of arms. And, 
 * You may speak with all confidence,' Miss Oglethorpe 
 urged, with a glance this way and that over her 
 shoulders. ' There are none but honest people 
 here. M. de Bellegarde,' and she looked towards the 
 French spark, blushing very prettily, ' is my good 
 friend.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan bowed. 
 
 ' It was not that I doubted M. de Bellegarde,' he 
 replied. ' But 'faith, ladies, I have learnt more of the 
 prospects of the expedition from your questions than 
 ever I knew before. I was told for a certain thing 
 that heads would be broken, and, to be sure, I was 
 content with the information.' 
 
 At that Mr. Law laughed. Kelly asked, ' What of 
 the despatch-box, then?' The ladies pouted their 
 resentment; and Mr. Wogan, for the first and last 
 time in his life, wore the reputation of a diplomatist. 
 *A close man,' said M. de Bellegarde, pursing his 
 lips in approval, 
 
 * But sped on an unlikely venture,' added Mr. Law, 
 getting back to his backgammon. ' Oh, I know,' he 
 continued, as the voices rose against him, ' you have 
 grumblings enough in England to fill a folio, and so 
 you think the whole country will hurry to the water- 
 side to welcome you, before you have set half your 
 foot on shore. But, when all is said, the country 's 
 prosperous. Your opportunity will come with its 
 misfortunes.' 
 
 But Madame de Mezieres would hear nothing of 
 such forebodings ; and Olive Trant, catching up a 
 glass, swung it above her head. 
 
lo PARSON KELLY 
 
 * May the Oak flourish ! ' she cried. 
 
 Fanny Oglethorpe sprang from her seat. * May 
 the White Rose bloom ! ' she answered, giving the 
 counter-word. The pair clinked their glasses. 
 
 ' Aye, that 's the spirit ! * cried the Parson. * Drink, 
 Nick ! God save the King ! Here 's a bumper to 
 him!' 
 
 He stood with his face turned upwards, his blue 
 eyes afire. * Here 's to the King ! ' he repeated. 
 ' Here 's to the Cause ! God send that nothing ever 
 come between the Cause and me.' He drained his 
 glass as he spoke, and tossed it over his shoulder. 
 There was a tinkling sound, and a flash of sparks, as it 
 were, when the glass splintered against the wall. 
 George Kelly stood for a moment, arrested in his 
 attitude, his eyes staring into vacancy, as though 
 some strange news had come of a sudden knocking at 
 his heart. Then he hitched his shoulders. * Bah ! ' 
 he cried, and began to sing in a boisterous voice 
 some such ditty as 
 
 Of all the days that 's in the year, 
 The tenth of June 's to me most dear, 
 When our White Roses do appear 
 To welcome Jamie the Rover. 
 
 Or it may have been 
 
 Let our great James come over, 
 And baffle Prince Hanover, 
 With hearts and hands in loyal bands, 
 We '11 welcome him at Dover. 
 
 It was not the general practice to allow the Parson 
 to sing without protest; for he squeezed less music 
 out of him than any other Irishman could evoke 
 
PARSON KELLY ii 
 
 from a deal board with his bare knuckles. When 
 he sang, and may Heaven forgive the application of 
 the word in this conjunction, there was ever a sort 
 of mortal duello between his voice and the tune — 
 very distressing to an audience. But now he sang 
 his song from beginning to end, and no one inter- 
 rupted him, or so much as clapped a hand over an 
 ear ; and this not out of politeness. But his words 
 so rang with a startling fervour; and he stood, with 
 his head thrown back, rigid in the stress of passion. 
 His voice quavered down to silence, but his eyes 
 still kept their fires, his attitude its fixity. Once or 
 twice he muttered a word beneath his breath, and 
 then a hoarse cry came leaping from his mouth. 
 
 * May nothing ever come between the Cause and 
 me, except it be death — except it be death ! ' 
 
 A momentary silence waited upon the abrupt 
 cessation of his voice: Wogan even held his breath; 
 Miss Oglethorpe did not stir ; and during that silence, 
 there came a gentle rapping on the door. Kelly 
 looked towards it with a start, as though there was 
 his answer ; but the knocking was repeated before 
 anyone moved ; it seemed as if suspense had hung its 
 chains upon every limb. It was Mr. Wogan who 
 opened the door, and in stalked Destiny in the shape 
 of a lackey. He carried a note, and handed it to 
 George Kelly. 
 
 * The messenger has but this instant brought it,' 
 he said. 
 
 Kelly broke the seal, and unfolded the paper. 
 
 * From General Dillon,' he said ; and, reading the 
 note through, * Ladies, will you pardon me? Mr. 
 Law, I have your permission? I have but this one 
 
ti PARSON KELLY 
 
 night in Paris, and General Dillon has news of 
 importance which bears upon my journey.' 
 
 With that he took his hat, and got him from the 
 room. Fanny Oglethorpe sprang up from her 
 chair. 
 
 ' Sure, my chicken will be ruined,' she cried. 
 * Come, M. de Bellegarde,' and the pair fell again to 
 stirring in the bowl, and with such indiscriminate 
 vigour that more than once their fingers got entangled. 
 This Mr. Wogan observed, and was sufficiently indis- 
 creet to utter a sly proposal that he should make a 
 third at the stirring. 
 
 * There is no need for a third,' said Miss Oglethorpe, 
 with severity. * But, on the other hand, I want a 
 couple of pats of butter, and a flagon of water; and 
 I shall be greatly obliged if Mr. Wogan will procure 
 me them.* And what with that and other requests 
 which chanced to come into her head, she kept him 
 busy until the famous supper was prepared. 
 
 In the midst of that supper back came Mr. Kelly, 
 and plumped himself down in his chair, very full of his 
 intelligence. A glass or two of Mr. Law's burgundy 
 served to warm out of his blood all the reserve that 
 was left over from the morning. 
 
 * We are all friends here,' said he, turning to Miss 
 Oglethorpe. ' Moreover, I need the advantage of 
 your advice and knowledge. General Dillon believes 
 that my Lord Oxford maybe persuaded to undertake 
 the muslin trade in Britain.' 
 
 * Lord Oxford,' exclaimed Miss Oglethorpe, with 
 a start, for Oxford had lain quiet since he nearly lost 
 his head five years agone. ' He is to collect the 
 money from our supporters? ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 13 
 
 * It is the opinion that he will, if properly 
 approached.' 
 
 Mr. Law, at the top of the table, shook his head. 
 
 * It is a very forward and definite step for so pru- 
 dential a politician,' said he. 
 
 'But a politician laid on a shelf, and pining there,' 
 replied George. * There 's the reason for it. He has 
 a hope of power, — Qui a bUy boira! The hope grows 
 real if we succeed.' 
 
 * I would trust him no further than a Norfolk 
 attorney,' returned Mr. Law; 'and that's not an 
 inch from the end of my nose. He will swear 
 through a two-inch board to help you, and then turn 
 cat in pan if a Whig but smile at him.' 
 
 * Besides,' added Miss Oglethorpe, and she rested 
 her chin thoughtfully upon her hands. As she 
 spoke, all the eyes in that company were turned on 
 her. ' Besides,' and then she came to a stop, and 
 flushed a little. ' Lord Oxford,' she continued, ' was 
 my good friend when I was in England.' Then she 
 stopped again. Finally she looked straight into 
 M. de Bellegarde's eyes, and with an admirable 
 bravery : ' Some, without reason, have indeed slan- 
 dered me with stories that he was more than my 
 friend.' 
 
 ' None, Madame, who know you, I '11 warrant,' said 
 M. de Bellegarde, and gravely lifting her hand to his 
 lips, he kissed it. 
 
 ' Well, that 's a very pretty answer,' said she in 
 some confusion. ' So Mr. Kelly may know,' she 
 went on, ' that I speak with some authority concern- 
 ing my Lord Oxford. It is not he whom I distrust. 
 But he has lately married a young wife.' 
 
14 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ♦ Ah; said Mr. Law, and ' Oh ! ' cried Mr. Wogan, 
 with a shrug of his shoulders. * If a lady is to 
 dabble her tender fingers in the pie — ' 
 
 'And what of it, Mr. Wogan?' Madame de 
 Mezieres took him up coldly. 
 
 'Yes, Mr. Wogan, what of it?' repeated Olive 
 Trant hotly, * provided the lady be loyal.' In an 
 instant Mr. Wogan had the whole nest swarming 
 about his ears, with the exception of Fanny Ogle- 
 thorpe. It was intimated to him that he had a fine 
 preposterous conceit of his sex, and would he be 
 pleased to justify it? 
 
 Madame de Mezieres hinted that the ability to 
 swing a shillelagh and bring it down deftly on an 
 offending sconce did not comprise the whole virtues 
 of mankind. And if it came to the test of dealing 
 blows, why there was Joan of Arc, and w^hat had Mr. 
 Wogan to say to her? Mr. Wogan turned tail, as he 
 always did when women were in the van of the 
 attack. 
 
 ' Ladies,' he said, * I do not think Joan of Arc so 
 singular after all, since I see four here who I believe 
 from my soul could emulate her noblest achieve- 
 ments.' 
 
 But Mr. Wogan's gallantry went for very little. 
 The cowardice of it was apparent for all that he 
 bowed and laid his hand on his heart, and performed 
 such antics as he thought likely to tickle women into 
 good humour. 
 
 ' Besides,' put in Lady Cecilia, with a soothing 
 gentleness, ' Mr. Wogan should know that the cause 
 he serves owes, as it is, much to the good offices of 
 women.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 IS 
 
 Mr. Wogan had his own opinions upon that point, 
 but he wiped his forehead and had the discretion to 
 hold his tongue. Meanwhile Fanny Oglethorpe, 
 who had sat with frowning brows in silence, diverted 
 the onslaught. 
 
 * But it is just the loyalty of Lady Oxford which is 
 in question. Lady Oxford is a Whig, of a Whig family. 
 She is even related to Mr. Walpole, the Minister. I 
 think Mr. Kelly will have to tread very warily at 
 Lord Oxford's house of Brampton Bryan.' 
 
 * For my part,' rejoined Mr. Law, * I think the 
 Chevalier de St. George would do better to follow 
 the example of Mr. Kelly and my friends here.' 
 
 * And what is that? ' asked Wogan. 
 
 * Why, scrape up all the money he can lay hands 
 on and place it in my company of the West.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan was not well pleased to hear of his 
 friend's speculation, and, when they left the house 
 together, took occasion to remonstrate with him. 
 
 ' How much have you placed?' he asked. 
 
 * All that I could,' replied George. ' It is litde 
 enough — the remnant of my patrimony. Mr. Law 
 lent me a trifle in addition to make up a round sum. 
 It is a very kindly man, and well disposed to me. I 
 have no fears, for all the money in France dances to 
 the tune he fiddles.' 
 
 'To his tune, to be sure,' grumbled Wogan; * but 
 are you equally certain his tune is yours? Oh, I 
 know. He is a monstrous clever man, not a doubt 
 of it. The computation of figures — it is the devil's 
 own gift, and to my nose it smells damnably of 
 sulphur.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan has good occasion to reflect how 
 
1 6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Providence fleers at one's apprehensions when he 
 remembers the sleepless hours during which he 
 tossed upon his bed that night, seeing all the Parson's 
 scanty savings drowned beyond redemption in the 
 China seas. For no better chance could have be- 
 fallen Kelly than that Wogan's forebodings should 
 have come true. But the venture succeeded. Fanny 
 Oglethorpe made a fortune and married M. de Belle- 
 garde. Olive Trant, the richer by 100,000 pistoles, 
 became Princess of Auvergne. Do they ever remem- 
 ber that night at the Hotel de Mazarin, and how Parson 
 Kelly cried out almost in an agony as though, in the 
 heat of passion, he surmised the future, ' May 
 nothing come between the Cause and me ' ? Well, 
 for one thing the money came. It placed in his 
 hands a golden key wherewith to unlock the gates of 
 disaster. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 MR. WOGAN REFUSES TO ACKNOWLEDGE AN 
 
 UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCE IN 
 
 ST. JAMES'S STREET 
 
 MR. WOGAN left Paris early the next morning 
 without a thought for the despatch-box that 
 he had sent to Kelly, and, coming to Cadiz, sailed 
 with the Spaniards out of that harbour on the tenth 
 of March, and into the great storm which dispersed 
 the fleet off Cape Finisterre. In company with the 
 Earl Marischal and the Marquis of Tullibardine, 
 he was aboard one of those two ships which alone 
 touched the coast of Scotland. Consequently, he 
 figured with better men, as Field-Marshal Keith, and 
 his brother the Ambassador, and my Lord George 
 Murray, in that little skirmish at Glenshiel, and very 
 thankful he was when the night shut black upon the 
 valleys and put its limit to the attack of General 
 Wightman's soldiers from Inverness. A council of 
 war was held in the dark upon a hill-side, whence the 
 fires of General Wightman's camp could be seen 
 twinkling ruddily below, but Wogan heard little of 
 what was disputed, for he went to sleep with his back 
 against a boulder and dreamed of his ancestors. He 
 was waked up about the middle of the night by the 
 Earl Marischal, who informed him that the Spaniards 
 
1 8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 had determined to surrender at discretion, and that 
 the handful of Highlanders were already dispersing 
 to their homes. 
 
 * As for ourselves, we shall make for the Western 
 Islands and wait there for a ship to take us off.' 
 
 * Then I '11 wish you luck and a ship,' said Wogan. 
 He stood up and shook the dew off his cloak. * I 
 have friends in London, and I '11 trust my lucky star 
 to get me there.' 
 
 ' Your star 's in eclipse,' said the Earl. * You will 
 never reach London except it be with your legs tied 
 under a horse's belly.' 
 
 * Well, I 'm thinking you have not such a clear 
 path after all to the Western Islands ! Did you 
 never hear of my forefather, Thomas Wogan, that 
 rode with twenty-eight Cavaliers through the heart 
 of Cromwell's England, and came safe into the High- 
 lands? Sure what that great man could do with 
 twenty-eight companions to make him conspicuous, 
 his degenerate son can do alone.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan began his journey by walking over the 
 hill, near to the top of which his friends had been 
 driven off the road to Inverness by the English fire, 
 which was very well nourished. He made his way 
 to Loch Duich, as they call it, and so by boat round 
 Ardnamurchan, to a hamlet they call Oban. There 
 he changed his dress for the Campbell black and 
 green, and, joining company with a drove of Rob 
 Roy's cattle from the Lennox, travelled to Glasgow. 
 His Irish brogue no doubt sounded a trifle strange 
 in a Highland drover, but he was in a country where 
 the people were friendly. At Glasgow he changed 
 his dress again for a snuff-coloured bourgeois suit, 
 
PARSON KELLY 19 
 
 and so rode into England by the old Carlisle and 
 Preston route, which he had known very well in the 
 year 1715. 
 
 Wogan was at this time little more than a lad, 
 though full-grown enough to make a man and a 
 good-sized boy into the bargain, and the exploit of 
 the Cavalier Thomas Wogan, as it had prompted his 
 design, so it exhilarated him in the execution. He 
 went lightly on his way, weaving all manner of 
 chivalric tales about his ancestor, to the great in- 
 crease of his own vanity, bethinking him when he 
 stopped for an hour at a wayside inn that here, too, 
 perhaps Thomas Wogan had reined in his horse, and 
 maybe had taken a draught from that very pint-pot 
 which Nicholas now held to his lips. Thus the late 
 burst up the hill-side above the Shiel was quickly 
 robbed of its sting, and by the time that he had 
 reached London he was so come to a pitch of con- 
 fidence in the high destinies of the Wogan family 
 that, after leaving his horse in the charge of Mr. 
 Gunning, of Mussell Hill, whom he knew of old as a 
 staunch friend of George Kelly's, and borrowing 
 from him a more suitable raiment than his stained 
 travelling dress, he must needs walk down St. James's 
 Street with no more disguise than the tilting of his 
 hat over his nose, and the burying of his chin in his 
 cravat. 
 
 Soon Mr. Wogan's confidence and, with his con- 
 fidence, his legs were brought to a sudden check. 
 For when he was come half-way down the hill he saw 
 the figure of one Captain Montague in the uniform of 
 the Guards turn the corner out ofRyder Street and walk 
 towards him. Wogan had met the ofiicer before on 
 
20 PARSON KELLY 
 
 an occasion of which he did not wish at this particular 
 moment to be reminded. He wheeled about, took a 
 step or two, and so came again to a halt. Was it 
 known, he asked himself, that he had sailed from Cadiz 
 and landed in Scotland? If so, and it was a most 
 likely conjecture, then for Wogan to be straggling 
 about St. James's Street was egregious impertinence, 
 and the sooner he got under shelter the better for his 
 neck. Now Wogan's destination was the lodging of 
 George Kelly, not five hundred yards away, in Bury 
 Street. But to reach that lodging it would be neces- 
 sary for him to turn about again and face the Cap- 
 tain. Would the Captain know him again? Wogan 
 debated the question, and finding no answer, asked 
 himself another. What would Thomas Wogan have 
 done under the like contingency? The answer to 
 that was evident enough. Wogan turned about on 
 the instant, cocked his hat on the back of his head, 
 took his chin out of his cravat, twirled his cane, whis- 
 tled a tune and sauntered past the Captain, looking 
 him over as if he were so much dirt. The Captain 
 stopped : Wogan felt his heart jump into his throat, 
 whistled a bit louder, and twirled his cane a trifle 
 ferociously. Over his shoulder he saw the Captain 
 draw his brows together and rub a cheek with the 
 palm of his hand like a man perplexed. The Captain 
 took a step towards Wogan, and stopped again. 
 Wogan sauntered on, expecting every moment to 
 hear his name called, and a clattering run, and then 
 to feel a heavy hand close upon his shoulder. But 
 no voice spoke, no steps clattered on the pavement. 
 Wogan reached the corner and spied up St. James's 
 Street as he turned. The Captain was still standing 
 
PARSON KELLY 21 
 
 in the attitude of perplexity; only, instead of 
 smoothing his cheek, he had tilted his peruke aside 
 and was scratching his head to ease the labour of his 
 recollections. At the sight of him the ancestor and 
 his twenty-eight Cavaliers rode clean out of Mr. 
 Woean's mind. ' Sure, Thomas would n't have done 
 it, but Nicholas will,' said he, and kicking up his 
 heels he ran. He ran along Ryder Street, turned 
 into Bury Street, raced a hundred yards or so up the 
 cobbles, and thundered on the door of Kelly's lodg- 
 ing. Here and there a head was poked from a win- 
 dow, and Mr. Wogan cursed his own noisiness. It 
 seemed an age before the door was opened. Fortu- 
 nately it was Mrs. Barnes, Kelly's landlady, in per- 
 son, and not her serving-woman, who stood in the 
 entrance. 
 
 'Is the Parson in London?' says Wogan. 'Say 
 that he is, Mrs. Barnes, and say it quick.' 
 
 ' Why, it 's Mr. Wogan ! ' cries she. 
 
 ' Whisht, my dear woman ! ' answered Wogan, push- 
 ing through the doorway. ' It 's Mr. Hilton. There 's 
 no Wogan anywhere in England. Remember that, 
 if you please.' 
 
 Mrs. Barnes slammed the door in a hurry. 
 
 * Then you are in trouble again,' said she, throwing 
 up her hands. 
 
 'Well, there's nothing unusual in that,' said he. 
 * Sure man is born to it, and who am I that I should 
 escape the inheritance?* and he opened the door of 
 Mr. Kelly's sitting-room. He saw the figure of a 
 man bending over the table. As the door was 
 thrown open, the figure straightened itself hurriedly. 
 There was a sound of an iron lid clanging down upon 
 
2 2 PARSON KELLY 
 
 a box, and the sharp snap of a lock. George Kelly 
 turned and stood between the table and the door, in 
 a posture of defence. Then — 
 
 ' Nick ! ' he cried, and grasped his friend's hand. 
 The next moment he let it go. * What brings you 
 here?' he exclaimed. 
 
 * My ancestor,' said Wogan, dropping into a chair. 
 * 'Twas his spirit guided me.' 
 
 * Then take my word for it,' cried George, * if 
 there 's a Bedlam beyond the grave your ancestor 
 inhabits it.' 
 
 Wogan made no reply in words at first. But he 
 rose stiffly from his chair, bowed to Kelly with pro- 
 fuse ceremony, took his hat, and with his hat a step 
 towards the door. Kelly, on the other hand, shut 
 the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket and 
 leaned his back against the panels. Wogan affected 
 to see nothing of these actions, but spoke in a tone 
 of dignity like a man taking his leave. 
 
 * Such insults as you are pleased to confer on me,' 
 said he, * no doubt I deserve, and I take them in all 
 Christian meekness. But when my ancestor Thomas 
 Wogan, God rest his soul for ever and ever, rode 
 with twenty-eight Cavaliers from Dover to Scotland 
 through the thick of his bloodthirsty foes to carry 
 the succour of his presence to the friends of his 
 blessed Majesty of sacred memory King Charles the 
 Second, it was not, I 'd have you know, Mr. Kelly, in 
 order that his name should be bespattered after he 
 was dead by a snuffling long-legged surreptitious 
 gawk of a parson who was kicked out of his Dublin 
 pulpit with every circumstance of ignominy because 
 his intellect did n't enable him to compose a homily.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 23 
 
 At this point Wogan drew a long breath, which he 
 sorely needed. It was not at all truth that he had 
 spoken, as he knew — none better. The Parson was 
 indeed stripped of his gown because he preached a 
 very fine homily on the text of * Render unto Caesar 
 the things that are Caesar's,' wherein he mingled 
 many timely and ingenious allusions to the Chevalier. 
 Nor was there any particular force in that epithet 
 * surreptitious,' beyond that it had an abusive twang. 
 Yet it was just that word at which Mr. Kelly took 
 offence. 
 
 * Surreptitious,' said he, ' and if you please what is 
 the meaning of that? ' 
 
 And then surveying Wogan, he began of a sudden 
 to smile. 
 
 *Ta-ta-ta,' he said with a grimace. 
 
 * It is a pretty though an interjectional wit,' replied 
 Wogan in a high disdain, falling upon long words, as 
 was his fashion on the rare occasions when he cloaked 
 himself with dignity. 
 
 * Faith,' continued George, with the smile broaden- 
 ing over his face, * but it is indeed the very picture of 
 Christian meekness,' and then, breaking into a laugh, 
 ' Will you sit down, you noisy firebrand. As for 
 Thomas Wogan — be damned to him and to all his 
 twenty-eight Cavaliers into the bargain ! ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan will never deny but what the man's 
 laugh was irresistible, for the Parson's features wore 
 in repose something of clerkly look. They were 
 cast in a mould of Episcopal gravity; but when he 
 laughed his blue eyes would lighten at you like the 
 sun from a bank of clouds, and the whole face of 
 him wrinkled and creased into smiles, and his mouth 
 
24 PARSON KELLY 
 
 shook a great rumbling laugh out of his throat, and 
 then of a sudden you had come into the company of 
 a jolly man. Wogan put his hat on the table and 
 struggled to preserve his countenance from any ex- 
 pression of friendliness. 
 
 * It is the common talk at the Cocoa Tree that you 
 sailed from Cadiz. It is thought that you were one 
 of the remnant at Glenshiel. Oh, the rumour of your 
 whereabouts has marched before you, and that you 
 might have guessed. But see what it is to know no 
 Virgil, and,' shaking a minatory finger, 
 
 ' Fama, malum quo non aliud velocius uUum.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan bowed before Latin like a sapling 
 before the wind. He seated himself as he was bid. 
 
 * And you must needs come parading your mon- 
 strous person through the thick of London, like any 
 fashionable gentleman,' continued George. ' What 
 am I to do with you? Why could n't you lie quiet 
 in a village and send me news of you? Did you 
 meet any of your acquaintance by chance when 
 you came visiting your friend Mr. Kelly ? Perhaps 
 you passed the time of day with Mr. Walpole — ' 
 and as he spoke the name he stopped abruptly. He 
 walked once or twice across the room, shifting his 
 peruke from one side of his head to the other in the 
 fluster of his thoughts. Then he paused before 
 Wogan. 
 
 ' Oh, what am I to do with you? ' he cried. ' Tell 
 me that, if you please.' But the moment Wogan 
 began, 
 
 * Sure, George, it's not you that I will be troubling 
 for my security ' — Kelly cut in again : 
 
PARSON KELLY 25 
 
 * Oh, if you have nothing better to say than that, 
 you say nothing at all. It is dribbling baby's talk,' 
 and4:hen he repeated a question earnestly. * Did you 
 see anyone you knew, or rather did anyone that 
 knows you see you?' , 
 
 * Why,' replied Wogan meekly, * I cannot quite tell 
 whether he knows me or not, but to be sure I ran 
 into the arms of Captain Montague not half a dozen 
 yards from the corner of Ryder Street. ' 
 
 * Montague!' exclaimed Kelly. Wogan nodded. 
 
 * The man who fought against you at Preston siege ? ' 
 ' The same.' 
 
 * 'T is a pity you were at so much pains to save his 
 life in that scuffle.' 
 
 * Have n't I been thinking that myself? ' asked 
 Wogan. ' If only I had left him lying outside the 
 barricades, where he would have been surely killed 
 by the cross-fire, instead of running out and dragging 
 him in ! But it is ever the way. Once do a thor- 
 oughly good-natured action and you will find it 's the 
 thorn in your side that will turn and sting you. But 
 I am not sure that he knew me,' and he related how 
 the Captain had stopped with an air of perplexed 
 recollection, and had then gone on his way. Kelly 
 listened to the account with a certain relief. 
 
 * It is likely that he would not remember you. 
 For one thing, he was wounded when you carried 
 him in, and perhaps gave little heed to the features 
 of his preserver. Moreover, you have changed, 
 Nick, in these years. You were a stripling then, a 
 boy of fifteen, and,' here he smiled and laid a hand 
 on Wogan's shoulder, * you have grown into a baby 
 in four years,' 
 
26 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Then he took another turn across the room. 
 * Well, and why not?* he said to himself, and finally- 
 brought his fist with a bang upon the table. * I '11 
 hazard it,' said he. ' I am not sure but what it is the 
 safest way,' and, drawing a chair close to Wogan, he 
 sat himself down. 
 
 * It was the mention of Mr. Walpole set me on the 
 plan,' he said. * You heard in Paris that Lady Oxford 
 is a kinsman of his. Well, I go down to Lord Ox- 
 ford's in two days. It is a remote village in the 
 north of Herefordshire. You shall come with me as 
 my secretary. 'Faith, but I shall figure in my lord's 
 eyes as a person of the greatest importance.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan resisted the proposal as being of some 
 risk to his friend, but Kelly would hear of no argu- 
 ment. The plan grew on him, the more he thought 
 of it. * You can lie snug here for the two days. 
 Mrs. Barnes is to be trusted, devil a doubt. You 
 can travel down with me in safety. I am plain Mr. 
 Johnson here, engaged in smuggling laces from the 
 Continent into England. And once out of London 
 there will be little difficulty in shipping you out of 
 the country until the affair 's blown over.' 
 
 So it was arranged, and Kelly, looking at his 
 watch, says — 
 
 ' By my soul, I am late. I should have been with 
 my Lord of Rochester half-an-hour since. The 
 good Bishop will be swearing like a dragoon.' 
 
 He clapped his hat on his head, took up his cane, 
 and marched to the door. His hand was on the 
 knob, when he turned. 
 
 ' By the way, Nick, I have something which be- 
 longs to you. 'T was sent to my lodging in Paris by 
 
PARSON KELLY 27 
 
 mistake. I brought it over, since I was sure to set 
 eyes on you shortly.' 
 
 * Ah,' said Nick. * Then you expected me, for all 
 your scolding and bullying.' 
 
 * To speak the honest truth, Nick,' said Kelly, with 
 a laugh, * I have been expecting you all the last 
 week.' 
 
 He went into his bedroom, and brought out the 
 strong-box which Wogan had purchased in Paris. 
 
 ' Sure there was no mistake,' said Wogan. * I sent 
 it to you as a reward for your discretion.' 
 
 * Oh, you did. Well, you wasted your money, for 
 I have no need for it.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' replied Wogan. * But it has a very good 
 lock, and will serve to hold your love-letters.' 
 
 Kelly laughed carelessly at the careless words, and 
 laid the box aside upon his scrutore. Many a time 
 in the months that followed Wogan saw it there, and 
 the sight of it would waken him to a laugh, for he 
 did not know that a man's liberty, his honour, his 
 love, came shortly to be locked within its narrow 
 space. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MR. WOGAN INSTRUCTS THE IGNORANT PARSON IN 
 THE WAYS OF WOMEN 
 
 MR. WOGAN then remained for two days 
 closeted in his friend's lodgings, and was 
 hard put to it to pass the time, since the Parson, who 
 acted as secretary and right-hand man to Bishop 
 Atterbury, was ever dancing attendance upon his 
 lordship at Bromley or the Deanery of Westminster. 
 Wogan smoked a deal of tobacco, and, knitting his 
 brows, made a strenuous endeavour to peruse one of 
 George Kelly's books — a translation of TuUy's 
 Letters. He did, indeed, read a complete page, and 
 then being seized with a sudden vertigo, such as 
 from his extreme youth had prevented him from a 
 course of study, was forced to discontinue his labours. 
 At this juncture Mrs. Barnes comforted him with a 
 greasy pack of cards, and for the rest of that day he 
 played games of chance for extraordinary stakes, 
 one hand against t' other, winning and losing millions 
 of pounds sterling in the space of a single hour. By 
 bedtime he was sunk in a plethora of wealth and an 
 extremity of destitution at one and the same time; 
 and so, since he saw no way of setting the balance 
 right, he bethought him of another plan. On the 
 morrow he would write out a full history of his 
 
PARSON KELLY 29 
 
 ancestors, as a memorial of their valour and a shame 
 to the men of this age. 
 
 The Parson, when he was informed of the notable 
 design, quoted a scrap of Latin to the effect that it 
 would be something more than a brazen proceeding. 
 Wogan, however, was not to be dissuaded by any tag 
 of rhyme, and getting up before daylight, since he 
 had but this one day for the enterprise, was at once 
 very busy with all of Kelly's spluttering pens. He 
 began with the founder of the family, the great 
 Chevalier Ugus, who lived in the time of my little 
 Octavius Caesar, and was commissioned by that un- 
 paralleled monarch to build the town of Florence. 
 ' Ugus,' wrote Mr. Wogan in big round painful letters 
 with a flourish to each, and, coming to a stop, woke 
 up George Kelly to ask him in what year of Our 
 Lord Octavius Caesar was born into this weary world. 
 ' In no year of Our Lord,' grumbled George, a little 
 churlishly to VVogan's thinking, who went back to 
 his desk, and taking up a new pen again wrote 
 'Ugus.' Thereupon he fell into a great profundity 
 of thought; so many philosophic reflections crowded 
 into his head while he nibbled his .pen, as he felt sure 
 must visibly raise him in the estimation of his friends. 
 So, taking his candle in one hand and his pen in the 
 other, he came a second time to Kelly's bedside and 
 sat him down heavily upon his legs, the better to 
 ensure his awakening. It is to be admitted that this 
 time the Parson sat up in his bed, and swore with all 
 the volubility of a dragoon or even of my Lord 
 Bishop of Rochester. But Wogan smiled amiably, 
 knowing when he communicated his thoughts how 
 soon those oaths would turn to cries of admiration. 
 
30 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * It is a very curious thing,' said Wogan, shifting 
 himself a Httle so that Kelly's shins should not press 
 so sharply, * how the mere inking of one's fingers 
 produces speculation. Just as great valorous deeds 
 are the consequence of swords,' here he paused to 
 snuff the candle with his fingers, ' so great philosophic 
 thoughts are the consequence of pens. Put a sword 
 in a man's hand ! What does he want to do but cut 
 his neighbour right open from the chine to the ribs? 
 Put a pen between his fingers, on the other hand, and 
 what does he want to do but go away by himself and 
 write down great thoughts ? ' 
 
 ' Then, in Heaven's name, why don't you do it?' 
 cried George. 
 
 * Because, my friend,' replied Wogan, * out of the 
 great love I bear for you, I shall always, always com- 
 municate my thoughts first of all to you.' Here the 
 Parson groaned like a man giving up the ghost, and 
 Wogan continued : 
 
 * For instance, you have doubtless heard of my 
 illustrious forbear the Chevalier Ugus.' At this 
 Kelly tried to turn on his side ; but he could not do 
 so, since his legs were pinned beneath Wogan's 
 weight. * The Chevalier Ugus,' repeated Wogan, 
 * who built and beautified the city of Florence to the 
 glory of God in the reign of the Emperor Octavius. 
 How many of the English have loitered in the colon- 
 nades, and feasted their eyes upon the cathedral, and 
 sauntered on the bridges of the Arno? How many 
 of them, I say, have drawn profitable thoughts and 
 pleasurable sensations from the edifices of my great 
 ancestor? And yet not one of them — if poor 
 Nicholas Wogan, his degenerate son, were to poke 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 3* 
 
 his nose outside of Mrs. Barnes's front door — not one 
 of them but would truss him hands and heels and 
 hang him up to derision upon a nasty gibbet.' 
 
 So far Wogan had flowed on when a sigh from 
 Kelly's lips brought him to a pause. He leaned for- 
 ward and held the candle so that the light fell upon 
 Kelly's face. Kelly was sound asleep. 
 
 ' To be sure,' said Wogan in a soft voice of pity, on 
 the chance that Kelly might be counterfeiting slumber, 
 * my little friend 's jealous of my reflective powers,' and 
 going back to his chair wrote ' Ugus ' a third time with 
 a third pen ; and then, in order to think the more clearly, 
 laid his hand upon the table and closed his eyes. 
 
 It was Mrs. Barnes's hand upon his shoulder, some 
 three hours afterwards, which roused him from his so 
 deep reflections, and to a man in Wogan's course of 
 life the shoulder is a most sensitive member. She 
 took the paper, whereon the great name was thrice 
 inscribed, very daintily between her forefinger and 
 thumb, as though she touched pitch ; folded it once, 
 twice, thrice, and set it on the mantelshelf. There 
 Mr. Kelly, coming into the room for breakfast, dis- 
 covered it, hummed a little to himself like a man well 
 pleased, and turned over the leaf to see what was 
 written t' other side. 
 
 ' That is all,' said Wogan, indifferently. ^ 
 
 ' And it is a very good night's work,' replied Kelly, 
 with the politest gravity, ' not a letter — and there are 
 precisely twelve of them in all — but is writ with 
 scrupulous correctness. Such flourishes, too, are 
 seldom seen. I cannot call to mind that ever I saw a 
 g so pictorially displayed. Ugus — Ugus — Ugus — ' 
 and he held the paper out at arm's length. 
 
32 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * I went no further with my work/ explained Wogan, 
 * because I reflected — ' 
 
 'What, again?' asked the Parson in a voice of con- 
 dolence. 
 
 * That the mere enunciation of the name Ugus gives 
 an epitome of the Wogan family.' 
 
 * Indeed, it gives a history in full,' said the Parson. 
 
 * It comprises — ' 
 
 ' Nay, it conveys — ' 
 
 ' All that need be known of the Wogan family.' 
 
 * All that need be known, indeed, and perhaps 
 more,' added George with the air of a man turning a 
 compliment. Mr. Wogan was sensibly flattered, and 
 took his friend's words as an apology for that disre- 
 spect which he had shown towards Thomas Wogan 
 two days before, and the pair seated themselves to 
 breakfast in the best of good humour. 
 
 * We start at nine of the evening,' said George. * I 
 have commanded a sober suit of grey cloth for you, 
 Nick, since you cannot squeeze into my coats, and it 
 should be here by now. Meanwhile, I leave you to 
 Mrs. Barnes's attentions.' 
 
 Of these attentions Mrs. Barnes was by no means 
 sparing. For the buxom widow of the bookseller, 
 who, to her credit be it said, had her full share of 
 good looks, joined to an admirable warmth of heart a 
 less adorable curiosity. With the best intentions in 
 the world for her lodgers' security, she was always 
 prying into their secrets. Nor did she always hold 
 her tongue outside her own doors, as Mr. Kelly had 
 bitter reason afterwards to know. In a word, she had 
 all the inquisitiveness of her class, and sufficient wiles 
 to make that inquisitiveness difficult to parry. Not 
 
PARSON KELLY 33 
 
 that Nicholas Wogan was at all troubled upon this 
 score, for if there was one quality upon which the 
 good man prided himself, it was his comprehension 
 of the sex. * Woman,' he would say with a senten- 
 tious pursing of the lips and a nod of the head ; and 
 again * woman,' and so drop into silence ; as who 
 should say, ' Here 's a nut I could show you the ker- 
 nel of were I so disposed.' 
 
 This morning, however, Mrs. Barnes made no de- 
 mand upon Wogan's cunning. For she took the 
 paper with the thrice iterated Ugus which the Parson 
 had replaced upon the mantelshelf, and, with the same 
 gingerly precautions as she had used in touching it 
 before, dropped it into the fire. 
 
 * And why that? ' asked Wogan. 
 Mrs. Barnes flung out at him in reply. 
 
 * I have no patience with you,' she cried. ' What' s 
 Ugus, Mr. Wogan? Answer me that,' and she struck 
 her arms akimbo. * What's Ugus but one of your 
 cypher words, and you must needs stick it up on your 
 mantelshelf for all the world to see? ' 
 
 ' It 's no cypher word at all," replied Wogan with 
 a laugh. 
 
 * What is it then? ' said she. 
 
 * My dear woman, the merest mare's nest,' said 
 he. 
 
 * Oh, you may *' dear woman " me,' cried she, and 
 sat herself down in a chair, 'and you may laugh at a 
 woman's fears ; but, good lack, it was a bad day 
 when Mr. Kelly first found a lodging here. What 
 with his plottings here and his plottings there, it will 
 be a fortunate thing if he does n't plot us all into our 
 graves.' 
 
 3 
 
34 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Whisht,' interrupted Wogan. * There are no plots 
 at all, any more than there' s sense in your talk.' 
 
 But the woman's eloquence was not so easily 
 stemmed. 
 
 * Then if there are no plots, why is Mr. Kelly ** Mr. 
 Johnson," why is Mr. Wogan " Mr. Hilton " ; and 
 why, oh why, am I in danger of my life and liberty, 
 and in peril of my immortal soul?' 
 
 * Sure you are bubbled with your fears,' answered 
 Wogan. ' It is sufficiently well known that since Mr. 
 George Kelly ceased to minister to souls he has 
 adopted the more lucrative profession of a lace mer- 
 chant. There 's some secrecy no doubt in his comings 
 and goings, but that is because he is most honourably 
 engaged in defrauding the revenue.' 
 
 * A pretty lace merchant, upon my soul,* said she, 
 and she began to rock her body to and fro. The 
 sight alarmed Nicholas Wogan, since he knew the 
 movement to be a premonition of tears. * A lace 
 merchant who writes letters in Latin, and rides in the 
 Bishop of Rochester's coach, and goes a-visiting my 
 Lord Oxford in the country. Thirteen shillings have 
 I paid for letters in one day. Laces, forsooth ! It is 
 hempen ropes the poor gentleman travels in, and 
 never was a man so eager to fit them to his own 
 neck.' And, at the affecting prospect which her 
 words called up, the good woman lifted her apron to 
 her eyes and forthwith dissolved into tears. Sobs 
 tore her ample bosom, her soft frame quivered like a 
 jelly. Never did Mr. Wogan find his intimate knowl- 
 edge of the sex of more inestimable value. He 
 crossed the room ; he took one plump hand into his 
 left palm and gently cherished it with his right. The 
 
PARSON KELLY 35 
 
 tears diminished to a whimpering. He cooed a com- 
 pliment into Mrs. Barnes's ear, * A little white dove 
 of a hand in a brown nest, my dear woman,' said he, 
 and affectionately tweaked her ear. Even the whim- 
 pering ceased, but ceased under protest ! For Mrs. 
 Barnes began to speak again. Wogan, however, 
 kissed the tearful eyes and sealed them in content. 
 
 * Hoity-toity, here' s a set out,' he said, ' because 
 my Lord Oxford wants a pair of Venice ruffles to hide 
 his gouty fingers, or a new mantilla for his new 
 spouse,' and so, softly chiding her, he pushed her out 
 of the room. 
 
 At nine o'clock to the minute the chaise drove up 
 to the door. Mr. Kelly took a stroll along the street 
 to see the coast was clear; Mrs. Barnes was in two 
 minds whether to weep at losing her lodgers, or to 
 smile at their prospects of security, and compromised 
 between her emotions by indulging them alternately ; 
 and finally the two friends in burgess dress entered 
 the chaise and drove off. Mr. Wogan thrust his head 
 half out of the window, the better to take his fill of 
 the cool night air, but drew it back something of the 
 suddenest at the corner where Ryder Street debouches 
 into St. James's. 
 
 'Sure the man's a spy,' said he, flinging himself 
 back. Parson Kelly leaned cautiously forward, and 
 under an oil-lamp above the porch of a door he saw 
 Captain Montague. The Captain was standing in an 
 indecisive attitude, tapping with his stick upon the 
 pavement and looking up and down the street. 
 
 ' I doubt it,' returned Kelly. * I have ever heard 
 he was the most scrupulous gentleman.' 
 
 ' But he 's a Whig. A Whig and a gentleman ! 
 
36 PARSON KELLY 
 
 But it's a contradiction in terms. Whigging is a 
 nasty insupportable trade, and infects a man like a 
 poison. A Whig is a sort of third sex by itself that 
 combines all the failings of the other two.' 
 
 However, this time it was evident that Captain 
 Montague had taken no note of Nicholas Wogan. 
 He could not but reflect how it was at this very spot 
 that he had come upon the captain before, and 
 mighty glad he was when the lights of Knightsbridge 
 had sunk behind them, and they were driving betwixt 
 the hedgerows. Then at one spring he jumped to 
 the top of his spirits. 
 
 * George, what a night ! ' cries he. ' Sure I was 
 never designed to live in a house at all, but to be 
 entirely happy under the blue roof-tree of the sky. 
 Put me out on a good road at night and the whole 
 universe converses with me on the most familiar 
 terms. Perhaps it 's a bush that throws out a tendril 
 and says, * Smell that, you devil, and good luck to 
 you.' Or, maybe it's the stars that wink at me and 
 say, * Here 's a world for you, Nick, my little friend. 
 Only wait a moment, and we '11 show you a bit of a 
 moon that '11 make a poet of you.' Then up comes 
 the moon, perhaps, in a crescent like a wisp of fire, 
 and, says she, ' It 's all very well here, Nicholas, but 
 take my word for it, I can show you as good on the 
 sea and better. For you '11 have all this, and the hiss 
 of the water under your lee besides, and the little 
 bubbles dancing on the top. But what troubles you, 
 George? ' 
 
 But Kelly made little or no reply, being sunk in 
 the consideration of some difficulty. For two days 
 he remained closeted with his trouble, and it was not 
 
PARSON KELLY 37 
 
 until they had got to Worcester that he discovered 
 it. They changed horses at the ' Dog and Turk ' and 
 drove through the town under the Abbey clock. 
 
 'It is five minutes to twelve,' said Wogan, looking 
 at the clock. 
 
 * Yes,' said Kelly with a sigh, 'the face is very plain 
 to read.' Then he sighed again. 
 
 * Now, if the clock were a woman,' said he, * it 
 might be half-past four and we still thinking it five 
 minutes to twelve.' 
 
 * Oh, is it there you are? ' said Wogan. 
 
 'Why, yes,' replied Kelly. 'Lord Oxford, do you 
 see, Nick, is a half-hearted sort of trembler — that 
 we know and are ready for him. But what of my 
 lady?' 
 
 Wogan crossed his legs and laughed comfortably. 
 Here was matter with which he could confidently 
 deal. 
 
 ' Well, what of her? ' he asked. 
 
 'You heard what Fanny Oglethorpe said. She is 
 a kinswoman of Mr. Walpole's. How shall we be 
 sure of her at all? A woman, Nick, is a creature 
 who walks in the byways of thought. How shall an 
 obtuse man follow her?' 
 
 Wogan took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 ' It is very well, George,' said he, ' that I took this 
 journey with you. I '11 make your conduct plain to 
 you as the palm of my hand. In the first place, 
 there was never a woman yet from Cleopatra down- 
 wards that cared the scrape of a fiddle for politics. 
 'Twas never more than a path that led to something 
 else, and is held of just as small account as the road 
 a girl dances down when she goes to meet her lover. 
 
3^ PARSON KELLY 
 
 Look at Fanny Oglethorpe, Olive Trant, and the rest 
 of them m Paris ! D' you think it 's the Cause they 
 ever give a thought to ? If you do you 're sadly out, 
 my friend. No ; what troubles their heads is simply 
 that the Chevalier is a romantical figure of a man, 
 and would look extraordinarily well with a gold 
 crown on the top of his periwig. Now I 'm wagering 
 it will be just the same with my Lady Oxford. You 
 have all the qualifications down to your legs, and let 
 my lady once take a liking to your person she will 
 gulp your politics without a grimace.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly turned a startled face towards his in- 
 structor. 
 
 * You would have me pay court to her? ' says he. 
 
 * Just that,' says Wogan, imperturbably. ' Keep 
 your politics for my lord and have a soft word ready 
 for my lady. Pen her a delicate ode in Latin. To 
 be sure the addresses of an erudite man have some- 
 thing particularly flattering to the sex. Or drop out 
 a pretty compliment on her ear.' 
 
 'Oh, on her ear?' said Kelly, beginning to smile. 
 'Of what sort?' 
 
 * Faith, George, but you exasperate me,' said Nick. 
 'Isn't there an infinity of images you could use? 
 For instance — ,' said he, and hummed a little. 
 
 ' Well, for instance ! ' said Kelly, urging him on. 
 
 ' For instance,' returned Wogan, * you can speak of 
 its functions — ' 
 
 ' I understand. I am to tell her that it is a very 
 proper thing for a woman to sit and listen to other 
 people.' 
 
 ' Tell her that,' cries Wogan, lifting up his hands, 
 ' and you will be drubbed down the staircase pretty 
 
PARSON KELLY 39 
 
 quick! No. Tell her there is never a poet laureate 
 in the world would print a single one of his poems if 
 he could treasure his music within her ear.' 
 
 * Ah,' says Kelly. 'That is a compliment of quite 
 a different kind,' and he repeated it three times to 
 commit it to memory. ' But one, Nick, will not 
 suffice. I must have more sayings about her ear.' 
 
 ' And you shall,' says Wogan. ' You can speak 
 of its appearance.' 
 ' Of its aopearance? ' 
 'And fit a simile to it.' 
 
 * Give me one,' said Kelly. 
 
 * You can say her ear is like a rosy shell on the 
 sea-banks.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly began to laugh outright. 
 ' Sure,* said he, ' I might as well tell her at once 
 her hair is sandy.' 
 
 * Oh, she will not examine your words so nicely. 
 She will just perceive that you intend a compliment' 
 
 * And take me for a very impertinent fellow.' 
 
 ' George ' said Wogan, ' for a parson you are a 
 man of a most unnatural modesty.' In which remark 
 Wogan did his friend no more than the merest 
 justice. For he had nothing in common with that 
 usual foible of the young chaplains and tutors who 
 frequent the houses of the great. 
 
 To listen to them over a bottle you would think 
 them conquerors of all hearts, from the still-room 
 maid to my lady and her daughters. But Mr. Kelly 
 was in a different case. The Bishop of Rochester 
 himself gave him the character of being prudent and 
 reserved beyond his years. And perhaps it was by 
 reason of that very modesty that he slid insensibly 
 
40 PARSON KELLY 
 
 into the thoughts of more women than he knew of. 
 Of these, however, Lady Oxford was not one. 
 
 It was about three in the afternoon of the next day 
 when the chaise drove up to the door of the great 
 house at Brampton Bryan. The Parson and Nicholas 
 Wogan had barely stepped into the hall before an 
 inner door opened and my lady came forward to 
 greet them. She was for her sex uncommonly tall, 
 and altogether of a conquering beauty, which a 
 simple country dress did but the more plainly set 
 forth. For, seeing her, one thought what a royal 
 woman she would look if royally attired, and so came 
 to a due appreciation of her consummate appearance. 
 Whereas, had she been royally attired, her dress 
 might have taken some of the credit of her beauty. 
 She stood for a second between the two men, looking 
 from one to the other as though in doubt. 
 
 'And which is Mr. James Johnson? ' said she, with 
 a sly emphasis upon the name. 
 
 *I am,' said George, stepping forward, ' and your 
 Ladyship's humble servant.' 
 
 She gave him a smile and her hand. Mr. Kelly 
 clicked his heels together, bent over the hand and 
 kissed it reverentially. 
 
 The lady sighed a quick little sigh (of pleasure) 
 as she drew her hand away. 
 
 ' I have taken the liberty, your Ladyship,' said 
 Kelly, * to bring my secretary, Mr. Hilton, with me,' 
 and he waved a hand towards Wogan. 
 
 ' Mr. Hilton,' she returned, * is very welcome. For, 
 indeed, we hear too few voices in the house.' She 
 bowed very graciously, but she did not give her hand 
 to Mr. Wogan. * Gentlemen,' she continued, * my 
 
PARSON KELLY 41 
 
 lord bids me make you his apologies, but he lies 
 abed. Else would he have welcomed you in person.* 
 
 * Your Ladyship,' said Kelley, ' if we come at an 
 inopportune time — ' 
 
 ' By no means,' interrupted Lady Oxford. * My 
 lord is troubled with the gout, but the fit is passing. 
 And if for a couple of days my poor hospitality will 
 content you — ' 
 
 * Your Ladyship,' protested Kelly, but that was all 
 he said. Now, to Mr. Wogan's thinking, here was as 
 timely an occasion for a compliment as a man could 
 wish. And since Mr. Kelly had not the tact to seize 
 it, why, his friend must come to his help. Accord- 
 ingly, 
 
 * So might the holy angels apologise when they 
 open the gates of Paradise,' said Wogan with his 
 hand on his heart, and bowed. As he bowed he 
 heard some stifled sounds, and he looked up quickly. 
 My lady was crimson in the face with the effort to 
 check her laughter. 
 
 * Mr. Hilton is too polite/ said she instantly, with 
 an elaborate courtesy, and turned again to Kelly 
 with some inquiries about his journey. Wogan was 
 shown up the stairs before the inquiries were answered. 
 The staircase ran round the three sides of the hall 
 up to a landing on the fourth, and as Wogan came 
 to the first turn he saw Lady Oxford cross to the 
 great wood fire which was burning on the hearth ; 
 when he came to the second he saw that the Parson 
 had crossed too and stood over against her; when 
 he reached the third turn, my lady was seated toasting 
 a foot at the blaze ; when he reached the landing, 
 Mr. Kelly had drawn up a chair. 
 
42 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Wogan leaned for a moment over the balustrade. 
 It was a very small foot with an admirably arched 
 instep ; Mr. Wogan had seen the like in Spain. 
 Well, very likely she only thrust it out to warm it. 
 The firelight coloured her face to a pretty rose hue, 
 sparkled in her dark eyes, and searched out the gold 
 threads in her brown hair. Mr. Wogan was much 
 tempted to whisper a reminder to his friend concern- 
 ing her ear. But he resisted the temptation, for 
 after all it seemed there would be little to do about 
 my lady's politics. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 SHOWS THE EXTREME DANGER OF KNOWING LATIN 
 
 AN hour later the three sat down to dinner, 
 though, for all the talking that one of them 
 did, there might have been present only the two 
 whom Wogan had left chatting in the hall. It was 
 not that Lady Oxford omitted any proper courtesy 
 towards Mr. Johnson's secretary, but the secretary 
 himself, sensible that he was something too apt to 
 say in all companies just what came into his head, 
 was careful to keep his tongue in a strict leash, lest an 
 inconvenient word should slip from him. His defi- 
 ciency, however, was not remarked. Lady Oxford 
 was young, and for all that my lord lay upstairs in a 
 paroxysm of the gout, she was in the highest feather ; 
 she rattled from course to course, plying Mr. Kelly 
 with innumerable questions as to the latest tittle- 
 tattle of the tea-parties, and whether Lady Mary 
 Wortley and Mr. Pope were still the best of friends. 
 'Then your Ladyship is acquainted with Lady 
 Mary?* says Kelly, looking up with some eagerness. 
 For Lady Mary, then a toast among the wits and a 
 wit among the toasts, was glanced at by some 
 tongues as if, being sister to the Duchess of Mar, she 
 was not of the most loyal to the Elector. The Duke 
 
44 PARSON KELLY 
 
 of Mar was still Secretary to King James over the 
 water. 
 
 ' Without doubt,' returned Lady Oxford. * Lady 
 Mary is my bosom friend. The dear malicious 
 creature! What is her latest quip? Tell me, Mr. 
 Johnson, I die to hear it. Or rather whisper it. It 
 will be too deliciously cruel for loud speaking. Lady 
 Mary's witticisms, I think, should always be spoken 
 in a low voice, with a suggestive nod and a tap of 
 the forefinger on the table, so that one may not mis- 
 take where the sting lies. Not that the sayings are 
 in themselves at all clumsy — how could they be, 
 when she has such clever friends? But they gain 
 much from a mysterious telling of them. You agree 
 with me? ' 
 
 It was evident that Lady Oxford wasted no love 
 on Lady Mary, and Kelly's face fell. 
 
 *Your ladyship,' he replied, * though I have no 
 claims to be considered clever, I have the honour to 
 be ranked amongst her friends.' 
 
 * Indeed ! ' said she with a light laugh at the 
 rebuff. * No doubt you have brought her some of 
 your laces and brocades from France, Mr. — John- 
 son.' She paused slyly upon the name. 
 
 Kelly glanced quickly at her, their eyes met, and 
 the lady laughed. There could be no doubt that she 
 knew something of Kelly's business. Indeed, she 
 would hardly have asked him for the fashionable 
 gossip at all had she taken him for just what he 
 represented himself to be. Wogan put his foot on his 
 friend's pretty heavily, and, he knows not how, en- 
 countered her ladyship's. To his horror, Lady Oxford 
 made a moan of pain. Kelly starts up in a hurry. 
 
PARSON KELLY 45 
 
 * Your ladyship is unwell,* says he, and bids the 
 servant bring a bottle of salts. 
 
 * No,' she replied with a smile on her lips and her 
 eyes full of tears, * but your secretary has dropped a 
 blot on the wrong paper.' 
 
 * Your ladyship,' cried Wogan in an extremity of 
 confusion, ' it was the most miserable accident, 
 believe me. A spasm in the leg, madam, the con- 
 sequence of a sabre cut across the calf,' he explained, 
 making the matter worse. 
 
 ' Oh, and in what battle was Mr. Johnson's secretary 
 wounded? ' she said, taking him up on the instant. 
 
 * Li a struggle with the Preventive men,' replied 
 Wogan hurriedly, and he too broke off with a wry 
 face, for Mr. Johnson was warning him and with no 
 less vigour. Before he knew what he was doing 
 Wogan had stooped down and begun to rub his leg. 
 Lady Oxford's smile became a laugh. 
 
 ' To be sure,' said she, ' and I think Mr. Johnson 
 must have been wounded too, in just that same way, 
 and in just that same encounter.' 
 
 ' Faith, madam,' said Kelly, ' the smuggling trade 
 is a hard one. No man engages in it but sooner or 
 later he gets a knock that leaves its mark.' 
 
 Lady Oxford expressed the profoundest sympathy 
 with a great deal of disbelief; and when her ladyship 
 left her guests to their wine, they looked at one 
 another across the table. 
 
 ' Well,' said Wogan cheerfully, * if my Lady Ox- 
 ford is in Mr. Walpole's interest we have not made 
 the best beginning in the world,' and in a little he 
 went off to smoke a pipe in the stables. 
 
 Kelly withdrew to the great library, and had not 
 
46 . PARSON KELLY 
 
 been there many minutes before Lady Oxford came 
 in. It seemed she did not see him at the first, 
 ahhough he sat bent up over the fire and his shadow 
 huge upon the walls. Mr. Kelly certainly did not 
 remark her entrance. For one thing, he was ab- 
 sorbed in his book ; for another, the carpet was thick 
 and the lady's step of the lightest. She went first 
 to the bookcase, then she crossed the room and 
 shufHed some papers on a table, then she knocked 
 against a chair, the chair knocked against the table, 
 and at the noise Kelly looked up. He rose to his 
 feet. Lady Oxford turned round, started, and 
 uttered a sharp little cry. 
 
 ' My lady/ began Mr. Kelly. 
 
 ' Oh, it is you, Mr. Johnson,' she broke in with 
 a hand to her heart, and dropped into the chair. * I 
 believe,' she said with a broken laugh, * I was foolish 
 enough to be frightened. I fancied you had gone 
 with your friend to the stables,' which was as much 
 as to say that she knew he had not. Kelly com- 
 menced an apology for so disordering her, but she 
 would not listen to it. 
 
 " No,' she said, 'it is I that am to be blamed. 
 Indeed, such stupid fears need chiding. But in a 
 house so lonely and silent they grow on one insen- 
 sibly. Indeed, I have known the mere creak of the 
 stairs keep me awake in terror half the night.' 
 
 She spoke with the air of one gently railing at her 
 own distress, but shivered a little to prove the dis- 
 tress genuine, and Kelly, as he looked at her, felt a 
 sudden pang of pity. 
 
 ' Your place, my lady, is not here,' he cried, * but 
 in the Mall, at the Spring Gardens, in the lighted 
 
PARSON KELLY 47 
 
 theatres, when even your ladyship's own sex would 
 pay you homage for outrivalling them,' 
 
 * Nay/ she replied, with the sweetest smile of 
 reproof, * you go too fast, Mr. Johnson. My place 
 is here, for here my duty lies.' She looked up to 
 the ceiling with a meek acceptance of the burden 
 laid upon her fair shoulders. * But I am not come 
 to disturb you,' she continued briskly; * I came to 
 fetch a book to read aloud to my lord.' At that a 
 sigh half broke from her and was caught back as it 
 were upon her lips. ' Perhaps, Mr. Johnson,' she 
 said in a well-acted flurry, * you will help me in the 
 selection?' 
 
 ' With all the heart in the world,* said he, laying 
 down his volume. The choice took perhaps longer 
 than need have been, for over each book there was 
 some discussion. This one was too trivial to satisfy 
 my Lord Oxford's weighty mind ; that other was 
 too profound to suit his health. * And nothing too 
 contentious, I implore you, lest it throw him into a 
 heat,' she prayed, ' for my lord has a great gift of 
 logic, and will argue with you by the hour over the 
 merest trifle.' This with another half-uttered sigh, 
 and so the martyr sought her lord's bedside. It 
 appeared, however, that Lord Oxford was sleepy 
 that night, or had no mind for the music of his 
 lady's voice, for in a very little while she returned to 
 the library and Mr. Kelly, where Wogan presently 
 found them discussing in a great animation the 
 prospects of Mr. Law's ventures. 
 
 ' You are in for a great stake? ' she asked. 
 
 * For all I have,' replied Kelly, ' and a little more. 
 It is not a c^reat sum.' 
 
48 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * But may become one/ said she, * and will if a 
 friend's good wishes can at all avail.' And so she 
 wished her guests good night. 
 
 The next morning Lord Oxford sent a message 
 that he was so far recovered as would enable him to 
 receive his visitors that afternoon. Meanwhile Lady 
 Oxford, after breakfast carried off the two gentlemen 
 to visit a new orchard she was having planted. The 
 orchard was open to the south-west, and Kelly took 
 objection to its site, quoting Virgil in favour of a 
 westerly outlook. 
 
 *Ah, but the west wind,' she said, 'comes to us 
 across the Welsh mountains, which even in the late 
 spring are at times covered deep in snow. However, 
 I should be pleased to hear the advice of Virgil,' and 
 the Parson goes off to the library and fetches out a 
 copy. 
 
 It was a warm day in April, with the sky blue 
 overhead and the buds putting out on the trees, and 
 for the most part of that morning Mr. Kelly trans- 
 lated the Georgics to her ladyship, on a seat under a 
 great yew-tree, in a little square of grass fenced off 
 with a hedge. She listened with an extraordinary 
 complaisance, and now and then a compliment upon 
 the Parson's fluency; so that Mr. Wogan lost all his 
 apprehensions as to her meddling in the King's 
 affairs. For, to his thinking, than listening to Virgil, 
 there was no greater proof of friendship. 
 
 Nor was it only upon this occasion that she gave 
 the proof. Lord Oxford was a difficult man from his 
 very timidity, and the Parson's visit was consequently 
 protracted. His lordship needed endless assurances 
 as to the prospects of a rising on behalf of King 
 
PARSON KELLY 49 
 
 James, before he would hazard a joint of his Httle 
 finger to support it. Who would take the place of 
 the Royal Swede? Could the French Regent be 
 persuaded to lend any troops or arms or money, or 
 even to wink? Had the Czar been approached? 
 Indeed he had, by Wogan's brother Charles. And 
 what office would my Lord Oxford hold when James 
 IIL was crowned? Each day saw these questions 
 reiterated and no conclusion come to. Lady Oxford 
 was never present at these discussions ; the face of 
 her conduct was a sedulous discretion. It is true 
 that after a little she dropped the pretence of laces, 
 and, when the servants were not present, styled the 
 Parson 'Mr. Kelly.' But that was all. 'These are 
 not women's matters,' she would say with a pretty 
 humility, and then rise like a queen and sail out of 
 the room. Mr. Wogan might have noticed upon 
 such occasions that the Parson hestitated for a little 
 after she had gone, and spoke at random, as though 
 she had carried off some part of his mind from affairs 
 with the waft of her hoop. But he waited on the 
 lady's dispositions and set down what he saw of his 
 friend's conduct at the time as merely the conse- 
 quence of an endeavour to enlist her secrecy and 
 good-will. 
 
 These councils with Lord Oxford took place, as a 
 rule, in the afternoon, his lordship being a late riser, 
 and even when risen capable only of sitting in a 
 chair, with a leg swathed in a mountain of flannel. 
 So that, altogether, Mr. Kelly had a deal of time 
 upon his hands, and doubtless would have found it 
 hang as heavy as Nick Wogan did, but for the sud- 
 den interest he took in Lady Oxford's new orchard. 
 
 4 
 
50 , PARSON KELLY 
 
 He would spend hours over the ' Observations on 
 Modern Gardening,' and then, 
 
 * Nick,' he would cry, ' there 's no life but a country 
 life. One wakes in the morning, and the eye travels 
 with delight over the green expanse of fields. One 
 makes friends with the inanimate things of nature. 
 Nick, here one might re-create the Golden Age.' 
 
 * To my mind,' says Nick, * but for the dogs and 
 horses it would be purely insupportable. With all 
 the goodwill in the world 1 cannot make friends with 
 a gatepost, and I 'm not denying I shall be mightily 
 glad when the wambling old sufferer upstairs brings 
 his mind at last to an anchor.' 
 
 But the Parson was already lost in speculation, and 
 would presently wake to ask Wogan's opinion as to 
 whether a Huff-cap pear was preferable to a Bar-land. 
 To which he got no answer, and so, snatching up his 
 Virgil, would go in search of Lady Oxford. He 
 acquired, indeed, a most intimate knowledge of apples 
 and pears, and would discourse with her ladyship 
 upon the methods of planting and grafting as though 
 he had been Adam, and she Flora, or, rather, our 
 mother Eve, before the apple was shared between 
 them. For apples the store, the hayloe-crab, the 
 brandy-apple, the red-streak, the moyle, the fox- 
 whelp, the dymock-red ; for pears the squash pear, 
 the Oldfield, the sack-pear, never a meal passed but 
 one of these names cropped up at the table and was 
 bandied about between Kelly and her ladyship like a 
 tennis-ball. Now all this, though dull, was none the 
 less reassuring to Wogan, who saw very clearly that 
 Lady Oxford was altogether devoted to country pur- 
 suits, and wisely inferred that while there might 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 51 
 
 result confusion in the quality of the pears, there 
 would be the less disorder in the affairs of the 
 Chevalier. 
 
 Moreover, her ladyship's inclination towards Mr. 
 Kelly plainly increased. He translated the whole of 
 the second book of the Georgics to her, five hundred 
 and forty-two mortal lines of immortal poetry, and 
 she never winced. Nor did she cry halt at the end 
 of them, but, thereafter, listened to the Eclogues ; 
 and, all at once, their conversation was sprinkled with 
 Meliboeus and Moeris, and Lycidas and Mopsus, and 
 Heaven knows what other names. Mr. Woean re- 
 members very well coming upon them one wet after- 
 noon in the hall when it was growing dark. The lamps 
 had not been lit, and Kelly had just finished reading 
 one of the pastorals by the firelight. Lady Oxford 
 sat with her hands clasped upon her knees, and, as 
 he closed the book, 
 
 * Oh for those days,' she cried, * when a youth and 
 a maid could roam barefoot over the grass in simple 
 woollen garments ! But now we must go furbelowed 
 and bedecked till there 's no more comfort than simpli- 
 city,' and she smoothed her hand over her petticoat 
 with a great contempt for its finery. Lady Mary Wort- 
 ley, to whom Wogan related this saying afterwards, 
 explained that doubtless her ladyship had laced her 
 stays too tight that morning; but the two men put 
 no such construction on her words, nor, indeed, did 
 they notice a certain contradiction between them 
 and Lady Oxford's anxiety for London gossip — the 
 Parson, because he had ceased to do anything but 
 admire ; Wogan, because a little design had sud- 
 denly occurred to him. 
 
52 PARSON KELLY 
 
 It was Lady Oxford's patience under the verses 
 which put it into Wogan's head. For since she en- 
 dured to listen to poetry about trees and shepherds, 
 poetry about herself must be a sheer dehght to her. 
 So, at all events, he reasoned, not knowing that Lady 
 Oxford had already enjoyed occasion to listen to 
 poetry about herself from Lady Mary's pen, which 
 was anything but a delight. Accordingly he hinted 
 to his friend that a little ode might set a firm seal 
 upon her friendliness. 
 
 * Make her a Dryad in one of the trees of her own 
 orchard, d' ye see? ' he suggested ; * something pretty 
 and artful, with sufficient allusions to her beauty. 
 Who knows but what she may be so flattered as to 
 carry the verses against her heart; and so, when 
 some fine day she brings her husband's secrets to Mr. 
 Walpole, she may hear the paper crackling against 
 her bodice, and turn back on the very doorstep.' 
 
 * She will carry no secrets,' replied Kelly with a 
 huff. * She is too conscious of her duties. Besides, 
 she knows none. Have you not seen her leave the 
 room the moment politics are so much as hinted 
 of?' 
 
 * True,' said Wogan. * But what 's her husband for 
 except to provide her with secrets when they are 
 alone to which she cannot listen without impertinence 
 in company? ' 
 
 Kelly moved impatiently away. He stood with a 
 foot upon the fender, turning over the pages of his 
 Virgil. 
 
 * You allow her no merit whatsoever/ he said 
 slowly with a great gentleness. 
 
 * Indeed, but I do/ replied Wogan. ' I allow that 
 
PARSON KELLY 53 
 
 she will be charmed by your poetry, and that 's a 
 rare merit. She will find it as soothing as a soldier 
 does a pipe of tobacco after a hard day's fighting.' 
 
 ' I would not practise on her for the world,' says 
 Kelly with just the same gentleness, and goes softly 
 out by the door. 
 
 Wogan, however, was troubled by no such delicate 
 scruples. An ode must be written, even if he had 
 to write it himself. He slapped his forehead as the 
 notion occurred to him. The ode might be dropped 
 as though by accident at some spot where her lady- 
 ship's eyes could not fail to light on it. Wogan 
 heaved a deep breath, took a turn across the room, 
 and resolved on the heroical feat. He would turn 
 poet to help his friend. For two nights he fortified 
 himself with the perusal of Sir John Suckling's poems, 
 and the next morning took pencil and paper into the 
 garden. He walked along the terrace, and seated 
 himself on the bench beneath the yew-tree. Wogan 
 sucked strenuously at his pencil. 
 
 * Strephon to his Smilinda, running barefoot over 
 the grass in a gale of wind,' he wrote at the top, and 
 was very well pleased with the title. By noonday he 
 had produced a verse, and was very well pleased with 
 that, except, perhaps, that the last line halted. The 
 verse ran as follows : — 
 
 Nay, sweet Smilinda, do not chide 
 The wind that wantons with thy hair; 
 The grass will all his prickles hide 
 Nor harm thy snowy feet and bare. 
 And, listen, the enamoured air 
 Makes lutestrings of thy locks so fair. 
 At night the stars are mirrors which reflect 
 Thine eyes : at least that is what I expect. 
 
54 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Mr. Wogan spent an hour and three pipes of 
 tobacco over his unwonted exercise, which brought 
 him into a great heat. 
 
 Having finished the verse he blew out his cheeks 
 and took a rest from his labours. It was a fine spring 
 morning, and the sun bright as a midsummer day. 
 To his right the creepers were beginning to stretch 
 their green tendrils over the red bricks of the garden 
 wall. To his left half-a-dozen steps led up to a raised 
 avenue of trees. Wogan looked down the avenue, 
 noted the border of spring flowers, and a flash of a 
 big window at the extreme end ; and in all the 
 branches the birds sang. The world seemed all 
 together very good, and his poem quite apiece with 
 the world. Wogan stretched his arms and kicked 
 out his feet. His feet struck against something hard 
 in a tuft of grass. He stooped down and picked it 
 up. It was Kelly's Virgil. The book was open, and 
 the pages all blotted and smeared with the dew. It 
 had evidently lain open on the grass by the bench 
 all night. Wogan wiped the covers dry, and, using 
 it as a desk, settled himself to the composition of his 
 second verse. He had not, however, thought of an 
 opening for it before a voice hailed him from behind. 
 
 He turned round and saw Kelly coming towards 
 him from the direction of the orchard, and at that 
 moment the opening of his verse occurred to him ; 
 Strephon ofl"ered to Smilinda his heart's allegiance. 
 Wogan set his pencil to the paper, fearful lest he 
 should forget the line. 
 
 * Nick,' cries Kelly, waving a bundle of letters, and 
 starts to run. Wogan slipped his paper between the 
 leaves of the book ; just as he did so, Strephon, in 
 
PARSON KELLY 55 
 
 return for his heart's * allegiance,' asked for Smilinda's 
 soft * obedience.' 
 
 * Nick,' cries Kelly again, coming up to the bench, 
 * what d' you think? ' 
 
 * I think,' sa}^s Wogan, * that interruption is the 
 true source of inspiration.' 
 
 'What do you mean?' asked Kelly, looking at 
 Wogan's pencil. 
 
 * I mean,' says Wogan, looking at the cover of the 
 book, * that if I lived by my poetry, I would hire a 
 man to rap at my door all day long.' 
 
 Kelly, however, had no ears for philosophy. 
 
 * Nick,' says he, * will you listen to me, if you 
 please? I have a letter from Miss Oglethorpe. It 
 explains — ' 
 
 * Yes,' interposed Wogan thoughtfully. ' It ex- 
 plains why the best poets are ever those who are 
 most dunned by their creditors.' 
 
 Kelly snatched the Virgil out of Wogan's hand, 
 and threw it on to the grass. The book opened as it 
 fell. It opened at the soiled pages, and it was behind 
 those pages that Wogan had slipped his poem. 
 
 ' You are as contrarious as a woman. Here am I, 
 swollen with the grandest news, and you must babble 
 about poets and creditors. Nick, there 'II be few 
 creditors to dun you and me for a bit. Just listen, 
 will you? ' 
 
 He leaned his elbows on the back of the bench, 
 and read from his letter. It was to the effect that, 
 during April, an edict had been published in France, 
 transferring to Mr. Law's company of the West the 
 exclusive rights of trading to the East Indies and the 
 South Seas. 
 
56 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Think of it, Nick ! ' he cried. * The actions have 
 risen from 550 Hvres to 1,000, and we are as yet at 
 the budding of May. Why, man, as it is we are well 
 to do. Just imagine that, if you can, you threadbare 
 devil ! We shall be rich before August.' 
 
 * We shall dine off silver plates in September ! ' 
 cries Nick, leaping up in the contagion of his friend's 
 good spirits. 
 
 * And drink out of diamond cups in November,' 
 adds Kelly, dropping at once into the Irish accent. 
 
 ' Bedad ! ' shouts Wogan, ' I '11 write my poetry on 
 beaten gold,' and he sprang on to the seat. 
 
 ' You shall,' replies Kelly ; * and your ink shall be 
 distilled out of black pearls.' 
 
 ' Sure, George, one does not write on gold with 
 ink, but with a graving tool.' 
 
 ' This nonsense, and poetry, are what the lucky 
 heart sings,' said Kelly. 
 
 * To a tune of clinking coins,' said Wogan. He 
 stooped down to his friend. * Have it all in solid gold, 
 and tied up in sacks,' said he earnestly. * None of 
 their bills of exchange, but crowns, and pieces of 
 eight, and doubloons, and guinea-pieces; and all tied 
 up in sacks.' 
 
 'What will we do with it? ' asked Kelly. 
 
 'Why, sit on the sacks,' replied Nick, and then 
 grew silent. He looked at Kelly. Kelly looked 
 away to the garden-wall. 
 
 *Ah!' said the Parson, with a great start of sur- 
 prise. ' There 's a lizard coming out of the bricks to 
 warm himself,' and he made a step away from the 
 bench. Wogan's hand came quickly down upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
PARSON KELLY 57 
 
 ' George/ said he, * I think we are forgetting some- 
 thing. Not a farthing of it is mine at all.' 
 
 * Now, that 's a damned scurvy ungenerous remark,' 
 replied George. * Have n't I borrowed half of your 
 last sixpence before now?' 
 
 Wogan got down from the seat. 
 
 * Poverty may take a favour from poverty, George, 
 and 't is all very well.' 
 
 Kelly sat himself down on the bench, crossed his 
 knees, and swung a leg to and fro. 
 
 ' I don't want the money,' said he, with a snort. 
 
 ' My philosophy calls it altogether an encumbrance,' 
 said Wogan, sitting down by his side. 
 
 Kelly turned his back on Wogan, and stared at the 
 garden-wall. Then he turned back. 
 
 ' I know,' said he of a sudden, and smacks his hand 
 down on Wogan's thigh. ' We '11 give it to the King. 
 He can do no more than spend it.* 
 
 * He will certainly do no less.' But they did not 
 give it to the King. 
 
 Wogan was sitting turned rather towards the house, 
 and as he looked down the avenue, he saw the great 
 windows at the end open, and Lady Oxford come out. 
 
 * Here 's her ladyship come for her Latin lesson,* 
 said Wogan, and he rose from his seat. 
 
 * I '11 tell her of our good fortune,' said Kelly, and 
 he walked quickly to the steps at the end of the 
 avenue. Lady Oxford stopped on the first step, with 
 a hand resting on the stone balustrade. George 
 Kelly stood on the grass at the foot of the steps, and 
 told her of his news. 
 
 * The shares,' he ended, * have risen to double 
 value already.' 
 
58 PARSON KELLY 
 
 It seemed to Wogan that her eyes flashed suddenly 
 with a queer, unpleasant light, and the hand which 
 was resting idly on the balustrade crooked like the 
 claws of a bird. He had seen such eyes, and such a 
 hand, at the pharo tables in Paris. 
 
 * It is the best news I have heard for many a day,' 
 she said the next instant, with a gracious smile, and 
 coming down the steps, walked by Mr, Kelly's side 
 towards the bench. 
 
 'And what will you do with it?' she asked. It 
 was her first question, for she was a practical woman. 
 
 * In the first flush,' replied Kelly, hesitating as to 
 how he should put the answer, * we had a thought of 
 disposing of it where it is sorely needed.' 
 
 She looked quickly at Kelly; as quickly looked 
 away. She took a step to the seat with her eyes on 
 the ground. 
 
 * Oh,' she observed slowly ; * you would give it 
 away.' There was, perhaps, a trifle of a pucker upon 
 her forehead, perhaps a shade of disappointment in 
 her eyes. But it was all gone in a moment. She 
 clasped her hands fervently together, raised her face 
 to the heavens, her cheeks afire, her eyes most tender. 
 ' Indeed,' she exclaimed, ' the noblest, properest dis- 
 position of it ! Heaven dispense me more such 
 friends who, in a world so niggardly, retain so ancient 
 a spirit of generosity,' and she stood for a little, with 
 her lips moving, as if in prayer. It was plain to 
 Mr. Wogan that her ladyship had guessed the des- 
 tination of the money. No such thought, however, 
 troubled George Kelly, who was wholly engaged in 
 savouring the flattery, and, from his appearance, 
 found it very much to his taste. 
 
PARSON KELLY 59 
 
 ' I would not, however, if a woman might presume 
 to advise/ she continued, ' be in any great hurry to 
 sell the shares. Though they have risen high, they 
 will doubtless rise higher. And your gift, if you will 
 but wait, in a little will grow worthier of the spirit 
 which prompts it.' 
 
 * Madam/ returned Kelly, * it is very prudent advice. 
 I will be careful to follow it.' 
 
 Was it relief which showed for an instant in Lady 
 Oxford's face? Kelly did not notice; Wogan could 
 not tell ; and a second afterwards an event occurred 
 which wholly diverted his thoughts. 
 
 All three had been standing with their faces towards 
 the garden-seat, the yew-tree and the orchard beyond, 
 Lady Oxford between, and a little in advance of Kelly 
 and Wogan, so that each saw her face obliquely over 
 her shoulders. Now, however, she turned and sat 
 down, giving thus her whole face to the two men ; 
 and both saw it suddenly blanch, suddenly flush as 
 though all the blood had leaped from her heart into 
 her cheeks, and then fade again to pallor. Terror 
 widened and fixed her eyes, her lips parted, she 
 quivered as though she had been struck a buffet 
 across the face. 
 
 'Your ladyship — ' began Kelly, and, noticing the 
 direction of her gaze, he broke off his sentence, and 
 turned him about As he moved, Lady Oxford, even 
 in the midst of her terror, stole a quick, conscious 
 glance at his face. 
 
 ' Sure, 't is a predecessor to George,' thought 
 Wogan ; and he too turned about. 
 
 Some twenty paces away a man was waiting in an 
 easy attitude. He was of the middle height, and, 
 
6o PARSON KELLY 
 
 judged by his travelling dress and bearing, a gentle- 
 man. His face was thin, hard, and sallow of com- 
 plexion, the features rather peaked, the eyes dark, 
 and deepset beneath the brows. Without any pre- 
 tension to good looks, the stranger had a certain 
 sinister distinction — stranger, for that he was to the 
 two men at this time, whatever he may have been to 
 Lady Oxford. Yet George thought he had seen the 
 man's eyes before, at Avignon, when the King was 
 there ; and Wogan later remembered his voice, per- 
 haps at Genoa, which he had used much at one time. 
 He stood just within the opening in the hedge, and 
 must needs have come through the trees beyond, 
 while Lady Oxford and her guests were discussing 
 the Parson's good fortune. 
 
 As soon as he saw the faces turned towards him, 
 he took off his hat, made a step forwards, and flour- 
 ished a bow. 
 
 * Your ladyship's most humble and obedient servant.' 
 
 He laid a stress upon the word ' obedient,' and 
 uttered it with a meaning smile. Lady Oxford 
 returned his bow, but instinctively shifted her posi- 
 tion on the bench towards Kelly, and timidly put out 
 a hand as though she would draw him nearer. 
 
 The stranger took another step forwards. There 
 was no change in his expression, but the step was 
 perhaps more swiftly taken. 
 
 'Mr. George Kelly,' he said quietly, and bowed 
 again. ' The Reverend Mr. George Kelly, I think,' 
 and he bowed a third time, but lower, and with 
 extreme gravity. 
 
 Wogan started as the stranger pronounced the 
 name. Instantly the stranger turned to him. 
 
PARSON KELLY 6i 
 
 ' Ah,' said he, ' Captain Nicholas Wogan, I think,* 
 and he took a third step. His foot struck in a tuft 
 of grass, and he stumbled forward ; he fell plump 
 upon his knees. For a gentleman of so much dig- 
 nity the attitude was sufficiently ridiculous. Wogan 
 grinned in no small satisfaction. 
 
 * Sure, my unknown friend,' said he, ' I think some- 
 thing has tripped you up.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the stranger, and, as he stood up, he 
 picked up a book from the grass. 
 
 ' It is,' said he, ' a copy of Virgil.' 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A LITERARY DISCUSSION IN WHICH A CRITIC, NOT 
 FOR THE FIRST TIME, TURNS THE TABLES 
 UPON AN AUTHOR 
 
 KELLY frowned at Wogan, enjoining silence by 
 a shake of the head. Her ladyship was still 
 too discomposed to speak; she drew her breath in 
 quick gasps ; her colour still came fitfully and went. 
 The only person entirely at ease in that company was 
 the disconcerting stranger, and even behind his smil- 
 ing mask of a face one was somehow aware of sleep- 
 ing fires; and underneath the suave tones of his 
 voice one somehow felt that there ran an implacable 
 passion. 
 
 * Upon my word,' said he, * I find myself for a 
 wonder in the most desirable company. A revered 
 clergyman, a fighting captain, a lady worthy of her 
 quality, and a poet' He tapped the Virgil as he 
 spoke, and it fell open between his hands. His 
 speech had been uttered with a provocative polite- 
 ness, and since no one responded to the provocation, 
 he continued in the same strain. ' The story of Dido * 
 — the book was open at the soiled pages — 'and all 
 spluttered with tears.' 
 
 ' It has lain open in the dew since yesterday/ 
 interrupted Wogan. 
 
PARSON KELLY 6$ 
 
 ' Tears no less because the night has shed them/ 
 he repHed ; * and indeed it is a sad story, though not 
 all true as the poet relates it. For Dido had a gout- 
 ridden husband hidden discreetly away in a dark 
 corner of the Palace, and ^Eneas was no more than 
 an army chaplain, though he gave himself out for a 
 general.' 
 
 Kelly flushed at the words, and took half a step 
 towards the speaker of them, 
 
 ' It is very true, Mr. Kelly. A chaplain, my soul 
 upon it, a chaplain. Did n't he invoke his religion 
 when he was tired of the lady, and so sail away with 
 a clear conscience? A very parsonical fellow, Mr. 
 Kelly. O infelix Dido,' he burst out, ' that met with 
 an army chaplain, and so became food for worms 
 before her time ! ' 
 
 He shut up the book with a bang, and, as ill-luck 
 would have it, Mr. Wogan's poem peeped out from 
 the covers as if in answer to his knock. 
 
 * Oho,' says he, ' another poet,' and he read out the 
 dedication. 
 
 ' Strephon to his Smilinda running barefoot in a 
 gale of wind.' 
 
 Kelly laughed aloud, and a faint smile flickered for 
 the space of a second about Lady Oxford's lips. 
 Wogan felt his cheeks grow red, but constrained 
 himself to a like silence with his companions. His 
 opportunity would come later; meanwhile some 
 knowledge was needed of who the stranger was. 
 
 * A pretty conceit,' resumed the latter, * though con- 
 sumption in its efl"ects. Will the author pardon me?' 
 
 He took the sheet of paper in his hand, dropped 
 the Virgil carelessly on the grass, and read out the 
 
64 PARSON KELLY 
 
 verses with an absolute gravity which mocked at 
 them more completely than any ridicule would have 
 done. ' It breaks off,' he added, * most appropriately 
 just when the gentleman claims the lady's obedience. 
 There is generally a break at that point. " At least, 
 that is what I expect," ' he quoted. Then he looked 
 at each of his two adversaries. For adversaries his 
 language and their faces alike proved them to be. 
 
 * Now which is Strephon? ' he asked, with an insinuat- 
 ing smile, as he calmly put the verses in his pocket. 
 
 * Is it the revered clergyman or the fighting captain?' 
 
 Kelly's face flushed darkly. 
 
 * The revered clergyman,' he broke in, and his 
 voice shook a little, ' would be happy to be reminded 
 of the occasion which brought him the honour of 
 your acquaintance.' 
 
 * A sermon,' replied the stranger. ' I was much 
 moved by a sermon which you preached in Dublin 
 upon the text of *' Render unto Caesar the things that 
 are Caesar's."' 
 
 Mr. Kelly could not deny that he had preached 
 that sermon ; and for all he knew the stranger 
 might well have been among his audience. He con- 
 tented himself accordingly with a bow. So Wogan 
 stepped in. 
 
 * And the fighting captain,' he said, with a courtesy 
 of manner no whit inferior to his questioner's, ' would 
 be glad to know when he ever clapped eyes upon 
 your honour's face, if you please.* 
 
 * Never,' answered the other with a bow. ' Captain 
 Nicholas Wogan never in his life saw the faces of those 
 who fought behind him. He had eyes only for the 
 enemy.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 65 
 
 Now, Mr. Wogan had fought upon more than one 
 field of which he thought it imprudent to speak. So 
 he copied the Parson's example and bowed. 
 
 * Does her ladyship also wish to be reminded of 
 the particulars of our acquaintance ? ' said the 
 stranger, turning now to Lady Oxford. There was 
 just a tremor, a hint of passion discernible in his 
 voice as he put the question. Both Wogan and 
 Kelly had been waiting for it, had restrained them- 
 selves to silence in the expectation of it. For only 
 let the outburst come, and the man's design would of 
 a surety tumble out on the top. Lady Oxford, how- 
 ever, suddenly interposed and prevented it. It may 
 be that she, too, had caught the threatening tremble 
 of his words, and dreaded the outburst as heartily as 
 the others desired it. At all events, she rose from 
 the bench as though some necessity had spurred her 
 to self-possession. 
 
 * No, Mr. Scrope,' she said calmly, * I do not wish 
 to be reminded of our acquaintance either in particu- 
 lar or in general. It was a slight thing at its warmest, 
 and I thank God none of my seeking. Mr. Kelly, 
 will you give me your arm to the house?' 
 
 The stranger for a second was plainly staggered by 
 her words. Kelly cast a glance at Wogan which the 
 * fighting captain ' very well understood, offered his 
 arm to Lady Oxford, and before the stranger re- 
 covered himself, the pair were up the steps and pro- 
 ceeding down the avenue. 
 
 * A slight thing ! ' muttered Mr. Scrope in a sort of 
 stupor. * God, what's a strong thing, then?' and at 
 that the passion broke out of him. * It's the Parson 
 now, is it? * he cried. * Indeed, Mr. Wogan, a parson 
 
 5 
 
66 PARSON KELLY 
 
 is very much like a cat. Whether he throws his 
 cassock over the wall, or no, it is still the same sly, 
 soft-footed, velvety creature, with a keen eye for a 
 soft lap to make his bed in,' and with an oath he 
 started at a run after Kelly. Wogan, however, ran 
 too, and he ran the faster. He got first to the steps, 
 sprang to the top of them, and turned about, just as 
 Mr. Scrope reached the bottom. 
 
 * Wait a bit, my friend ! ' said Wogan. 
 
 * Let me go. if you please,' said Mr. Scrope, mount- 
 ing the lowest step. 
 
 ' You and I must have a little talk first.' 
 
 * It will be talk of a kind uncommon disagreeable 
 to you,* said Mr. Scrope hotly, and he mounted the 
 second step. 
 
 Wogan laughed gleefully. 
 
 ' Why, that 's just the way I would have you speak,' 
 said he. Mr. Scrope stopped, looked over Wogan 
 from head to foot, and then glanced past him up the 
 avenue. 
 
 *I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Wogan,' he said 
 politely, and took the third step. 
 
 * And have you not? ' asked Wogan. * I 'm think- 
 ing, on the contrary, that you took exception to my 
 poetry.' 
 
 'Was the poetry yours? Indeed, I did not guess 
 that,' he replied. ' But the greatest of men may yet 
 be poor poets.' 
 
 * In this case you 're mightily mistaken,' cried Wo- 
 gan, and he stamped his foot and threw out his chest. 
 * I am my poetry.' 
 
 Mr. Scrope squinted up the avenue under Wogan's 
 arm. 
 
PARSON KELLY 67 
 
 * Damn ! ' said he. 
 
 Wogan turned round ; Parson Kelly and her lady- 
 ship were just passing through the window into the 
 house. Wogan laughed, but a trifle too soon. For 
 as he still stood turned away and looking down the 
 avenue, Mr. Scrope took the last three steps at a 
 bound, and sprang past him. Luckily as he sprang 
 he hit against Wogan's shoulder, and so swung him 
 round the quicker. Wogan just caught the man's 
 elbow, jerked him back, got both his arms coiled 
 about his body, lifted him off his feet, and flattened 
 him up against his chest. Mr. Scrope struggled 
 against the pressure ; he was lithe and slippery like 
 a fish, and his muscles gave and tightened like a steel 
 spring. Wogan gripped him the closer, pinioning 
 his arms to his side. In a little Scrope began to 
 pant, and a little after to perspire ; then the veins 
 ridged upon his face, and his eyes opened and shut 
 convulsively. 
 
 ' Have you had enough, do you think } ' asked 
 Wogan ; ' or shall I fall on you? But you may take 
 my word for it, whatever you think of my love-poems, 
 that I never yet fell on any man but something broke 
 inside of him.' 
 
 Mr. Scrope was not In that condition which would 
 enable him to articulate, but he seemed to gasp an 
 assent, and Wogan put him down. He staggered 
 backwards towards the house for a yard or two, 
 leaned against one of the trees, and then, taking out 
 his handkerchief, wiped his forehead ; at the same 
 time he walked towards the house, but with the 
 manner of a man who is dizzy, and knows nothing of 
 his direction. 
 
68 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Stop ! * cried Wogan. 
 
 Scrope stooped, and turned back carelessly, as 
 though he had not heard the command. Indeed, he 
 seemed even to have forgotten why he was out of 
 breath. 
 
 * Mr. Wogan,' he said, * I do not quite understand. 
 It seems you write love-poems to her ladyship, and 
 yet encourage the Parson to court her.' 
 
 Wogan was not to be drawn into any explanation. 
 
 ' Let us leave her ladyship entirely out of the 
 question. There 's the value of my poetry to be 
 argued out.* 
 
 Mr. Scrope bowed, and they walked down the 
 steps side by side, and through the opening in the 
 hedge. A path led through the trees, and they fol- 
 lowed it until they came to an open space of sward. 
 Wogan measured it across with his stride. 
 
 * A very fitting place for the argument, I think,' he 
 said, and took off his coat. 
 
 *What? In Smilinda's garden?' asked Scrope 
 easily. ' Within view of Smilinda's windows? Surely 
 the common road would be the more convenient place.' 
 
 * Why, and that 's true,' answered Wogan. * It 
 would have been an outrage.' 
 
 ' No,' said Scrope, * merely a flaw in the argument. 
 This is the nearest way. At least, I think so,' and 
 he turned off at an angle, passed through a shrub- 
 bery, and came out opposite a little postern-gate in 
 the garden-wall. 
 
 * You know the grounds well,' said Wogan. 
 
 ' It is my first visit,' replied Scrope, with a trace of 
 bitterness, ' but I have been told enough of them to 
 know my way.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 69 
 
 He stepped forward and opened the gate. Out- 
 side in the road stood a travelling chaise with a pair 
 of horses harnessed to it. 
 
 * There is no one within view,' said Wogan. The 
 road ran to right and left empty as far as the eye 
 could reach ; in front stretched the empty fields. 
 
 * No one,' said Mr. Scrope, and he looked up to 
 the sky. 
 
 * Well, I would as lief take my last look at the sun- 
 light as at anything else, and I doubt not it is the 
 same with you.' 
 
 Wogan, in spite of himself, began to entertain a 
 certain liking for the man. He had accepted each 
 stroke of ill-fortune — his discomfiture at Lady 
 Oxford's hands, the grapple on the steps, and now 
 this duel — without disputation. Moreover Wogan 
 was wondering whether or no the man had some real 
 grievance against her ladyship and what motive 
 brought him, in what expectation, in his chaise to 
 Brampton Bryan. He felt indeed a certain compunc- 
 tion for his behaviour, and he said doubtfully, 
 
 * Mr. Scrope, you and I might have been very good 
 friends in other circumstances.' 
 
 ' I doubt it very much, Mr. Wogan.' Scrope 
 shook his head and smiled. *Your poetry would 
 always have come between us. I would really sooner 
 die than praise it.' 
 
 He looked up and down the road as he spoke, 
 and then made an almost imperceptible nod at his 
 coachman. 
 
 * That field opposite will do, I think,* Scrope said, 
 and advanced from the doorway to the side of his 
 chaise as though he was looking for something. It 
 
70 PARSON KELLY 
 
 was certainly not his sword ; Wogan now thinks it 
 was his pistols. Wogan felt his liking increase and 
 was inclined to put the encounter off for a little. It 
 was for this reason that he stepped forward and 
 passed an arm through Scrope's just as the latter 
 had set a foot on the step of the chaise, no doubt 
 to search the better for what he needed. 
 
 * Now what 's amiss with the poem? ' asked Wogan 
 in a friendly way. 
 
 * It is altogether too inconsequent,' replied Scrope 
 with a sudden irritation for which Wogan was at a 
 loss to account. 
 
 ' But my dear man,' said he, * it was not intended 
 for a syllogism.' 
 
 Scrope took his foot off the step and turned to 
 Wogan as though a new thought had sprung into his 
 brain. 
 
 ' Mr. Wogan,' he said, ' I shall have all the pleasure 
 imaginable in pointing out the faults to you if you 
 care to listen and have the leisure. Then if you kill 
 me afterwards, why I shall have done you some slight 
 service and perhaps the world a greater. If I kill 
 you, on the other hand, why there 's so much time 
 wasted, it is true, but I am in no hurry/ 
 
 There was no escape from the duel ; that Wogan 
 knew. Mr. Scrope had insulted the Parson, Lady 
 Oxford, and himself; he was aware besides that the 
 Parson and Wogan, both of them at the best sus- 
 pected characters, were visiting the Earl of Oxford ; 
 and he had, whether it was justified or no, a hot re- 
 sentment against the Parson. He might, since he 
 knew so much, know also more, as, for instance, the 
 names under which the Parson and Wogan were hid- 
 
PARSON KELLY 71 
 
 ing themselves. It would not in any case need a 
 very shrewd guess to hit upon their business, and if 
 Mr. Scrope got back safe to London, why he might 
 make himself confoundedly unpleasant. Wogan ran 
 through these arguments in his mind, and was 
 brought to the conclusion that he must most infal- 
 libly kill Mr. Scrope; but at the same time a little of 
 his company meanwhile could do no harm. 
 
 * Nor I,' replied Wogan accordingly. * I shall be 
 delighted to confute your opinions.' 
 
 Mr. Scrope bowed ; it seemed as though his face 
 lighted up for a moment. 
 
 * There is no reason why we should stand in the 
 road,' he said, ' when we can sit in the chaise.' 
 
 * Very true,' answered Wogan. 
 
 Scrope mounted into the chaise. Wogan followed 
 upon his heels. They sat down side by side, and 
 Scrope pulled out the verses from his pocket. He 
 read the dedication once more : 
 
 * Strephon to Smilinda running barefoot over the 
 grass in a gale of wind.' 
 
 * Let me point out,' said he, ' that you have made 
 the lady run barefoot at the very time when she 
 would be most certain to put on her shoes and stock- 
 ings. And that error vitiates the whole poem. For 
 the wind is severe, you will notice. So when she 
 reprimands the storm, she should really reprimand 
 herself for her inconceivable folly.' 
 
 * But Smilinda has no shoes and stockings at all in 
 the poem,' replied Wogan triumphantly. 
 
 ' That hardly betters the matter,' returned Scrope. 
 ' For in that case her feet might be bare but they 
 would certainly not be snowy.' 
 
'J2 PARSON KELLY 
 
 He stooped down as he spoke and drew from 
 under the seat a bottle of wine, which he opened. 
 
 * This,' he said, * may help us to consider the poem 
 in a more charitable light' 
 
 He gave Wogan the bottle to hold, and stooping 
 once more fetched out a couple of glasses. Then he 
 held one in each hand. 
 
 * Now will you fill them? ' he said. Wogan poured 
 out the wine and while pouring it : 
 
 * Two glasses? ' he remarked. * It seems you came 
 prepared for the conversation.' 
 
 Scrope raised his eyes quickly to Wogan's face, 
 and dropped them again to the glasses. 
 
 * One might easily have been broken,' he explained. 
 They leaned back in the chaise, each with a glass 
 
 in his hand, 
 
 * It is to your taste, I hope,' said Scrope courteously. 
 Wogan smacked his lips in contentment. 
 
 * Lord Oxford has no better in his cellars.' 
 
 * I may agree without boastfulness. It is indeed 
 Florence of a rare vintage, which I was at some pains 
 to procure.' He laughed with a spice of savagery 
 and resumed the consideration of Wogan's verses. 
 
 * You seem to me to have missed the opportunity 
 afforded by your gale of wind. A true poet would 
 surely have made great play with the lady's petticoats.' 
 
 * Smilinda had none,' again replied Wogan in 
 triumph, and he emptied his glass. 
 
 * No shoes and stockings and no petticoats,* said 
 he in a shocked voice. * It is well you wrote a poem 
 about her instead of painting her portrait,' and he 
 filled Wogan's glass again, and added a little to his 
 own, which was no more than half empty. 
 
PARSON KELLY 73 
 
 ' Don't you comprehend, my friend/ exclaimed 
 Wogan, * that Smilinda *s a nymph, an ancient Roman 
 nymph? ' 
 
 ' Oh, she 's a nymph ! * 
 
 * Yes, and so wears no clothes but a sort of linsey- 
 wolsey garment kirtled up to her knees.' 
 
 * Well, let that pass. But here 's a line I view with 
 profound discontent. *' The grass will all its prickles 
 hide." Thistles have prickles, Mr. Wogan, but the 
 grass has blades like you and me ; only, unlike you 
 and me, it has no scabbards to sheathe them in.' 
 
 'Well,' said Wogan, 'but that's very wittily said,' 
 and he laughed and chuckled. 
 
 ' It is not bad, upon my faith,' replied Scrope. 
 ' Let us drink to it in full glasses.* 
 
 He emptied the bottle into Wogan's glass and 
 tossed it into the road. 
 
 * Now here 's something more. The wind, you 
 observe, makes lutestrings of Smilinda's hair.' 
 
 ' There is little fault to be discovered in that image, 
 I fancy,' said Wogan, lifting his glass to his lips 
 with a smile. 
 
 * It is a whimsical image,' replied Scrope. * It is 
 as much as to call her hair catgut.' 
 
 Wogan was startled by the criticism. He sat up 
 and scratched his nose. 
 
 * Well, I had not thought of that,' he said. He was 
 somewhat crestfallen, and he looked to his glass for 
 consolation. The glass was empty; he looked on 
 to the road where the empty bottle rolled in the 
 dust. 
 
 ' I have its fellow,' said Scrope, interpreting 
 Wogan's glance. He produced a second bottle from 
 
74 PARSON KELLY 
 
 the same place. The second bottle brought them to 
 the end of the verse. There was, however, a little 
 discussion over the last line, and a third bottle was 
 broached to assist. 
 
 '"At least that is what I expect." It is a very- 
 vile line, Mr. Wogan.* 
 
 ' It is, perhaps, not so good as the others,' Wogan 
 admitted. * But you must blame the necessities of 
 rhyming.' 
 
 * But the art of the poet is to conceal such neces- 
 sities,' answered Scrope. ' And observe, Mr. Wogan, 
 you sacrifice a great deal here to get an accurate 
 rhyme, but in the remaining two lines of the next 
 verse you do not trouble your head about a rhyme 
 at all.' 
 
 * Oh, let me see that ! ' said Wogan, holding out a 
 hand for the paper. He had clean forgotten by this 
 time what those two lines described. 
 
 'Allegiance, Mr. Wogan,' said Scrope, politely 
 handing him the verses, * is no rhyme to obedience.' 
 
 ' Allegiance — obedience — obedience -^- allegiance,' 
 repeated Wogan as clearly as he could. * Nay, I 
 think it's a very good rhyme.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' exclaimed Scrope in a sudden comprehen- 
 sion. ' If you tell me the verses are conceived in 
 the Irish dialect, I have not another word to say.' 
 
 Now Mr. Wogan, as a rule, was a little touchy on 
 the subject of his accent. But at this moment he 
 had the better part of three bottles of admirable 
 Florence wine under his belt and was so disposed to 
 see great humour in any remark. He grew uproari- 
 ous over Mr. Scrope's witticism. 
 
 'Sure, but that's the most delicate jest I have 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 75 
 
 heard for months,' he cried. * Conceived in the 
 Irish dialect ! Ho ! Ho ! I must tell it at the 
 Cocoa Tree — though it hits at me,' and he stood 
 up in the chaise. 'Obedience — allegiance.' Mr. 
 Scrope steadied him by the elbow. * Faith, Mr. 
 Scrope, but you and I must have another crack one 
 of these days.' He put a foot out on the step of 
 the chaise. ' I love a man that has some warmth in 
 his merriment — and some warmth in his bottle too.' 
 He stepped out of the chaise on to the ground. 
 'The best Florence I have tasted— the best joke I 
 have heard — the Irish dialect. Ha, ha ! ' and he 
 waved a hand at Scrope. Scrope called quickly to 
 the coachman; the next instant the chaise started 
 off at a gallop. 
 
 Wogan was left standing in the road, shouting his 
 laughter. When the coach chaise was some thirty 
 yards away, however, his laughter stopped com- 
 pletely. He rubbed his hand once or twice over his 
 bemused forehead. 
 
 ' Stop ! ' he yelled suddenly, and began to run after 
 the chaise. Scrope stood up and spoke to the driver. 
 The horses slackened their pace until Wogan got 
 within twenty yards of it. Then Scrope spoke again, 
 and the coachman drove the horses just as fast as 
 Wogan was running. 
 
 ' You have forgotten something, my friend,' cries 
 Wogan. 
 
 'And what 's that? ' asked Scrope pleasantly, lean- 
 ing over the back of the chaise. 
 ' You have forgotten the duel.' 
 
 ' No,' shouted Scrope with a grimace. ' It is you 
 that forgot that.' 
 
76 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Ah, you cheese-curd! — you white-livered cow- 
 ard ! ' cried Wogan, * and I taking you for a fine man 
 — equal to myself — you chalky cheese-curd ! ' He 
 quickened his pace ; Scrope called to the coachman ; 
 the coachman whipped up his horses. ' Oh wait a 
 bit till I come up with you. I '11 eat you in your 
 clothes.' 
 
 Wogan bounded along the road, screaming out 
 every vile epithet he could lay his tongue to in the 
 heat of the moment. His hat and wig fell off on the 
 road ; he did not stop, but ran on bareheaded. 
 
 ' But listen, the enamoured air 
 Makes lutestrings of thy locks so fair,' 
 
 quoted Scrope, rubbing his hands with delight. 
 Wogan's fury redoubled, he stripped off his coat and 
 ran till the road grew dizzy and the air flashed sparks 
 at him. But the chaise kept ever at the same dis- 
 tance. With this interval of twenty yards between 
 them, chaise and Wogan dashed through the tiny 
 street of Brampton Bryan. A horde of little boys 
 tumbled out of the doors and ran at Wogan's heels. 
 The more he cursed and raved, the more the little 
 boys shouted and yelled. Scrope in the chaise shook 
 with laughter, clapped his hands as if in commenda- 
 tion of Wogan's powers, and encouraged him to 
 greater efforts. They passed out of the village ; the 
 children gave up the pursuit, and sent a few parting 
 stones after Wogan's back; in front stretched the 
 open road. Wogan ran half a mile further, but he 
 was too heavily handicapped with his three bottles 
 of wine, and Scrope's horses were fresh. He shouted 
 out one last oath, and then in a final spasm of fury 
 
PARSON KELLY 77 
 
 sat down by the roadside, stripped off his shoe, and 
 springing into the middle of the road, hurled it with 
 all his might at the retreating chaise. The shoe 
 struck the top of the hood, balanced there for a mo- 
 ment, and bounced over on to the seat. Scrope took 
 it up and waved it above his head. 
 
 * The grass will all its prickles hide, 
 Nor harm thy snowy feet and bare.' 
 
 The driver plied his whip ; the chaise whirled out of 
 sight in a cloud of dust; and the disconsolate Wogan 
 hobbled back to Brampton Bryan with what secrecy 
 he could. 
 
 Mr. Scrope was on his way with the road to 
 London open, were he disposed to follow it. Mr. 
 Wogan seemed to see his chaise flashing through the 
 turnpikes, and his sallow cheeks taking on an eager 
 colour as the miles were heaped behind him. 
 
 He knew that Mr. Kelly and Nicholas Wogan 
 were at Lord Oxford's house at Brampton Bryan. 
 He knew enough, therefore, to throw some disorder on 
 the Chevalier's affairs were he disposed to publish his 
 news. But not in that way did he take, at this time, 
 his revenge upon the Parson. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 MR. NICHOLAS WOGAN REMINDS THE PARSON OF A 
 NIGHT AT THE MAZARIN PALACE 
 
 WHILE Wogan pursued in vain a flying foe, 
 Lady Oxford and Parson Kelly waited in the 
 house for his return, her ladyship in a great discom- 
 posure and impatience, and the Parson more silent 
 than ordinary. Whatever he may have thought of 
 Scrope's unexpected visit, his pride forbade him 
 questions. 
 
 * The most unfortunate affair,' exclaimed her lady- 
 ship distractedly. ' Sure never was a woman so 
 cursed. But indeed I was born under a frowning 
 star, Mr. Kelly, and so my lord's friends cannot visit 
 him, but some untoward accident puts them into 
 peril.' 
 
 * You need be troubled by no fears on our account,' 
 replied Kelly, ' for Nick will ensure the fellow's 
 silence before ever he lets him out of his sight.' 
 
 *True,' said she, with a fresh pang of anxiety, 
 * Mr. Wogan is with him and will doubtless seek an 
 explanation.' 
 
 Kelly smiled, but without any overwhelming 
 amusement. 
 
 * Neither,' said he, * need your ladyship fear that 
 he will listen to any indiscreet explanation. Words 
 
PARSON KELLY 79 
 
 have very little to do with the explanations which 
 Nicholas favours.' 
 
 Lady Oxford remarked the distant stateliness in 
 Kelly's tone and was in a hurry to retrieve the slip 
 she had made. 
 
 ' It is just that I mean,' she cried, coming over to 
 Kelly. /If Mr. Wogan — kills this man,' and her 
 eyes flashed as though she did in her heart desire 
 that consummation, * here at the Park Gates — * 
 
 * Believe me,' replied Kelly reassuringly, * he will 
 omit no proper ceremony if he does.' 
 
 * No, nor will the county justices either,' retorted 
 Lady Oxford, ' and there are Mr. George Kelly and 
 Mr. Nicholas Wogan to explain their presence at 
 Brampton Bryan Manor, as best they can, to a bench 
 of bumpkins.' 
 
 * Again your ladyship is unnecessarily alarmed. 
 For if Mr. Scrope is now no more, Mr. George Kelly 
 and Mr. Nicholas Wogan are still Mr. James John- 
 son and his secretary Mr. Hilton. No harm threatens 
 Brampton Bryan Manor from their visit.' 
 
 This he said no less coldly, and to cut the conver- 
 sation short, stalked with excessive dignity to the 
 door. Lady Oxford was gazing ruefully down the 
 avenue from the window, when she heard the knob 
 of the door move under his hand. She turned quickly 
 about. 
 
 ' It was not of Brampton Bryan Manor I was think- 
 ing,' she said hurriedly, ' nor of our safety. Why, in 
 what poor esteem do you hold me ! Am I then so 
 contemptible a thing?' There was no anger in her 
 reproach. Rather it melted in a most touching sad- 
 ness. * Have I no friends whose safety troubles 
 
So PARSON KELLY 
 
 me? * she added. At that out came her handkerchief 
 and fluttered at her eyes. * Nay, but I thought I had 
 — two of the noblest/ It was a mere scrap of a 
 handkerchief, and the greater part of that a lace 
 edging. It would not have sopped up many tears, 
 but it served her ladyship's turn. For indeed the 
 mere sight of it convinced Kelly of his monstrous 
 cruelty. 
 
 * Your ladyship ! ' he cried, turning back. ' Tears ! 
 And I have caused them. Faith, I should be hanged 
 for that. Yet they flow for my friend and me, and I 
 am blessed instead.' 
 
 But she would have none of his apologies. She 
 stepped back as he approached. 
 
 * No,' said she, and wiped an imaginary tear-drop 
 from the dryest of eyes ; * you have asked me for an 
 explanation of Mr. Scrope's coming and you have a 
 right to ask it.' 
 
 * Madam,' expostulated Kelly, ' I was careful, on 
 the contrary, to ask for no explanation whatever. 
 For I have no right to it.' 
 
 * Oh, but you have,' returned her ladyship with 
 asperity ; and then up went her handkerchief again. 
 
 *A11 men,' she said, in a voice most pathetical, 
 
 * have a right to ask any explanation of any woman, 
 at anytime. Women, poor sad creatures, are suspect 
 from their cradles, and to distrust them is the pre- 
 rogative of manhood.' Here she tore away her hand- 
 kerchief and lifted her hands in an ardent prayer. 
 
 * Oh that some day I might meet with one single man 
 who would believe us worthy of respect ! ' She 
 walked away to the window and said in a low voice, 
 
 * With what friendship would I requite him.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 8i 
 
 Thus the unfortunate Mr. Kelly was not merely 
 plunged in remorse, but brought to see that he had 
 missed the one solitary path which would have led 
 him into this great lady's friendship. 
 
 ' Your ladyship,' he implored, ' mistakes my senti- 
 ments altogether.' 
 
 ' Mr. Kelly,' she replied, proudly, * we will not, if 
 you please, pursue the matter. You have your expla- 
 nation and I trust you will allow it to content you,' 
 and so she sailed majestically out of the room, leaving 
 Mr. Kelly in that perturbation that he quite failed to 
 notice he had received no explanation whatever. She 
 dropped her stateliness, however, when the door was 
 closed behind her, and, hurrying across the hall, lay 
 in wait behind a shrubbery for Wogan's return. 
 Wogan, on the other hand, had admirable reasons for 
 avoiding all paths, and so slipped into the back of 
 the house unseen. Consequently it was not until 
 half-an-hour later, when Lady Oxford was fairly dis- 
 tracted, that she discovered him, decently clothed, 
 and urging upon Kelly the necessity of an immediate 
 retreat. He broke off from his advice as Lady Ox- 
 ford entered. 
 
 * You have done him no hurt? ' she asked, looking 
 Wogan over from head to foot in search of a speck of 
 blood, and ready to swoon if she saw one. 
 
 * Not the least in the world,' replied Wogan. 
 
 * Nor he you ? ' 
 
 * There was never any likelihood of that.' Wogan 
 had to put the best face on the matter possible, and 
 since he could not own to the humiliating truth, why, 
 the necessary lie might just as well redound to his 
 credit. * I swore him to secrecy upon his bended 
 
 6 
 
82 PARSON KELLY 
 
 knees. He took the oath on the hilt of this very- 
 sword/ and Wogan hitched forward his hanger, 
 
 A footman at this moment announced that dinner 
 was served. 
 
 *Will you give me your hand, Mr. Wogan? ' asked 
 Lady Oxford, and detaining him until Kelly had 
 passed out of the room : 
 
 * He gave you doubtless a reason for his coming?' 
 she asked. 
 
 ' Surely he did,* said Wogan, who was not for ad- 
 mitting any omission on his own part. 
 
 'And what reason?' asked her ladyship. 
 
 Mr. Wogan looked at the ground and got a flash 
 of inspiration. 
 
 'Why,' said he as bold as brass, ' precisely the same 
 reason which you gave to my friend George Kelly,' 
 in which answer Wogan hit the literal truth, although 
 her ladyship looked puzzled, as well she might, and 
 then flushed a fine crimson. 
 
 However, she made up an ingenious story, and that 
 same day hinted rather than told it with a pretty sug- 
 gestion of sympathy which quite melted Mr. Kelly's 
 heart, and threw Wogan into some doubt whether to 
 believe her or no. Scrope, it appeared, had been at 
 some indefinite time a secretary to Mr. Walpole, and 
 was entrusted with the keeping of the good man's 
 accounts. Lady Oxford was then simply Mistress 
 Margaret Middleton and intimate with her cousin, 
 Mr. Walpole, although since her marriage, as Mr. 
 Kelly and his friend were requested to note, that 
 intimacy had entirely ceased. Hence it came about 
 that the rash Scrope cast longing eyes upon the 
 humble relation of his patron, and was indeed so 
 
PARSON KELLY 83 
 
 carried away by passion that Margaret was forced now 
 and again to chide him for the forwardness of his 
 demeanour. Also, alas ! he transgressed in a more 
 serious way. For Mr. Walpole's accounts fell into 
 the saddest disorder ; there were sums of money of 
 which no trace could be found until — well, the de- 
 plorable affair was hushed up. Mr. Scrope was turned 
 off and set down his dismissal to Margaret, who, 
 gentle soul, would not have hurt a fly. From that 
 time he had not spared her his resentment, and would 
 go miles out of his way if by any chance he might 
 fix a slight upon her. Which conduct she most Chris- 
 tianly forgave, since indeed the poor man's head must 
 needs be turned. 
 
 * Yet he had all the appearances of prosperity,' 
 objected Wogan. 
 
 * I fancied that I said that there were large sums 
 missing,' replied her ladyship. 
 
 ' Yes, you did indeed say so,' said Mr. Kelly, * but 
 you avoided the implication out of your generous pity.' 
 
 It is not in truth very difiicult to befool a man who 
 does half the fooling himself. Mr. Kelly was alto- 
 gether appeased by Lady Oxford's explanation, 
 which to his friend seemed to explain nothing, but 
 none the less he readily acknowledged to Wogan the 
 propriety of hurrying his business to a close. 
 
 * To tell the truth,' said Wogan, as soon as her 
 ladyship had withdrawn, * I feel my cravat stiffening 
 prophetically about my neck. My presence does 
 not help you; indeed, it is another danger; and 
 since we are but a few miles from Aberystwith, I am 
 thinking that I could do nothing wiser than start 
 for that port to-night.' 
 
84 PARSON KELLY 
 
 The Parson drew figures with his forefinger on 
 the table for a while ; then : 
 
 * I would not have you go,' he said slowly. * I will 
 use what despatch I may; but I would not have 
 you go, and leave me here/ 
 
 Kelly was true to his word, and used so much 
 despatch that within two days he extorted a promise 
 from Lord Oxford to undertake the muslin trade 
 in England, as the cant phrase went. Possibly he 
 might have won that same promise before had he 
 used the same despatch. But Lord Oxford's foible 
 was to hold long discourses, and Mr. Pope truly 
 said that he had an epical habit of beginning every- 
 thing at the middle. However it may be, the two 
 men left the Manor on the morning of the third 
 day. Wogan drove back with the Parson as far 
 as Worcester, who for the first few miles remained 
 in a melancholy silence, and then burst out of a 
 sudden. 
 
 * To think that she should be mewed up in a 
 corner of Herefordshire, with no companions but 
 drunken rustics ! Mated to an old pantaloon, too ! ' 
 
 * Sure it was her ladyship's own doing,' murmured 
 Wogan. 
 
 * No woman in all London could hold a candle 
 to her. And we distrusted her — we distrusted her, 
 Nick.' He beat a clenched fist into the palm of 
 his other hand to emphasise the enormity of the 
 crime, * Why, what impertinent fools men are ! ' 
 
 Then he again relapsed into silence and again 
 broke out. 
 
 * Damme ! but Fortune plays bitter tricks upon 
 the world. *T is all very well to strike at a pair of 
 
PARSON KELLY 85 
 
 rascals like you and me, Nick, but she strikes at those 
 who offend her least. Faith, but I am bewildered. 
 Here is a woman indisputably born to be a queen 
 and she is a nurse. And no better prospect when 
 my lord dies than a poor jointure and a dull Dower 
 House.' 
 
 * Oh, she told you that, did she?' said VVogan. 
 
 * Sure it was a queenly complaint.' 
 
 * She made no complaint,' said Kelly fiercely. 
 
 * She would not — she could not. It is a woman 
 of unexampled patience,' 
 
 He grumbled into silence, and his thoughts 
 changed and turned moodily about himself. 
 
 * Why did I ever preach that sermon?' he 
 exclaimed. ' But for that I might now have the 
 care of half-a-dozen rambling parishes. Instead of 
 hurrying and scurrying from one end of Europe 
 to the other, at the risk of my neck, I might sit 
 of an evening by the peat fire of an inn kitchen 
 and give the law to my neighbour. I might have 
 a little country parsonage all trailed over with roses, 
 and leisure to ensure preferment by my studies 
 and enjoy the wisdom of my Latin friend TuUy. 
 I might have a wife, too/ he added, ' and maybe 
 half a score of children to plague me out of my 
 five wits with their rogueries.' 
 
 He fetched up a sigh as he ended which would 
 have done credit to my Lady Oxford ; and Wogan, 
 seeing his friend in this unwonted pother, was 
 minded to laugh him out of it. 
 
 'And a credit to your cloth you would have 
 been,' says he. ' Why, it 's a bottle you would 
 have taken into the pulpit with you, and a mighty 
 
86 PARSON KELLY 
 
 big tumbler to measure your discourse by. Indeed 
 there would have been but one point of resemblance 
 between yourself and your worthier brethren, and 
 that's the number of times you turned your glass 
 upside down before you came to an end.' 
 
 Kelly, however, was not to be diverted from his 
 melancholy. The picture of the parsonage was 
 too vivid on the canvas of his desires. And since 
 he dreamed of one impossibility, no doubt he went 
 a step further and dreamed of another besides. 
 No doubt his picture of the parsonage showed the 
 figure of the parson's wife, and no doubt the 
 parson's wife was very like to my Lady Oxford. 
 
 Wogan, though he had laughed, was, to tell the 
 truth, somewhat disturbed, and began to reckon 
 up how much he was himself to blame fof setting 
 Kelly's thoughts towards her ladyship. He had 
 not thought that his friend had taken the woman 
 so much to heart. But whenever the Parson fell a 
 dreaming of a quiet life and the cure of souls, it 
 was a sure sign the world was going very ill with him. 
 
 ' I would have you remember, George,' said 
 Wogan, 'that not so long ago I saw you stand 
 up before a certain company in Paris and cry out 
 with an honest — ay, an honest passion, *' May 
 nothing come between the Cause and me ! " ' 
 
 Kelly flushed as his words were recalled to him 
 and turned his head away. Wogan held out his 
 hand. 
 
 ' George, am I then to understand that something 
 has come between the Cause and you?' And he 
 had to repeat the question before he got an answer. 
 Then Kelly turned back. 
 
PARSON KELLY 87 
 
 ' Understand nothing, Nick, but that I am a fool/ 
 he cried heartily, and slapped his hand into Wogan's. 
 'True, the Cause, the Cause,* he muttered to himself 
 once or twice. After all, Nick,' he said, ' we have got 
 the old man's assurance. My Lord Oxford will lend 
 a hand. We have not failed the Cause.' And they 
 did not speak again until they drove into Worcester. 
 Then Kelly turned to Nick with a sad sort of smile. 
 
 'Well, have you nothing to say to me? ' said he. 
 
 Mr. Wogan could discover nothing to say until he 
 had stepped out of the chaise at the post-house and 
 was shaking his friend's hand. Then he delivered 
 himself of the soundest piece of philosophy imagin- 
 able. 
 
 'Woman,' he said, *is very much like a jelly-fish 
 — very pretty and pink and transparent to look at, 
 but with a devil of a sting if you touch it.' 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU HAS A WORD 
 TO SAY ABOUT SMILINDA 
 
 FROM Worcester Nicholas Wogan made his way 
 to Bristol, and, taking passage there on a 
 brigantine bound for Havre-de-Grace with a cargo of 
 hnen, got safely over into France. He travelled 
 forthwith to Paris that he might put himself at the 
 disposition of General Dillon, and, being commanded 
 to supper some few days after his arrival by the 
 Duke of Mar, saw a familiar swarthy face nodding 
 cheerily at him across the table. The lady was 
 embrowned with the Eastern sun, and, having lost 
 her eye-lashes by that disease which she fought so 
 manfully to conquer, her eyes were fierce and mar- 
 tial. It was indeed the face of the redoubtable Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montagu, sister to the Duchess of 
 Mar, who chanced to be passing through Paris on 
 her travels from Constantinople. Wogan remem- 
 bered that Mr. Kelly's rustic friend at Brampton 
 Bryan had spoken of Lady Mary with considerable 
 spleen. And since he began to harbour doubts of 
 her rusticity, he determined to seek some certain 
 information from Lady Mary. 
 
 Lady Mary was for a wonder in a most amiable 
 mood, and had more than one question to put con- 
 
PARSON KELLY 89 
 
 cerning * Kelly as the Bishop that was to be when 
 your King came to his own.* 
 
 * Why, madam, he has a new friend,' said Wogan. 
 Lady Mary maybe caught a suspicion of uneasiness 
 
 in Wogan's tone. She cocked her head whimsically. 
 
 ' A woman?* 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'Who?' 
 
 ' My Lady Oxford.' 
 
 Lady Mary made a round O of her lips, drew in a 
 breath, and blew it out again. 
 
 ' There go the lawn-sleeves.' 
 
 Wogan took a seat by her side. 
 
 •Why?' 
 
 Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 * In what esteem is she held?' continued Wogan, 
 ' of what character is she?' 
 
 T could never hear,' returned Lady Mary carelessly. 
 * For her friends always stopped abruptly when they 
 chanced upon her character, and the rest was merely 
 pursed lips and screwed-up eyes, which it would be 
 the unfairest thing in the world to translate in her 
 disfavour. Her character, Mr. Wogan, is a tender 
 and delicate plant. It will not grow under glass, but 
 in a dark room, where I believe it flourishes most 
 invisibly.' 
 
 Lady Mary seemed ill-disposed to pursue the 
 topic, and began to talk of her journey and the great 
 things she had seen at Constantinople. Wogan 
 waited until she came to a pause, and then stepped 
 in with another question. 
 
 * Is Lady Oxford political? ' 
 
 ' Lady Oxford ! Lady Oxford ! ' she repeated 
 
90 
 
 PARSON KELLY 
 
 almost pettishly. * Upon my word, the woman has 
 infected you. You can speak of nothing else. 
 Political?' and she laughed mahciously. 'That she 
 is, and on both sides. She changes her party more 
 often than an ambitious statesman. For politics to 
 my Lady Oxford are just pawns in the great game 
 of Love.' 
 
 ' Oh, Love,' exclaimed Wogan, with a recollection 
 of Mr. Scrope. ' Is Love her quarry? ' 
 
 ' She will play cat to any man's mouse,' returned 
 Lady Mary indifferently. 
 
 'And there are many mice?' 
 
 Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders and made no 
 reply. However, Wogan's appetite for information 
 was only whetted, and to provoke Lady Mary to 
 speak more freely he made an inventory of Lady 
 Oxford's charms. He dwelt on her attractions. 
 Lady Mary played with her fan, pulled savagely at 
 the feathers, opened it, shut it up, while Wogan dis- 
 coursed serenely on item — a dark eye, big, with a 
 glint of light in it like sunshine through a thunder- 
 cloud. Lady Mary laughed scornfully. Wogan 
 went on to item — a profusion of blackish-brown hair, 
 very silky, with a gloss, and here and there a gold 
 thread in the brown ; item — a Barbary shape ; item 
 — an admirable instep and a most engaging ankle. 
 
 ' It would look very pretty in the stocks,' Lady 
 Mary snapped out. 
 
 Wogan shook his head with a knowing air. 
 
 ' 'T would slip out.' 
 
 * Not if I had the locking of it in,' she exclaimed 
 with a vicious stamp of the foot, and rose, as though 
 to cross the room. 
 
PARSON KELLY 91 
 
 * I have omitted the lady's most adorable merit,' 
 said Wogan thoughtfully. Lady Mary was alto- 
 gether human, and did not cross the room. 
 
 * She has the greatest affection for your ladyship. 
 She spoke of your ladyship indeed in quite unmeas- 
 ured terms, and while praising your ladyship's wit 
 would not have it that one single spark was due to 
 the cleverness of your ladyship's friends. Upon that 
 point she was most strenuous.' 
 
 Lady Mary sat down again. The stroke had evi- 
 dently told. 
 
 'I am most grateful to her,' she said, * and when 
 did Lady Oxford show such a sweet condescension 
 towards me? ' 
 
 * But a few weeks ago at Brampton Bryan, where she 
 was nursing her husband with an assiduous devotion.' 
 
 * I have known her show the like devotion before, 
 when her losses at cards have driven her from 
 London.' 
 
 * So she gambles? ' inquired Wogan. ' Altogether, 
 then, a dangerous friend for George.' 
 
 Lady Mary nodded. 
 
 * Particularly for George,' said she with a smile. 
 * For observe, she is compact of wiles, and so is most 
 dangerous to an honest man. She is at once insatia- 
 ble in her desires, and implacable if they arc not 
 fulfilled. She is always in love, and knows nothing 
 of what the word means. She is tender at times, but 
 only through caprice ; she is never faithful except 
 for profit or lack of occasion to be anything else. 
 Coquetry is the abiding principle of her nature, and 
 her virtue merely a habit of hiding her coquetry. 
 Her mind is larded with affectations as is her face 
 
92 PARSON KELLY 
 
 with paint, and once or twice she has been known to 
 weep — when tears were likely to deceive a man. 
 There, Mr. Wogan, you have her likeness, and I 
 trust you are satisfied.* 
 
 It was not a character very much to Wogan's 
 liking (Lady Mary, he learned later, was quoting 
 from a manuscript 'portrait' of her own designing), 
 though he drew a spice of comfort from the thought 
 that Lady Mary might have coloured the effigy with 
 her unmistakable enmity. But events proved that she 
 had not over-coloured it, and even at that time Lady 
 Oxford had no better reputation than Lady Mary 
 Wortley attributed to her. The ballad-makers called 
 her gallant, and they did her no wrong — the ballad- 
 makers of the mel/es, be it understood, not they of 
 the streets, but such poets as Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu herself and his Grace Sophia of Wharton.^ 
 The street-singers knew not Lady Oxford, who, 
 indeed, was on the top of the fashion, and could hold 
 her own in the war of written verses. It was in truth 
 to her ability to give as good as she took in the 
 matter of ballads that she owed Lady Mary's hostility, 
 who had no taste for the counter-stroke. There were 
 many such daring Penthesileas of the pen who never 
 gave each other quarter; but neither Wogan nor the 
 Parson were at this time in their secrets, although 
 subsequently a ballad, not from Lady Mary's pen, 
 was to have an astonishing effect upon their fortunes. 
 
 * Your ladyship can help me to make the best of 
 it, at all events,' said Wogan. * Since you have told 
 me so much, will you tell me this one thing more? 
 Have you ever heard of Mr. Scrope? ' 
 
 I Sophia, a nickname of the JJukg of Wharton. 
 
PARSON KELLY 93 
 
 'Scrope? Scrope?' said she casting about in her 
 recollections. Wogan told her the story of Mr. 
 Scrope's appearance at Brampton Bryan, and the 
 explanation which Lady Oxford had given to account 
 for it. Lady Mary laughed heartily. 
 
 ' Secretary to Mr. Walpole? ' she said. ' And how, 
 then, did he come to hear that mad sermon of Mr. 
 Kelly's at Dublin?' 
 
 ' Sure I have been puzzled to account for that my- 
 self,' says Wogan. * But who is he? Where does he 
 come from? What brought him to Brampton Bryan? 
 What took him away in such a mighty hurry? For 
 upon my word I find it difficult to believe the man 's 
 
 a coward.' 
 
 * And you are in the right,' replied her ladyship. 
 * I know something of Mr. Scrope, and I will wager 
 it was no cowardice made him run. I doubt you 
 have not seen the last of Mr. Scrope. It is a passion- 
 ate, determined sort of creature. He came to Lon- 
 don a year or so agone. It was understood that he 
 was a country gentleman with a comfortable estate 
 in Leicestershire. He had laid his estate at Lady 
 Oxford's feet, before she was as yet her ladyship. 
 Lady Oxford would have it, and then would have 
 none of it, and married the Earl. Well, he had been 
 her valet for a season, and, I have no doubt, thought 
 the service worth any price. She gave him her fan 
 to hold, her gloves to caress, and what more can a 
 man want? He spent much of his money, and some 
 whisper that he turned informer afterwards.' 
 
 *0h, did he?' asked Wogan, who was now yet 
 more concerned that he had let the informer slip 
 through his fingers. 
 
94 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' Yes. An informer for conscience* sake — a gen- 
 tleman spy. His father died for Monmouth's affair. 
 He has ever hated the Pretender and his cause. He 
 is a Protestant and a fanatic' 
 
 Then she looked at Wogan and began to laugh. 
 
 * I would have given much to have seen you bounc- 
 ing down the road after Mr. Scrope's chaise,' and she 
 added seriously, * But I doubt you have not heard the 
 last of Mr. Scrope.' 
 
 That also was Wogan's thought. For Lady Mary's 
 story, though vague enough, was sufficiently clear to 
 deepen his disquietude. Well, Mr. Wogan would get 
 no comfort by the mere addling his brains with think- 
 ing of the matter, and he thrust it forth of his mind 
 and went upon his way, that led him clean out of the 
 path of this story for a while. He was despatched to 
 Cadiz to take charge of a ship, and, in company with 
 Captain Galloway of the ResolutioUy who was after- 
 wards seized at Genoa, and Morgan, of the Lady 
 Mary, he spent much fruitless time in cruising on 
 and off the coasts of France, Spain, and Sweden. It 
 was given out that they carried snuff, or were en- 
 gaged in the Madagascar trade. But they took no 
 cargoes aboard but barrels of powder and stands ot 
 arms, and waited on the Rising, which never came. 
 There were weeks idled away at Morlaix, at Roscoff 
 in Brittany, at Lisbon in Portugal, at AHcant Bay in 
 Spain, until Wogan's heart grew sick with impatience. 
 At rare times, when the venture wore a face of prom- 
 ise, the little fleet would run the hazard of the 
 Channel and creep along the English coast, from 
 Dartmouth, across the West Bay to Portland, from 
 Portland on to the Isle of Wight. Mr. Wogan would 
 
PARSON KELLY 95 
 
 pace the deck of his little ketch, Fortune, of a night, 
 and as he looked at the quiet fields lying dark be- 
 neath the sky, would wonder how the world wagged 
 for his friend the Parson, and whether my Lady 
 Oxford was shaping it or no, until a longing would 
 seize on him to drop a boat into the water and him- 
 self into the boat, and row ashore and see. But it 
 was not for more than a full twelve months that his 
 longing was fulfilled, and during those twelve months 
 the harm was done. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MR. KELLY HAS AN ADVENTURE AT A MASQUERADE 
 
 BALL 
 
 FOR the greater part of that year Mr. Kelly 
 simply went about his business. He travelled 
 backwards and forwards from General Dillon, Lord 
 Lansdowne, the Duke of Mar, in Paris, to the Bishop 
 of Rochester, in London, and from the Bishop to the 
 others of the five who mismanaged the Chevalier's 
 affairs in England, Lord Arran, Lord Strafford, Lord 
 North and Grey, Lord Orrery, and last, though not 
 least, the Earl of Oxford. Thus business brought 
 him more than once knocking again at the doors of 
 Brampton Bryan Manor, though he did not always 
 find her ladyship at home to welcome him. On such 
 occasions he found the great house very desolate for 
 the want of her footstep and her voice, and so would 
 pull out his watch and fall to wondering what at that 
 precise moment she was engaged upon in town. 
 
 Thus things dallied, then, until a warm wet night 
 of summer in the year 1720. Mr. Kelly was in Lon- 
 don and betook himself to His Majesty's Theatre in 
 Drury Lane, where he witnessed a farce which was 
 very much to his taste. It was entitled ' South-Sea; 
 or the Biter Bit,' and was happy not merely in its 
 quips, but in the moment of its performance. For 
 
PARSON KELLY 97 
 
 the King, or, as the honest party called him, the 
 Elector, and his lords had sold out, and were off to 
 Germany with their plunder, and the stocks were 
 falling by hundreds every week. Mr. Kelly might 
 well laugh at the sallies on the stage and the wry 
 faces with which the pit and boxes received them. 
 For he had recently sold out his actions in the Mis- 
 sissippi scheme at a profit of 1,200 per cent., and had 
 his money safe locked up at Mr. Child's, the gold- 
 smith. Kelly's, however, was not a mere wanton 
 pleasure. For the floating of the bubble out of reach 
 meant a very solid change in the Jacobite prospects. 
 So long as the South-Sea scheme prospered and all 
 the town grew wealthy, there would be no talk of 
 changing kings and no chance for Mr. Kelly's friends. 
 That great and patriotic bishop whom he served, my 
 Lord of Rochester, had said to him this many a 
 month past, ' Let 'em forget their politics, let 'em all 
 run mad in Change Alley, and the madder the better. 
 For the funds will fall and be the ruin of thousands, 
 and when England is sunk into a salutary wretched- 
 ness and discontent, then our opportunity will come.' 
 
 It was altogether, then, in a very good humour 
 that Mr. Kelly left the theatre. The night was 
 young, and he disinclined for his lodgings. He 
 strolled across to the Groom Porters, in White Hall, 
 where his spirits were mightily increased. For tak- 
 ing a hand there at Bassette, in three deals he won 
 nine rich septlevas, and, for once, did not need the 
 money, and when he left the Groom Porters his 
 pockets were heavy with gold, and his head swim- 
 ming with the fumes of punch. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that those same fumes 
 
 7 
 
98 PARSON KELLY 
 
 of punch floated Lady Oxford into Mr. Kelly's 
 mind. He swaggered up St. James's Street with her 
 ladyship consequently riding atop of his bemused 
 fancies. It was a gay hour in St. James's, being then 
 about half past one of the morning. Music rippled 
 out of windows open on the night. Kelly heard the 
 dice rattle within and the gold clink on the green 
 cloth ; lovers were whispering on the balconies ; the 
 world seemed to be going very well for those who 
 had not their money in the Bubble, and for no one 
 better than for Mr. Kelly. He looked about him, if 
 by chance he might catch a glimpse of his divinity 
 among the ladies of fashion as he watched them 
 getting into their chairs, pushing their hoops sidelong 
 before them, and the flambeaux flaring on their per- 
 fections. He imagined himself a Paladin rescuing 
 her from innumerable foes. She was an angel, a 
 sprite, a Hamadryad, in fact everything tender and 
 immaterial. 
 
 He was roused from these dreams by an illumina- 
 tion of more than ordinary brillancy, and looking up 
 saw that he had wandered to the theatre in the Hay- 
 market. A ragged crowd of pickpockets and the 
 like was gathered about the portico. Carriages and 
 chairs set down in quick succession, ladies in domi- 
 noes, gentlemen in masks. Mr. Kelly remembered 
 that it was a night of the masquerades ; all the world 
 would be gathered in the theatre, and why not Lady 
 Oxford, who was herself the better half of it ? Kelly 
 had a ticket in his pocket, pushed through the loiter- 
 ers, and stood on the inner rim of the crowd watching 
 the masqueraders arrive. Every carriage that drew 
 up surely concealed her ladyship, every domino that 
 
PARSON KELLY 99 
 
 passed up the steps hid her incomparable figure. 
 Mr. Kelly had staked his soul with unruffled confi- 
 dence upon her identity with each of the first twelve 
 women who thus descended before he realised that 
 he was not the only one who waited. From the spot 
 where he stood he could see into the lobby of the 
 theatre. Heidegger, M. le surintcndant des plaisirs 
 du Roi de I'Angleterre, 
 
 ' With a hundred deep wrinkles impressed on his front, 
 Like a map with a great many rivers upon 't,' 
 
 was receiving the more important of his guests. The 
 guests filed past him into the parterre, Heidegger 
 remained. But another man loitered ever in the 
 lobby too. He was evidently expecting someone, 
 and that with impatience. For as each coach or 
 chaise drew up he peered eagerly forward ; as it 
 delivered its occupants he turned discontentedly 
 away. It is perhaps doubtful whether Mr. Kelly 
 would have paid him any great attention but for his 
 dress, which arrested all eyes and caused the more 
 tender of the ladies who passed him to draw their 
 cloaks closer about them with a gesture of disgust. 
 For he was attired to represent a headsman, being 
 fi-om head to foot in black, with a crape mask upon 
 his face and a headsman's axe in his hand. He had 
 carried his intention out with such thoroughness, 
 moreover, that he had daubed his doublet and hose 
 with red. 
 
 Mr. Kelly was in a mood to be charmed by every- 
 thing strange and eccentric, and the presence of this 
 bloodsmeared executioner at a masquerade seemed 
 to him a piece of the most delicate drollery. More- 
 
loo PARSON KELLY 
 
 over, the executioner was waiting like Mr. Kelly, and 
 with a like anxiety. Mr. Kelly had a fellow-feeling 
 for him in his impatience which prompted him sud- 
 denly to run up the steps and accost him. 
 
 * Like me, you are doubtless waiting for your aunt,' 
 said the Parson courteously. 
 
 The impulse, the movement, the words had all been 
 the matter of a second ; but the executioner was 
 more than naturally startled, as Mr. Kelly might have 
 perceived had he possessed his five wits. For the 
 man leaped rather than stepped back; he gave a 
 gasp ; his hand gripped tight about the handle of 
 his axe. Then he stepped close to Kelly. 
 
 * You know me? ' he said. The voice was muffled, 
 the accent one of menace. Kelly noticed neither 
 the voice nor the menace. He bowed with cere- 
 mony. 
 
 'Without a doubt. You are M. de Strasbourg.' 
 The headsman laughed abruptly like a man relieved. 
 
 * You and I,' he returned, mimicking Kelly's 
 politeness of manner, * will be better acquainted in 
 the future.' 
 
 Kelly was overjoyed with the rejoinder. ' Here 's a 
 devil of a fellow for you,' he cried, and with his elbow 
 nudged Heidegger in the ribs. Heidegger was at 
 that moment bent to the ground before the Duchess 
 of Wharton, and nearly stumbled over her Grace's 
 train. He turned in a passion as soon as the Duchess 
 had passed. 
 
 * Vas you do dat for dam? ' he said all in a breath. 
 Kelly however was engaged in contemplating the 
 executioner. He ran his thumb along the edge of 
 the axe. 
 
PARSON KELLY loi 
 
 ' It is cruelly blunt,' said he. 
 
 'You need not fear,' returned the other. For 
 your worship is only entitled •^to, ?i'\cord.' ; «. 
 
 * Oh, so you know me,' says Keliy, stepping close 
 to the executioner. ^ • • : , ' * • ; ' 
 
 ' Without a doubt,' replied the latter, stepping 
 back, ' Monsieur le Marchand de dentelles.' 
 
 It was Kelly's turn to be startled, and that he was 
 effectually; he was shocked into a complete recovery 
 of his senses and an accurate estimation of his folly. 
 He walked to the entrance and stood upon the steps. 
 The executioner knew him, knew something of his 
 trade. Who, then, was M. de Strasbourg? Kelly 
 recalled the tones of his voice, conned them over in 
 his mind, and was not a penny the wiser. He 
 glanced backwards furtively across his shoulder and 
 looked the man over from head to foot. 
 
 At that moment a carriage drove up to the 
 entrance. Mr. Kelly was standing on the top of the 
 steps and the face of the coachman on the box was 
 just on a level with his own. He stared, in a word, 
 right at it, and so took unconsciously an impression 
 of it upon his mind, while pondering how he should act 
 with regard to M. de Strasbourg. Consequently he 
 did not notice that a woman stepped out of the car- 
 riage and, without looking to the right or left, quickly 
 mounted the steps. His eyes, in fact, were still fixed 
 upon the coachman's face ; and it needed the brush- 
 ing of her cloak against his legs to rouse him from 
 his reflections. 
 
 He turned about just as she disappeared at the far 
 end of the lobby. He caught a glimpse of a white 
 velvet cloak and an inch of blue satin petticoat under 
 
I02 PARSON KELLY 
 
 a muffling domino. He also saw that M. de Stras- 
 bourg was drawn close behind a pillar, as though he 
 wished i'p ayoid the lady. As soon, however, as she 
 had vanished ^he came boldly out of his concealment 
 and.i'ollowed her into di.e, theatre. Mr. Kelly began 
 instantly to wonder whether a closer view of the 
 domino would help him discover who M. de Stras- 
 bourg really was, and entering the theatre he went 
 up into the boxes. 
 
 At first his eyes were bedazzled by the glitter of 
 lights and jewels and the motley throng which paraded 
 the floor. There was the usual medley of Chinese, 
 Turks, and friars ; here was a gentleman above six 
 feet high dressed like a child in a white frock and 
 leading strings and attended by another of very low 
 stature, who fed him from time to time with a pap- 
 spoon ; there was a soldier prancing a minuet upon a 
 hobby horse to the infinite discomfort of his neigh- 
 bours ; and as for the women — it seemed to Mr. 
 Kelly that all the goddesses of the heathen my- 
 thology had come down from Olympia in their 
 customary neglig6. 
 
 Among them moved M. de Strasbourg like a black 
 shadow, very distinguishable. Kelly kept his eyes 
 in the man's neighbourhood, and in a little perceived 
 a masked lady with her hair dressed in the Greek 
 fashion. What character she was intended to repre- 
 sent he could not for the life of him determine. He 
 learnt subsequently that she went as Iphigeneia — 
 Iphigeneia, if you please, in a blue satin petticoat. To 
 be sure her bosom was bared for the sacrifice, but 
 then all the ladies in that assembly were in the like 
 case. She had joined a party of friends, of whom 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 103 
 
 M. de Strasbourg was not one. For though he kept 
 her ever within his sight, following her hither and 
 thither, it was always at a distance ; and, so far as 
 Kelly could see, and he did not take his eyes from 
 the pair, he never spoke to her so much as a single 
 word. On the contrary he seemed rather to lurk 
 behind and avoid her notice. Kelly's curiosity was 
 the more provoked by this stealthy pursuit. He 
 lost his sense of uneasiness in a wonder what the man 
 designed against the woman. He determined to 
 wait the upshot of the affair. 
 
 The night wore away, the masqueraders thinned. 
 The inch of blue satin petticoat took her departure 
 from the parterre. M. de Strasbourg followed her; 
 Mr. Kelly followed M. de Strasbourg. 
 
 The lobby was crowded. Kelly threaded his way 
 through the crowd and came out upon the steps. 
 He saw the lady, close wrapped again in her velvet 
 cloak, descend to her carriage. The coachman 
 gathered up his reins and took his whip from its rest. 
 The movement chanced to attract Kelly's eyes. He 
 looked at the coachman, at the first glance indiffer- 
 ently, at the second with all his attention. For this 
 was not the same man who had driven the carriage 
 to the masquerade. And then the coachman turned 
 his full face towards Kelly and nodded. He nodded 
 straight towards him. But was the nod meant for him ? 
 No ! Well, then, for someone just behind his shoulder. 
 
 Kelly did not turn, but stepped quietly aside and 
 saw M. de Strasbourg slip past him down the steps. 
 So the nod was meant for him. M. de Strasbourg 
 was still masked, but he had thrown a cloak about 
 his shoulders which in some measure disguised his 
 
104 PARSON KELLY 
 
 dress. The mystery seemed clear to Kelly ; the lady 
 was to be forcibly abducted unless someone, say Mr. 
 James Johnson, had a word to say upon the matter. 
 The carriage turned and drove slowly through the 
 press of chairs and shouting link-boys ; M. de Stras- 
 bourg on the side-walk kept pace with the carriage. 
 Kelly immediately crossed the road, and, concealed 
 by the carriage, kept pace with M. de Strasbourg. 
 Thus they went as far as the corner of the Haymarket, 
 and then turned into Pall Mall. 
 
 At this point Kelly, to be the more ready should 
 the lady need his assistance, stepped off the pave- 
 ment and walked in the mud hard by the hind whc. Is 
 of the carriage. It was now close upon four of the 
 morning, but, fortunately, very dark, and only a 
 sullen sort of twilight about the south-eastern fringes 
 of the sky. 
 
 In Pall Mall the carriages were fewer, but the 
 coachman did not quicken his pace, doubtless out of 
 regard for M. de Strasbourg, and at the corner of 
 Pall Mall, where the road was quite empty, he jerked 
 the horses to a standstill. Instantly M. de Stras- 
 bourg ran across the road to the carriage, the coach- 
 man bent over on that side to watch, and Mf. Kelly, 
 on the other side, ran forward to the box M. de 
 Strasbourg wrenched open the door and jumped into 
 the carriage. Mr. Kelly heard a woman's scream 
 and sprang on to the box. The coachman turned 
 with a start. Before he could shout, before he could 
 speak, Kelly showed him a pistol (for he went armed) 
 under the man's nose. 
 
 ' One word,' said Kelly, ' and I will break your 
 ugly face in with the stock of that, my friend.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 105 
 
 The woman screamed again ; M. de Strasbourg 
 thrust his head out of the window. 
 
 * Go on/ he shouted with an oath, * you know 
 where. At a gallop ! Kill the horses, they are not 
 mine ! Flog 'em to death so you go but fast 
 enough.' 
 
 *To the right,' said Kelly, quietly. 
 The man whipped up the horses. They started at 
 a gallop up St. James's Street. 
 
 * To the right,' again whispered Kelly. 
 
 The carriage turned into Ryder Street, rocking on 
 its wheels. M. de Strasbourg's head was again thrust 
 from the window. 
 
 * That 's not the way. Are you drunk, man ? — are 
 you drunk?' he cried. 
 
 * To the left,' says Kelly, imperturbably, and fin- 
 gered the lock of the pistol a little. 
 
 The carriage swung into Bury Street. 
 ' Stop,' said Kelly. 
 
 The coachman reined in his horses ; the carriage 
 stopped with a jerk. 
 
 * Where in the devil's name have you taken us ? ' 
 cried M. de Strasbourg, opening the door. 
 
 Kelly sprang to the ground, ran round the carriage 
 to the open door. 
 
 ' To the Marchand de dentelles, M. de Strasbourg,* 
 said he with a bow. ' I have some most elegant 
 pieces of point d' Aleiicon for the lady's inspection.' 
 
 M. de Strasbourg was utterly dumbfounded. He 
 staggered back against the panels of the carriage ; 
 his mouth opened and shut; it seemed there was no 
 language sufficiently chaotic to express his discom- 
 posure. At last: 
 
io6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * You are a damned impudent fellow,' he gasped 
 out in a weak sort of quaver. 
 
 ' Am I?' asked Kelly. ' Shall we ask the lady?' 
 
 He peeped through the door. The lady was hud- 
 dled up in a corner — an odd heap of laces, silks, and 
 furbelows, but with never a voice in all the confusion. 
 It seemed she had fainted. 
 
 Meanwhile M. de Strasbourg turned on the unfor- 
 tunate coachman. 
 
 ' Get down, you rascal,' he cried ; * you have been 
 bribed, you 're in the fellow's pay. Get down ! Not 
 a farthing will you get from me, but only a thrashing 
 that will make your bones ache this month to 
 come.' 
 
 ' Your honour,' replied the coachman piteously, 
 
 * it was not my fault. He offered to kill me unless 
 I drove you here.' 
 
 M. de Strasbourg in a rage flung back to Kelly. 
 He clapped a hand on his shoulder and plucked him 
 from the carriage door. 
 
 * So you offered to kill him, did you?' he said. 
 
 * Perhaps you will make a like offer to me. But I '11 
 not wait for the offer.' 
 
 He unclasped his cloak, drew his sword (happily 
 not his axe) and delivered his thrust with that rapid- 
 ity it seemed all one motion. Mr. Kelly jumped on 
 one side, and the sword just gleamed against his 
 sleeve. M. de Strasbourg overbalanced himself and 
 stumbled a foot or two forwards. Kelly had whipped 
 out his sword by the time that M. de Strasbourg had 
 recovered, and a battle began which was whimsical 
 enough. A quiet narrow street, misty with the grey 
 morning, the carriage lamps throwing here a doubt- 
 
PARSON KELLY 107 
 
 ful shadow, a masked headsman leaping, swearing, 
 thrusting in an extreme passion, and, to crown the 
 business, the coachman lamenting on the box that 
 whichever honourable gentleman was killed he would 
 most surely go wanting his hire, he that had a woeful 
 starving family ! Mr. Kelly, indeed, felt the strongest 
 inclination to laugh, but dared not, so hotly was he 
 pressed. The attack, however, he did not return, but 
 contented himself with parrying the thrusts. His 
 design, indeed, reached at no more than the mere 
 disarming of M. de Strasbourg. M. de Strasbourg, 
 however, lost even his last remnants of patience. 
 
 * Rascal ! ' he cried. * Scullion ! Grasshopper ! ' 
 Then he threw his hat at Kelly and missed, and at 
 
 last flung his periwig full in Kelly's face, accompany- 
 ing the present with a thrust home which his oppo- 
 nent barely parried. 
 
 It was this particular action which brought the 
 contest to a grotesque conclusion quite in keeping 
 with its beginnings. For the periwig tumbled in the 
 mud, and the coachman, assured that he would get 
 no stiver of his hire, scrambled down from his box, 
 rushed at a prize of so many pounds in value, picked 
 it up and took to his heels. 
 
 M. de Strasbourg uttered a cry and leaped back- 
 wards out of reach. 
 
 * Stop ! * he bawled to the coachman. The coach- 
 man only ran the quicker. M. de Strasbourg passed 
 his hand over his shaven crown and looked at the 
 carriage. It was quite impossible to abduct a lady 
 without a periwig to his head. He swore, he stamped, 
 he shouted ' Stop ! ' once more, and then dashed at 
 full speed past Kelly in pursuit. 
 
io8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Kelly made no effort to prevent him, but gave way 
 to his inclination and laughed. The coachman threw 
 a startled glance over his shoulder and, seeing that 
 M. de Strasbourg pressed after him, quickened his 
 pace ; behind him rushed a baldheaded executioner 
 hurling imprecations. The pair fled, one after the 
 other, to the top of Bury Street, turned the corner 
 and disappeared. Kelly laughed till the tears ran 
 down his cheeks, and leaned against the carriage. 
 
 The touch of the panels recalled him to the lady's 
 presence. The street was now fairly roused by the 
 clamour. Night-capped heads peeped from the win- 
 dows ; an indignant burgher in a dressing-gown even 
 threatened Mr. Kelly with a blunderbuss ; and, as he 
 turned to the door of the carriage, he saw Mrs. 
 Barnes at a window on the second floor looking at 
 him with an air of the gravest discontent. 
 
 * Take me into shelter, good sir, at once, at once,' 
 cried the lady from out the confusion of her laces, in 
 a feigned tone of the m.asquerade. 
 
 * With all my heart, madam,' said Kelly. *^This is 
 my door, and my lodging is at your disposal. Only 
 the street is fairly awake, and should you prefer, I 
 will most readily drive you to your own house.' 
 
 The lady looked out of the window. She was still 
 masked so that Kelly could see nothing of her face, 
 and she hesitated for a little, as if in doubt what 
 answer she should make. 
 
 * You may make yourself at ease, madam,' said 
 Kelly, believing that she was not yet relieved of fear ; 
 * you are in perfect safety. Our worthy friend had 
 to choose between your ladyship and his periwig, of 
 which he has gone in chase. And, indeed, while 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 109 
 
 I deplore his taste, I cannot but commend his 
 discretion.* 
 
 * Very well/ she replied faintly. * I owe you great 
 thanks already, Mr. — ' she paused. 
 
 * Johnson,' said Kelly. 
 
 * Mr. Johnson,' she replied; ' and I shall owe you 
 yet more if you will drive me to my home.' 
 
 She gave him the address of a house in Queen's 
 Square, Westminster. Kelly mounted on the box, 
 took up the reins, and drove off. He looked up, as 
 he turned the carriage in the narrow street, towards 
 the second floor of his lodging. Mrs. Barnes shook 
 her head at him in a terrible concern. 
 
 * I shall write and tell Mr. Wogan,' she bawled out. 
 'Hush, Mrs. Barnes, have you no sense?' cried 
 
 Kelly, and he thought that from within the carriage 
 he heard a stifled peal of laughter. ' Poor woman,' 
 thought he, ' 't is the hysterics,' and he drove to 
 Queen's Square, Westminster, at a gallop. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHEREIN THE CHIVALROUS MR. KELLY BEHAVES 
 WITH DEPLORABLE FOLLY 
 
 MR. KELLY did not drive very straight perhaps, 
 but to be sure he had the streets entirely to 
 himself, and he certainly hit upon Queen's Square. 
 The house was unknown to him, and he drove through 
 the square before he found it. 
 
 It made an angle at the south corner, and was con- 
 spicuous for a solid family air, and a fine new statue 
 of Queen Anne. Level windows of a distinguished 
 respectability looked you over with indifference and 
 said, * Here 's a house you '11 take off your hat to, if 
 you please.' 'Faith, but those windows must have 
 shuddered in their sashes when they saw the Parson 
 driving Madam home at five o'clock of the morning 
 from a masquerade ball. A sleepy footman opened 
 the door; a no less sleepy maid yawned in the hall. 
 However, they both waked up to some purpose when 
 Mr. Kelly jumped down from the box, bade the foot- 
 man take the carriage round to the stables, called the 
 maid to attend upon Madam, and himself opened the 
 carriage door. He opened it quickly with a thought 
 that Madam might very likely have removed her 
 mask, for he was not so tipsy but that he was curious 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 III 
 
 to know who it was that he had befriended. Madam, 
 however, had done nothing of the kind. 
 
 * Is my lady ill? ' asked the maid, hurrying forward. 
 So Madam was a woman of title. 
 
 ' A trifle discomposed, no doubt,' answered Kelly. 
 
 My lady said nothing whatever. It seemed she 
 was unwilling to speak in the feigned voice before 
 her maid, and in the natural voice before Mr. Kelly, 
 She took his arm, and, leaning on it somewhat 
 heavily, yet walked with a firm enough step into the 
 hall, as Mr. Kelly could not but remark. 
 
 The maid threw open a door on the right. It gave 
 into a little cheery room with a wainscot of polished 
 oak, and a fire blazing on the hearth. My lady did 
 not release Mr. Kelly's arm, and they both stood in 
 front of the fire, and no doubt found the warmth 
 comfortable enough after the chill of the morning. 
 Her ladyship, indeed, went so far as to untie the 
 strings of her domino, and make as though she would 
 turn it back upon her shoulders. But with a glance 
 at Mr. Kelly, she changed her mind, and hugged it 
 somewhat closer over her dress than before. 
 
 'Were you at the masquerade, Mr. Johnson?' she 
 asked in a low voice. 
 
 Mr. Kelly took the movement and the words 
 together, and set them down as mere coquetry. 
 Now, coquetry to Kelly at that time was a challenge, 
 and it was contrary to his principles of honour to 
 remain under such a provocation from man or 
 woman. So he answered : 
 
 ' Indeed, your ladyship, I was, to my eternal hap- 
 piness. I shall dream of blue satin for a month to 
 come.' 
 
112 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Her ladyship hitched her domino a little tighter 
 still about her neck, and quickly tied the strings 
 again, but made no other reply to his sally. The 
 action, while it inflamed his curiosity, put him into 
 something of a quandary. Was it but another piece 
 of coquetry, he asked himself, or did she mdeed wish 
 to hinder him from discovering who she was? He 
 could answer neither question, but he felt constrained, 
 at all events, to offer to take her concealment as a 
 hint that he should depart. It seemed a pity, for the 
 adventure promised well. 
 
 * Your ladyship/ he said, and at that she gave a 
 start and glanced at him, * for so I understand from 
 your maid I may address you,' he added, ' it grows 
 late, the world is getting on to its legs, and your lady- 
 ship has had an eventful night.' 
 
 He took a step backwards and bowed. 
 
 * No,' said she, in a sharp quick voice, and put out 
 a hand to detain him. Then she stopped as quickly, 
 and drew in her hand again. 
 
 Mr. Kelly had borne himself very prettily in the 
 little affair with M. de Strasbourg. Madam, in fact, 
 was in the typical attitude of woman. She knew it 
 was inconvenient to keep him, but for the life of her 
 she could not let him go, wherefore she found a 
 woman's way out of the trouble. For she staggered 
 on her legs, and fainted to all appearance clean away, 
 leaving matters to take their own course and shift for 
 themselves. She fainted, of course, towards Mr. 
 Kelly, who caught her in his arms and set her in 
 an arm-chair. The maid, who all this while had been 
 standing in the doorway, smiled. ' I will run to her 
 ladyship's dressing-room for the salts,' she said, and 
 
PARSON KELLY 113 
 
 so went out of the room, carefully closing the door 
 behind her. Kelly kneeled by the lady's side, and 
 taking up her fan, sought to waft her that way back 
 into the world. She did not stir so much as a 
 muscle, but lay all huddled up in her domino and 
 mask. Mr. Kelly leaned over her, and so became 
 aware of a penetrating perfume which breathed out 
 from her dress. The perfume was bergamot. 
 
 Kelly dropped the fan and sat back on his heel. 
 The maid had called her ' my lady,' and bergamot 
 was Lady Oxford's favourite perfume. What if it 
 was Lady Oxford he had unwittingly rescued ! The 
 possibility caught his breath away. If that were only 
 true, he thought, why, he had done her some slight 
 service, and straightway a great rush of tenderness 
 came upon him, which went some way to sober him. 
 In a minute, however, he dropped into despondency; 
 for Lord Oxford's house was in the northern part of 
 the town, as he knew, though he had never as yet 
 been there, and neither the footman nor the maid 
 were of her ladyship's household. Yet, if by some 
 miracle the lady might be Smilinda ! She was of the 
 right height. Mr. Kelly looked at her, seeking vainly to 
 trace out the form hidden under the folds of the domino. 
 But if it were Smilinda, then Smilinda had swooned. 
 
 Mr. Kelly woke to this conclusion with a start of 
 alarm. He clapped his hand into his pocket, pulled 
 out his snuff-box, opened it quickly, and held it close 
 beneath her ladyship's nose. The effect of the snuff 
 was purely magical, for before she could have inhaled 
 one grain of it — before, indeed, Mr. Kelly's box was 
 within a foot of her face, up went her hands to the 
 tie-strings of her mask. 
 
 8 
 
114 PARSON KELLY 
 
 So the swoon was counterfeit 
 
 * Madam,' said Kelly, * you interpret my desires to 
 a nicety. It is your face I would see, but I did not 
 dream of removing your mask. I did but offer to 
 revive you with a pinch of snuff." 
 
 She took the box from his hand, but not to inhale 
 the macawba. 
 
 * It is for your own sake, Mr. Johnson, that I do not 
 unmask. 'T is like that I am a fright, and did you see 
 my face you would take me for a pale ghost.' 
 
 * Madam,' said Kelly, * I am not afraid of ghosts, 
 nor apt to take your ladyship for one of those same 
 airy appearances. A ghost ! No,' he cried, survey- 
 ing her. * An angel ! It is only the angels in Heaven 
 that wear blue satin petticoats.' 
 
 The lady laughed, and checked the laugh, aware 
 that a laugh betrays where a voice does not. 
 
 * Ghost or angel,' she said, * a being of my sex would 
 fain see herself before she is seen. 'Tis a mirror I 
 seek.' She was still holding Mr. Kelly's snuff-box. 
 It was open and within the lid a little looking-glass was 
 set ; and as she spoke she turned away and bent over 
 it with a motion as if she was about to lift her mask. 
 
 ' Nay,' said Kelly abruptly ; he stretched out his 
 hand towards the snuff-box. * The glass will be un- 
 faithful, for the snuff has tarnished it. Madam, I 
 beseech you, unloose that mask and turn your face to 
 me and consult a truer mirror, your servant's eyes.' 
 He spoke, perhaps, with a trifle more of agitation 
 than the occasion seemed to warrant. Madam did 
 indeed turn her face to Mr. Kelly, but it was in sur- 
 prise at his agitation, and the mask still hid her 
 face. Mr. Kelly could see no more than a pair of 
 
PARSON KELLY 115 
 
 eyes blazing bright and black through the eyelet 
 holes. 
 
 ' You are gallant, I find, as well as brave,' she said, 
 * unless some other cause prompted the words.' 
 
 * What cause, madam? You wrong me.' 
 
 * Why,' said she, * you still hold out your hand.' 
 Mr. Kelly drew it away quickly. ' Ah,' she continued, 
 ' I am right. There was a reason. You would not 
 have me examine your snuff-box too closely.' 
 
 In that she was right, for the snuff-box was at once 
 the dearest and the most dangerous of Mr. Kelly's 
 possessions. It was a pretty toy in gold and tortoise- 
 shell, with brilliants on the hinges, and had been given 
 to Mr. Kelly on a certain occasion when he had been 
 presented to his king at Avignon. For that reason, 
 and for another, he was mightily loth to let it out of 
 his possession. What that other reason was Madam 
 very soon discovered. 
 
 * It is a dangerous toy,' she said. ' It has perhaps 
 a secret to tell? ' 
 
 ' Madam, has not your mask? ' returned Kelly. 
 ' There is a mystery behind the mirror.' 
 
 * Well, then, it 's mystery for mystery.' 
 
 For all that he spoke lightly he was in some un- 
 easiness. For the lady might not be Smilinda, and 
 her fingers played deftly about the setting of the 
 mirror, touching a stone here and there. To be sure 
 she wore gloves, and was the less likely therefore to 
 touch the spring. But give her time enough — however, 
 at that moment Kelly heard the maid's footsteps in the 
 hall. He stepped to the door at once and opened it. 
 
 'You have the salts?' he asked. 'You have been 
 the deuce of a time finding them.* 
 
ii6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 The maid stared at him. 
 
 * But her ladyship fainted,' she argued. 
 
 ' Well,' said he, * was n't that why you went for the 
 salts?' 
 
 ' To be sure,' says she. * 'Twas an order to go for 
 the salts.' 
 
 She pushed open the door. My lady was still 
 fingering the box. The maid paid no attention to 
 the box, but she looked at my lady's mask; from the 
 mask she looked towards Kelly with a shrug of the 
 shoulders, which said * Zany ' as plain as writing. 
 
 Kelly had no thoughts to spare for the maid. 
 
 * Madam,' he said, ' here is your maid, to whose at- 
 tentions I may leave you.' 
 
 He advanced, made a bow, took up his hat, held 
 out his hand for his snuff-box. 
 
 ' But I cannot let you go,' she answered, * without 
 I thank you ' — all the time she was running her 
 fingers here and there for the spring. Kelly noticed, 
 too, with some anxiety, that while he had gone to 
 the door she had made use of the occasion to strip 
 off her glove — ' and thank you fitly, as I should 
 have done ere this. But the trouble I was in has 
 made me backward.' 
 
 * Nay, madam,' said Kelly impatiently, and taking 
 a step nearer, * there is no need for thanks. No man 
 could have done less.' 
 
 Her ladyship's fingers travelled faster in their vain 
 attempt. 
 
 * But you risked your life ! ' said she in admiration. 
 
 * It is worth very little,' said he with a touch of 
 disdain ; ' and, madam, I keep you from your bed.' 
 
 The maid turned her eyes up to the ceiling, and 
 
PARSON KELLY 117 
 
 then Madam by chance pressed on a diamond which 
 loosed a hidden spring; the glass in the snuff-box 
 flew down and showed a painting of the Chevalier in 
 miniature. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried my lady with a start in which, per- 
 haps, there was a trace of affectation. Then she 
 turned to the maid and bade her bring some wine 
 and glasses. She spoke quickly, now forgetting for 
 the moment to disguise her voice. Mr. Kelly recog- 
 nized it with absolute certainty. The voice was 
 Smilinda's. 
 
 The maid went out of the door. Kelly looked at 
 the lady, and seeing that she was seemingly engrossed 
 in the contemplation of the little picture, stole after 
 the maid. 
 
 * Betty ! ' he called in a whisper. 
 
 * Sir? ' she asked, coming to a stop. 
 
 He took a crown from his pocket, spun it in the 
 air, and caught it. 
 
 * The Margout,' said he, ' will doubtless be more 
 difficult to discover than the salts,* he suggested. 
 
 * It might indeed be necessary to go down to the 
 cellar,' she replied readily. 
 
 ' And that would take time,' said Kelly, handing 
 her the crown. 
 
 * It would take an entire crown's worth,' said the 
 maid, pocketing the coin. 
 
 Kelly slipped back into the room. 
 
 The lady seemed not to have noticed Mr. Kelly's 
 absence, so fondly did she study the portrait ; but 
 none the less, no sooner had he closed the door than 
 she cried out, not by any means to him but in a sort 
 of ecstasy, * Z^ Roil' Then she hid the snuff-box 
 
ii8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 suddenly and glanced with a shudder round the 
 room. The panic was altogether misplaced, since 
 there could be no other person in the room except 
 the owner of the box, who, if her ladyship was guilty 
 for admiring, was ten thousand times more so for 
 possessing it. 
 
 She caught with her hand at her heart when she 
 perceived Mr. Kelly, then her eyes smiled from out 
 of her mask, as though in the extremity of her alarm 
 she had forgotten who he was, and so fell back in her 
 chair with an air of languor, breathing deep and 
 quick. 
 
 * Upon my word, I fear, Mr. Johnson,' she said, 
 * that if I have escaped one danger by your help I 
 have fallen into another. You seem to me to be a 
 man of dangerous company.' 
 
 * Indeed I find it so when I am with you, madam, 
 since you discover my secrets and show me nothing 
 of your own,' replied Kelly. 
 
 The maid it appears, had no less perversity than 
 her mistress, for precisely at this moment she rapped 
 on the door, and without waiting for any answer 
 sharply entered the room, bearing the wine and 
 glasses on a salver. There was a distance of three 
 yards between Kelly and her ladyship. The maid 
 measured the distance with her eyes, and her face 
 showed some disappointment. Her ladyship dis- 
 missed her, filled both the glasses and took one in her 
 hand. Mr. Kelly drained the other, and the bumper 
 carried off the remnant of his brains. 
 
 * You run no danger from my knowing your secret, 
 Mr. Johnson,' said she, * for — ' 
 
 Breaking off her sentence, she turned her head 
 
PARSON KELLY 119 
 
 aside, swiftly pushed up her mask and kissed the 
 portrait in the box, stooping her fragrant hair over 
 it. Mr. Kelly, speeded by the wine, was this time 
 too quick for her ladyship. Before she could raise 
 her face he had paid the same compliment to her lips 
 as she to his Majesty. She lifted her head with a 
 bewitching air of anger. 
 
 ' Lady Oxford ! ' he cried out as if in amazement, 
 since he had bottomed the mystery for now some 
 time. * Forgive me, madam, if my hasty loyalty to 
 my Sovereign prevented me from recognising his 
 latest adherent. The Cause must now infallibly 
 triumph.' 
 
 * Sir,' she began, looking up at him with her eyes 
 melting from anger to reproach, * your apology is 
 something graceless. For though my colour be 
 gone ' — it was only the worse or artificial part of her 
 matchless complexion which the mask had rubbed 
 off — ' you yet had time to know and respect a face 
 you — ' and then she came suddenly to a stop, as she 
 untied the strings of her domino and threw it back 
 from her shoulders. ^ You blame me,' she said piti- 
 fully. Her ladyship was a ready woman, and even 
 went more than half-way to meet an attack. At 
 Brampton Bryan the talk had been of duty and the 
 charms of a rustic life ; but here the dutiful country 
 wife, violently disarrayed in the extreme of fashion, 
 had been alone to a masquerade ball and Mr. Kelly 
 might conceive himself tricked. And so 'You blame 
 me,* she said, * you blame me even as you blamed 
 me at Brampton Bryan, and with no more justice.' 
 
 * At Brampton Bryan ! ' .exclaimed Kelly suddenly. 
 ' M. de Strasbourg ! M. de Strasbourg was Scrope.' 
 
I20 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Her ladyship nodded. 
 
 * And 't was he attacked yoti — would have carried 
 you off.' 
 
 Her ladyship shivered. 
 
 ' And I let him go. Curse me ! I let him go even 
 as Nick did. But the third time ! Oh, only let the 
 third time come.' 
 
 Her ladyship shook her head with the most weari- 
 ful resignation. 
 
 * It will come too late, that third time,' she said ; 
 'too late for me. I have no husband who can protect 
 me, and no friend so kind as to serve me in his place.' 
 
 * Nay, madam,' cried Kelly, instantly softened by 
 the lonely picture which her words called up in his 
 mind. She was transfigured all at once into Una, 
 Andromeda, Ariadne, or any other young woman of 
 great beauty and virtue who has ever been left deso- 
 late to face a wintry world. * Believe me, you have 
 one friend whose only aspiration is to serve you with 
 his life-blood. 'Faith, madam, had you but shown 
 me your face when first I came to the door of your 
 carriage, I would never have let M. de Strasbourg 
 run away until I had offered you his smoking heart 
 on the point of my sword.' 
 
 Her ladyship gave the Parson to understand that 
 she had gone to the ball on the King's service. Had 
 his brain been of its customary sobriety the adventure 
 would doubtless have surprised him more than it did. 
 He might have questioned the nature of the service 
 which took her ladyship to the masquerade. But 
 she had sufficient art to tell him nothing and per- 
 suade him that she told all. Moreover, he had other 
 matters to engage him. 
 
PARSON KELLY 121 
 
 There is no need to extend more particularly the 
 old story of a young man's folly with a woman of 
 Lady Oxford's kind. She had sought to hide who 
 she was, she said, because she dared not trust herself; 
 and the fact that she was not living in her own house, 
 which was being repaired, but in one that she had 
 borrowed, with the servants, from a friend who had 
 gone to the Bath, seemed to make her intention pos- 
 sible. But Heaven had been against her. Mr. Kelly 
 was readily beguiled into the sincere opinion that she 
 had fought against her passion, but that her weakness 
 and his transcendent bravery, of which she would by 
 no means allow him to make light, had proved her 
 ruin. It was all in a word set down to gratitude, 
 which was a great virtue, she suggested. Love, 
 indeed, was just the charge of powder which would 
 have never flashed — no never — had not gratitude 
 served as a flint and thrown off the spark. 
 
 Well, Mr. Kelly walked home in the dawning of a 
 new day and painted his thoughts with the colours of 
 the sky. For weeks thereafter he seemed in his folly 
 to tread on air; and no doubt he had more than 
 ordinary warrant for his folly. He had a fortune 
 safely lodged with Mr. Child, the goldsmith; his mis- 
 tress was no less fair than she showed fond ; and so 
 fond she was that she could not bring herself to chide 
 the coachman who was discovered the next morning 
 drunk with drugged wine at a tavern near the Hay- 
 market, whither one of Scrope's hirelings had lured 
 him. Mr. Kelly was prosperous in the three great 
 games of life, love, and politics. For he was wholly 
 trusted by the Bishop, by Lord Oxford and the rest; 
 he took his place in the world and went and came from 
 
122 PARSON KELLY 
 
 France with hanging matter in his valise. The vahse 
 weighed all the lighter for the thought that he was 
 now serving Lady Oxford as well as the King. She 
 was at this time always in his dreams. His pas- 
 sion indeed was in these days extreme, a devouring 
 fire in brain and marrow. He believed her a most 
 loyal conspirator, and, of course, all that he knew 
 came to her ladyship's ears. But his bliss in the 
 affection of Lady Oxford quite blinded him to 
 danger, and he seemed to himself to walk invisible, 
 as though he had the secret of fernseed. 
 
 For a season, then, Mr. Kelly was the happy fool, 
 and if the season was short — why, is it ever long? 
 Mr. Wogan is not indeed sure that the Parson has 
 got altogether out of her ladyship's debt, in spite 
 of what happened afterwards. For when the real 
 morning broke and the true love came to him, 
 troubles followed apace upon its coming. It is 
 something to have been a happy fool, if only for a 
 season and though the happiness ended with the 
 folly. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 WHAT CAME OF MR. KELLY'S WINNINGS FROM THE 
 
 SOUTH SEA 
 
 LUCK is a chameleon, and in November of that 
 V same year 1720, thought fit to change its com- 
 plexion. The date, to be precise, was the 17th of 
 the month. Mr. Wogan can determine on the par- 
 ticular day, for the reason that Mrs. Barnes carried 
 out her threat, and sent him a laborious long letter 
 concerning the Parson's moral iniquities. The letter 
 reached Mr. Wogan in October, who was then 
 cleaning his ship at Morlaix in Brittany, and what 
 with his fifteen months of purposeless cruises, felt 
 himself as encrusted with idleness as his ship's 
 bottom with barnacles. It was just this eternal in- 
 activity which no doubt induced him to take the 
 serious view of Mrs. Barnes's epistle. * It is a most 
 cruel affair,' said he to Mr. Talbot, who was with 
 him, * and of the last importance that I should hurry 
 to London and set it straight.' 
 
 * But you arc fixed here,' said the Crow, for so 
 Talbot was commonly called from the blackness of 
 his complexion. * Can I undertake the business for 
 you? * 
 
 *No,' says Nick, shaking his head very solemn ; 
 though maybe his eye twinkled. Mr. Wogan forgets 
 
124 PARSON KELLY 
 
 what point the plot was at then, for since the black 
 year, 1688, there had been but one plot, though it 
 had changed and shifted shape like the faces you see 
 in the dark before you sleep. But he could not hear 
 that anything immediate was intended ; and it would 
 be, therefore, the most convenient occasion to refit 
 his ketch Fortune. He gave orders to that effect, 
 travelled to Paris, obtained from General Dillon a 
 month's leave to dispose of his own affairs, and went 
 whistling to London like a schoolboy off on his 
 holidays. For, to tell the truth, he was not greatly 
 concerned at George Kelly's backslidings, but on the 
 contrary was inclined to chuckle over them, and 
 trusted completely to his friend's discretion. 
 
 He arrived in London on November 20, and drove 
 boldly to Kelly's lodging in Bury Street. For the 
 Glenshiel affair had completely blown over — there 
 had never been more than a rumour that he was 
 there — and as for the Fifteen, why Mr. Wogan had 
 his pardon like the rest. That he got for his beha- 
 viour to Captain Montagu at Preston ; moreover, who 
 could know the boy Wogan that ran away from West- 
 minster School, and his task of copying Lord Claren- 
 don's history, in Mr. Hilton, the man of six feet four 
 in his stockings. He found Kelly's lodgings empty. 
 
 * A letter came for him three days ago,' explained 
 Mrs. Barnes, ' and he set off almost on the instant in 
 an agitation so great that he did not wait to pack his 
 valise, but had it sent after him.' 
 
 'Where to?' 
 
 * I do not know,' replied Mrs. Barnes with a sniff 
 of the nose and a toss of the head, * and no doubt I 
 am a better woman for not knowing.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 125 
 
 * No doubt/ replied Wogan gravely. * But, Mrs. 
 Barnes, who signed the letter? Where did it come 
 from?' 
 
 * And how should I know that? ' she cried. 
 * Would I demean myself by reading the letters 
 of a nasty trull? For she's no better for all her 
 birth, and that 's not so high neither.' 
 
 * Ah,' says Wogan, * I see you don't know who 
 signed the letter.' 
 
 * And that 's truth,' said she, ' but I saw the 
 superscription. As for the letter, he hid it in his 
 bosom.' 
 
 * Well, that 's as good as showing the signature. 
 Who carried his valise after him? ' 
 
 * Francis Vanlear,' she said, * the porter who plyed 
 In St. James's Street and Piccadilly and lodged at 
 the Crown ale-house in Germain Street.' 
 
 Thither Wogan sent for him, and when he was 
 come asked him whither he had carried the valise. 
 
 ' To Mr. Gunning's at Mussell Hill,' Vanlear an- 
 swered, where he had found a horse ready saddled 
 at the door and * Mr. Johnson' in a great fume to 
 be off. 
 
 Wogan gave the porter a crown for his trouble 
 and went forthwith to Mr. Gunning's, whom he had 
 not seen since the occasion of his coming down 
 from Glenshiel. From Mr. Gunning he learned 
 that Kelly had undoubtedly taken the Aberystwith 
 road, since he had left the horse he borrowed 
 at Beaconsfield, and thither had Mr. Gunning sent 
 to fetch it. Kelly's destination was consequently 
 as clear to Wogan as the urgency of his haste, 
 and coming back into London he dropped in at the 
 
126 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Cocoa Tree, where he found the story of Lady 
 Oxford and Mr. Kelly a familiar pleasantry. 
 
 He heard of it again that night at Will's coffee- 
 house in Covent Garden, and at Burton's in King 
 Street, where Mr. Kelly was very well known. 
 For, besides being close to Kelly's lodging, it was 
 one of the houses to which his letters were directed 
 under cover. From Burton's Wogan came back to 
 Bury Street, and, while smoking a pipe in the parlour 
 before going to bed, he chanced to notice his strong- 
 box. It stood on the scrutoire by the side of Mr. 
 Kelly's big Bible, where Wogan had left it eighteen 
 months before. It was the brother to Mr. Kelly's 
 strong-box, in every particular but one, and that one a 
 stouter lock. Wogan remembered that when he had 
 placed the box on the scrutoire the key was 
 attached to it by a string. Now, however, he 
 noticed that the key was gone. He was sufficiently 
 curious to cross the room and try the lock. But the 
 box would not open ; it was securely locked. There 
 were papers too within it, as he found out by 
 shaking it. Kelly, then, was using the box — but 
 for what purpose? His own box served for his few 
 political papers. Any other papers that needed the 
 shelter of a strong box must be love-letters. Here, 
 then, were amorous, not political epistles. Besides, 
 he was in the habit of burning all those which had 
 done their work, and the rest which he needed he 
 carried about in his own dispatch-box. 
 
 ' Now, I wonder,* said Wogan, tapping the lid, * I 
 wonder whether a certain letter, signed — shall we say 
 Smilinda .-* — and summoning my friend to Brampton 
 Bryan, is locked up inside you.' Wogan's guess hit 
 
PARSON KELLY 127 
 
 the truth even to the signature, though he was 
 destined to get Httle satisfaction from this proof 
 of his sagacity. The letter, he later learned, lay in 
 box with not a few others in the same handwriting, 
 and they all ended in the same manner with a request: 
 * Burn this.' Mr. Kelly would have been honester 
 had he obeyed it, but, like many a man when passion 
 gets hold of him, he could not part with them. Faint 
 whispers breathed, as it seemed, from Heaven, and 
 caught and written loud in my lady's hand, pure 
 diamonds fetched up from the obscure mines of a 
 woman's heart, sure he treasured them up beyond all 
 jewels, and locked them up in Mr. Wogan's despatch- 
 box to his own undoing. 
 
 This letter was, (Wogan learned afterwards) the 
 most laconic of them all, and it was the most moment- 
 ous. It began, * My own Strephon,' and then Strephon 
 was crossed out and again written on the top, and 
 it was signed ' Smilinda ' in a doubtful hand ; as 
 though, at first, Brampton Bryan had recalled to 
 her ladyship the beginning of their affections with 
 so overpowering a compulsion that she must needs 
 use the names which were associated with it, and 
 then the dear woman's modesty timidly crossed them 
 out, and in the end love got the upper hand and wrote 
 them in again. At least that was a small portion 
 of all the great meanings which Kelly read in the 
 hesitation of her ladyship's address. Between the 
 Strephon and the Smilinda there was but one line — 
 'Come; there is a secret. I have great need of you.' 
 But this had been quite enough to send Mr. Kelly 
 spurring out into the November night with such 
 speed that he came to Oxford the next day, where 
 
128 PARSON KELLY 
 
 he found the snow lying very deep. The snow 
 troubled him, no doubt, because it delayed him, but 
 he took little account of the cold beyond a sharp pang 
 or two lest Smilinda might have caught a chilblain. 
 For himself — well, Smilinda had need of him — 
 the great lady turned for help to the Irish outlaw. 
 Wasn't it always so? Her Majesty throws her 
 glove to the page, my lord the King Cophetua goes 
 clean daft for a beggar wench, and the obliging Cupid 
 builds a rickety bridge whereby the despairing lovers 
 leap into each other's arms. 
 
 Smilinda needed him ! There was a tune ravished 
 from Heaven ! His whole frame moved to it as the 
 waves to the direction of the moon. It sang in his 
 blood, his heart beat to it, the hooves of his horse 
 drummed it out on the road. Even the boughs of 
 the trees whispered the words with a tender secrecy 
 to the wind, much as the reeds whispered that other 
 saying, ages ago, which the Queen in the fable had 
 entrusted to them. And, 'faith, when you come to 
 think of it, there was little difference in meaning 
 between the two remarks. Smilinda needed Mr. 
 Kelly ! It was, after all, as much as to say ' Mr. 
 Kelly has ass's ears.' He made such haste that on 
 the evening of the second day after his departure 
 from London he cantered up the drive of the Manor 
 House. 
 
 Lady Oxford met him in the hall, and Mr. Kelly's 
 heart gave a great jump of pride when he saw her 
 stately figure all softened to an attitude of expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 * I knew you would come,' she said ; and, as Mr. 
 Kelly bent over her hand, she whispered, * My 
 
PARSON KELLY 129 
 
 Strephon,' for all the world as if her emotion choked 
 her. Then she raised her voice for the servants to 
 hear: * My lord is from home, Mr. Johnson, but he 
 has commissioned me at once to pay you his regrets 
 and to act as his deputy in your business/ 
 
 Mr. Kelly was all impatience to broach his business, 
 but her ladyship's solicitude would not allow him to 
 speak until he had supped. She came near to wait- 
 ing upon him herself, and certainly plied him with 
 her best wine, vowing that it was ill weather for trav- 
 ellers, and that if he kept his glass full beside his 
 elbow it was a sure sign he hated her. This, of 
 course, after the servants had been dismissed. Mr. 
 Kelly chided her for the thought, and, with a shake 
 of the finger, quoted her a text: * We are bidden not 
 to look upon the wine when it is red,' said he. 
 
 * And a very good text, too,* says she ; * so, if you 
 please, shut your eyes and drink it,' and, coming 
 behind him, she laid her cool hand upon his eyes and 
 forehead. So Mr. Kelly drank, and the bumper 
 floated his wits into my lady's haven. 
 
 ' Now,' says my lady ; and, leading the way into 
 her boudoir, she sat herself down before the fire, and, 
 clasping her hands at the back of her head, smiled at 
 Mr. Kelly. 
 
 * Strephon,' she murmured on a lilt of her voice, 
 and with all the provocation that witchery could 
 devise. Mr. Kelly was on his knees at her side in a 
 moment. She laid a white hand upon his breast, and, 
 gently holding him off: 
 
 * Tell me,' says she, * why I sent for you.' 
 
 * Because my Smilinda needed me,' he answered 
 with a laugh of pride. Her hand caressed his 
 
 9 
 
I30 
 
 PARSON KELLY 
 
 shoulder. She nodded, bit her under lip and smiled 
 very wisely. 
 
 *What is the service Strephon can do?' cried 
 Kelly. ' Is it to lift the world ? Give me but your 
 love and I '11 accomplish that.' 
 
 Smilinda clapped her hands with delight, like a 
 child. 
 
 ' It is nothing so important,' said she. ^ It is not 
 in truth any service you can do for me, but rather 
 one that I can do for you.' 
 
 Kelly's face lost all its light, and dropped to the 
 glummest disappointment. He had so nursed that 
 aspiration of doing her some great service. Through 
 the night, through the day, it had borne him com- 
 pany. Some great service — that was to be the 
 bridge of Cupid's building whereby they were to 
 stand firm-footed on equal ground. And now it was 
 some service Lady Oxford was to do for him. Lady 
 Oxford noticed the change; it may have been to 
 read the thought which it expressed, and that the 
 thought touched her to unwonted depths. For the 
 smile faded from her lips, her eyes became grave, 
 thoughtful, there was a certain suspense in her attitude. 
 , * Must the woman always owe, the man always 
 pay?' she asked, but in a broken way, and with 
 almost a repugnance for herself. Indeed, she barely 
 finished the question, and then, with an abrupt laugh, 
 crossed to the window, drew aside the curtains, and 
 gazed out upon the darkness and the glimmering 
 snow. 
 
 * A strange, cold world,' she said in an absent voice, 
 * with a strange white carpet.' Mr. Kelly in truth 
 had given her a glimpse into a world yet stranger to 
 
PARSON KELLY 131 
 
 her ladyship than that which her eyes beheld — a 
 world that *had an odd white carpet too, though the 
 feet of those who paced it as often as not were stained 
 — a world of generous impulses and unselfish de- 
 votions. Into this world Lady Oxford was peering 
 with an uneasy curiosity. Perhaps for a moment 
 she compared it with her own ; perhaps she was 
 caught by it and admired it ; but, if so, it was with a 
 great deal of discomfort. For she dropped the cur- 
 tain petulantly across the window, and, coming back 
 to the fire — well, what she would have said it is im- 
 possible to guess, for a gentle tap on the door was 
 followed by a servant's entrance into the room. He 
 carried a letter on a salver, and, advancing to Lady 
 Oxford, offered it to her. 
 
 Now, Mr. Kelly was standing almost at the centre 
 of the mantelpiece, Lady Oxford at one end ; and 
 they faced one another. So the man inevitably 
 stopped between them, and, when he lifted up the 
 salver, it was impossible but that the Parson should 
 observe the superscription. He recognised the hand- 
 writing of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Lady Ox- 
 ford recognised it too, for she flushed as she picked 
 the letter up. But she flushed deeper as she read it 
 through, and then crumpled it up and flung it into 
 the fire with an anger which showed very clearly she 
 would have done the like for Lady Mary were the 
 writer instead of her letter within reach of her vin- 
 dictive fingers. 
 
 *A strange, incomprehensible creature is Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montagu,' said Lady Oxford with a 
 laugh and a glance at Mr. Kelly. ' The most whim- 
 sical contradiction. She offers you a kindness with 
 
132 PARSON KELLY 
 
 one hand and slaps you in the face with the other. 
 For instance, this letter here. 'T was written out of 
 pure kindness. It completes the friendliest service, 
 yet it ends with so rough a jest that but for Strephon's 
 sake I should be much drawn to reject the service.' 
 
 * For my sake? ' asked Kelly. 
 
 * Why, to be sure. Lady Mary gave me a piece of 
 news a week ago in town. It was that news which 
 made me send for you, and she writes now expressly 
 to confirm it. But, let my Strephon answer me,' and 
 she asked whether he had yet sent his winnings from 
 the Mississippi to be used for the King's service. 
 
 Now, Mr. Kelly was, after all, a human being. It 
 was all very well in the first flush of prosperity to 
 propose to scatter his few thousands, but afterwards 
 he had come to see that they would not go so very 
 far. Besides, he had now obvious reasons for desir- 
 ing to cut as agreeable a figure as he could. At all 
 events the money still remained with Mr. Child, the 
 goldsmith, and so he told her ladyship, with a httle 
 remorse. 
 
 * Then,' she cried in joy, * that chance has come for 
 which Smilinda has been longing. My presents, 
 Strephon, you have always refused,' which was true 
 enough ; indeed, on the other hand, she had Mr. 
 Kelly's royal snuff-box and a few of his jewels. * But 
 now I can make your fortune, and with yours my 
 own. There 's the sweetness of it,* she said, and 
 clasped her hands on her heart. 'Your fortune, too ! * 
 
 * My fortune you have made already,' said he, with 
 other compliments proper to the occasion. But her 
 ladyship was in a practical mood. 
 
 * Listen,' says she. ' I am made acquainted that the 
 
PARSON KELLY 133 
 
 tide has turned. I mean, you know, in the Straits of 
 Magellan. The South-Sea stock that has been fall- 
 ing so long will certainly rise in a week ; the Elector 
 is buying secretly. Lady Mary has it from Mr. Pope, 
 and he at the first and best hands from Mr. Craggs, 
 the secretary. Mr. Craggs will insert my name in 
 the next list and your money I shall send to the 
 directors with my own. You shall be rich, Strephon, 
 on the level of your merits.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly was very well content with his one specu- 
 lation, but the evident joy with which Lady Oxford 
 anticipated serving him was worth more than his 
 thousands. 
 
 * My gold shall be in Smilinda's coffers the morn- 
 ing that I get back to town,' he said. 
 
 ' You must go at once,' she exclaimed, * we must 
 lose no time. Stay. I will travel with you to-mor- 
 row morning if you will favour me with your com- 
 pany ' ; and so a new flow of compliments carried 
 the South Sea out of sight. But a minute or two 
 later Mr. Kelly, chancing to look down at the hearth, 
 said, quite inconsequently : 
 
 * We must not forget to thank Lady Mary.' 
 Smilinda followed the direction of his eyes, and 
 
 saw that Lady Mary's letter had tumbled out of the 
 fire and now lay, half burnt, but the other half only 
 curled up and scorched. She shivered as though she 
 was cold, and the better to warm herself knelt down 
 on the hearth-rug. Then she took up the letter 
 (which Kelly must not see) and carelessly tossed it 
 into the fire. 
 
 * You know Lady Mary,' she said. ' Yes, you told 
 me.' 
 
134 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' I do, indeed,' said Kelly, with a smile. 
 
 * I could wish you did not,' said her ladyship with 
 a frown. Smilinda made it plain that she was jealous. 
 Kelly laughed heartily at the assumption, which was 
 in truth ridiculous enough. 
 
 ' Who am I,' said he, * that I should attract Lady 
 Mary's fancy.' 
 
 'You are — my Strephon,' replied Smilinda, with 
 a sigh of exquisite tenderness. 
 
 Kelly argued the matter on other grounds. Smi- 
 linda listened to them all. 
 
 ' I have no doubt you are right,' she said, with a 
 meek resignation. ' But I remember you spoke very 
 warmly of the friendship you had for her, and ever 
 since — ' here she broke off shyly. ' A weak woman's 
 empty fears,' she continued, ' but they keep her awake 
 at nights. Well, she must even make the best of them.' 
 
 Smilinda lying awake at nights out of jealousy ! 
 There was a notion to convict Mr. Kelly of slow 
 murder. He was on his knees in a moment, and 
 swore that for the future on earth and in Heaven he 
 would avoid Lady Mary's company as though she 
 was the devil in person. It was a confused sort of 
 oath and deprived Mr. Kelly for a time of a very 
 good friend ; but on the other hand it undoubtedly 
 raised a load from Lady Oxford's anxieties. 
 
 She left Brampton Bryan the next morning and 
 travelled with Mr. Kelly up to London, where the 
 coach set them down at the King's Head in the 
 Strand. Kelly went straight from the King's Head to 
 the goldsmith and his money was carried to Queen's 
 Square that same afternoon. It would seem, however, 
 that Mr. Pope had been choused, for the market fell 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 135 
 
 from little to nothing. But when the Bubble pres- 
 ently burst into air, Smilinda burst into tears, and 
 Mr. Kelly was smitten to the heart for her distress. 
 
 ' I have ruined thee, my Strephon," she sobbed. 
 She had covered her face with her hands and the 
 tears trickled through her fingers. 
 
 ' Love arms me against such ill-fortunes,' replied 
 Kelly. * It is only Smilinda's tears that hurt. Each 
 one of them falls upon Strephon's heart like a drop 
 of molten lead.' 
 
 ' Ah, Strephon,' she cried. ' Thou art ruined and 
 Smilinda's hapless hand hath dealt the blow. The 
 arrow came from her quiver,' she being one of Dian's 
 nymphs, you are to suppose. 
 
 Then Mr. Kelly fell to comparing himself to 
 Procris in the fable, who was shot by her lover, and 
 said that it was sweet to perish by her inadvertent 
 shaft. It seems that kind of love-making has now 
 gone out of date. But that was the humour of it when 
 Kelly and Wogan were young. Men and women, let 
 them but fall in love, and they were all swains and 
 nymphs, though they dabbled in the stocks and were 
 as hard-headed as before and afterwards. 
 
 ' That odious Lady Mary,' exclaimed Smilinda. 
 * She was born to be my bane and curse. 'T was her 
 counsel that ruined my Strephon. My Strephon has 
 kept his oath ? ' 
 
 Her Strephon had, but on the other hand, Mr. 
 Wogan had sworn no oath, and would not have kept 
 it if he had done so. He paid a visit to Lady Mary 
 soon after Kelly's return from Brampton Bryan. She 
 asked him his news and gave him a budget of gossip 
 in return. 
 
136 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' And Lady Oxford has sold her diamonds ! ' she 
 ended. 
 
 Wogan asked how that came about, and she 
 answered : 
 
 ' Lady Oxford was here at the bassette table three 
 weeks since. Her stakes were ever inordinately high, 
 and she lost to me all night. She drew a queen when 
 she should have chose the knave, the knave was 
 Sonica. *' There go my diamonds," she said, and 
 vowing she would punt no more, went home in her 
 chair. I could not see her or hear of her for a little. 
 I guessed that she had run away into the country until 
 she could wheedle enough money to pay me out of 
 the dotard husband. So at a venture I wrote a polite 
 letter to her, hoping that the country air would restore 
 her credit. Well, here she is back in London and 
 her losses paid. That means selling her diamonds.' 
 
 Wogan laughed over Lady Oxford's straits and 
 came home to the lodging in Bury Street. Wogan's 
 time was getting short and he must return to Mor- 
 laix. But, as has been said, he left Brittany in a 
 hurry with very little money in his pocket, and what 
 was left at his journey's end he had since spent in 
 London. So he said to the Parson : 
 
 ' George, my friend, I must dip into your winnings 
 after all. For here am I with a couple of crowns,' he 
 took them out and laid them on the table. George 
 flushed crimson. 
 
 'Nick,' said he, 'you have two crowns more than 
 I have.' 
 
 Wogan turned away to the window and looked out 
 into the street, bethinking him of what Lady Mary 
 had told him. 
 
PARSON KELLY 137 
 
 ' Sure, Nick, it 's the truth,' Kelly pleaded, entirely 
 miscomprehending Wogan's action. * I drew the 
 money out of the Mississippi and sunk it in the 
 South Sea. It 's all gone. I have not two penny 
 pieces to rub together until this day week, when my 
 pension is paid. Nick, you '11 believe that. Why, 
 Nick, you would ha' been welcome to all that I had. 
 But you know that. Sure you know it.' 
 
 Wogan had no such mean thought as Kelly in his 
 fluster attributed to him. He turned back to the table. 
 
 * So you are as poor as an Irish church mouse 
 again, are you?' he said with a smile. 'Well, here's 
 two crowns — one for me, one for you.' 
 
 He pocketed one coin and pushed the other over 
 to the Parson. The Parson took it up and turned it 
 over blinking his eyes. For a moment there was an 
 awkward sort of silence. Wogan laughed ; the Par- 
 son blew his nose. 
 
 * I hear,' said Wogan, * that Lady Oxford has lost 
 her diamonds.' 
 
 Kelly looked up in perplexity. 
 
 ' Lost her diamonds ! ' said he. ' Why, she wore 
 them last night ! ' 
 
 * I thought the rumour was untrue,' said Wogan. 
 Mr. Kelly slipped his crown into his pocket. 
 
 There was no more said about the matter between 
 them, though perhaps they clasped hands at parting 
 with a trifle more than their ordinary heartiness. 
 
 Mr. Wogan, however, told Lady Mary of the Par- 
 son's loss, and she was at no pains to discover the 
 explanation. Lady Oxford had paid Lady Mary 
 with the Parson's guineas. They had never been in 
 the South Sea Bubble. 
 
138 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ^ I should like to send the money I won back to 
 Mr. Kelly,' said Lady Mary. 
 
 * That 's plainly impossible,' returned VVogan, and 
 to this Lady Mary perforce agreed. ' Olet^ the Latin- 
 learned lady said, and Wogan remarked, ' Certainly,* 
 so she put the money aside, thinking that some day 
 she might employ it on Mr. Kelly's behalf. That 
 night Wogan borrowed his travelling money from 
 Mr. Carte, the historian, whom he met at the Cocoa 
 Tree, and so set out the next morning for Brittany. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE PARSON DEPARTS FROM SMILINDA AND LEARNS 
 A NUMBER OF UNPALATABLE TRUTHS 
 
 MR. WOGAN then returned to Morlaix, and, 
 finding his ketch by this time cleaned and 
 refitted, and two others (the Revolution^ a big ship 
 of 40 guns, under Morgan, which was afterwards 
 seized by Commodore Scot at Genoa, and the Lady 
 Mary, a smaller vessel of 14 guns, commanded by 
 Captain Patrick Campbell) at anchor in the harbour, 
 he set sail for the Downs. There they picked up 
 four thousand small arms and a couple of hundred 
 kintals of cannon-powder, for traffic, it was alleged, 
 on the coasts of Brazil and Madagascar. But the 
 arms and ammunition travelled no further than Bilboa, 
 where they were stored in the country house of 
 Mr. Brown, an Irish merchant of that part, against 
 the next expedition to England. At Bilboa the 
 three ships parted, and Mr. Wogan, taking in upon 
 freight such goods as he could get, sailed to Genoa, 
 and lay there behind the Mole. 
 
 Nor was the Parson to tarry long behind him in 
 London ; for less than a fortnight after Wogan's de- 
 parture, he was sent to carry to Rome, for the Che- 
 valier's approval, a scheme of a lottery for raising 
 
140 PARSON KELLY 
 
 a quarter of a million pounds, which Mr. Christopher 
 Layer (later hanged) most ingeniously imagined. 
 With the scheme he carried some silk stockings 
 as a present for the Chevalier and his spouse. This 
 was none of the Bishop of Rochester's work, who 
 knew nothing of Mr. Layer, and of what was later 
 plotted by bold and impatient spirits. The Parson 
 had sad work parting with Smilinda, but made light 
 of the separation to save the lady from distress, and 
 she had happily broken a bank at pharo that same 
 night, which withheld her from entirely breaking 
 her heart. Still, it was as affecting an affair as one 
 could wish for. 
 
 The Parson received certain orders of Atterbury's 
 as to business with General Dillon, the Chevalier's 
 manager in Paris, just before he was to start; and, 
 coming from the Deanery at Westminster where the 
 Bishop resided, he walked at once through Petty 
 France to Queen's Square. Lady Oxford's house 
 was all in a blaze of light with figures moving to and 
 fro upon the blinds of the windows. * Mr. Johnson ' 
 was announced, but for some little while could not 
 get a private word with her ladyship, and so stood 
 of one side, taking his fill of that perfumed world 
 of fans and hoops, of sparkling eyes and patches and 
 false hearts wherein Lady Oxford so fitly moved. 
 Many of the faces which flitted before his eyes 
 were strange to him, but one he remarked in particular 
 — a strong, square sort of face set on the top of an 
 elegant figure that wore the uniform of the King's 
 Guards. Mr. Kelly had seen that face under the 
 oil-lamp of a portico in Ryder Street on the occasion 
 when he and Nicholas Wogan set out on their 
 
PARSON KELLY 141 
 
 first journey to Brampton Bryan, and the officer 
 who owned the face was now a certain Colonel 
 Montague. 
 
 Kelly remarked him because he was playing at 
 the same table with her ladyship, and losing his 
 money to her with all the grace in the world. At 
 last Lady Oxford rose, and, coming towards him : 
 
 * Well? ' she murmured, * my Strephon is pale.' 
 
 * I leave for Rome to-morrow morning,' he re- 
 turned in a whisper. At that her hand went up to 
 her heart, and she caught her breath. 
 
 *Wait,' said she, and went back to her cards. As 
 the guests were departing some two hours later, she 
 called to Kelly openly. 
 
 * Mr. Johnson leaves for Paris to-morrow morning, 
 and has the great kindness to carry over some of 
 my brocades, which indeed need much better re- 
 pairing than they can get in London.' 
 
 It made an excuse for Mr. Johnson to stay, but 
 none the less provoked a smile here and there ; and 
 Colonel Montague, deliberately coming to a stop 
 a few paces from Kelly, took careful stock of him. 
 The Colonel did not say a word, but just looked him 
 over. Mr. Kelly was tickled by the man's impudence, 
 and turned slowly round on his heels to give him an 
 opportunity of admiring his back. Then he faced 
 him again. The Colonel gravely bowed his thanks 
 for Mr. Kelly's politeness, Mr. Kelly as gravely 
 returned the bow, and the Colonel stalked out of the 
 door. It was in this way that Mr. Kelly and the 
 Colonel first met. 
 
 But the moment Smilinda and Strephon were left 
 alone ! 
 
142 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Oh,* wailed Smilinda, and her arms went round 
 Strephon's neck. * Heureiise e7i jeu, 7nalheureuse en 
 amour. O fatal cards, would that I had lost this 
 dross ! ' cries she, with her eyes on the glittering 
 heap of guineas and doubloons strewed about the 
 table. * Oh, Strephon, thou wilt forget me in an- 
 other's arms. I dread the French syrens.* 
 
 And then Mr. Kelly to the same tune : 
 
 * Never will I forget Smilinda. If I com.e back 
 with the King, and he makes me a Bishop, with a 
 pastoral crook, thy Strephon will still be true.' 
 
 Whereat the lady laughed, though Kelly was jest- 
 ing with a heavy heart, and vowed that Lady Mary 
 would write a ballad on * Strephon, or the Faithful 
 Bishop.' Then she fell into a story of lovely Mrs. 
 Tusher, the Bishop of Ealing's wife, who was certainly 
 more fair than faithful. Next she wept again, and so 
 yawned, and gave him her portrait in miniature. 
 
 ' You will not part with it — never — never,* she 
 implored. 
 
 The portrait was beautifully set with diamonds. 
 
 * It shall be buried with me,' said Kelly, and so 
 Lady Oxford let him go, but called him back again 
 when he was through the door to make him promise 
 again that he would not part with her portrait. Mr. 
 Kelly wondered a little at her insistence, but set it 
 down to the strength of her affection. So he de- 
 parted from the cave of the enchantress with many 
 vows of mutual constancy and went to Rome, and 
 from Rome he came back to Genoa, where he fell in 
 with Nicholas Wogan. 
 
 Mr. Wogan remembers very well one night on 
 which the pair of them^ after cracking a bottle in 
 
PARSON KELLY 143 
 
 Grimble's tavern, came down to the water-gate and 
 were rowed on board of Wogan^s ketch. This was in 
 the spring of the year 1721, some four or five months 
 since the Parson had left England, and Wogan 
 thought it altogether a very suitable occasion for 
 what he had to say. He took the Parson down into 
 his cabin, and there, while the lamp flecked the ma- 
 hogany panels with light and shade, and the water 
 tinkled against the ship's planks as it swung with the 
 tide, he told him all that he had surmised of Lady 
 Oxford's character, and how Lady Mary had corrob- 
 orated his surmises. At the first Mr. Kelly would 
 hear nothing of his arguments. 
 
 * It is pure treason,' said he. * From any other 
 man but you, Nick, I would not have listened to 
 more than a word, and that word I would have made 
 him eat. But I take it ill even from you. Why do 
 you tell me this now? Why did you not tell it me 
 in London, when I could have given her ladyship a 
 chance of answering the slander?' 
 
 * Why,' replied Wogan, ' because I know very well 
 the answer she would have made to you — a few 
 words of no account whatever, and her soft arms 
 about your neck, and you 'd have been convinced. 
 But now, when you have not seen her for so long, 
 there 's a chance you may come to your senses. Did 
 you never wonder what brought Scrope to Brampton 
 Bryan? ' 
 
 * No need for wonder since she told mc.' 
 
 * She told you, did she? Well, I'm telling you 
 now, and do you sit there until I have told you, for 
 Mr. Scrope's history you are going to hear. Bah, 
 leave that bodkin of a sword alone. If you draw it, 
 
144 PARSON KELLY 
 
 upon my soul I '11 knock you down and kneel on 
 your chest. Mr. Scrope went before you in her 
 ladyship's affections.' 
 
 Here Mr. Kelly flinched as though he had been 
 struck, and thereafter sat with a white stern face as 
 though he would not condescend to answer the insin- 
 uation. ' Sure he was a gentleman — out of Leices- 
 tershire, and of some fortune, which fortune Lady 
 Oxford spent for him. He was besides a sad, perti- 
 nacious fellow, and nothing would content him but 
 she must elope with him from her old husband, and 
 make for themselves a Paradise on the Rhine. It 
 appears that he talked all the old nonsense — they 
 were man and wife in the sight of God, and the rest 
 of it. Her ladyship was put to it for shifts and 
 excuses, and at the last, what with his money being 
 almost spent, and his suit more pressing, she fled into 
 the country where we met her. Scrope was no better 
 than a kitten before its eyes are opened, and, getting 
 together what was left of his fortune, followed her 
 with a chaise, meaning to carry her off there and 
 then. However, he found us there, and I take it that 
 opened his eyes. And I would have you beware of 
 Mr. Scrope, George. A kitten becomes a cat, and a 
 cat has claws. It is Lady Mary's thought that you 
 have not heard the last of him, for his conscience 
 hath made him a kind of gentleman spy on the 
 honest party.' 
 
 George, who in spite of himself could not but see 
 how exactly Wogan's account fitted in with and 
 explained Scrope's attempt after the masquerade, 
 caught at Lady Mary's name with an eager relief. 
 
 * Ah, it was she gave you this flimsy story,* he 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 M5 
 
 cried, leaning forward over the table. * There 's 
 more malice in it than truth, Nick. The pair of them 
 have been at loggerheads this long while. Lady- 
 Mary never could suffer a woman who can hold her 
 own against her. Why, Nick, you have been gulled,' 
 and he lit his pipe, which he had let go out. 
 
 * Oh, and have I ? Well, at all ev^ents, I have not 
 stripped myself of every penny in order to pay Lady 
 Oxford's losses at cards. Scrope is not the only 
 man whom her ladyship has sucked dry.' 
 
 * What do you mean? ' cried Kelly, letting his pipe 
 slip out of his fingers and break on the floor. Wogan 
 told him of his visit to Lady Mary, and the story 
 was so circumstantial, the dates of the loss at cards 
 and the payment so fitted with Lady Oxford's mes- 
 sage to Kelly and her proposal as to the placing 
 of his fortune, that it could not but give him 
 pause. 
 
 ' It is not true,' was all he could find to say, and 
 * I '11 not believe it,' and so fell to silence. 
 
 * You '11 be wanting another pipe,' said Wogan. 
 He fetched one from a cupboard and filled it. The 
 two men smoked for a while in silence. Then Kelly 
 burst out of a sudden : 
 
 * Nick, the fool that I was ever to preach that ser- 
 mon in Dublin,' and stopped. Wogan knew well 
 enough what the Parson meant. His thoughts had 
 gone back to the little parsonage, and the rambling 
 cure of half a dozen parishes, and the quiet library, 
 and evenings by the inn-fire, where he would tell his 
 little trivial stories of the day's doings. It was always 
 that dream he would play with and fondle when the 
 world went wrong with him, though to be sure, could 
 
 10 
 
146 PARSON KELLY 
 
 the dream have come true, he would have been the 
 unhappiest man that ever breathed Irish air. 
 
 ' Shall we go on deck? ' Wogan proposed. 
 
 It was a fine clear night, but there was no moon. 
 The riding-lights of ships at anchor were dotted about 
 the harbour, the stars blazed in a rich sky; the 
 water rippled black and seemed to flash sparks where 
 the lights struck it ; outside the harbour the Medi- 
 terranean stretched away smooth as a slab of marble. 
 Kelly stood in the chains while Wogan paced up and 
 down the deck. The Parson was in for his black 
 hour, and silent companionship is the only alleviation 
 for the trouble. After a time he came towards 
 Wogan and caught him by the arm, but so tight that 
 Wogan could feel his friend's finger-nails through the 
 thick sleeves of his coat. 
 
 * I '11 not believe it,' Kelly argued ; but it was 
 against himself he was arguing now, as Wogan per- 
 ceived, and had the discretion to hold his tongue. 
 
 * 'Faith,' he continued, ' she came into my life like a 
 glint of the sun into a musty dark room,' and then 
 he suddenly put his hand into his bosom and drew 
 out something at which he looked for a moment. 
 He laughed bitterly and swung his arm back. Before, 
 however, he could throw that something into the sea 
 Wogan caught his hand. 
 
 ' Sure,' said he, ' I saw a sparkle of diamonds.* 
 Kelly opened his hand and showed a miniature. 
 
 * Lady Oxford's diamonds,' he answered bitterly, 
 ' which she did not sell, but gave out of a loving, 
 generous heart' 
 
 * George, you 're moon-struck,* said Wogan. 
 
 * Diamonds, after all, are always diamonds.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 147 
 
 'True,' said Kelly, ' and I promised never to part 
 with them,' he sneered. He put the miniature back in 
 his pocket, and then dropping his arm to his side said, 
 
 * Put me ashore, Nick. I will see you to-morrow. 
 I am very tired.' 
 
 But in the morning he was gone, and a few days 
 later Nick, who was not spared certain prickings of 
 conscience for the hand he had taken in bringing 
 about the Parson's misfortunes (he had just now, by 
 hindering him from throwing away the miniature, 
 taken more of a hand than he guessed), sailed out 
 from Genoa. 
 
 The rest of that year '21 was a busy time for all 
 engaged in forwarding the Great Affair. England 
 itself seemed ripe for the attempt, and it was finally 
 determined to hazard it in the spring of the next 
 year, when the Elector would be in Hanover. The 
 new plan was that the exiled Duke of Ormond, 
 whom the soldiers were thought to love, should sail 
 from Spain with the Earl Marischal, Morgan, and 
 Halstead, commanding some ragged regiments of 
 Mr. Wogan's countrymen. The Duke was to land 
 in the west, the King was to be at Antwerp ready to 
 come over, and the young Prince Charles of Wales, 
 who would then be not quite two years old, was 
 to be carried to the Highlands. A mob was to be 
 in readiness in town, with arms secretly buried; the 
 soldiers were expected to declare for High Church 
 and Ormond ; and in a word the ' honest party ' was 
 to secure its interest on its own bottom, without 
 foreign help, which the English people has never 
 loved. The rich lords, but not Bishop Atterbury, 
 knew of the beginning of this scheme, but abandoned 
 
t48 PARSON KELLY 
 
 it. They did not know, or only Lords North and 
 Grey knew, that the scheme lived on without them. 
 
 Mr. Kelly therefore had his hands full, and it was 
 very well for him that it was so. There were things 
 at stake of more moment than his love-affairs, as he 
 was the first to recognise. Yet, even so, he had time 
 enough, in the saddle and on the sea, to plumb the 
 black depths of his chagrin and to toss to and fro 
 that shuttlecock of a question, whether he should 
 accuse her ladyship for her trickeries or himself for 
 misdoubting her. However, he got a complete an- 
 swer to that question before the year was out. It 
 was his habit now, whenever he was in London, to 
 skulk out of sight and knowledge of Lady Oxford, to 
 avoid theatres, routs, drums, and all places where she 
 might be met, and Mr. Carte the historian took his 
 place when it was necessary to visit Lord Oxford in 
 the country. Mr. Carte had a ready pretence, for 
 Lord Oxford kept a great store of old manuscripts 
 concerning the history of the country, and these beau- 
 ties, it is to be feared, came somewhat between Mr. 
 Carte and his business, just as her ladyship's eyes had 
 come between Mr. Kelly's and his. Accordingly the 
 Parson saw little of her ladyship and heard less, since 
 his friends avoided all mention of her and he himself 
 asked no questions. 
 
 * Saw little,' and the phrase is intended. For often 
 enough of an evening his misery would fetch him out 
 of the coffee houses and lead him like a man blind- 
 fold to where her ladyship was accustomed to visit. 
 There he would stand in the darkness of the street 
 until the door opened and Lady Oxford, all smiles 
 and hooped petticoats, would trip gaily out to her 
 
PARSON KELLY 149 
 
 chair. But very likely habit — the habit of her con- 
 versation and appearance — had as much to do with 
 this particular folly as any despairing passion. How 
 many lovers the wide world over fancy they are be- 
 moaning their broken hearts, when they are only 
 deploring their broken habits ! Well, Mr. Kelly, at 
 all events, took the matter au grand sdrietiXy and so 
 one night saw her ladyship come out from the porch 
 of Drury Lane theatre in company with Colonel 
 Montague. 
 
 There is one unprofitable piece of knowledge which 
 a man acquires who has ever had a woman make love 
 to him ; he knows when that woman is making love 
 to someone else. Lady Oxford's modest droop of 
 the head when the Colonel spoke, her shy sidelong 
 smile at him, her red lips a trifle parted as though 
 his mere presence held her in a pleased suspense — 
 all these tokens were familiar to Mr. Kelly as his 
 daily bread, and he went home eating his own heart, 
 and nursing a quite unjustifiable resentment against 
 Nicholas Wogan for that he ever saved the Colonel's 
 life. It did not take Kelly long to discover that his 
 suspicions were correct. A few questions to his 
 friends, who for his sake had kept silence, and the 
 truth was out. Lady Oxford's constancy had lasted 
 precisely seven weeks before the Whig colonel had 
 stepped into the Jacobite parson's shoes. Mr. Kelly 
 put his heart beneath his heel and now stamped her 
 image out of it. Then he went upon his way, and 
 the King's business took him to Avignon. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE PARSON MEETS SCROPE FOR THE THIRD TIME, 
 AND WHAT CAME OF THE MEETING 
 
 IT was early in the year 1722 when Mr. Kelly 
 came to la ville sonnantey and took a lodging at 
 L'Auberge des Tapes in the Rue des Trois Faucons. 
 He brought with him a sum of 5,000/. collected in 
 England, and this sum he was to hand over to a mes- 
 senger from the Duke of Ormond, who was then at 
 Corunna in Spain, and, what with his disbursements 
 in the purchase of arms, and the support of Irish 
 troops, was hard put to it for money. 
 
 It was therefore of the last importance that this 
 sum should come safe to Corunna, and so extraordi- 
 nary precautions were taken to ensure that result. 
 The Parson, since he did not know who the messen- 
 ger might be, was to wait every morning between the 
 hours of nine and ten on the first bench to the left of 
 the Porte du Rhone in the boulevard outside the city 
 walls, until a man should ask him if he had any com- 
 fortable greeting for Aunt Anne, that being the cant 
 name for the Duke. This man was thereafter to 
 prove to Mr. Kelly's satisfaction that he was indeed 
 the messenger expected. 
 
 Now, the messenger was delayed in his journey, 
 and so for a week George Kelly, having deposited 
 
PARSON KELLY 151 
 
 his money with Mr. Philabe, the banker, sat every 
 morning on his bench with what patience he might. 
 He came in consequence to take particular notice of 
 an oldish man and a rosebud of a girl who walked 
 along the boulevard every morning at the time that 
 he was waiting. They were accompanied by a 
 French poodle dog, and indeed it was the poodle 
 dog which first attracted Mr. Kelly's attention to the 
 couple. It has already been said that Mr. Kelly had 
 a trick of catching a woman's eyes, though this 
 quality implies no great merit. On the other hand 
 he drew dogs and children to him, and that implies a 
 very great merit, as you may observe from this, that 
 there is never a human being betwixt here and Cathay 
 will admit that dogs and children have a dislike for 
 him. 
 
 The poodle dog, then, comes to a halt opposite 
 Mr. Kelly's bench on the very first morning that he 
 sat there, cocks his ears, lifts a forefoot from the 
 ground, and, looking after the old man and the young 
 girl, says plain as print, ' Here, wait a bit ! There 's 
 something on this bench very well worth looking 
 into.' However, his master and mistress were in a 
 close conversation and so the poodle puts his foot on 
 the ground and trots after them. But the next 
 morning he came up to the bench, puts his head of 
 one side to display the fine blue riband round his 
 neck, squats on his haunches, and flops a paw on to 
 the Parson's knee. 
 
 * How d' ye do? ' says the Parson politely. 
 
 * I think I '11 stretch myself, thank you,' says the 
 poodle, and promptly proceeds to do so, using Mr. 
 Kelly's knee as a purchase for his paws. He was 
 
152 PARSON KELLY 
 
 still engaged upon this exercise when his young 
 mistress missed him. She whistled; the poodle 
 looked at the Parson with the clearest invitation. 
 
 'Won't you come too?' 
 
 ' I have not been presented/ replied the Parson. 
 
 Thereupon the girl turned round. 
 
 * Harlequin,' she called to the dog, and showed Mr. 
 Kelly as sweet a face as a young man ever deserved 
 to see. It was fresh and clear as the morning dew, 
 with frank eyes and a scarlet bow of a mouth ready 
 for a laugh. * Harlequin ! ' said Mr. Kelly to himself 
 with a start, as he looked towards the girl. Harlequin 
 trotted off to his mistress, and got prettily chided for 
 his forwardness, of which chiding he made little, or no 
 account, and very properly. It is not every dog that 
 achieves immortality by stretching itself against a 
 stranger's knee. But Harlequin did. For had Har- 
 lequin not made Mr. Kelly's acquaintance, he would 
 never have found a niche in Mr. Swift's verses. 
 
 Now let me tell you plainly, Sir, 
 
 Our witness is a real cur, 
 
 A dog of spirit for his years, 
 
 Has twice two legs, two hanging ears, 
 
 His name is Harlequin^ I wot. 
 
 And that 's a name in every plot : 
 
 His answers were extremely witty 
 Before the secret wise Committee; 
 Confest as plain as he could bark, 
 Then with his fore-foot left his mark : 
 
 wrote the Dean of St. Patrick's concerning this very 
 poodle dog of Miss Rose Townley. 
 
 For Rose Townley was the girl's name, as the Par- 
 
PARSON KELLY 153 
 
 son now knew, and the old gentleman was her father, 
 who had tended Mr. Nicholas Wogan after his wounds 
 in the year '15 at Preston. Mr. Wogan had more 
 than once spoken to Kelly of Dr. Townley and his 
 daughter Rose, who had retired to Avignon, after the 
 Rising, and he had made mention of their poodle 
 Harlequin, of which poodle the present or reigning 
 dog, Harlequin H., was the son and heir. So that, 
 hearing the name called out by Rose, Kelly was 
 aware who the two people were. Dr. Townley had 
 been suspected in the Rising, and therefore had settled 
 at Avignon as physician to the Duke of Ormond, and 
 when the nobleman left the town, remained because 
 he was grown old, and had lost his taste for politics 
 and warrings. He had, moreover, received his pardon 
 for his share in the struggle, and was indeed at this 
 very time preparing to return into England. But of 
 this Kelly was not aware. 
 
 The next morning Kelly was again on his bench, 
 and again Dr. Townley and his daughter passed him. 
 Harlequin came forward at once to wish the Parson 
 good-morning. Rose spoke to her father, plainly 
 telling him of Harlequin's new friendship, for the 
 Doctor looked up towards Mr. Kelly and the girl 
 looked away. In consequence there sprang up a 
 queer sort of acquaintance between the Doctor and 
 his daughter on the one hand, and Parson Kelly on 
 the other. Every morning they looked for him on 
 his bench ; every morning he had a few words with 
 Harlequin. 
 
 Doubtless he would have pursued the acquaintance 
 further, but for Rose. She it was who kept the 
 Parson from approaching Dr. Townley. For he was 
 
154 PARSON KELLY 
 
 still sore with Lady Oxford's treacheries, and feminine 
 beauty was vanitas vanitatum to him. Moreover, 
 though he had snatched her ladyship's image out of his 
 heart, some of her sayings had stuck in his mind, and 
 amongst her sayings not a few were aimed at girls. 
 Smilinda was a woman, and saw a rival in each youth- 
 ful beauty. * Girls of our time,' she would say with a 
 sneer, ' were very kind, at all events, whatever one 
 might think of their looks. And to hear them speak 
 of marriage, why one would fancy oneself in the com- 
 pany of rakes dressed up like the other sex for a 
 masquerade.' She would gloat over the misadven- 
 tures of poor Mistress Dolly Walpole, the Minister's 
 sister, by the hour, she had even written a ballad 
 thereon, * The DolHad,' and since Mr. Kelly had 
 never had been much in the society of young un- 
 married women, he had insensibly imbibed a deal of 
 Smilinda's philosophy upon this head. And so he 
 waited for the messenger in silence. 
 
 Now, upon the fourth day Mr. Philabe the banker 
 sent round for the Parson to L'Auberge des Papes, 
 and, when he was come, told him that on that morn- 
 ing a man called at the bank with a letter which he 
 ofave to a clerk. The clerk carried the letter to Mr. 
 
 o 
 
 Philabe, who opened it. It enclosed a second letter 
 superscribed to Mr. George Kelly, and prayed the 
 banker to add to the superscription Mr. Kelly's 
 address. This Mr. Philabe would not do, but sent 
 out word that he would take care the letter came 
 into Kelly's hands. The man, however, who had 
 brought it immediately replied that it was of the last 
 importance the letter should be delivered at once : 
 otherwise there was no use in delivering it at all. If 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 155 
 
 Mr. Philabe would send a messenger at once, well and 
 good ; if not, would he kindly return the letter 
 forthwith. 
 
 This request roused Mr. Philabe's suspicions. For 
 if he sent a messenger, as he was prayed to do, the 
 man could follow him, and as easily discover the 
 address as if Philabe had written it on the note. He 
 replied consequently that neither could he accede to 
 this request, but that Mr. Kelly should most certainly 
 have the letter that day. 
 
 Upon this the man insisted that the letter should 
 be returned to him, but the more strenuously he in- 
 sisted, the stronger became Mr. Philabe's suspicions, 
 until he determined not to part with the letter at all, 
 and the man finally went away very ill-pleased. 
 
 Mr. Philabe, as he told this story, handed the 
 letter to Mr. Kelly, who broke open the seal, and 
 found nothing but a clean sheet of paper, 
 
 * Little doubt,' said he, * why the fellow wanted his 
 letter back. It is a pure trick to know where I 
 lodge. What was he like ? ' 
 
 ' He wore a travelling-dress,' said Mr. Philabe, 
 
 * and a cocked hat.' 
 
 ' And very likely a pair of boots,' added Kelly. 
 
 * But this tells me very little of his looks.' 
 
 Mr. Philabe was a poor hand at a description, and 
 beyond that the man had a nose, two eyes, a mouth, 
 two legs, and a pair of arms, Kelly learned nothing 
 whatever of his appearance. 
 
 That very day, however, the mystery was to be 
 made clear. Between daylight and dark Mr. Kelly 
 chanced to walk up the narrow Rue St. Agricole, 
 and had just come abreast of the broad flight of 
 
156 PARSON KELLY 
 
 steps which leads upwards to the church, when a 
 man leaped down in front of him. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said the Parson politely 
 stepping aside. 
 
 * That is not enough,' said the other, and, turning 
 on his heel, he faced Kelly and barred the way. 
 
 Kelly recognised the voice, recognised the face. 
 
 * Ah,' cried he, ' Mr. Scrope.' His first feeling was 
 one almost of exultation. In the face of his enemy 
 he forgot altogether that there was no longer any 
 amorous reason for his enmity. He almost forgot, 
 too, what he had heard from Wogan about Mr, 
 Scrope's supposed quality as a gentleman spy. 
 ' The third time,' he said with a laugh. * I promised 
 myself the third time.' 
 
 Scrope nodded his head. 
 
 * We are of one mind, then.' He looked up and 
 down the street. It was empty from end to end. 
 * There is a little square terrace at the top of these 
 steps, with blank walls upon the two sides, and the 
 church door upon the third. The terrace will be 
 very suitable and quiet.' 
 
 He turned as he spoke and set a foot upon the 
 lowest step. 
 
 ' One moment,' said Kelly. During Scrope's words 
 he had reflected. Scrope and himself, politics apart, 
 were really in the like case. For if he had followed 
 Scrope in her ladyship's caprices, Montague had 
 followed him, * as Amurath to Amurath succeeds.' 
 His enmity quite died away, and gave place to some- 
 thing very like a fellow-feeling. Moreover, he had 
 to consider the messenger from the Duke of Ormond 
 and the 5,000/. in Mr. Philabe's keeping. 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 157 
 
 * One moment,' he said. Scrope stopped with a 
 sneer. 
 
 * If you can remain a few days at Avignon/ he 
 continued, * I shall be happy to oblige you in what- 
 ever you will. For the moment I have duties.* 
 
 * Of course,' interrupted Scrope. * Duties are 
 wonderful convenient things when one's bones are in 
 danger. The pious ^Eneas knew that very well, Mr. 
 Kelly; but then the worthy army-chaplain had not 
 a Scrope upon his heels for the best part of a 
 twelvemonth.' 
 
 * Oh,' cried Kelly, ' then it is you who have fol- 
 lowed me.' More than once he had heard that his 
 steps were dogged. 
 
 * Over a wearisome stretch of Europe,' agreed 
 Scrope. 
 
 * It was you who came to Philabe this morning? * 
 
 * Who else? So, you see, I have been at some 
 pains to come up with you, and those duties must 
 wait.' 
 
 * Those duties,' replied Kelly, * are so urgent that 
 I am in two minds whether to take to my heels.' 
 
 To any man who was acquainted with the Parson 
 this statement would have been proof enough that 
 there was all the necessity in the world for delay. 
 But then Scrope knew very little of his opponent, 
 and : 
 
 * I am not at all surprised to hear that,' he replied 
 contemptuously. 
 
 Mr. Kelly reddened at the sneer, but kept a tight 
 hold upon his patience. 
 
 * Understand me,' said he quietly. * If I ran away 
 now, I should most certainly follow you afterwards, 
 
158 PARSON KELLY 
 
 as you have followed me, and when I came up with 
 you I should kill you.' 
 
 'And understand me,' broke in Scrope. His cold, 
 sneering face suddenly lighted up with a fierce pas- 
 sion. ' Neither you will follow me, nor I you. We 
 stand face to face, as I have hoped we should until 
 I have dreamed the hope true. You have robbed me 
 of what I held most precious. You have done worse. 
 You have proved to me that what I held most pre- 
 cious was never worth so much as a cracked farthing. 
 That morning I came to Brampton Bryan, I came at 
 Lady Oxford's bidding. VVe were to have done with 
 pretences for good and all. Oh, she had forgotten, if 
 you will, but if she had forgotten, who made her for- 
 get? You, Mr. Kelly, the sneaking cuckoo ! I 
 would have worn her proudly, for all the world to 
 see — the star upon my coat, the scarf across my 
 breast. I would have faced my fellows with one arm 
 for her waist, and the other for a naked sword to 
 silence their slanders with. Well, there 's no waist, 
 but there 's still the naked sword.* As he spoke, with 
 his left hand he jerked his sword out of the scabbard, 
 and caught it by the hilt with his right. * There 's 
 still the naked sword,' he laughed, with a sort of 
 thrill in the laugh, and made the blade whistle 
 through the air. There 's still the sword and a vile 
 cuckoo of a parson — ' 
 
 * That's enough,' cried Kelly, marching to the steps 
 in an anger now not a whit less than Scrope's, for 
 there was a certain sting of truth in Scrope's abuse 
 which put him to shame ; ' more than enough.' 
 
 * No, not more than enough,' said Scrope quietly, 
 and he followed. 
 
PARSON KELLY 159 
 
 *You want a little more?' said Kelly, who had 
 reflected. ' Very well ; your heroics maybe candid 
 enough, but it is less Mr. Scrope the lover and rival 
 than "kr. Scrope, the spy, that I regard with a cer- 
 tain misliking.' 
 
 * Asses, you die ! ' said Scrope, with a hiss in his 
 
 voice. 
 
 The space at the top of the steps was a pretty 
 enough spot for their purpose. It was open only on 
 the side towards the street, which was quite deserted, 
 and raised so high above the pathway that a passer-by 
 would see nothing of what was doing. On the other 
 hand, however, the light was failing. Scrope was for 
 bringing the encounter to a speedy end, and drove at 
 the Parson in an impetuous fury. His swofd glittered 
 and darted very chill and cold in that grey twilight. 
 He thrust swift as a serpent. 
 
 The blood of the Parson was also up. He had at 
 first regarded Scrope's challenge as a pure piece of 
 irony. Why should two men fight for a hilding who 
 had equally jilted and cheated the pair? That had 
 been George's first thought; but now his rapier was 
 drawn for the Cause, and to rid it of a dangerous 
 enemy. Scrope was probably on the track of Ormond 
 and the gold, as well as on that of his rival. 
 
 The Parson was as brave as steel, but (though he 
 never knew it) was no true master of the play. The 
 men rushed at each other; their swords were locked, 
 they were breast to breast; George wrenched his 
 blade free, leaped back to get his distance, struck 
 his heel against a cobble, and the next moment 
 he felt Scrope's blade burn into his side. Kelly 
 clasped his hand over the wound, and sank on to 
 
i6o PARSON KELLY 
 
 the ground. The blood came through between his 
 fingers ; he snatched the cravat from his neck, and 
 made a poor shift to bandage it about his body. 
 The one thought in his mind was of the Duke of 
 Ormond's messenger. Perhaps the very next morn- 
 ing he might come to Avignon and find no one on 
 the bench. 
 
 * A surgeon,' he whispered to Scrope, saving his 
 breath. Scrope was quietly wiping his sword, and 
 made no reply. 
 
 ' A surgeon,* repeated Kelly. ' I must live.' 
 
 * Or die,' said Scrope carelessly. He pulled on his 
 coat, and came close to Kelly. Then he suddenly 
 felt in his pockets. 
 
 * No,' he said, with an air of disappointment. * I 
 was hoping that I had a copy of Virgil wherewith to 
 soothe your last moments. Shall I take a message 
 to her ladyship? ' He picked up his hat. ' Or shall 
 I ask Mr. Nicholas Wogan to write a ballad — 
 " Strephon's Farewell to his Smilinda "? Mr. Wogan 
 would, I think, be extremely amusing with so pathet- 
 ical a subject for his Muse. Well, it grows late. You 
 will, no doubt, excuse me.' 
 
 He made a bow to the Parson, clapped his hat on 
 his head, and walked, whistling to the steps. He 
 stopped when he had descended a couple of them, 
 and, turning, shook his head thoughtfully at Kelly. 
 
 'But I am grieved I have no Virgil,' he said, and 
 so disappeared below the level of the terrace. 
 
 Kelly listened till the sound of his feet died slowly 
 down the street. Then he began to drag himself 
 painfully upon his knees towards the steps. He did 
 not dare to get to his feet, lest his blood should flow 
 
PARSON KELLY i6i 
 
 faster from his wound. He did not dare to shout. 
 He crawled forward over the flags for miles, it 
 seemed ; then the knot of the bandage got loose, 
 and a great faintness came over him. With fumbling 
 fingers he re-tied the knot ; the flags began to heave 
 before his eyes like waves of the sea, the silence 
 roared in his ears. He looked upwards, and a spin- 
 ning procession of houses and churches turned him 
 giddy. He sank down on his side, and then he was 
 aware of something wet that rasped along his hand. 
 He looked down. There was a joyous little bark, 
 and the something wet rasped along his cheek. 
 
 * Harlequin ! ' he thought, with a pang of hope. 
 He summoned all his strength, all his will ; the 
 houses ceased to spin. He let himself down to his 
 full length, with great care drew a scrap from one 
 pocket, a pencil from the other, and laboriously 
 wrote. Then he poked the paper underneath the 
 ribbon round the poodle's neck. ' Home ! ' he cried, 
 clapping his hands ; and fainted. 
 
 But ten minutes afterwards Miss Rose Townley 
 unfolded a slip of paper, with here and there the 
 mark of a bloody thumb, and written on it these 
 words, ' Help Harlequin's friend ' ; and at her feet a 
 bright-eyed poodle dog stood, wagging his tail, ready 
 to conduct her to the spot where Harlequin's friend 
 lay in sore need. 
 
 II 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 OF THE ROSE AND THE ROSE-GARDEN IN AVIGNON. 
 
 LIFE is not wholly the lopsided business that 
 some would have you esteem it. Here was 
 the Parson paying, with a sword-thrust of the first 
 quality, for a love-affair that was dead already ; over 
 and ended. That was bad, but, to balance his ac- 
 counts, the Parson waked up from his swoon in Dr. 
 Townley's house, with the Doctor's beautiful daugh- 
 ter. Rose, to be his nurse-tender. Lady Oxford had 
 caused his duel with Scrope, to be sure, but she had 
 thereby, as it were, cast him straight into the girl's 
 arms, and in that very condition which was likely 
 to make her most tender to him. Carry the conceit 
 a little farther, and you '11 see that here was Mr. 
 Kelly, through her ladyship's behaviours, imprisoned 
 in the hands of one of those very creatures which she 
 was ever persuading him to avoid : namely, that ter- 
 rible monster a girl, and she very young, frank, and 
 beautiful. When the Parson came to his senses, he 
 called Dr. Townley to his side, and telling him who 
 he was, and how that, being a friend of Mr. Wogan's, 
 he knew the doctor from hearing his daughter call 
 the dog Harlequin, he continued : 
 
 ' You were at Preston with my friend, and I there- 
 fore have the less reluctance in asking a service of 
 
PARSON KELLY 163 
 
 you beyond those you have already done me ; ' and 
 he began to tell the Doctor of the expected mes- 
 senger from Spain whom he was to meet on the 
 boulevard. 
 
 But, the Doctor interrupted him. 
 
 ' Mr. Wogan is indeed my friend, though I have 
 seen nothing of him these past six years ; and his 
 name is a passport into our friendship, as my daughter 
 will assure you. So, Mr. Kelly, such kindness and 
 hospitality as we can show you you may count upon ; 
 but — well, I had my surfeit of politics at Preston. I 
 have no longer any faith in your cause, in your King. 
 I do not think that he will come before the coming 
 of the Coquecigrues. I am, indeed, leaving Avignon in 
 a few months, and hope for nothing better than a 
 peaceful life in some village of my own country 
 under the King who now sits on the throne. 
 
 This he said very kindly, but with a certain sol- 
 emnity which quite closed Mr. Kelly's lips ; and so, 
 giving him a sleeping potion, the Doctor left the 
 room. In spite of the potion, however, the Parson 
 made but a restless night of it, and more than once 
 from under his half-closed lids he saw the doctor 
 come to his bedside; but towards morning he fell 
 into something of a sleep and woke up in the broad 
 daylight with a start, as a man will who has some- 
 thing on his mind. In a minute or two Mr. Kelly 
 remembered what that something was. He got out 
 of his bed, and, holding the door open, listened. 
 There was no sound audible at all except the ticking 
 of a clock in the parlour below. Mr. Kelly drew on 
 his clothes carefully, so as not to disarrange the 
 bandages of his wound, and, taking his shoes in his 
 
1 64 PARSON KELLY 
 
 hand, crept down the stairs. It was a slow, painful 
 business, and more than once he had to sit down on 
 the steps and rest. He glanced into the parlour as 
 he passed, and saw, to his great relief, that it was only- 
 half past eight in the morning. What with fomenta- 
 tions and bandages Mr. Kelly had kept the tiny 
 household out of bed to a late hour, and so no one 
 was astir. He drew back the bolt and slipped out of 
 the house. 
 
 Half an hour later. Dr. Townley came into the 
 bedroom and found it empty. He scratched his 
 head to ease his perplexity, and then wisely took 
 counsel with his daughter. 
 
 ' There was a man he expected to come for him,* 
 he said. ' He was very urgent last night that I should 
 see to it. But I cut him short, and so do not know 
 where they were to meet with each other.' 
 
 At that moment the clock in the parlour struck 
 nine. 
 
 * I know ! ' cried Rose on a sudden, and dragged 
 her father off to the boulevard outside the Porte du 
 Rhone, where they discovered Mr. Kelly sitting bolt 
 upright on his bench, with a flushed red face and 
 extraordinarily bright eyes, chattering to himself like 
 a monkey. 
 
 The Parson lay for a week after that at death's 
 door, and it needed all Dr. Townley's skill and Rose's 
 nursing to keep him out of the grave. Meanwhile 
 the Duke of Ormond's messenger arrived from Cor- 
 unna, and kicked his heels on the boulevard until 
 Mr. Kelly recovered his senses and summoned Mr. 
 Phllabe to his aid. Mr. Philabe the next morning 
 took Kelly's place on the bench, and that day the 
 
PARSON KELLY 165 
 
 money changed hands and the messenger started 
 back post-haste to Corunna. At Corunna he told the 
 story of the Parson's misfortune in more than one 
 caf^, and so it came shortly to Wogan's ears, who put 
 in with his ship at that port in order to give up his 
 command. 
 
 The reason for this change in Wogan's condition 
 was simple enough. Sufficient arms and ammunition 
 had now been collected at Bilboa, and it was become 
 urgent that the plans for the rising of the soldiers in 
 England, and the capture of the Tower of London, 
 should be taken earnestly ift hand. The Duke of 
 Ormond, who was to land in the West, was supposed 
 a great favourite with the English troops, but it was 
 none the less necessary that their favour should be 
 properly directed. To that end Mr. Talbot, Tyrell, 
 and Nicholas Wogan, amongst others, were deputed 
 to travel into England, ready for the moment of 
 striking. Nick was to have the rank of a colonel, and 
 was bidden to repair to Paris by a certain date, where 
 he was to take his instructions from General Dillon 
 and the Earl of Mar. Now that date gave him half a 
 week or so of leisure, and he knew of no better use 
 to which he could put it than in stopping at Avignon, 
 which lay directly in his path to Paris. 
 
 But before he reached the olives of Provence Mr. 
 Kelly was convalescent and much had happened. 
 How it had happened Mr. Wogan only discovered by 
 hints which the Parson let slip unconsciously. P'or 
 George had a complete distaste for the sensibilities, 
 and, after all, a true man, even in the company of his 
 closest friend, never does more than touch lightly 
 upon the fringe of what he holds most sacred. He 
 
1 66 PARSON KELLY 
 
 said that he was recovered of two fevers at one and 
 the same time, and by the same ministering hands, 
 and so was come forth into a sweet, cool Hfe and a 
 quiet air. His affairs, whether of stocks in the Mis- 
 sissippi scheme or of the Great Business, went clean 
 out of his mind. His heart was swept and garnished 
 like the man's in the Parable, and almost unawares a 
 woman opened the door and stepped in, bringing with 
 her train seven virtues, as of modesty, innocence, 
 faith, cheerfulness, youth, courage, and love — qual- 
 ities no better nor no fairer than herself. 
 
 How did it begin ? Why, at the first there would 
 be a smiling face at the doorway to wish him a good 
 morning, or if he had slept ill a sweet look of anxious 
 fear which would make up for a dozen sleepless 
 nights. When he could get up from his bed and 
 come into the parlour, the dog Harlequin, and Rose, 
 and he became children and playfellows together, for 
 the brute had been taught a hundred pretty tricks 
 that would make a dying man laugh ; until at length 
 the girl grew familiar, and was seated at the very 
 hearth and centre of his affections, where her memory 
 remains enshrined. 
 
 Mr. Kelly spoke frankly of the matter only once in 
 Mr. Wogan's hearing, and that was many years after- 
 wards, and then he was not speaking of the matter at 
 all. It was Lady Mary Wortley who set him on to 
 it one night. 
 
 P'or she quoted a saying of some sage or another. 
 * In a man,' said she, * desire begets love, and in a 
 woman love begets desire.' 
 
 'And that is true,' said Kelly. 'I do think the 
 steadfast and honourable passions between our sex 
 
PARSON KELLY 167 
 
 and women are apt to have their beginnings on the 
 woman's side, and then, being perceived and most 
 gratefully welcomed, light up as pure a flame in the 
 heart of a man. For otherwise, if a man sees a 
 woman that she is fair, as King David saw Bathsheba, 
 and so covets her, his appetite may in the end turn 
 to love or may not. But if his eyes are first opened 
 to an innocent woman's love, he being at best a sin- 
 ful creature, he is then stirred with a wonderful 
 amazement of grateful tenderness which never can 
 pass away, but must endure, as I hold, even after 
 death.' Which was all very modish and philosophi- 
 cal, and meant — well, just what anyone who had 
 visited Avignon in February of the year '22 might 
 have seen with half an eye. Rose was in love with 
 the Parson and the Parson knew it, and so fell in love 
 with Rose. 
 
 Mr. Wogan reached Avignon in the afternoon. 
 The Doctor's house stood a stone's throw from the 
 Palace of the Emperor Constantine, with a little 
 garden at the back which ran down to the city wall. 
 The top of the wall was laid out as a walk with a 
 chair or two, and there Wogan found the Parson and 
 Rose Townley. It was five years and more since 
 Wogan had seen Rose Townley, and she was grown 
 from a child to a woman. Lie paid her a foolish 
 compliment, and then the three of them fell into an 
 awkward silence. Mr. Wogan asked Kelly for a 
 history of his wound, and then: 
 
 * So 't was Scrope. Lady Mary was right when she 
 warned me we had not seen the last of him. 'Faith, 
 George, it was my fault. For, d' ye see, if I had not 
 been so fond of my poetry I should have made my 
 
1 68 PARSON KELLY 
 
 account with the gentleman at the gates of Brampton 
 Bryan Manor, and you would never have been 
 troubled with him at all.' 
 
 ''Brampton Bryan?" asked Rose. ''Where is 
 that?" 
 
 Mr. Kelly made no answer, and perhaps Wogan's 
 remark was not the discreetest in the world. Miss 
 Rose would not forget that name, Brampton Bryan. 
 At all events, the three of them fell to silence 
 once more, and Mr. Wogan knew that he was tres- 
 passing and that he would have done better to 
 have journeyed straight to Paris. Rose, however, 
 came to the rescue and made him tell over again, as 
 he had told her often before, his stories of the march 
 to Preston. But, whereas before she had listened to 
 them with a great enthusiasm and an eagerness for 
 more, now her colour came and went as though they 
 frightened her, and she would glance with a quick 
 apprehension towards the Parson. 
 
 'And the battles are to be fought all over again,' 
 she said, clasping her hands on her knees, and then 
 plied Wogan for more details. She shivered at the 
 thought of wounds and cannon-balls and swords, yet 
 she must know to the very last word all that was to 
 be described of them. So, until the sun sank behind 
 the low green hills of the 'Cevennes, and the Rhone 
 at their feet, in that land of olives, took on a pure 
 olive tint. Then she rose and went into the house to 
 prepare the supper, leaving the two friends together; 
 and it presently appeared that Rose Townley was not 
 the only one who was frightened. 
 
 The Parson watched her as she went down the 
 garden, brushing the pink blossoms from the boughs 
 
PARSON KELLY 169 
 
 of a peach tree or two that grew on the lawn. There 
 was an old moss-grown stone sundial close to the 
 house ; she paused for a moment beside it to pick up 
 a scarf which was laid on the top and so passed 
 through the window, whence in a moment or two a 
 lamp-light shone. The Parson seemed sunk in a 
 reverie. 
 
 'I am afraid, Nick,' he said slowly. * I am afraid.' 
 *What! You too?' exclaimed VVogan. * Afraid of 
 the wars ? ' 
 
 'The wars — no, no,' replied Kelly scornfully dis- 
 missing the interpretation of his fears, and then fol- 
 lowing out his own train of thoughts, *you have 
 known her a long time, Nick?' 
 
 * Six years.' 
 
 * I would that I too had known her six years ago,' 
 said the Parson with a remorseful sigh. 
 
 * She has changed in those six years.' 
 'How?' 
 
 ' Why, she has grown a foot, and grown a trifle shy.' 
 'Ah, but that's only since — ' began the Parson 
 with a nod, and came to a sudden stop. Rose's shy- 
 ness was the outcome of her pride. She was shy just 
 because she knew that she loved a man who had 
 breathed no word of love to her. Mr. Kelly sat for 
 a little longer in silence. Then, 
 
 * But I am afraid, Nick,' he repeated, and so went 
 down into the house leaving Nick in some doubt as 
 to what he was afraid of. 
 
 The Parson repeated his remark the next morning 
 after breakfast. Mr. Wogan was smoking a pipe 
 upon the wall ; the Parson was walking restlessly 
 about as he spoke. 
 
i7o PARSON KELLY 
 
 * I am afraid/ said he, and looks towards the house. 
 As soon as he looked, he started. So Wogan looked 
 too. Rose Townley had just come from the window 
 and was walking across the lawn more or less towards 
 them with an infinite interest and attention for every- 
 thing except the two figures on the city wall. 
 
 '. She comes slowly,' said Kelly in a great trepida- 
 tion, as though he had screwed up his courage till it 
 snapped like a fiddle-string. ' She is lost in thought. 
 No doubt she would not be disturbed,' and he glanced 
 around him for means of escape. There was, how- 
 ever, only one flight of narrow steps from the wall 
 down to the garden ; and if he descended that he 
 would be going to meet her. 
 
 Wogan laughed. * She comes very slowly,' said 
 he. ' No doubt she saw you from the window.' 
 
 * It is plain she did not,' replied the Parson, ' for, 
 as you say, she comes very slowly.' 
 
 ' The vanity of the creature ! ' cried Wogan. ' D' ye 
 think if she saw you she would run at you and butt 
 you in the chest with her head ? ' 
 
 * No,' says Kelly quickly. ' I do not. But — well, 
 if she saw us here she would at the least look this 
 way.' 
 
 'Would she?' asked Wogan. "Faith, my friend, 
 you '11 have to go to school again. Your ignorance 
 of the ways of women is purely miraculous. She 
 does not look this way, therefore she does not know 
 you are here! She looks to every other quarter; 
 observe, she stops and gazes at nothing with the 
 keenest absorption, but she will not look this way. 
 Oh, indeed, indeed, my simple logician, she does not 
 know you are here. Again she comes on — in this 
 
PARSON KELLY 171 
 
 direction, you '11 observe, but how carelessly, as 
 though her pretty feet knew nothing of the path they 
 take. See, she stops at the dial. Mark how earnestly 
 she bends over it. There 's a great deal to observe 
 in a dial. One might think it was a clock and, like 
 herself, had stopped. There 's a peach tree she 's 
 coming to. A peach tree in blossom. I '11 wager 
 you she '11 find something very strange in those blos- 
 soms to delay her. There, she lifts them, smells 
 them — there's a fine perfume in peach blossoms — 
 she peers into them, holds them away, holds them 
 near. One might fancy they are the first peach 
 blossoms that ever blossomed in the world. Now 
 she comes on again just as carelessly, but perhaps 
 the carelessness is a thought too careful, eh? How- 
 ever, she does not look this way. Watch for her 
 surprise, my friend, when she can't but see you. She 
 will be startled, positively startled. Oh, she does not 
 know you are here.' 
 
 The girl walked to the steps, mounted them, her 
 face rose above the level of the wall. 
 
 ' Oh,' she cried, ' Mr. Kelly ! ' in an extremity of 
 astonishment. Wogan burst out into a laugh. 
 
 * What is it? ' asked Rose. 
 
 'Sure, Mr. Kelly will tell you,' said Wogan, and he 
 strolled to the end of the walk, turned, walked down 
 the steps and so left them together. 
 
 * What was it amused Mr. Wogan? ' asked Rose of 
 Kelly as soon as Wogan had vanished. The Parson 
 left the question unanswered. He balanced himself 
 on one foot for a bit then on the other, and he began 
 at the end, as many a man has done before. 
 
 ' I can bring you nothing but myself,' said he, * and 
 
172 PARSON KELLY 
 
 to be sure myself has battered about the world until 
 it's not worth sweeping out of your window.' 
 
 * Then I won't/ said she with a laugh. The laugh 
 trembled a little, and she looked out over the river 
 and the fields of Provence with eyes which matched 
 the morning. 
 
 ' You won't ! * he repeated, and then blundered on 
 in a voice of intense commiseration. ' My dear, I 
 know you love me.' 
 
 It was not precisely what Rose expected to hear, 
 and she turned towards the Parson with a look of 
 pride. ' And of course I love you too,' he said 
 lamely. 
 
 ' You might almost have begun with that,* said she 
 with a smile. 
 
 'Was there need?' he asked. * Since I thought 
 every blade of grass in your garden was aware of it.' 
 Then he stood for a second silent. * Rose,' said he, 
 savouring the name, and again * Rose,' with a happy 
 sort of laugh. But he moved no nearer to her. 
 
 Rose began to smile. 
 
 ' I am glad,' said she demurely, * that you find the 
 name to your liking.* 
 
 ' It is the prettiest name in the world,' cried he with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 * I am much beholden to my parents,' said she. 
 
 ' But, my dear,' he continued, * you put it to 
 shame.' 
 
 The girl uttered a sigh which meant * At last ! ' 
 but Mr. Kelly was in that perturbation that he al- 
 together misunderstood it. 
 
 ' But you must n't believe, my dear, it 's for your 
 looks I love you,' he said earnestly. 'No, it's for 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 173 
 
 your self; it 's for the shining perfections of your 
 nature. Sure I have seen good-looking women 
 before to-day.' 
 
 * I have no doubt of that,' she said, tapping with 
 her foot on the pavement. 
 
 * Yes, I have,' said he. * But when I looked at 
 them 'twas to note the colour of their eyes or some 
 such triviality, whereas when I look at your eyes, it's 
 as though a smiling heart leaned out of them as from 
 a window and said, ** How d'ye do?" Sure, my 
 dear, I should love you no less if you had another 
 guess nose, and green eyes.' (He reflectively de- 
 formed her features.) ' It 's your shining perfec- 
 tions that I am on my knees to.' 
 
 'Are you?' she interrupted with a touch of plaint- 
 iveness. He was standing like a wooden post and 
 there was at the least a couple of yards between 
 them. 
 
 'Just your shining perfections. 'Faith, you have 
 the most extraordinary charm without any perversity 
 whatever, which is a pure miracle. I am not deny- 
 ing,' he continued thoughtfully, ' that there 's some- 
 thing taking in perversity when it is altogether 
 natural, but, to be sure, most women practise it as 
 though it were one of the fine arts, and then it 's 
 nothing short of damnable — I beg your pardon,' he 
 exclaimed waking up of a sudden. * Indeed, but I 
 don't know what I am saying at all. Rose,' and he 
 stepped over to her, ' I have no prospects whatever 
 in the world, but will you take them? ' 
 
 Well, she did. Mr. Kelly had come to his mean- 
 ing in a roundabout fashion enough, as he acknowl- 
 edged that same day to Nicholas Wogan. 
 
174 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Upon my conscience, but I made a blundering 
 ass of myself,' said he. 
 
 * You would,' said Wogan. * My dear man, why 
 did n't you tell me of your intention and I would have 
 written you out a fine sort of speech that you could 
 have got by heart? ' 
 
 * Sure I should have stammered over the first sen- 
 tence and forgot the rest,' said Kelly with a shake of 
 the head. * To tell the truth, the little girl has sunk 
 me to such a depth of humility and diffidence that I 
 find it wonderful I said anything at all.' Then he 
 grew silent for a minute or so. ' Nick,' said he 
 secretly, drawing his chair a trifle closer. * There 's 
 a question troubles me. D' ye think I should tell her 
 of My Lady Oxford ? ' 
 
 * It would be entirely superfluous,' replied Wogan 
 with decision, * since the thing 's done with.' 
 
 * But is it? ' asked Kelly. ' Is it, Nick? Look you 
 here. We thought it was done with a year ago, and 
 up springs Mr. Scrope at Avignon. Mr. Scrope 
 does his work and there 's not the end of it. For I 
 am carried here and so my very betrothal is another 
 consequence. It is as though her ladyship had pre- 
 sented me to Rose. Well, how are we to know it's 
 done with now ? If it ends here it is very well. But, 
 d'ye see, Nick, it was after all not the most honour- 
 able business in the world, and am I to make this 
 great profit out of it? Well, perhaps my fears con- 
 fuse my judgment. I am all fears to-day, Nick,' and 
 he stopped for a moment and clapped his hand into 
 his pocket. 
 
 ' I 'II confess to you a very childish thing,' said he. 
 ' Look ! ' and out of his pocket he drew a pistol. 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 175 
 
 * What 's that for? ' asked Nick. 
 
 ' It 's loaded,' replied Kelly. ' I went up to my 
 room, after the little girl had taken me, and loaded it 
 and slipped it into my pocket,' and he began to laugh, 
 perhaps something awkwardly. ' For, you see, since 
 she prizes me, why I am grown altogether valuable.' 
 He put back the pistol in his pocket. * But don't 
 misunderstand me, Nick. The new fears are quite 
 overbalanced by a new confidence. Sure, it 's not 
 the future I am afraid of.' 
 
 * I understand,' said Wogan gravely. * It 's what 's 
 to come.' 
 
 ' Yes, that 's it/ said Kelly. 
 
 Being afraid, and being a man of honour, Kelly 
 did nothing, said nothing on the head of his old love 
 affair, and trembled with apprehension of he knew 
 not very well what. A path of flowers stretched 
 before him, but a shadow walked on it, a tall, hand- 
 some shadow, yet unfriendly. It is Mr. Wogan's 
 firm belief, based on experience, that a woman always 
 finds everything out. The only questions are, when, 
 and how will she take it? Sometimes it is a letter in 
 the pocket of an old coat which the dear charitable' 
 creature is giving to a poor devil of a chairman. 
 Sometimes it is a glance at a rout, which she 
 shoots flying. Now it is a trinket, or a dead 
 flower in a book, or a line marked in a poem, but 
 there is always a trail of the past, and woman never 
 misses it. 
 
 George's wooing seemed as flowery as the mead- 
 ows about Avignon, white with fragrant narcissus, 
 or as the gardens purple with Judas trees in spring. 
 Rose was all parfait amour, and, in her eyes, Mr. 
 
176 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Kelly was a hero, a clerical Montrose, or a Dundee 
 of singular piety. Wogan has known women more 
 zealous for the Cause, such as her Grace of Buck- 
 ingham, or Madame de Mezieres, who had ever a 
 private plot of her own running through the legs of 
 our schemes, like a little dog at a rout, and tripping us 
 up. To Miss Townley George was the Cause, and 
 the Cause was George, so that, in truth, she was 
 less of a Jacobite than a Georgite. 
 
 There never had been such a George as hers for 
 dragons. Why did he fight Mr. Scrope? She was 
 certain it was all for the Cause ! Indeed, that casus 
 belli, as the lawyers say, proved a puzzle. Why, 
 in fact, did the Parson come to be lying on the flags, 
 in receipt of a sword-thrust of the first quality .-* 
 George was the last man to brag of his services, but 
 he was merely obliged to put the sword-thrust down 
 to his credit with the Cause. His enemy had been 
 a Whig, a dangerous spy, which was true, but not 
 exactly all the truth, about as much of it as a man 
 finds good for a woman. 
 
 Rose clasped her hands, raised her eyes to Heaven, 
 and wondered that it did not better protect the 
 Right. What other deeds of arms had her warrior 
 done? She hung on George imploring him to speak 
 of deadly 'scapes, and of everything that it terrified 
 her to hear. Mr. Kelly, in fact, had never drawn 
 sword in anger before ; he was, by profession, a man 
 of peace and of the pen. If ever he indulged a 
 personal ambition, it would have been for a snug 
 Irish deanery, and he communicated to Miss Town- 
 ley a part of his favourite scheme, for leisure, a rose- 
 hung parsonage, and TuUy, his Roman friend. 
 
PARSON KELLY 177 
 
 But the girl put this down to his inveterate modesty, 
 remarked by all Europe in his countrymen. 
 
 * Nay, I know you have done more,' she said one 
 day alone with him in a bower of the garden. * You 
 have done something very brave and very great, 
 beyond others. You helped to free the Queen from 
 the Emperor's prison at Innspruck ! ' 
 
 ' I ! ' exclaimed Mr. Kelly in amazement. * What 
 put that notion into the prettiest head in the world? 
 Why, it was Nicholas's brother Charles, with other 
 Irish gentlemen, Gaydon, Misset, and O'Toole, who 
 did that feat ; the world rings of it. I was in Paris 
 at that time.' 
 
 ' Then you did something greater and braver yet, 
 that is a secret for State reasons, or else, why does 
 the King give you such rich presents? ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly blushed as red as the flower after which 
 his lady was named. 
 
 ' Now,' he thought, ' how, in the name of the devil, 
 did she hear of the box the King gave me, and I gave 
 to Lady Oxford ? ' 
 
 That trinket was lying on Lady Oxford's table, but 
 the face behind the mirror was now that of a hand- 
 somer man than either his Majesty, or Mr. Kelly, 
 or Colonel Montague. Kelly knew nothing about 
 that, but he blushed beautifully when Miss Townley 
 spoke of a rich royal present. 
 
 'You blush,' cried the girl, before he could find an 
 
 answer. * I know you are hiding something, now.' 
 
 (And here she added to his pleasure without taking 
 
 anything from his confusion), ' Tell me why you 
 
 blush to find it fame?' 
 
 'Troth, isn't my face a mirror, and reflects your 
 
 12 
 
178 PARSON KELLY 
 
 rosy one, my Rose?' answered Mr. Kelly, putting on 
 a great deal of the brogue, to make her laugh. For, 
 if a woman laughs, she is apt to lose sight of her 
 idea. 
 
 * I must be told ; I cannot trust you to show me 
 how brave you are. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly was upon dangerous ground. If he 
 was expected to talk about the box given by the 
 King, and if Rose wished to see, or to know what 
 had become of it, Kelly had not a fable ready, and 
 the truth he could not tell. He made a lame 
 explanation : 
 
 * Well, then, I blushed, if I did, for shame that the 
 King has to borrow money to help better men than 
 me.' 
 
 * I don't care if he borrowed the money or not, for 
 he could not have borrowed for a better purpose 
 than to give you — what I have seen.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly was pale enough now. What in the 
 wide world had she seen? Certainly not the snuff- 
 box. 
 
 'Seen in a dream, my dear; sure the King never 
 gave me anything but my little pension.' 
 
 'Then you know other kings, for who else give 
 diamonds? Ah, you are caught! You have the 
 Queen's portrait set with diamonds.' 
 
 'The Queen's portrait?' cried Kelly in perplexity. 
 He was comforted as well as perplexed. 'Twas 
 plain that Rose knew nothing of the royal snuff- 
 box, now the spoil of Lady Oxford's spear and bow. 
 
 ' Yes,' cried Rose. ' Whose portrait but the Queen's 
 should it be that lies on your table? So beautiful 
 a lady and such diamonds ! ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 179 
 
 Mr. Kelly groaned in spirit. The snuff-box was 
 not near so dangerous as this new trail that Rose 
 had hit. She had seen, in his possession, the minia- 
 ture of Smilinda, and had guessed that it was a 
 royal gift ; the likeness of the Princess Clementina 
 Sobieska, who had but lately married the King. 
 
 * I saw it lying on your table the day we brought 
 you home from the seat on the boulevard, when we 
 thought' (here Miss Rose hid her face on her lover's 
 shoulder, and her voice broke) ' that — you — would 
 — die.' 
 
 Now was this rose wet with a shower, and when 
 Kelly, like the glorious sun in heaven, had dried 
 these pretty petals, what (Mr. Wogan puts it to the 
 casuists) was the dear man to say? What he thought 
 was to curse Nick for holding his hand when he was 
 about throwing Smilinda's picture into the sea. 
 
 What he said was that, under Heaven, but without 
 great personal danger, he had been the blessed 
 means of detecting and defeating a wicked Hanover- 
 ian plot to kidnap and carry off from Rome the dear 
 little Prince of Wales, and Mrs. Hughes, his Welsh 
 nurse. This prodigious fable George based on one 
 of the many flying stories of the time. It satisfied 
 Miss Townley's curiosity (as, indeed, it was very apt 
 to do) and George gave her the strictest orders never 
 to breathe a word of the circumstance, which must 
 be reckoned a sacred mystery of the royal family. 
 He also remarked that the portrait flattered her 
 Majesty (as painters will do), and that, though ex- 
 tremely pretty and gay, she had not that air of dig- 
 nity and command, nor was so dark a beauty. * In 
 fact, my dear,' said George, * you might wear that 
 
i8o PARSON KELLY 
 
 portrait at the Elector's Birth Night rout (if you 
 could fall so low) and few people would be much 
 the wiser. These Roman painters are satisfied with 
 making a sitter pretty enough to please her, or him.' 
 
 George was driven to this flagrant incorrectness 
 because, though Miss Townley had not yet seen the 
 Queen's portrait (her father having changed sides) 
 she might see one any day, and find Mr. Kelly out. 
 
 The girl was satisfied, and the thing went by, for 
 the time. But, on later occasions, his conscience 
 gnawing him, the good George very unwisely dropped 
 out general hints of the unworthiness of his sex, and 
 of himself in particular, as many an honest fellow has 
 done. In Mr. VVogan's opinion, bygones ought 
 to be bygones, but it takes two to that bargain. 
 Meanwhile Miss Rose might make as much or as 
 little of her lover's penitences as she chose, and, 
 indeed, being a lass of gold, with a sense of honour 
 not universal in her sex, and perfectly sure of him, 
 she made nothing whatever, nor thought at all of the 
 matter. 
 
 But there was another dragon in the course that 
 never yet ran smooth. The excellent surgeon, who 
 had not recovered the fright of Preston, was obdurate. 
 He had no dislike for Mr. Kelly, but a very great 
 distaste for Mr. Kelly's Cause. Rose might coax, 
 the Parson might argue, Wogan might use all his 
 blandishments — the good man was iron. In brief, 
 Kelly must cease to serve the King, or cease to hope 
 for Rose. This was a hard choice, for indeed Mr. 
 Kelly could not in honour leave hold of the threads 
 of the plot which were then in his hands. 
 
 So much Dr. Townley was at last brought to ac- 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 i«i 
 
 knowledge, and thereupon a compromise was come 
 to. Mr. Kelly was to go over to England once again, 
 on the last chance. The blow was to be struck in 
 this spring of the year 1722. If it failed, or could 
 not be struck, Mr. Kelly was to withdraw from the 
 King's affairs and earn his living by writing for the 
 booksellers, and instructing youth. 
 
 The Parson was the more ready to agree to this 
 delay, because of a circumstance with which he was 
 now acquainted. The Doctor and his daughter were 
 themselves on the point of returning to England. 
 Mr. Kelly and Rose had no great difficulty in per- 
 suading the surgeon that he would find it more con- 
 venient to live in London than in the country, of the 
 miseries of which they drew a very pathetic and con- 
 vincing picture ; and so, being assured that the delay 
 would not mean a complete separation, they accepted 
 the plan and fell to mapping out their lives. 
 
 They chose the sort of house they would live in 
 and where, whether in Paris or in England : they 
 furnished it from roof to cellar. 
 
 ' There must be a room for Nick,' said the Parson, 
 * so that he can come in and out as if to his own 
 house.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan had borne his part in persuading Dr. 
 Townley, without a thought of the great change 
 which the Parson's marriage meant for him. But 
 these words, and the girl's assent, and above all a 
 certain unconscious patronage in their voices, struck 
 the truth into him with something of a shock. 
 
 Mr. Wogan escaped from the room, and walked 
 about in the garden. These two men, you are to 
 understand, had been boys together, George being by 
 
i82 PARSON KELLY 
 
 some years the older, and had quarrelled and fought 
 and made friends again twenty times in a day. Mr. 
 Kelly bore, and would bear till his dying day, a little 
 scar on his cheek close to his ear, where he was hit 
 by a mallet which Wogan heaved at him one day 
 that he was vexed. Wogan never noticed that scar 
 but a certain pleasurable tenderness came over him. 
 His friendship with the Parson had been, as it were, 
 the heart of his boyhood. And in after years it had 
 waxed rather than diminished. The pair of them 
 could sit one on each side of a fire in perfect silence 
 for an hour together, and yet converse intelligibly to 
 each other all the while. Well, here was Mr. Wogan 
 alone in the darkness of the little garden at Avignon 
 now. The Rhone looked very cold beneath the stars, 
 and the fields entirely desolate and cheerless. Yet 
 he gazed that way persistently, for if he turned his 
 head toward the house he saw a bright window 
 across which the curtains were not drawn, and a 
 girl's fair hair shining gold against a man's black peri- 
 wig. Mr. Wogan had enough sense to strangle his 
 jealousy that night, and was heartily ashamed of it 
 the next morning when he bade the couple good-bye 
 and set out for Paris. 
 
 Mr. Kelly took his leave a few days later, being 
 now sufficiently recovered to travel. The precise 
 date was the eighth of April. To part from Rose 
 you may well believe was a totally different matter 
 from his adieus to Smilinda. Nothing would serve 
 the poor girl, who had no miniature and diamonds to 
 give, but to sacrifice what she prized most in the 
 world after her father and her lover. 
 
 * You cannot take me,' she said with a tearful little 
 
PARSON KELLY 183 
 
 laugh, ' but you shall take Harlequin, who made us 
 acquainted. That way you will not be altogether 
 alone.' 
 
 Harlequin wagged his tail, and sat up on his hind 
 legs as though he thoroughly approved of the pro- 
 posal, and Mr. Kelly, to whom the poodle could not 
 but be an inconvenience, had not the heart to refuse 
 the gift. 
 
 George had to give as well as to take, and felt even 
 less blessed in giving than in receiving. For Miss 
 Rose must have a souvenir of him, too, and what 
 should it be but that inestimable testimony to her 
 lover's loyalty and courage, the Portrait of the Queen ! 
 There was no way of escape, and thus, as a memorial 
 of Mr. Kelly's singular attachment to the best of 
 Causes and of Queens, Miss Townley was treasuring 
 the likeness of the incomparable Smilinda. The 
 ladies, in the nature of things, could never meet, 
 George reckoned, for the daughter of the exiled 
 country physician would not appear among the 
 London fashionables. 
 
 In Paris, on his road to London, Mr. Kelly visited 
 the Duke of Mar, who most unfortunately took notice 
 of the dog, and asked him what he purposed to do 
 with it. 
 
 * My Lord,' replied Kelly, * when I am on my 
 jaunts Harlequin will find a home with the Bishop of 
 Rochester, whose wife has a great liking for dogs. 
 The poor lady is ill, and, alas, near to her death ; 
 the Bishop is fretting under the gout, and his wife's 
 sickness, and the jealousies among the King's friends. 
 Moreover, he is much occupied with building his 
 tomb in the Abbey, so that, altogether, their house is 
 
1 84 > PARSON KELLY 
 
 of the gloomiest, and Harlequin may do something 
 to lighten it.' 
 
 For the poodle had more accomplishments than 
 any dog that ever the Parson had met with, and this 
 he demonstrated to the Duke of Mar by putting him 
 through his tricks. The Duke laughed heartily, and 
 commended the Parson's kindliness towards his 
 patron. But in truth the Parson never did a worse 
 day's work in the whole of his life. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OF THE GREAT CONFUSION PRODUCED BY A BALLAD 
 AND A DRUNKEN CROW 
 
 FROM this time until Saturday, May 19, the 
 world seemed to go very well for those con- 
 cerned in the Bishop of Rochester's plot, which was 
 a waiting plot ; and in the other scheme, the scheme 
 for an immediate rising, which was a hurrying scheme, 
 and not at all known to the good Bishop. There was 
 a comforting air of discontent abroad ; the losses 
 from the South Sea made minds heavy and purses 
 light. Mr. Walpole had smoked nothing of what 
 was forward, so far as a man could see ; and within 
 a month the country was to rise. Mr. Wogan from 
 Paris travelled to Havre-de-Grace, whence James 
 Roche, an Irishman, settled in that port, and a noted 
 smuggler upon the English coast, set him across the 
 Channel, and put him ashore at the Three Sheds and 
 Torbay near Elephant Stairs in Rotherhithe. Mr, 
 Wogan took his old name of Hilton, and went about 
 his business, paying a visit now and again to the 
 Cocoa Tree, where amongst other gossip he heard that 
 Lady Oxford was still on the worst of friendly terms 
 with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and the best of 
 loving terms with Colonel Montague. There was more 
 than one jest aimed at Mr. Kelly on this last account, 
 
1 86 PARSON KELLY 
 
 since a man who has been fooled by a woman is ever 
 a fair mark for ridicule; and when James Talbot 
 began to talk of the Parson with a mock pity, Wogan 
 could no longer endure it. 
 
 ' Sure your compassion is all pure waste, Crow/ 
 said he. ' I could tell you a very pretty tale about 
 the Parson were I so minded.' 
 
 Of course he was minded, and he told the story of 
 the Parson's betrothal with a good many embellish- 
 ments. He drew so tender a picture of Rose, that 
 he became near to weeping over it himself; he 
 clothed her in high qualities as in a shining garment, 
 and you may be sure he did not spare Lady Oxford in 
 the comparison. On the contrary, he came very near 
 to hinting that it was the Parson jilted Lady Oxford, 
 who therefore fell back upon Colonel Montague to 
 cover her discomfiture. At all events that was the 
 story which soon got about, and Mr. Wogan never 
 said a word to correct it, and in due time, of course, 
 and in a way not very agreeable, it came to her Lady- 
 ship's ears. 
 
 The Parson arrived in London on a Wednesday, 
 the 13th of April. The weather had been terrible 
 on the sea, and the unhappy dog Harlequin had con- 
 trived to slip his leg by a fall on deck. However, he 
 soon recovered of his injury, thanks to the care of 
 Mrs. Barnes, and Mr. Kelly carried him to the 
 Bishop's house at Bromley, where his lady lay 
 a-dying. There, too, as he had good cause after- 
 wards to remember, he wrote certain letters for the 
 Bishop, to the King, the Duke of Mar, and General 
 Dillon, and put them in the common post. They 
 did but carry common news, and excuses for delay. 
 
PARSON KELLY 187 
 
 The Bishop's lady died on the 26th of April, and on 
 that very day Harlequin's hurt broke out again, and 
 the poor creature went whining lugubriously about 
 the gloomy house, as though it was mourning for its 
 mistress. This fact should be mentioned, because 
 the Duke of Mar had made an inquiry in a letter as 
 to how Harlequin fared, and whether Mr. Illington, 
 as the Bishop was called, had as yet received the 
 dog. Kelly replied that ^ Illingtoii is in great tribu- 
 lation for poor Harlequin, who is in a bad way, hav- 
 ing slipped his leg again,' which was true, for since 
 the dog by his tricks greatly lightened his lady's 
 sickness, the Bishop grew very fond of him, though 
 at the Bishop's trial, when these things were brought 
 up to prove that lUington and he were the same man, 
 it was said ' he never loved a dog.' So much for Mr. 
 Kelly. 
 
 Rose and her father reached London a fortnight or 
 more after the Parson. Wogan had no knowledge of 
 her arrival, for since he left Avignon he had not 
 so much as clapped his eyes upon the Parson, who, 
 what with the Bishop's grief for his wife, and what 
 with the Bishop's gout, was much occupied at Brom- 
 ley. It was not until that calamitous day, the 19th 
 of May, that the two friends met again. Events 
 moved very quickly upon that same day. It seemed 
 they had been hatching this long while out of sight, 
 like thunderclouds gathering on a clear day under 
 the rim of the sea. Seven breathless hours saw the 
 beginning and the end. For it was not until six 
 o'clock of the afternoon that Mr. Wogan chanced 
 upon the ballad, that was our ruin, and by three of 
 the morning all was over. 
 
1 88 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Now, on the 19th of May, in the morning, Mr. 
 Wogan found himself far enough from London, at 
 the seat of Sir Harry Goring, a gentleman of Sussex, 
 and a very loud friend of the Cause. 
 
 This noisy Sir Harry drove Mr. Wogan back to 
 town, in very great state and splendour, and drew 
 up before Burton's coffee-house, at an hour when 
 the streets had lost the high sun of the day. Mr. 
 Wogan alighted, thinking to seek his letters at 
 Burton's, and the baronet's carriage rolled off to his 
 town house. Wogan entered the coffee-house ; the 
 great room was extraordinary full, and there was an 
 eager buzz of talkers, who dropped their voices, and 
 looked oddly at Mr. Wogan as he passed through, 
 and so upstairs to a little chamber kept private for 
 himself and his friends. 
 
 As he went he heard roars of laughter, and a voice 
 chanting in the deplorable, lamenting tone of the 
 street ballad-singer. Mr. Wogan caught a name he 
 knew in this ditty, and knocking hastily in the 
 manner usual and arranged, was admitted. The 
 room was thick with tobacco smoke, and half-a 
 dozen empty bottles made mantraps on the floor. 
 Through the Virginia haze Wogan saw two men; 
 one was Tyrell, a friend of the Cause, the other 
 was a tall man, very black, in whom he recognised 
 his friend Talbot, of his own country and politics, 
 nicknamed the Crow from his appearance. The 
 Crow was swaying on his legs as he steadied him- 
 self by the table, and he sang : — 
 
 Let Weapons yield them to the Gown, 
 
 The Latin Singers say : 
 Ye Squires and Ladies of renown. 
 
PARSON KELLY 189 
 
 The tune is changed to-day ! 
 A Lady loved a Parson good, 
 
 And vowed she 'd still be true, 
 Alas, the Sword goes o'er the Hood, 
 
 The Sword of Montague ! 
 
 'What ribaldry have you got now? 'said Wogan, 
 but the Crow hastily embraced him in the French 
 manner, holding the paper of the ballad over his 
 shoulder, and still chanting. 
 
 ' The little Parson is made immortal,' quoth he. 
 * Here is the newest ballad, all the story of his late 
 amorous misfortune. Why do you look so glum? ' 
 
 For Wogan had gently disengaged himself from 
 Mr. Talbot's embrace, who exhaled a perfume of wine 
 and strong waters. 
 
 ' Crow, you fool, be quiet,* said Wogan ; ' this is 
 miching mallecho ! Who wrote that rant? ' 
 
 * We think it is Lady Mary Montagu, from the 
 Latin tags ; it is headed Cedat Arniis Toga.* 
 
 But Lady Mary was not the writer, though she 
 got the credit of the mischievous nonsense, as was 
 intended, and * hence these tears,' as the Parson said. 
 
 Mr. Wogan had snatched the ballad into his hands 
 by this time, where he intended to keep it. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' he asked, ' are you entirely sober? * 
 
 * Does my speech betray me? * said Tyrell, who, to 
 do him justice, was wholly in his right mind. 
 
 ' That is no answer ; but, if it were, and if you 
 don't care for a lady's name — ' 
 
 ' She jilted the Parson ! ' cried the Crow. 
 
 * Have you no thought of the reputation of — Mr. 
 Farmer? ' 
 
 'Mr. Farmer?' exclaimed Tyrell. Mr. Farmer 
 
I90 PARSON KELLY 
 
 was the cant name for the Chevalier, and Tyrell 
 scratched his head, wondering what on earth the 
 ChevaHer had to do in the same galley with the 
 Parson's love affairs. 
 
 * Mr. Farmer ! ' repHed the Crow, blinking his eyes 
 reproachfully. * Indeed, it is yourself has been drink- 
 ing, Nick. What has the ballad of poor George's 
 misfortune to do with Mr. Farmer, a gentleman of 
 unbleb — upblem — I repeat, sir,' said the Crow with 
 solemnity, ' a gentleman of unblemished reputation? ' 
 
 * Mark how a long word trips you up, and the 
 evening so young ! ' 
 
 ' Mr. Farmer's health ! I buzz the bottle ! ' cried 
 the Crow, putting out his hand to the bottle, that was 
 nearly empty. 
 
 Mr. Wogan stopped his hand. 
 
 * I tell you. Crow, the Affair hangs on your non- 
 sense. We may all hang for it,' he said in a certain 
 tone of voice, which made Tyrell open his mouth. 
 
 Wogan read through the ballad, which was full of 
 insults enough to drive any woman mad, let alone 
 Lady Oxford. He knew what a woman wild with 
 anger can do, and blessed his stars that for so many 
 months her Ladyship had not met Kelly, and could 
 know nothing of the inner plot for an immediate 
 rising. Still, she knew enough to do a power of 
 mischief. The ballad was written in a feigned hand, 
 which Wogan did not know. 
 
 ! James,' he said to Talbot, ' where did you get this 
 thing? You are not haunting the fine ladies who 
 pass these wares about? Where did you get it? ' he 
 said, shaking the Crow, who had fallen half asleep, as 
 he spoke. 
 
PARSON KELLY 191 
 
 * Got it from my friend Mr. Pope/ answered the 
 Crow drowsily. 
 
 * You got it from Mr. Pope ! Yojc ! Where did 
 you meet Mr. Pope?' 
 
 * At the Little Fox under the Hill, down by the 
 water.' 
 
 This tavern was precisely the shyest meeting-place 
 of the party, where the smugglers came to arrange 
 crossings and receive letters. 
 
 ' Mr. Alexander Pope at the Fox under the Hill ! 
 Crow, you are raving ! What kind of man is your 
 friend Mr. Pope?' 
 
 'Who's Mr. Pope? Don't know the gentleman. 
 Hear he 's poet.' 
 
 ' The gentleman who gave you the ballad.' 
 
 * Did n't say Pope, said Scrotton,' answered the 
 Crow. * Very honest man, my friend Mr. Scrotton. 
 Met him often. Exshlent judge of wine, Mr. Scrot- 
 ton. Exshlent judge of plots. Mr. Scrotton ap- 
 plauded our scheme.' 
 
 'You told him about it? What plot did you tell 
 him of? Not of the rising? Not of this immediate 
 Blow? Crow, you should be shot! ' 
 
 * I told him ! You inshult me, sir. Very good plot, 
 very good wine. Mr. Scrotton told vie about plot. 
 Often talked it over a bottle. I 'm a most cautious 
 man. I don't drink except with very honest men. 
 Dangerous ! ' murmured the Crow. 
 
 * You are sure his name is Scrotton? ' 
 
 * Quite certain. Said " Pope " because of poetry. 
 Soshiation of ideas. Mr. Pope's poet. You'd know 
 that, but you are drunk, Mr. Wogan.' 
 
 There was nothing more to be got out of the Crow. 
 
192 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Invited to give a personal description of Mr. Scrotton, 
 he fell back on his moral character as * a very honest 
 man.' He might be, or, again, he might be a spy. 
 In any case, here was the ballad, and there was the 
 furious woman ready for any revenge. 
 
 ' Go home ; go to bed ! Tyrell and I will walk 
 with you to your rooms/ said Mr. Wogan, who, step- 
 ping to the letter-rack, picked up an epistle for Mr. 
 Hilton. The handwriting of the superscription made 
 him look so blank that the others noticed his face 
 and were silent. The letter was in Lady Oxford's 
 hand. He put it in his pocket. 
 
 They led the Crow to his door in Germain Street. 
 He behaved pretty well on the whole, only insisting 
 that his fortune would be made if Wogan would but 
 give him the ballad and let him sing it at the corner 
 of St. James's. 
 
 'Affluence would be mine,' he said, and dropped a 
 tear. * Oh, Wilton — Hogan, I would say — 'tis a 
 golden opportunity ! ' 
 
 But if the opportunity was golden, Wogan was of 
 iron, and they did not leave the debased Crow till he 
 slept in the sheets, which on the night before it was 
 probable that his limbs had never pressed. 
 
 When the Crow was slumbering like a babe, Mr. 
 Wogan and Tyrell stepped out, turning the key of his 
 chamber on the outside and entrusting it to his landlady. 
 
 ' Mr. Talbot has a fever,' Wogan told her, ' and will 
 see nobody. He must on no account see anyone 
 except Mr. Tyrell, nor must he be disturbed before 
 his ph37sician calls.' 
 
 Accompanied by the gift of a crown, the key was 
 pocketed by the woman of the house, who expressed 
 
PARSON KELLY 193 
 
 anxiety for the health and repose of so quiet a gen- 
 tleman as Mr. Talbot. 
 
 'And now, what is all this pother about?' Tyrell 
 asked when they were got into the street. 
 
 * Come towards the Park and I will instruct you. I 
 need quiet for thought, and sylvan repose. What 
 have you been doing all day?' 
 
 * Watching the Crow play the fool at Burton's.' 
 ' You have no news? ' 
 
 * I have seen nobody.' 
 
 They walked for a hundred yards or so in silence, 
 Wogan frowning, and Tyrell much perturbed with 
 Wogan's perturbation. 
 
 * The new ballad is a true ballad,' said W^ogan after 
 a pause. 
 
 'Devil a doubt of it; but what then? ' 
 
 ' The greater the truth, the greater the libel.* 
 
 ' Et aprhf 
 
 ' And the greater is the rage of the libelled. This 
 ballad must have run through all the boudoirs before 
 it reached the Crow.* 
 
 * And yet I do not smoke you. Where does this 
 touch the affair?' 
 
 'The lady that's libelled knew George very well.' 
 Tyrell nodded his head. 
 
 ' George knew everything,' continued Wogan. 
 Tyrell stopped and caught Wogan by the elbow 
 'Then, what George knew the lady knows?' 
 ' No. Thank God, she knows nothing of what is 
 immediately intended. It is a year and more since 
 George and she have spoken. She knows nothing 
 of the Blow. But she knows the men who are direct- 
 ing it.' 
 
 13 
 
194 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' May be she 's staunch,' said Tyrel!. 
 
 Wogan quoted Lady Mary: 
 
 ' PoHtics are nothing more to her than pawns in the 
 game of love.' 
 
 The two men stood looking at each other for a 
 moment. The matter was too serious for them even 
 to swear. Then they walked on again. 
 
 * Do you think,' asked Nick, ' she will be in the best 
 of tempers when she hears she is sung about in coffee- 
 houses? Do you think she will blame anybody but 
 Kelly for blabbing? She will give the ballad to Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montagu, and is n't Kelly of Lady 
 Mary's friends? No, he did not blab, but never mind. 
 She will think he did. And do you know that she is 
 a kinswoman of the minister, Mr. Walpole? Let her 
 say a word, and she will say it, and where is Mr. 
 Farmer's affair?' 
 
 * Where the Elector's hat and wig often are — in 
 the fire,' answered Tyrell, looking serious enough. 
 
 'That letter which I took up was from her; I know 
 her hand. She is stirring.' 
 
 Wogan opened the scented letter as he walked. It 
 was but to say that Lady Oxford had heard that Mr. 
 Hilton was in town, and begged the favour of his 
 company at her rout that night. 
 
 He told Tyrell what there was to tell, both of them 
 looking very unlike a May sunset as they walked 
 under the trees. Since he left Brampton Bryan, Mr. 
 Wogan had not been favoured with any compliments 
 from Lady Oxford. Why did she begin her favours 
 to-day? 
 
 * She Is stirring,' he said again. 
 
 By this time they were got within the Park. 
 
PARSON KELLY 195 
 
 There much was stirring. Carts were streaming in 
 and out with soldiers driving, soldiers lounging among 
 the burdens of planks, tents, picks, and spades. 
 Beside the Walnut Walk soldiers in their shirt sleeves 
 * were digging, trenching, measuring; a child could 
 see what was toward — they were meting out a camp. 
 
 Mr. Wogan looked at Mr. Tyrell, Mr. Tyrell looked 
 at Mr. Wogan. 
 
 * The lady has stirred,' said Tyrell in dismay. 
 * And what is more she knows of the Blow.' 
 
 * Or Mr. Scrotton is not a very honest man,' said 
 Wogan, and whistled '* Lilliburlero." He was dis- 
 posed on the whole to agree with Tyrell. Somehow 
 Lady Oxford had got news of the inner plot; per- 
 haps through this mysterious Mr. Scrotton. 
 
 The Walnut Walk was all astir and agape with 
 evening loungers; it hummed with gossip. The two 
 gentlemen went to the Cake House, sat down, and 
 called for glasses of ratafia. Studying the face of 
 Mr. Tyrell, of which his own was no doubt the very 
 likeness, Mr. Wogan inferred that they needed this 
 refreshment. 
 
 They listened, with conscious grins of innocence, 
 to the talk at the tables, being a little comforted to 
 hear many questions, but no certain answers. The 
 soldiers, it seems, being asked, could or would give 
 no answer but that they had orders to make a camp. 
 Fair ladies, smiling on private men, could get no 
 other reply. It might be only for practice. It 
 might be that the French were expected. Mr. 
 Wogan heartily wished that they were, but nobody 
 was expected, so far as he knew, save these same 
 ragged regiments of his countrymen with the Duke. 
 
196 PARSON KELLY 
 
 And, lo ! a welcome was being got ready for them. 
 As for the regiment that had been tampered with in 
 the Tower, they were pitching tents in the Park. 
 The two gentlemen, who had been conversing on 
 faro and Newmarket, and laying each other fan- 
 tastic odds, arose and walked eastwards. 
 
 * I think the air of the waterside would be whole- 
 some,' remarked Mr. Tyrell. 
 
 * I have to see a friend,' said Mr. Wogan, and 
 they shook hands and parted. 
 
 'You will warn the Crow to be on the wing? ' said 
 Wogan over his shoulder, and the other nodded. 
 Mr. Wogan could not but smile to think of the Crow 
 winging an unsteady flight across the Channel. He 
 managed to steer across, after all, thanks to Tyrell. 
 Then Wogan read Lady Oxford's billet again, and he 
 walked to Bury Street. 
 
 He knocked, and the door was opened by Mrs. 
 Barnes. 
 
 ' Mr. Johnson at home? ' 
 
 * It would appear, Mr. Hilton, that I did not give 
 satisfaction,' said Mrs. Barnes, whose aspect was of 
 a severity. 
 
 * Give satisfaction? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Kelly has thought to better himself, and if 
 he prefers bed-fellows such as shall be nameless, and 
 the coals disappearing, and his letters pryed into, 
 and if he thinks that I ever mention my gentlemen's 
 affairs . . . ! ' 
 
 Here Mrs. Barnes threw her apron over her head, 
 but gulps of lamentation escaped aloud, though her 
 emotion was veiled like that of the Greek gentleman 
 in the picture. 
 
PARSON KELLY 197 
 
 Mr. Wogan was not unpractised in the art of con- 
 soling Mrs. Barnes. He led her within, she was 
 slowly induced to unshroud her pleasing features, 
 and, at last, revealed the strange circumstance that 
 Kelly had left her rooms two days before without giv- 
 ing in any sound justifying plea for this treason. Mr. 
 Wogan, who was well aware of Mrs. Barnes's curiosity 
 and the fluency of her tongue, was in no doubt as 
 to the cause which had led the Parson to leave 
 her, and thought the step in this posture of their 
 affairs altogether prudent. 
 
 * But he will return,' he reassured her. * What ! 
 — you know Mr. Johnson, he will never desert you.' 
 
 ' So he said. He would come back in a month, 
 and paid in advance to reserve the rooms, but it 
 would seem that I do not give satisfaction. And 
 here 's all his letters to all manner of names. Look 
 at them ! Look at them ! And how many of them 
 are signed Ugus? Oh, I know what that will end in, 
 and I'm just going to send the girl round with 
 them — ' 
 
 ' I '11 carry them myself, Mrs. Barnes,' said Wogan, 
 interrupting her. He picked up the letters from the 
 table, and glanced about the room, if by chance Mr. 
 Kelly had left anything inconvenient behind him. 
 But, except the letters, there was not so much as a 
 scrap of paper about to show that ever he had lodged 
 there. Wogan looked at the scrutoire on which the 
 strong-box he had given to his friend at Paris was 
 used to rest. It had held Lady Oxford's letters in 
 the old days, but of late it had lain unused, and the 
 dust had gathered thick upon the lid, so that in his 
 haste the Parson might well have forgotten it. But 
 
19S PARSON KELLY 
 
 he had carried it away, and with it his big Bible, 
 which had stood beside it in such an incongruous 
 juxtaposition. 
 
 'I'll carry them myself,' said Wogan, and putting 
 the letters in his pocket he went down the steps. 
 He marched some twenty yards down the street and 
 then came to a stop. He looked round. Mrs. 
 Barnes was watching him from the doorway with as 
 grim a smile as her cheery face could compass. 
 
 * But, my dear woman, where will I carry them 
 to? ' asks Wogan, coming back. 
 
 ' That's it,' cried she with a triumphant toss of her 
 head. ' One minute Mrs. Barnes is a tattling, 
 troublesome woman, and, if you please, we '11 not 
 take so much trouble as to say good-bye to her, and 
 the next il's Mrs. Barnes that must help us, and tell 
 us where we are to go. Mr. Johnson lodges at Mrs. 
 Kilburne's in Ryder Street.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Kilburne's ! Why, she 's your bosom friend, 
 Mrs. Barnes.* 
 
 Mr. Wogan was a trifle surprised that the Parson 
 should leave Mrs. Barnes because of her curiosity 
 and take a lodging with Mrs. Barnes's bosom friend, 
 who, to tell the truth, was no less of a gossip. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mrs. Barnes, firing up. ' D' ye think 
 I would let him go to those I know nothing of, who 
 would rob him and starve him of his last crust of bread. 
 No, for all that he scorns and despises me ! No, he 
 asked me where he should go and I told him to 
 Mrs. Kilburne.' 
 
 * Oh, he asked you,' said Wogan. ' Well, it is a 
 very Irish proceeding. I '11 go to Mrs. Kilburne's 
 and find him.* 
 
PARSON KELLY 199 
 
 ' You may go to Mrs. Kilburne,' said she as Wogan 
 turned away, * but as to finding him,' and she shrugged 
 her shoulders. 
 
 * Why, what do you mean? ' 
 
 * A man in that moppet's hvery, for moppet she is, 
 my Lady or not my Lady, brought a note yesterday 
 and he that had been hiding from her, Hke the 
 honest man he used to be before she came trapesing 
 after him.' 
 
 'A note? Was it anything Hke this?' asked 
 Wogan, pulHng from his pocket his own invitation 
 to Lady Oxford's rout. 
 
 * It was very Hke that,' said Mrs. Barnes. * I sent 
 the feHow on with the scented thing.' 
 
 A note from Lady Oxford to George, an heroic 
 epistle from Ariadne to Theseus ! An invitation 
 too ! Ariadne invites Theseus to her rout, and for 
 something more, conjectured Wogan, than the pleas- 
 ure of winning his money at cards. Wogan's anxiety 
 concerning Lady Oxford's attitude was much in- 
 creased. There was the ballad, the camp in Hyde 
 Park, there were the letters of invitation. Mr. Woean 
 thought it high time to see Theseus, and leaving 
 Mrs. Barnes with a becoming blush on her features 
 that laughed through their tears, he walked to Ryder 
 Street. 
 
 Mr. Wogan knocked at the door in the deepening 
 dusk. The landlady opened. She knew Wogan, 
 who, indeed, had occupied her chambers at one time. 
 She smiled all over her jolly face : 
 
 * Mr. Hilton ! Taller than ever, and welcome as 
 ever.' 
 
 •Thank you, Mrs. Kilburne, I shall soon rival the 
 
200 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Monument, but I can still get under your lintel by 
 stooping. Where is Mr. Johnson?' 
 
 * Mr. Johnson? Oh, sir, what a life that poor 
 gentleman lives. Out all night, home in the morning 
 with mud or dust on him to the shoulder, and so to 
 bed all day.' 
 
 ' Then Mr. Johnson must be wakened. I can do 
 it, were he one of the seven sleepers. George ! ' 
 cried Mr. Wogan, lifting up his voice. 
 
 * Oh, sir, be quiet ! A very dainty gentleman has 
 my first floor, and he will be complaining of the 
 noise. You always were that noisy, Mr. Hilton ! ' 
 She walked doAvn the passage as she spoke and threw 
 open a door upon the right. * Mr. Johnson, he has 
 my ground floor, but you can't waken him, loud as 
 you are, nor any man, so be quiet, Mr. Hilton.' 
 
 'Havel to weep for my poor friend's decease?' 
 asked Wogan, as he entered the room. 
 
 ' No, sir, or I would not be laughing at your non- 
 sense.' 
 
 There was no doubt this was the Parson's lodging. 
 For as Wogan stood just within the door, he saw by 
 the window Mr. Kelly's scrutoire. It was the first 
 thing indeed on which his eyes fell. He stepped 
 across the room and threw open the lid. He saw 
 a dispatch-box, and from the lock he knew it to be 
 that in which Kelly kept safe the papers of the 
 Bishop's plot 
 
 * So there 's another lodger in the house,' said Nick 
 thoughtfully. He took up the box and tried the lid. 
 It was locked. But Mr. Wogan would have preferred 
 that the Parson should have kept the papers in the 
 box which he had given him at Paris, of which the 
 
PARSON KELLY 201 
 
 lock was stouter. That box he saw further back in 
 the scrutoire, half hidden in news-sheets. But that 
 too he found to be locked, and shaking it in his 
 hand, was aware that, like the other, it held papers. 
 The lid of the box was covered with dust, as though 
 it had not been touched for months. Lady Oxford's 
 letters had been locked up there. No doubt they 
 were there still. Mr. Wogan wondered for a little at 
 the strange sentiment which makes a man keep such 
 dead tokens of a dead passion. He put the box 
 back amongst the news-sheets, and turning to Mrs. 
 Kilburne, 
 
 * But where is the man? ' he cried. ' George ! ' and 
 he rapped on the table with his cane. 
 
 'You can't waken Mr. Johnson,' said Mrs. Kilburne 
 * because he awoke an hour ago, and dressed in a 
 hurry, but braver than common, with his silver-hilted 
 sword, Alengon ruffles, black coat and satin lining, 
 silver shoulder-knots, and best buckles, and out he 
 goes. He was summoned by a man in the livery of 
 my Lord, the good Bishop of Rochester.* 
 
 * Will you tell him, when he returns, that Mr. 
 Hilton waited on him, and greatly desires to see him 
 in his best before he goes to bed? ' Wogan pulled 
 the letters from his pocket and laid them on the table 
 which stood in the centre of the room. 
 
 ' I will, sir, but, if you call again, pray, sir, be very 
 quiet. My first floor gentleman is such a dainty 
 gentleman.' 
 
 * A mouse shall be noisy in comparison. I have a 
 great tenderness, Mrs. Kilburne, for the nerves of 
 fine gentlemen.' 
 
 Mrs. Kilburne grinned in a sceptical sort. 
 
202 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * But,' Wogan added suddenly, ' it is very like I 
 shall fall in with Mr. Johnson before then.' He took 
 some half-a-dozen of the letters again into his hand 
 and looked them over. They were inscribed to such 
 cant names as Illington, Hatfield, Johnson, Andrews, 
 and were evidently dangerous merchandise. Mr. 
 Wogan thought they would be safer in his pocket 
 than on Mr. Kelly's table. He picked up the rest, 
 but as he put them back into his pocket, one fell on 
 to the floor. Wogan caught sight of the handwriting 
 as it fell. Then it stared up at him from the floor. 
 The letter was written in a woman's hand, which Mr. 
 Wogan was well enough acquainted with, although it 
 was neither Lady Oxford's nor the hand of Rose. It 
 was in the handwriting of Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
 tagu. Wogan stooped down and picked it up. For a 
 letter, it was extraordinary light. Wogan weighed it 
 in his hand for a second, wondering what it might be. 
 However, there was no answer to be got that way, 
 and Mr. Wogan had weightier matter to engage his 
 thoughts. He put it into his pocket and marched to 
 his own lodgings, which were hard by in the same 
 street. 
 
 Several problems, a swarm of skirmishing doubts, 
 trooped through his mind. 
 
 * What did my Lady Oxford mean by writing to 
 Kelly?' 
 
 To this Wogan answered that she meant the same 
 thing by Kelly as by himself, and for some reason 
 had bidden him to her rout. As to her motive for 
 that act of unexpected hospitality, Wogan had his 
 own thoughts, which he afterwards confided to his 
 friend. ' But who,' he pondered, * can answer for a 
 
PARSON KELLY 203 
 
 woman's motives when the devil of perversity sits at 
 her elbow?* 
 
 Next, why had Kelly made himself such a beau ? 
 It could not be merely to do honour to a mourning 
 prelate who would never glance at his secretary's 
 satin and point d'Alengon. 
 
 Mr. Wogan inferred that his first guess was right, 
 that Lady Oxford had bidden Kelly to her rout, and 
 that, by the token of his raiment, Mr. Kelly meant to 
 accept the invitation. 
 
 Kelly knew nothing of the camp, and the discovery 
 which it seemed to speak of, when he left the lodg- 
 ings where he had slept all day. Of the ballad, too, 
 it was like that Kelly knew nothing, and, in Wogan's 
 opinion, the ballad was the cause of the military stir. 
 Lady Oxford, inflamed with anger, blaming Lady 
 Mary for the ballad, and blaming Kelly for blab- 
 bing her fault to her enemy, Lady Mary; had 
 doubtless visited Mr. Walpole. The innocent Kelly, 
 innocent of all these things, would be going to 
 Lady Oxford's to fathom the causes of her renewed 
 friendship. 
 
 Mr. Wogan puzzled his brains over these matters 
 while he supped in solitude at his lodgings. His 
 friends have hinted that his mental furnishing is not 
 in a concatenation with his bodily stature. He has 
 answered that, if it were so, he would be Shake- 
 speare and the Duke of Marlborough rolled into one. 
 Though refreshed with Burgundy, his head felt weary 
 enough when he turned to the question, * What was 
 he, Wogan, to do next? ' In his opinion, the boldest 
 plan is ever the best; moreover, he had a notion that 
 there was no safer place in London for him, that night. 
 
204 PARSON KELLY 
 
 and perhaps for Mr. Kelly, than Queen's Square in 
 Westminster which Lady Oxford had taken for a 
 permanence. For if Lady Oxford had blabbed, the 
 last place in London where the Messengers would be 
 like to look for the Parson was her ladyship's with- 
 drawing-room. Unless of course she was laying a 
 trap, which did not seem likely. In the face of this 
 new ballad, Lady Oxford would not dare to have the 
 Parson arrested within, or even near her house. It 
 would provoke too great a scandal. He decided, 
 therefore, first to go to the Dean's house, at West- 
 minster, where the Bishop of Rochester stayed, see 
 Mr. Kelly, if he could, and unfold his parcel of black 
 news. Next, he would take Kelly to Lady Oxford's, 
 if Kelly would come, for Wogan not only deemed 
 this step the safest of his dangers, but expected to 
 enjoy a certain novelty of the emotions, in which he 
 was not disappointed. He therefore, imitating the 
 clerical example, began to decorate himself in his 
 most seductive shoulder knots to do honour to Lady 
 Oxford. 
 
 It may be that Wogan's mind, already crowded by 
 a number of occurrences and dubitations, had ex- 
 hausted its logical powers, for there was one idea 
 which should have occurred to him earliest, and 
 which only visited him while he was shaving. Who 
 was the first person he was likely to encounter at 
 Lady Oxford's? Why, the very last person whom 
 at this juncture it was convenient for him to meet — 
 namely, Colonel Montague. Wogan heartily wished 
 he had left the Colonel between two fires at Preston 
 barricade. But now there was no help for it, go he 
 must. The Colonel, like other people, might not re- 
 
PARSON KELLY 205 
 
 member the boy in the man and under a new name, 
 or, if he did — and then a fresh idea occurred to 
 Wogan which made him smile. 
 
 * I was born/ he said, ' to be a Hghtning con- 
 ductor ! ' 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AT THE DEANERY OF WESTMINSTER 
 
 WOGAN finished the work of adorning his per- 
 son, and stepped into the street. The night 
 was serene, with a full moon, the air still, the pave- 
 ments were clean as the deck of his ketch. He 
 thought that he would walk from his rooms to the 
 Dean's by way of St. James's Park, and consequently 
 he passed through Ryder St. and in front of Mr. 
 Kelly's new lodgings. Just as he came to Mr. 
 Kelly's lodgings, the door opened. A gentleman 
 came forth; the moonlight was full on his face. Mr. 
 Wogan muffled his face in his cloak, and stepped 
 stealthily back. 
 
 The gentleman was Colonel Montague. He bade 
 the chairmen carry him to Queen's Square ; Mr. 
 Wogan heard the word of command with an inex- 
 pressible confusion of dismay. He had hardened his 
 heart to encounter the enemy whose life, in a youthful 
 indiscretion, he had saved at the risk of his own, but 
 what was the Colonel doing in Kelly's lodgings? 
 
 By this time the warrior and his chair had turned 
 the corner, and Mr. Wogan abandoned himself to 
 meditation. Up and down Ryder Street he paced, 
 puzzling over the Colonel's visit to Kelly, whom, at 
 all events, he could not have found at home. Was he 
 
PARSON KELLY 207 
 
 carrying a cartel to his predecessor in Lady Oxford's 
 heart? In that case it was all the more necessary to 
 meet him and play the part of Dr. Franklin's kite, 
 which had not at that time been flown, but is now 
 making talk enough for the learned. On this point 
 Mr. Wogan's mind was constant. Should he question 
 Mrs. Kilburne, he asked himself ? Mr. VVogan 
 crossed the road. But the Colonel was little likely 
 to have told her a word of his business. Mr. Wogan 
 stopped. 
 
 There was another point: for whatever reason the 
 Colonel had called at George's lodgings, George must 
 be told of the visit. Here was something which 
 pressed, without question. Mr. Wogan marched 
 towards the Dean's house in Westminster, where the 
 Bishop of Rochester lay. He knew the road very 
 well, being himself an old Westminster boy. It was 
 but seven years since he had run away to join his 
 brother Charles and raise the North for King James. 
 He could not tell, at this moment, whether he had 
 deserted his studies for King James's sake, or to 
 escape his dull task of writing out my Lord Claren- 
 don's weary history in a fair hand. 
 
 As he entered the precincts, Wogan felt much like 
 a truant boy, and it was as if Time had stood still 
 while lie ran. Nothing was changed, except that the 
 new dormitory, which Bishop Atterbury had just 
 built, shone white among the black old stones. 
 There were lights in the windows that suddenly went 
 out: the lads were abed. Wogan looked up at the 
 blank windows, and thought of seven years agone, 
 and of his life since then, an unprofitable contem- 
 plation, which his mind gladly deserted. He marched 
 
2o8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 up under the arch, through the darkhng cloister, and 
 tapped, gently but firmly, at the Dean's door. He 
 must see Mr. Kelly. As it chanced, and by the 
 merest accident in the world, Wogan timed his taps 
 thus: I — 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 — 7- 
 
 There were stealthy steps within, with a movement 
 of yellow light, and then a voice that Mr. Wogan 
 knew very well came through a judas. 
 
 * Is it my father's knock? ' 
 
 * Is it your granny's knock, Sam? ' asked Wogan 
 through the judas. The voice was that of Sam 
 Wesley, a young usher in Wogan's time, one whom 
 he had always liked and tormented. 
 
 The steps moved away, and the light. 
 
 ' Sam ! ' whispered Mr. Wogan, very loud for a 
 whisper, through the judas. 'Sam, you remember 
 me. Nick Wogan.' 
 
 The steps were silent. 
 
 * Sam, remember Lord Clarendon ! Remember 
 Nick, who kicked the bully for beating your little 
 brother Jack.' 
 
 The steps shuffled back to the door. 
 
 * You have not the password,* said the voice 
 through the judas. 
 
 * Damn the password,' whispered Wogan. ' I 
 want George Kelly. I must see him in the name of 
 the Blackbird. Hawks are abroad.' 
 
 * It is clean against all rules,' came the voice from 
 within. 
 
 * Open, in the name of the cobbler's wax I once 
 put on your chair, or I '11 break the windows. You 
 know me, Sam ! ' 
 
 Mr. Wesley knew Mr. Wogan, He undid the lock, 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 209 
 
 Mr. Wogan smuggled himself within, and nearly 
 choked Mr. Wesley in his embrace. 
 
 * It is a giant ! ' said Mr. Wesley, putting up his 
 candle to Wogan's face. The wind blew on the light 
 that flickered in the absolute darkness, all the house 
 being hung with black for Mrs. Atterbury's death. 
 
 ' A son of Anak, Sam, who would have battered 
 down your old door in a minute.' 
 
 ' I verily believe you would, Nick,' said Sam, lead- 
 ing the way up the black stairs to a den of his own, 
 where he was within call of the Bishop. On tiptoe 
 he marched, placing his finger on his lips. 
 
 When they were got among Sam's books and 
 papers of the boys' exercises, the usher said, * It is 
 a very extraordinary thing, purely a Providence.' 
 
 ' I deserve one ; the purity of my life deserves 
 one,' said Mr. Wogan. * But wherein do you see 
 the marvel? ' 
 
 ' You did not know it, but you gave my father's 
 knock,' said Sam in a voice of awe. ' It is Old 
 Jeffrey's doing — directed, of course — directed.' 
 
 'Old Jeffrey? Is it a cant name for an honest 
 man?' 
 
 * For a very honest spirit,' said the usher, and ex- 
 plained to Mr. Wogan that the particular knock and 
 the passwords to follow (which Mr. Wogan did not 
 know) were his own invention. His father's house 
 at Epworth, in the year 1716, had been troubled, it 
 seems, by an honest goblin that always thumped 
 and routed with a particular malevolence when the 
 Elector was prayed for as * the King.' Old Mr. 
 Wesley's pet knock, though, the sprite could not 
 deliver. Mr. Wesley had a conceit that the goblin 
 
 14 
 
210 PARSON KELLY 
 
 might be the ghost of some good fellow who died at 
 Preston. 
 
 * He keeps his politics in the next world,' said Mr. 
 Wogan. 
 
 ' Wit might say much on that head, wisdom little,' 
 whispered the usher, wagging his kind head. * You 
 have special business with Mr. Johnson?' he asked. 
 * He is with my Lord, hard by. The Bishop's voice 
 was raised when Mr. Johnson entered. I caught 
 angry words, but now for long they have been 
 quiet.' 
 
 ' Mr. Johnson has a way with him,' said Wogan, 
 who had learned from Goring that the reverend 
 Father in God was of a hasty temper. ' How doth 
 his Lordship? ' 
 
 'Very badly. I never saw him in a less apostolic 
 humour. I know not what ill news he has had from 
 France, or elsewhere, but he has been much troubled 
 about Mr. Johnson's dog, Harlequin. The poodle 
 has been conveyed out of town as craftily as if he 
 were the Chevalier, I know not why, and is now 
 skulking in the country, I know not where.* 
 
 It was, indeed, Mr. Wesley's part to know nothing. 
 He was the Bishop's man, and as honest as the day, 
 but had no more enterprise than another usher. 
 
 Wogan, he has said, knew Harlequin, second of 
 that name, and had seen him coddled by Mrs. 
 Barnes. He was cudgelling his brains for Harle- 
 quin's part in the Great Affair, when a silver whistle 
 sounded, thin and clear. 
 
 Mr. Wesley beckoned to Wogan to be still, crept 
 out of the room, and returned on tiptoe with Kelly. 
 The Parson's elegant dress was a trifle disarranged ; 
 
PARSON KELLY 211 
 
 his face and hands were somewhat stained and black- 
 ened as with smoke, but the careful man had tucked 
 up his Alencon ruffles beneath his sleeves. On see- 
 ing Wogan George opened his eyes and his mouth, 
 but spoke never a word. He carried a soft bundle 
 wrapped in a tablecloth, and when the door was shut 
 he handed this to Mr. Wesley. 
 
 *You have the key of the Dean's garden?' he 
 whispered. 
 
 * Yes ; but wherefore ? ' answered Sam. 
 
 * His Lordship bids me ask you to have the kind- 
 ness to bury the contents of this — ' 
 
 *I know not what is in the bundle,' said Mr. 
 Wesley, with an air of alarm. 
 
 * And you need not be told,' said George. * But 
 can you let me and my friend Mr. Hilton — ' 
 
 * Mr. Hilton?' gasped Sam, as Kelly put his hand 
 out to Wogan. 
 
 *I must present you to Mr. Hilton,' George said, 
 and Wogan bowed and grinned. 
 
 * I was about to entreat you, Mr. Wesley, while 
 you are playing the sexton, to permit me and Mr. 
 Hilton the convenience of a few moments of privacy 
 in your chamber.' 
 
 * With all my heart,' said the puzzled Sam, hospi- 
 tably opening a cupboard in his bookcase, whence 
 he lugged out glasses and a bottle of Florence. 
 Then he put list shoes over his own, and stole forth 
 on his errand like a clerical cat. 
 
 All this while Wogan had said not one word to 
 Kelly, nor Kelly to Wogan. 
 
 Mr. Wogan had sat down to sample the bottle, and 
 Kelly stared at him. 
 
212 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' How did you make your way in here?' he asked 
 at length. 
 
 ' Old Jeffrey,' said Wogan airily. * I drink Old 
 Jeffrey's health, wherever he is.' 
 
 * I believe you are the devil himself. That password 
 is known to no mortal but Mr. Wesley and me. The 
 Bishop does not know it. His servants never see 
 me come or go — only Sam. Whence got you the 
 word? ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan very gently tapped i — 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 — 7 
 on the table. 
 
 ' I know many things,' he said. ' But, George, 
 what do jyoic know ? ' 
 
 * I know you should be aboard, Nick, and down to 
 the waterside you step from this house.' 
 
 * I am already promised,' said Mr. Wogan with an 
 air of fashion. ' I sup with Lady Oxford.' 
 
 * You are mad.' 
 
 * Nay, yoii are mad. I know many things. When 
 you were carried hither in your chair, you knew 
 nothing. George, what did the Bishop tell you? 
 Why was he wroth with you? In brief, George, what 
 do you know? ' 
 
 ' The Bishop angry with me ! Nick, you know too 
 much. You are the devil.' 
 
 * I want to know a great deal more. Come, un- 
 pack, and then it is my turn. But first step into Mr. 
 Wesley's bedchamber and wash these hands, which 
 go very ill with silver shoulder-knots ; and pour the 
 blackened water out of window. Any man or 
 messenger could see that you have been burning a 
 mort of papers.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly hastily adopted Mr. Wogan's precautions. 
 
PARSON KELLY 213 
 
 When he entered the room again the conspirator had 
 vanished, the clerical beau remained. 
 
 'Now,' said Wogan, 'you are fit to carry out your 
 worldly design of pleasure, and I shall not be ashamed 
 to sup in your company at Lady Oxford's.' 
 
 'I have changed my mind; I shall not go. But, 
 Nick, how did you know my mind? 'Twas the last 
 of minds you expected to take me in.' 
 
 * I am the devil. Have you not guessed it your- 
 self? ' replied Mr. Wogan, who was enjoying himself 
 hugely. Perhaps it was the Florence, coming a-top 
 of the Burgundy. He was quite easy about the dis- 
 covery. ' But unpack,' he said. * What befell you 
 with the Bishop? ' 
 
 ' He received me oddly. The room was as dark as 
 a wolf's mouth, being hung with black bombazine. 
 There was a low fire in a brazier, that shone red on 
 his Lordship's polished poll, for he wore no perruque. 
 His eyes blazed, his teeth grinned white. I was put 
 in mind of a fierce old black panther in the French 
 King's gardens.' 
 
 ' Remote from the apostolic,' said Mr. Wogan. 
 
 * So were his first words,' said Kelly: 
 
 '"You Irish dog, come here ! " quoth the Bishop. 
 
 * I offered a conjecture that, in the mournful light, 
 his Lordship did not precisely see whom he was ad- 
 dressing. On that the little old man sprang out at 
 me, seized me by the collar, and then fell back on his 
 couch with a groan that was a curse. I put a cordial 
 that stood by him to his lips, and was about to call 
 Mr. Wesley, when he forbade me with his eyebrows, 
 and cried : 
 
 *" Answer me this question before we part for ever. 
 
214 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Did you despatch my letters of April 20 to the King 
 and the others? " 
 
 * " My Lord," I said, " my duty to you ended with 
 that episcopal laying on of hands, and with that 
 expression which you were pleased to use when I 
 entered." 
 
 * He groaned, and said : 
 
 "*I apologise. I am mad with pain" (which was 
 plainly true), ** and grief, and treachery. I beg your 
 pardon, Mr. Kelly, as a Christian and a sick old 
 man." 
 
 ' '' My Lord, you honour me. I enclosed the 
 letters, as you directed, in a packet addressed to Mr. 
 Gordon, the banker in Boulogne, and I sent them by 
 the common post, your Lordship not having forbidden 
 the ordinary course." 
 
 '"Then, damn it, sir, you have ruined us!" said 
 the sick old Christian. " Did I not bid you write to 
 Dillon that nothing of importance should go by the 
 post?" 
 
 * " But your Lordship did not seem to reckon these 
 letters of importance, for you did not discharge me 
 from sending them in the common course." 
 
 ' The Bishop groaned again more than once, and 
 there was a whole Commination Service in the 
 sounds. You know Harlequin, Wogan? ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan nodded and wondered. 
 
 * 'Tis Harlequin has ruined us,' said Kelly ; ' Harle- 
 quin and the Duke of Mar.' 
 
 ' I am devilish glad to hear it,' said Mr. Wogan. 
 
 * Glad to hear it ! ' exclaimed Kelly, rising from his 
 chair. ' You are told of the discovery of the Great 
 Affair, and the probable ruin of the Cause, and the 
 
PARSON KELLY 215 
 
 danger of your friends and yourself, and you are glad 
 to hear It ! ' 
 
 ' Faith, I am,' replied Wogan easily, ' for I knew of 
 the discovery before you told me, but I put it down 
 to a lady of your acquaintance.' 
 
 The Parson very slowly sat himself down again on 
 his chair. 
 
 ' In Heaven's name, why?' he asked, with a certain 
 suspense. 
 
 * Tell your tale first, then I '11 tell mine. This is 
 very excellent Florence.' 
 
 ' The tale is too long, but the short of it is this : 
 The Bishop had by him a letter of Mar's, dated May 
 II, in which Mar, addressing the Bishop as lUington, 
 denounced him as plainly to anyone who read the 
 piece as if he had used the Bishop's own style and 
 title. He condoled on Mrs. Illington's recent death, 
 he referred to Mr. Illington's high place in the 
 Church, and to his gout. The three circumstances 
 combined left no doubt as to who Illington is. There 
 was no need such a letter of pure compliment should 
 be written at all, except for the purpose of being 
 opened in the post, and fixing the Bishop as Illington. 
 Then,' Kelly went on, ' I remembered a letter of Mar 
 to myself, of last week, in which he spoke of the dog 
 Harlequin as Mrs. Illington's. If these letters were 
 opened in the post, — and the Bishop knows for certain 
 that they were opened, — a blind man could see that 
 Rochester and Illington are the same man, and own 
 the same dog. The beast saved my life, but he has 
 lost the Cause,' said Kelly with a sigh. * Mar has sold 
 us. It is known he holds a pension from the Elector. 
 The Bishop knows it in a roundabout way, through 
 
2i6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, and so the Bishop 
 and I have burned his papers in the brazier. Sam is 
 interring their ashes in the garden.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan poured out another glass of Florence. 
 
 ' Was there anything very pressing in these same 
 letters of April 20, George? Was there anything to 
 put fear on the Elector's Ministers? Did they say, 
 for instance, that the Blow was to be dealt, you and 
 I know when? ' 
 
 ' Not a word of that,' replied Kelly, and his face 
 lightened. On the other hand, Wogan's fell, which 
 Kelly no doubt remarked, for he continued eagerly, 
 * D' ye see, there is a chance still, for the Cause, for 
 us, if the Blow be struck quickly. We must strike 
 quickly. So may we retrieve Mar's treachery. The 
 Bishop in his letter made excuses to the King for 
 the delay of any blow. He is not in favour of 
 anything immediate, and in the letters he made his 
 disposition plain. The letters only compromised his 
 Lordship in general, they did not reveal — the Blow.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan, however, only shook his head. 
 
 * 'Faith, now, I 'm sorry to hear that,* said he. 
 
 * You are glad and sorry on very strange occasions,' 
 said Kelly, sourly. ' First you are pleased that Mar 
 sold us, and then you are displeased that he did not 
 sell the last secret.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan leaned his elbows on the table, and 
 bent across towards his friend. 
 
 * I am sorry because the last secret has been sold, 
 and it was not Mar that sold it. Therefore some- 
 body else sold it; therefore I am at the pain of being 
 obliged to suspect a lady who probably knows her 
 late lover's cypher.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 217 
 
 Mr. Kelly blanched. 
 
 ' And how do you know that the last secret is 
 sold?' 
 
 * As any man would know who had not lain abed 
 all the day. George, the Park is full of soldiers. 
 The Tower regiment that we thought Layer had 
 bought is there with the rest under canvas. Min- 
 isters would not make an encampment in the Park 
 because they knew that the Bishop had advised the 
 King that nothing was to be done. Therefore Mar is 
 not the only traitor.' 
 
 * And why should my Lady Oxford be the 
 Judas?' 
 
 ' Mainly to punish a certain nonjuring clergyman, 
 for whose sake she is the burden of a ballad, and 
 sung of in coffee-houses.* 
 
 ' A ballad ? Of what sort ? ' 
 
 * Of the sort that makes a good whipping-post for 
 
 a fine lady. Ridicule is the whip, and, by the Lord, 
 
 it is laid on unsparingly. Perhaps you would like to 
 
 hear it,' and Mr. VVogan recited, in a whisper, so 
 
 much of the poem as he judged proper. It closed 
 
 thus : — 
 
 ' Oh, happy ending to my rhymes, 
 Consoled for all his woes, 
 The Parson flies to foreign climes, 
 And dwells — beneath the Rose ! ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly swore an oath and took a turn across 
 the room. He came to a stop in front of Sam's 
 bookcase. * Rose,' said he, in a voice of tenderness, 
 * sure they might have left the little girl out of it.' 
 
 * The barb was venomed, you see,' said Mr. Wogan. 
 ■ It was not enough to make a scoff of the lady. She 
 
2i8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 must be stripped of that last consolation, the belief 
 that the discarded Parson wastes in despair. Now 
 she knows that the Parson is consoled. There was 
 spark to powder. The Parson may be putting on 
 flesh. There 's an insult to her beauty. Faith, but 
 she must feel it in her marrow, since she risks her 
 Lord's neck for the pleasure of requiting it.' 
 
 * No,' said Kelly, * she could do what she would, 
 for her Lord's neck is not in this noose. Oxford had 
 withdrawn before.' 
 
 This was news to Mr. Wogan, who had been con- 
 cerned only with the actual plan of attack, and 
 sufficiently concerned to have no mind for other 
 matters. 
 
 * Oxford withdrawn,' he cried rising and coming 
 across to the Parson. * Damn him, 't was pure folly 
 to trust him. Do you remember what Law said that 
 nicht in Paris? He would trust him no further than 
 he would trust a Norfolk attorney.' 
 
 Kelly was silent for a moment, thoughtfully draw- 
 ing a finger to and fro across the backs of Sam's 
 books. 
 
 * I have good reason to remember that night,' he 
 said very sadly. 'Have you forgotten what I said? 
 " May nothing come between the Cause and me ! " 
 Why, it seems the Cause goes down because of me, 
 and with the Cause my friends, and with my friends, 
 Rose.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan had no word to say. Whatever 
 excuses rose to his tongue seemed too trivial for 
 utterance. 
 
 Kelly's finger stopped on one particular book, 
 travelled away and came back to it. Wogan saw 
 
PARSON KELLY 219 
 
 that the book was a Bible. The Parson took it from 
 the shelf and turning over the leaves read a line here 
 and there. Wogan knew very well what was passing 
 through his mind. His thoughts had gone back to 
 the little country parsonage and the quiet life with no 
 weightier matter to disturb it than the trifling squab- 
 bles of his parish. 
 
 * You warned me, Nick,' he said, * you warned me. 
 But I was a fool and would not heed. Read that! ' 
 and with a bitter sort of laugh he handed the open 
 Bible to Mr. Wogan, pointing to a verse. * There 's 
 a text for the preacher.' 
 
 The Bible was open at the Book of Proverbs, and 
 Mr. Wogan read. * The lips of a strange woman 
 drop as a honey-comb and her mouth is smoother 
 than oil. But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp 
 as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death. 
 Her steps take hold on hell.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan read the text aloud. 
 
 * The strange woman, Nick,' said Kelly, * the 
 strange woman,' and then in a fierce outburst, * If I 
 live the man who wrote that ballad shall rue it.* 
 
 ' They give it to Lady Mary.' 
 
 * She never wrote it. Nick, who wrote the ballad ? 
 How did you get hold of it? ' 
 
 * I found the Crow, quite tipsy, singing it to Tyrell, 
 at Burton's, in the little room upstairs.' 
 
 ' And where did the Crow get the ballad? ' 
 
 * That is another uncomfortable circumstance. You 
 know Talbot ? ' 
 
 'An honest man, and a good officer, at Preston or 
 in Spain, but a sponge for drink. A pity he was 
 ever let into the plot ! ' 
 
2 20 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Well, he got the ballad from someone with whom 
 he had been drinking at the Little Fox under the 
 Hill, not a fashionable resort.' 
 
 'Did he name his friend?' 
 
 * He was drunk enough to begin by calling him 
 Mr. Pope.' 
 
 ' Mr. Pope, the poet?' 
 
 * He took that back; and said the poetry put Mr. 
 Pope into his head. The man's real name, he re- 
 membered, was Scrotton. I can't guess who he was, 
 friend or spy, but we may take it that he knows 
 what the Crow knows.' 
 
 ' Thank God for that ! ' cried Kelly. 
 
 *You rejoice on very singular occasions, and are 
 grateful for very small mercies,' said Mr. Wogan, who 
 found it his turn to be surprised. * What are you so 
 thankful for? ' 
 
 * Thankful that a woman need not have done this 
 thing, and that my folly may not be the cause of this 
 disaster. Another knew everything — Pope — Scrot- 
 ton — the ballad ! Who wrote the ballad? Who of 
 our enemies knew a word about Rose? Are you 
 blind? Who was at Avignon, spying on me, when I 
 first met Rose? Who hates Lady Oxford no less 
 than he hates me? Whose name was the unhappy 
 tippler trying to remember? Scrotton? Pope?' 
 
 * Scrope ! ' cried Wogan, cursing his own stupidity. 
 * Scrope it must have been, and the Crow swore 
 that the man told him about the plot, and often talked 
 it over.' 
 
 * That means, of course, that Scrope made him 
 talk. The old curse of the Cause, that lost us Edin- 
 burgh Castle in the Fifteen, when the Scots stopped 
 
PARSON KELLY 221 
 
 at the tavern to powder their hair. Our curse, 
 Nicholas. Wine ! ' 
 
 'And Woman,' Mr. Wogan thought, but George 
 ran on, 
 
 ' Scrope it was who wrote the ballad, for no enemy 
 but Scrope knew what the writer knew. Lady Mary 
 is a friend. Lady Oxford is innocent, thank God — • 
 I say it with a hum.ble heart — and I am not the cause 
 of the ruin.' 
 
 George's eyes shone like those of a man reprieved. 
 Wogan shook his friend's hand ; his own eyes were 
 opened. 
 
 * 'T is you are the devil,' he said. ' Scrope has hit 
 everyone he hates, and blown up the plot.' 
 
 ' His time will come,' said Kelly ; * but I hear Sam 
 on the stair.' 
 
 Mr. Wesley, tapping lightly, entered his room. 
 
 * Gentlemen,' he said, ' the outer door is open.' 
 Mr. Wesley's anxiety was plainly to be read in 
 
 his face. 
 
 The two gentlemen bade him farewell, with many 
 thanks for his hospitality. He accompanied them 
 to the door, and they heard the bolt shot behind 
 them as they stood in the cloister. 
 
 * Whither should they go?' both men reflected, 
 silent. 
 
 Mr. Wogan has remarked on a certain gaiety and 
 easiness of mind caused on this occasion, he considers, 
 by Mr. Wesley's Florence coming after his own 
 Burgundy at supper. He was also elated by George's 
 elation, for to find innocence in one whom he had 
 suspected elevated Mr. Kelly's disposition. They 
 were betrayed, true, but the bitterness of a betrayal 
 
222 PARSON KELLY 
 
 by the woman he had loved left him the lighter when 
 the apprehension of it had passed. 
 
 One little point rankled in Mr. Wogan's mind in 
 spite of all. Why had Lady Oxford bidden both 
 of them to her rout? 
 
 He came at an answer by a roundabout road. 
 
 * I must hurry home and burn my papers,' said 
 Kelly, as soon as they were out in the cloister, with 
 the door of the Dean's house shut behind them. 
 
 Mr. Wogan, who had other notions, gripped his 
 arm. 
 
 * By the way, did you burn my lady's invitation 
 to her rout to-night.'' What did she say, George? 
 Why did she invite you? And did you burn the 
 note?' 
 
 Mr. Kelly smote his hand on his brow. * My wits 
 were wool-gathering.' 
 
 * On Cupid's hedges,' said Wogan. 
 'But I locked the note up.* 
 
 * With the rest of the lady's letters in my dispatch 
 box?' 
 
 ''Faith, Nick, you are the devil. How did you 
 know that?' 
 
 *Oh, I have divined your amorous use of my box.' 
 
 * But you are wrong. I had the box with the 
 dangerous papers of the plot open on the table when 
 I was reading the letter. Mrs. Kilburne knocked 
 at the door. I did not know who it might be. I 
 slipped the letter in on the top of the papers of the 
 Plot, and locked the box before I opened the door.* 
 
 'There it remains then? Well, her Ladyship's 
 qpte is in the better company. But what did she 
 say? Did she give a reason for your meeting? ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 223 
 
 *The chief thing, after the usual compliments, was 
 that she had most important news, that might not be 
 written, to give me about Mr. Farmer's affairs. Prob- 
 ably she may have had an inkling of the discovery 
 and wished to warn me.' 
 
 *We must see her,' said Wogan, whose curiosity 
 was on edge from the first about this party of 
 pleasure. 
 
 * But my papers — I must burn my papers.' 
 
 * George, you are set, or you are not set. If you 
 had been set the messengers would have been at 
 your lodgings before I went thither; in fact, before 
 you were out of bed. Therefore, either you have 
 the whole night safe or, going home now, you go 
 into a mousetrap, as the French say, and your 
 papers are the cheese to lure you there. Now, they 
 cannot know of my lady's invitations, and if they by 
 any accident did know, a Minister would hardly take 
 a man at a lady's house. That were an ill use for 
 the hostess.' 
 
 ' That 's true,' said Mr. Kelly, after reflecting. 
 ' Nicholas, I knew not that you had so much of the 
 syllogism in your composition.' 
 
 ' Another thing, and an odd thing enough,' added 
 Wogan. * Perhaps nothing is laid against you at all. 
 Did Scrope lay information when he found us at 
 Brampton Bryan?' 
 
 * No ! ' cried Kelly. ' And at Avignon, when a 
 proper spy would have stopped the Duke's gold, he 
 was content with the sword in his own hand.* 
 
 * Precisely,' said Wogan ; * Scrope has blown the 
 plot, that's business; but he deals with you himself, 
 that's pleasure. He tried to meet you at Brampton 
 
224 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Bryan — he did not have us laid by the heels. He 
 nearly did for you at Avignon, while he let the 
 Duke's business alone, quite content. Now you are 
 alive and he wants a meeting, 'tis clear he did not 
 inform on you^ otherwise the messengers would have 
 been with you when the soldiers began the camp in 
 the morning. 'Faith, you may meet Mr. Scrope to- 
 night in St. James's Park. He is a kind of gentle- 
 man, Mr. Scrope ! But we must see her ladyship 
 first ; sure, nothing 's safer.' 
 
 * Nicholas, thou reasonest well,' said the Parson. 
 
 Mr. Wogan towed oft" his prize, and the pair moved 
 out of the dark, musty cloister into the moonlight. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MR. WOGAN ACTS AS LIGHTNING-CONDUCTOR 
 AT LADY oxford's ROUT 
 
 MR. WOGAN steered his captive through Petty 
 France. It was about ten of the clock, a 
 night of moonhght and young spring, a night for 
 poets to praise and lovers to enjoy. Mr. Wogan was 
 not, at the moment, a lover, and poetry was out of 
 his mind. 
 
 * One trifle I forgot to mention,' he said. * I saw 
 Montague come out of your new lodgings this even- 
 ing. He bade his chairmen go to Queen's Square.' 
 
 * Montague? How could he know where to look 
 for me? What can he want with me?' 
 
 * I misdoubt he was not very well pleased with the 
 ballad, and would have you explain it.' 
 
 * Montague,' sneered Mr. Kelly, with a touch of 
 temper ; ' I am grieved I missed him.' 
 
 'You need not grieve, for you will see him to-night. 
 So there 's balm for your grief, and another reason 
 why you should sup with Lady Oxford.' 
 
 The Parson stepped out more briskly after that, 
 and Wogan could not refrain from remarking upon 
 his new alacrity. 
 
 * It is after all a very human sort of a world, as 
 worlds go,' said he. ' Here's a man with all his hopes 
 
 15 
 
226 PARSON KELLY 
 
 crumbling to grave-dust about him, and the mere 
 prospect of a quarrel with another man whom he 
 has never spoken to, on account of a woman he has 
 a great contempt for, will make all his blood flow 
 quicker.' For it was evident that, though the Parson 
 no longer cared a straw for Smilinda's favours, he 
 had not forgiven the man who had supplanted him 
 in them. 
 
 At the further end of the street along which they 
 walked, one house threw out into the night a great 
 blaze of light, and a noise of many voices. As 
 Wogan perceived it, a certain improvement upon his 
 plan came into his head. 
 
 * George,' said he, as he directed his captive towards 
 the house, * will you resolve me a theological quan- 
 dary? Do the doctors of your sect consider as 
 binding a promise given to a person of a different 
 faith?' 
 
 * Assuredly they do,' cried Kelly. * Dr. Hooker 
 plainly writes — * 
 
 * I shall take your word for it, without Hooker's 
 bond. Next, does your Reverence reckon it immoral 
 to shake an elbow on occasion .-* ' 
 
 * Even the very Puritans, at the height of their 
 power, doubted if they could proceed against dicers 
 by way of the greater excommunication. We read 
 that the Chosen People themselves cast lots — whence 
 I argue for a permitted latitude.' 
 
 ' Well, then, we are opposite the doors of Le 
 Queux's Temple of Hazard; you may hear through 
 the windows how the devout are calling the main. 
 Now I must take your promise, as you say it is bind- 
 ing, to wait here in obedience to your commanding 
 
PARSON KELLY 227 
 
 officer. A wise leader will ever send out scouts 
 to inspect a dangerous pass. I shall reconnoitre at 
 Lady Oxford's : proper precautions should never be 
 neglected, even in a friendly country. If I do not 
 return, or send, in forty minutes by your watch, you 
 must follow. All will seem safe.' 
 
 * But, Nick, what if they take you ? Sure we had 
 best go together.' 
 
 * They will not arrest me alone. You don't loose 
 your gun at a rabbit when you are stalking a deer. I 
 am not the keeper of secrets, but the King's mere 
 servant, to give knocks and to take them. I write 
 no letters, and none write them to me. It is Mr. 
 Johnson they will be stalking, if anyone at all, never 
 fear, and they will not shoot at the rabbit whilst Mr. 
 Johnson is out of gunshot. In the meantime, have 
 you any money? ' 
 
 'Just enough to pay my chairmen.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan turned his pockets inside out. 
 
 * Then here are ten guineas. In my belief our 
 luck must be somewhere, if a man would look for it, 
 and it may very well be lurking in the cavern of a 
 dice-box. Lose or win, if you hear nothing of 
 me, you march forwards and occupy Queen's Square 
 in forty minutes. It is ten o'clock now. And if you 
 do not join me in forty minutes I walk straight to 
 your lodgings and take my chance.' 
 
 ' So be it,' said Kelly, pocketing Mr. Wogan's gold, 
 and stepping reluctantly into the house of Le Queux. 
 Mr. Wogan waited until the door closed upon him, 
 and then went on his way alone to Queen's Square. 
 
 He had not displayed the whole face of his pur- 
 pose to the Parson. It was not merely to reconnoitre 
 
2 28 PARSON KELLY 
 
 that he pushed forward. The Parson might desire 
 an occasion with the Colonel, but VVogan, for Miss 
 Townley's sake, meant to meet the Colonel first. 
 Betrothed men should not be brawlers, and George 
 was hardly a match for the Colonel. 
 
 The Colonel was not, in the nature of things, likely 
 to feel well-disposed towards the Parson. The 
 ballad would have turned that ill-disposition into a 
 genuine hostility. So here was one of the reasons, 
 besides the wish to reconnoitre, why Wogan left his 
 friend behind him in Le Queux's gaming-rooms. He 
 would be the lightning-conductor; he would pick 
 a quarrel with the Colonel before Mr. Kelly arrived, 
 if by any means that could be brought about. 
 
 Mr. Wogan stopped in the shadow a few yards 
 from Lady Oxford's house, and watched. It was a 
 night of triumph for Lady Oxford. A score or so of 
 link-boys yelled and flashed their torches about the 
 portico ; carriages and chairs pressed towards the 
 door. Gentlemen with stars upon their velvet coats, 
 and ladies altogether swaddled in lace and hoops 
 thronged up the steps. But of the possible messen- 
 gers for whom Mr. Wogan looked, not one was to 
 be seen in any corner. Timidity itself might have 
 slept secure. Only a few ragged loiterers stood about 
 in the roadway on the look-out for a lace handkerchief 
 or a convenient pocket. Wogan crossed the road 
 and joined the throng upon the stairs. 
 
 He had carried it off boldly enough at the Deanery, 
 and in the street with Kelly, but, as he walked on 
 alone, the fumes of the Florence wine escaped from 
 the seat of his reasoning faculties. His logic did 
 not seem so conclusive, and he felt an ugly double- 
 
PARSON KELLY 229 
 
 edge on some of his arguments. Thus, the plot had 
 certainly been discovered, yet Kelly had not been 
 pounced upon. This might be a generosity of Mr. 
 Scrope's (who had behaved as handsomely before), 
 but again, what if Mr. Kelly's first suspicions were 
 true? What if Lady Oxford had learned something? 
 What if this rout were intended to enable her to savour 
 her revenge for the ballad? The thing was not 
 beyond Wogan's power of belief, and the more he 
 gazed on this perspective, the less he enjoyed it. 
 Under her roof, however, for the sake of her own 
 credit, Kelly and he must be safe from arrest. 
 Besides it might be that her Ladyship was ignorant 
 of the ballad. Reflecting on these doubts, and thank- 
 ful for this tender mercy, Wogan's heart was ill at 
 ease, though he put on a face of brass. The chatter 
 which buzzed at his inattentive ears seemed the most 
 impertinent thing in the world. At each step a flow- 
 ered petticoat swung against his legs, or a fan, held 
 by a hand in a perfumed glove, knocked against his 
 elbow, and somehow the fine gentlemen and ladies 
 in their fine clothes seemed to him at that moment 
 as incongruous as a nightmare. Scraps of gossip 
 of which he took no note at the time, for no reason 
 whatever stuck in his mind, and he remembered 
 them quite clearly afterwards; how that Lady 
 Holderness was sunk in all the joys of love, not- 
 withstanding she wanted the use of her two hands 
 by a rheumatism ; and Mrs. Plervey, revenue from 
 such bagatelles as honour and reputation, had 
 taken to herself two most fascinating lovers, and 
 all the envy of her sex. A shrill lady behind 
 Mr. Wogan's shoulder was proposing a general 
 
230 PARSON KELLY 
 
 act for divorcing all the people of England, so 
 that those who pleased might marry again, whereby- 
 many reputations which stood in dire peril would 
 be saved from exposure. Mr. Wogan had much 
 ado not to shout ' Hold your tongues, will you? 
 Here, maybe, is life and death in the balance.' 
 
 He had got about half-way up the stairs when 
 the shrill voice changed its tune, and now Mr. Wogan 
 pricked up his ears. 
 
 ' You have heard the new ballad? Oh, the 
 sweetest, most malicious thing. You must certainly 
 hear it. Smilinda, the Parson, and the Colonel. 
 You know who Smilinda is? The Parson and the 
 Colonel make a guess easy.' She quoted a line or 
 two. * It appears that the Parson has consoled 
 himself with Rose, and snaps his fingers at Smilinda. 
 Who wrote it? No one but Smilinda's dear friend, 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, that I will wager. 
 'T is the most ingenious thing; and most ingeniously 
 given to the town just at the time when it will sting 
 most. Poor Smilinda.' The voice went off into 
 a giggle, in the midst of which Mr. Wogan distin- 
 guished a name — Lord Sidney Beauclerk's. Mr. 
 Wogan would hardly have heeded the name had he 
 not heard it again twice before he reached the 
 stairhead, and each time in that same conjunction 
 with the Parson and the Colonel, and the malicious 
 aptness of the ballad. Even then he gave but scanty 
 heed to Lord Sidney Beauclerk, for the knowledge 
 that the ballad was indeed become the common talk 
 occupied his thoughts, and so thoroughly, that it was 
 the nearest thing imaginable but he gave his name 
 as Mr. Wogan to the lackey who announced him. 
 
PARSON KELLY 231 
 
 Mr. Hilton, however, was announced, and Mr. 
 Hilton stepped through the great doorway into the 
 room, and made his bow. At the first he was 
 sensible only of a great blaze of light spotted here and 
 there with the flames of candles; of a floor pol- 
 ished like a mirror, of a throng of misty faces, a 
 hubbub of voices, and a gorgeous motley of colours 
 like the Turkish bazaars Lady Mary was used to 
 describe. Then the faces grew distinct. Mr. Wogan 
 noticed one or two of the hottest party, who, 
 knowing his incognito, threw a startled glance at 
 him, and like the rats from the sinking ship, scuttled 
 away as soon as his eyes met theirs. 
 
 He looked around him for Lady Oxford. He 
 could not see her in the crowd which ebbed and 
 flowed about the floor. There were card tables 
 set against the walls ; doubtless she would be seated 
 at one of them. He glanced down the line of tables 
 to his left. He did not see Lady Oxford, but his 
 attention was seized by one particular table. It 
 stood empty ; a few packs of cards waited upon it for 
 the players to handle, but by some strange chance it 
 stood empty. It was the one vacant table in the room. 
 
 Mr. Wogan was an Irishman, and now and again 
 had his visionary moments, though he said little 
 about them. As he looked at that one empty table 
 a queer sort of fancy crept into his head, and, to be 
 frank, struck something of a chill into his veins. It 
 came upon him slowly that the table was not in 
 truth empty at all ; that in the midst of this velvet 
 company, all jewels and compliments, there sat at 
 this table a grey shrouded figure which silently 
 awaited its player. 
 
232 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Mr. Wogan was roused by a touch on his elbow. 
 
 'Mr. Hilton?' 
 
 Mr. Hilton saw a dapper young gentleman at his 
 side who looked like nothing so much as a tangle of 
 ribbons swept up from a milliner's shop. 
 
 * To be sure,' said Wogan. 
 
 ' Her ladyship sits yonder.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan looked. Her ladyship sat with her back 
 towards him at the table nearest to that which stood 
 empty. She had been screened from his sight by 
 the young gentleman now at his elbow. As Wogan 
 looked, Lady Oxford turned with an anxious smile and 
 a glance beyond his shoulder. The smile, the glance 
 braced Mr. Wogan. For doubtless her ladyship 
 looked to discover whether the Parson followed in 
 his steps. 
 
 He approached Lady Oxford. By her side sat 
 Colonel Montague, black as thunder, and with a 
 certain uneasy air of humiliation, like a man that 
 finds himself ridiculously placed, and yet has not 
 the courage to move. Mr. Wogan was encouraged ; 
 he could have wished the Colonel in no other mood. 
 Mr. Wogan suddenly understood that it was him- 
 self who was cast to play with the shrouded figure, and 
 the stake was the privilege of crossing swords with 
 Montague. 
 
 From the Colonel his eye strayed to a youth who 
 stood by Lady Oxford's chair, and the sight of him 
 clean took Wogan's breath away. It was not merely 
 his face, though even in that bright company he 
 shone a planet among stars. Nature, indeed, thought 
 Wogan, must have robbed a good many women of 
 their due share of looks before she compounded so 
 
PARSON KELLY 233 
 
 much beauty in the making of one man. But even 
 more remarkable than his beauty was his extraor- 
 dinary hkeness to Wogan's King. At the first glance 
 Wogan would have sworn that this youth was the 
 King, grown younger, but that he knew his Majesty 
 was at Antwerp waiting for the Blow to fall. At 
 the second, however, he remarked a difference. The 
 youth had the haunting eyes of the Stuarts, only 
 they were lit with gaiety and sparkled with success ; 
 he had the clear delicate features of the Stuarts, only 
 they were rounded out of their rueful length, and 
 in place of a sad gravity, were bright with a sunny 
 contentment. Misfortune had cast no shadows upon 
 the face, had dug no hollows about the eyes. 
 
 Lady Oxford spoke to this paragon, smiled at him, 
 drooped towards him. The Colonel shifted a foot, 
 set his lips tight and frowned. 
 
 Wogan placed a hand upon his guide's sleeve. 
 
 ' Will you tell me, if you please, the name of 
 her ladyship's new friend? ' 
 
 The young gentleman stared at Wogan. 
 
 *Let me perish, Mr. Hilton, but you are strangely 
 out of the fashion. Or is it wit thus to affect an 
 ignorance of our new conqueror, for whom women 
 pine with love and men grow sour with envy? 
 But indeed it is wit — the most engaging pleasantry. 
 *T will make your reputation, Mr. Hilton.' 
 
 ' It is pure ignorance,' interrupted Wogan curtly. 
 
 'Indeed? But I cannot bring myself to believe it.' 
 He stared at Wogan as though he was gazing at one 
 of Dr. Swift's Yahoos. * Slit my weazand if I can. 
 Sir, he is the gold leaf upon the pill of the world. 
 For his sake dowagers mince in white and silver, and 
 
234 PARSON KELLY 
 
 at times he has to take to his bed to protect himself 
 from their assiduities.' 
 
 * He has a dangerous face for these times,' again 
 Mr. Wogan broke in. 
 
 * Blame his grandmother for that, Mr. Hilton ; he 
 is of the royal blood. Nell Gwynn of pious memory 
 gave his father birth. Our last Charles was his 
 grandsire ; he hath Queen Mary's eyes. It is Lord 
 Sidney Beauclerk.' 
 
 * I thought as much. He is a very intimate friend 
 of her ladyship's? ' 
 
 * Mr. Hilton, the world is very ^r^^j^Vr,' remarked 
 his guide, with a smirk. 
 
 Mr. Wogan could have laughed. He understood 
 why the Colonel looked so black, why the ballad was 
 so maliciously apt, why my Lord Sidney Beauclerk 
 was coupled with the Parson and the Colonel in the 
 common talk. Her ladyship was taking a new lover. 
 Colonel Montague was the crumpled ribbon that has 
 done good service but is tossed into the cupboard to 
 make way for fresher colours. The ballad was apt 
 indeed. Mr. Wogan's spirits rose with a bound. 
 Sure here was an occasion for picking a quarrel 
 with the Colonel ready to his hand. He bowed 
 very low to her ladyship. Her ladyship went on 
 punting. 
 
 Colonel Montague looked at him, and then looked 
 at him again with the same perplexity which Mr. 
 Wogan had found so distasteful one evening in St. 
 James's Street three years before; but he said 
 nothing. Her ladyship laid down a card and gave 
 Mr. Wogan a hand, which he kissed with proper 
 ceremony. 
 
PARSON KELLY 235 
 
 ' You have come late, Mr. Hilton/ she said ; ' and 
 you have come, it seems — alone? ' 
 
 * Madam,' replied Wogan, with a glance of great sym- 
 pathy towards the Colonel, and in his softest brogue, 
 * men are born to loneliness as the sparks fly upward.' 
 
 The Colonel took his meaning, and his face flushed. 
 Wogan's spirits rose higher. If only Montague was 
 strung to the same pitch of exasperation and injury 
 as the Parson had been in the like circumstances ! 
 The supposition seemed probable. Mr. Wogan could 
 have rubbed his hands in sheer content. The 
 Colonel, however, made no rejoinder, and Mr. Wogan 
 had to amuse himself by watching the play. 
 
 It was little amusement, however, that Mr. Wogan 
 got ; on the contrary, as he watched, his fears returned 
 to him. Her ladyship was evidently in something of 
 a flutter. She did not show her usual severe attention 
 to the game. Now she called her black boy Sambo 
 to bring her fan; now she would pat her spaniel; 
 now she would gaze through the crowd of perruques 
 and laces towards the door. Her smile was fixed 
 even when she paid her losses, and that was not her 
 way, she being a bad loser. She was watching for 
 someone, and that someone without a doubt was Mr. 
 Kelly. Wogan could not but ask himself with what 
 intention she watched. Her ladyship was taking a 
 new lover, and for that reason the ballad struck her 
 hard — if she knew of it. Smilinda was not the 
 woman to forgive the blow. She would assuredly 
 blame Kelly for the ballad — if she knew of it. 
 Had she lured him here to strike back? She turned 
 once more to Mr. Wogan, as though she would 
 put some question to him ; but, before she could 
 
236 PARSON KELLY 
 
 open her lips, a name was bawled up the stairs and 
 a sudden hush fell upon the room. The throng in 
 the doorway dissolved as if by magic, and between 
 the doorway and Lady Oxford's chair a clear path 
 was drawn. The name was Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu's. Everyone then knew of the ballad and 
 laid it at Lady Mary's door. Everyone? Mr. Wogan 
 asked himself. Did Lady Oxford know? 
 
 Montague frowned and drummed with his knuckles 
 on the table ; it was the only sound heard in the 
 room. Then Lord Sidney noisily thrust back his 
 chair, and, stepping past Lady Oxford, stood in the 
 open space between her and the door with a frank 
 boyish championship for which Mr. Wogan at once 
 pitied and liked him. 
 
 The name was passed up the stairs from lackey to 
 lackey, growing louder with each repetition. The 
 silence was followed by a quick movement which 
 ran through the room like a ripple across a pool, as 
 each head was turned towards Lady Oxford to note 
 how she would bear herself She rose, the radiant 
 goddess of hospitality. 
 
 ' There is no striving, Colonel Montague, against 
 this run of luck,' she said, with the most natural ease; 
 * but my dear Lady Mary is come to save me from 
 ruin. Mrs. Hewett,' she turned to her opposite, 
 'will you be tallier to our table? The bank is open 
 to a bidder. No ? Ah ! ' and she took a step for- 
 wards to where her champion was standing apart, his 
 hand on his hip, his face raised, ready to encounter 
 even so dangerous an antagonist as Lady Mary, * my 
 Lord Sidney Beauclerk, you are not afraid? ' He 
 looked at her, from her to the door. ' I am your 
 
PARSON KELLY 237 
 
 servant,' said she, with her eyelids half-closed over her 
 eyes, * your grateful servant,' and she motioned him to 
 the table ; * for, being a woman, I positively die to hear 
 what new scandal dear Lady Mary has set on foot.' 
 
 She spoke with an affectionate compassion for 
 Lady Mary's foible and an air of innocence which 
 quite took aback the most part of her guests. Mr. 
 Wogan, however, was better acquainted with her lady- 
 ship's resources, and, wishing to know for certain 
 whether Lady Oxford knew of the ballad ; 
 
 ^ I can satisfy your ladyship's curiosity,' he said 
 bluntly; and with that the noise of the room sank to 
 silence again. He was still standing by the card- 
 table. Lady Oxford turned about to him something 
 quickly. It may be she was disconcerted, or that 
 anger got the upper hand with her. At all events, 
 for an instant she dropped the mask. She gave 
 Wogan one look; he never remembers. In all the 
 strange incidents of his life, to have seen eyes so 
 hard, so cold, and so cruel, or a face so venomous. 
 In a second the look was gone, and the prettiest smile 
 of inquiry was softening about her mouth. 'There 
 is a new poem, is there not, from Lady Mary's kind 
 muse? ' said Wogan. 
 
 * A new poem ! ' cried she. ' Let us hear it, I pray. 
 It would be the worst of ill-breeding had I not 
 knowledge enough to congratulate my friend. The 
 happy subject of the poem, Mr. Hilton? ' 
 
 Lady Oxford took a step towards him. She was 
 all courtesy and politeness, but Mr. Wogan, while 
 he recognised her bravery, had her look of a second 
 ago very distinct before his eyes, and was in no mood 
 for pity. He bowed with no less courtesy. 
 
238 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * It is thought to be an allegory,' he said, * wherein 
 the arm of flesh is preferred before a spiritual — 
 Blade. 
 
 The rejoinder, as it seemed, was approved, for the 
 ladies whispered behind their fans, and here and there 
 a man checked a laugh. Lady Oxford met the 
 thrust with all the appearances of unconcern. 
 
 'And tagged with Latin, Mr. Hilton?* she asked. 
 That was enough for Mr. Wogan. Lady Oxford 
 knew the ballad, and gave it to Lady Mary. Without 
 a doubt she must believe Mr. Kelly supplied Lady 
 Mary with the matter of it. ' Of a truth the ballad 
 will be tagged with Latin. Sure Lady Mary has 
 scholars enough among her friends who would not 
 let her wit go naked when a scrap of Latin could 
 cover it decently — indeed, too decently at times, for, 
 though we always see the Latin, one is hard put 
 to it now and then to discover the wit. Do you not 
 think so, Mr. — Hilton?' She paused ever so 
 slightly before the name, and ever so slightly drawled 
 it, with just a hint of menace in her accent. Mr. 
 Hilton, none the less, got a clear enough knowledge 
 of the dangerous game he was playing. Lady Oxford 
 had but to say ' Mr. Wogan,' and it would not be 
 Mr. Wogan who would have the chance of playing 
 a hand with the figure at the empty table. 
 
 Lady Mary's name was now called out from the 
 doorway, and Mr. Wogan was glad enough to leave 
 the encounter to her worthier hands. Lady Mary 
 sailed into the room ; Lady Oxford swam forwards 
 to meet her. The two ladies dissolved almost in 
 smiles and courtesies. 
 
 * We were in despair, dearest Lady Mary; we 
 
PARSON KELLY 239 
 
 feared you would baulk us of your company. 
 France, they said, was happy in your sunshine.' 
 'France, madam?' asked Lady Mary. 
 
 * It was your dear friend, Mr. Pope, who said you 
 had withdrawn thither — la, in the stran^^est hurry ! ' 
 
 * Indeed, very like ! I denied Mr. Pope my door 
 two days ago, and his vanity could only conceive 
 I was gone abroad.' 
 
 * Your ladyship was wise. A poet's tongue wags 
 most indiscreetly. Not that anyone believes those 
 fanciful creatures. A romance of a — a M. Remond 
 for whom you should have placed money in the sink- 
 ing South Sea; the Frenchman arriving in London 
 in a hurry ; Lady Mary in a hurry arriving in France ; 
 a kind of country dance figure of partners crossing. 
 A story indubitably false, to the knowledge of all 
 your ladyship's friends, as I took occasion to say at 
 more than one house where the rumour was put 
 about.' 
 
 Lady Oxford had scored the first point in the 
 game, as Wogan reckoned and marked * Fifteen — 
 love ' with chagrin. However, he took some comfort 
 from Lady Mary's face, which was grown dangerously 
 sweet and good-natured. Nor was his confidence 
 vain, for Lady Mary did more than hold her 
 ground. 
 
 'Your ladyship's good will,' said she, 'Is my 
 sufficient defence. My Lord Oxford is here? It is 
 long since I paid him my respects.' 
 
 ' Alas, my dear Lord has lain these last six weeks 
 at Brampton Bryan,' sighed Lady Oxford, ' with a 
 monstrous big toe all swathed in flannel. Your lady- 
 ship, I fear, can only greet my husband by proxy/ 
 
240 PARSON KELLY 
 
 There was just a sparkle of triumph in Lady Mary's 
 eyes. 
 
 * By proxy! ' she said; *with all the willingness in 
 the world;' and she swept a courtesy to Colonel 
 Montague, who was coming forward to join them. 
 
 Lady Oxford flirted her fan before her face. 
 
 A murmur almost of applause ran from group to 
 group of the company. 
 
 Mr. Wogan, who loved the game of tennis, marked 
 * Fifteen — all.' 
 
 At that moment a clock upon the mantelshelf 
 chimed the half-hour. In fifteen minutes the Parson 
 would arrive, and Mr. Wogan had not played his 
 hand. He moved a few yards from the table at 
 which Lord Sidney Beauclerk, with his eyes upon 
 Lady Oxford, was dealing the cards, and stood apart 
 by the empty table, wondering how he should do. 
 He picked up a pack of cards idly, and Lady Mary 
 spoke again to Lady Oxford : 
 
 ' I interrupted your ladyship's game.' 
 
 * Nay, your coming was the most welcome diversion. 
 Colonel Montague,' said Lady Oxford, as she was glid- 
 ing back to her table, * shared my bank, and played 
 with the worst of luck. I declare the Colonel has 
 ruined me;' and so retired out of range of Lady 
 Mary's guns. 
 
 The Colonel followed Lady Oxford. Lady Mary 
 turned to Mr. Wogan, and in a voice loud enough 
 for others than Mr. Wogan to hear : 
 
 * What ! ' said she, ' was Lady Oxford ruined by 
 Colonel Montague ? I did not think their acquaint- 
 ance was of so old a standing.* 
 
 * Thirty — fifteen,' said Mr. Wogan in an abstraction. 
 
PARSON KELLY 241 
 
 Lady Mary stared. 
 
 ' I was but marking the game and scoring points 
 to your ladyship/ Wogan said. 
 
 Colonel Montague had heard Lady Mary's sally, for 
 he stopped. Lord Sidney Beauclerk had heard it, for 
 he rose as though to mark his disbelief, and handed 
 Lady Oxford to her chair with a sort of air of pro- 
 tection very pretty in the boy. It seemed, indeed, 
 as though even Lady Oxford was touched, for 
 her face was half turned towards Mr. Wogan, and 
 he saw it soften with something like pity and her 
 eyes swam for an instant in tears. It was new, no 
 doubt, for the spider to feel compassion for the fly, 
 but Mr. Wogan was not altogether surprised, for he 
 began to find the fly very much to his own taste. 
 It was a clean-limbed, generous lad, that looked 
 mighty handsome in the bravery of his pink satin 
 coat, and without one foppish afl"ectation from his 
 top-knot to his shoe-buckles. 
 
 Mr. Wogan was still holding the pack of cards in 
 his hands. 
 
 * You have a mind to play? ' asked Lady Mary. 
 
 Wogan looked at the clock. He had only fif- 
 teen minutes for his business as lightning conductor. 
 In fifteen minutes the Parson would be here. 
 
 ' If you will present me to the player I have a mind 
 to play with,' said he, dropping the pack on the 
 table. 
 
 * With all my heart,' said she ; * name him.' 
 
 * Colonel Montague.' 
 
 Her ladyship looked at Wogan doubtfully, and 
 beckoned the Colonel with her fan. The Colonel, 
 who had his own feud with Lady Mary over the 
 
 16 
 
2 42 PARSON KELLY 
 
 supposed authorship of the ballad, made as though 
 he had not seen her summons. Lady Mary repeated 
 it with no better result, and finally took a step or 
 two towards him. Montague could no longer affect 
 to misunderstand. 
 
 * I wish to present you to a friend,' she said, as 
 Colonel Montague joined her. 
 
 *If your ladyship will excuse me,' said the Colonel 
 coldly, ' I have no taste for the acquaintance of 
 Irish adventurers.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan was not out of earshot, and laughed 
 gleefully as he caught the insult. Here was his 
 opportunity, come in the nick of time. 
 
 'Did anyone mention me?' he said pleasantly, as 
 he came round the card-table. But before the 
 Colonel could answer, or Lady Mary interfere, the 
 servant at the door announced : 
 
 * Dr. and Miss Townley ! ' 
 
 Wogan's heart gave a leap. He swore beneath his 
 breath. 
 
 'Miss Townley?* asked her ladyship, who had 
 caught his oath. 
 
 * Is Rose, tJie Rose,* replied Wogan. 
 
 Lady Mary knew the ballad, knew who Rose was, 
 and looked perplexed as to why Lady Oxford had 
 asked the girl. Mr. Wogan, on the other hand, was no 
 longer perplexed at all. His doubt was now a certainty. 
 Lady Oxford had prepared a scenic revenge, a cojip 
 de theatre. To this end, and to prove her ignorance 
 of the ballad, she had invited Kelly, Montague, 
 and Rose. 
 
 Of the coup de theatre her ladyship had got more 
 than she bargained for. On her bosom Miss Townley 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 243 
 
 wore diamonds that caught the eye even in that 
 Aladdin's treasure house of shining stones, and 
 among the diamonds the portrait of Lady Oxford. 
 Her ladyship saw it, and grew white as marble. 
 Miss Townley saw Lady Oxford, knew the face of 
 the miniature that she had thought was the Queen's, 
 and blushed like the dawn. Her hand flew to her 
 neck as she courtesied deep to Lady Oxford's 
 courtesy ; when she rose, by some miracle of female 
 skill, the miniature and the diamonds had vanished. 
 Rising at the same moment, Lady Oxford looked 
 herself again. But the women understood each 
 other now, and, as they purred forth their politesses, 
 Wogan knew that the buttons were off the foils. 
 
 He had his own game to play, that would brook 
 no waiting, and he played it without pause. Lady 
 Mary had moved towards the door. Colonel Mon- 
 tague was gliding back to his old position near 
 Lord Sidney. Wogan followed Colonel Montague 
 and stopped him. 
 
 * Sir,* said he, in a low brogue, ' I fancied that I 
 caught a little word of yours that reflected on me 
 counthry and me honour.' 
 
 ' For your country, sir,' replied the Colonel 
 politely,' ' your speech bewrayeth you, but the 
 habitation of your honour is less discernible.' 
 
 ' 'Faith, Colonel,' said Wogan, who found his 
 plan answering to his highest expectations, * you are 
 so ready with your tongue that you might be quali- 
 fying for an Irishman. Doubtless you are as ready 
 to take a quiet little walk, in which case I shall be 
 most happy to show you where my honour inhabits. 
 But, to speak the plain truth, it is somewhat too near 
 
244 PARSON KELLY 
 
 the point of my sword to make Lady Oxford's 
 drawing-room a convenient place for the exhibition.' 
 Colonel Montague smiled at the pleasantry in 
 an agreeable way which quite went to Wogan's 
 heart. 
 
 * With all the goodwill imaginable,' said he, ' I will 
 take that walk with you to-morrow,' and he made 
 a bow and turned away. 
 
 * But Colonel,' said Wogan in some disappointment, 
 * why not to-night? ' 
 
 * There are certain formalities. For instance, I was 
 not fortunate enough to catch your name.' 
 
 * 'T is as ancient as any in Ireland,' cried Wogan, 
 in a heat, quite forgetting his incognito. * My fore- 
 fathers — ' 
 
 ' Ah, sir, they were kings, no doubt,' interrupted 
 Montague with the gravest politeness. 
 
 * No, sir, viceroys only,' answered Wogan with 
 indifference, * up to Edward L' 
 
 * Your Highness,* said the Colonel, and he bowed 
 to the ground, * I reckon to-morrow a more suitable 
 time.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan was tickled out of his ill-humour, 
 and began to warm to the man. 
 
 'Sure, Colonel, you and I will be the best of good 
 friends after I have killed you, and for the love of 
 mercy let that be to-night. Look ! ' and stepping 
 to the window he drew aside the curtain. * Look,' 
 said he, peering out, ' it is the sweetest moonlight 
 that ever kissed a sword-blade ! Oh, to-night, 
 Colonel ! ' Then he dropped the curtain some- 
 thing suddenly. He had seen a face in the street. 
 'You prefer sunlight? Very well, sir. But you will 
 
PARSON KELLY 245 
 
 acknowledge that to-morrow I have the earliest claims 
 on your leisure.' 
 
 Colonel Montague bowed. 
 
 * The word, you will remember, was an Irish 
 adventurer.' Wogan impressed it upon him. 
 
 ' Sir, I am wedded to the phrase. You will send 
 your friend to my lodgings at Mrs. Kilburne's, in 
 Ryder Street' 
 
 ' Mrs. Kilburne's ! ' exclaimed Wogan. 
 
 Wogan might have guessed as much had he 
 used his brains. It was at the corner of Ryder 
 Street that he had plumped upon Montague when 
 he came down to London from Glenshiel. It was 
 under a portico in Ryder Street that the Parson and 
 he had seen Montague on the night they had driven 
 out on the first journey to Brampton Bryan. It was 
 at Mrs. Kilburne's door that Wogan had seen 
 Montague that afternoon. The Colonel was her fine 
 gentleman upon the first floor. Sure, the Parson had 
 the worst luck in the world. At all events, the 
 Colonel was a gentleman. Wogan consoled himself 
 with that reflection as he thought of Mr. Kelly's 
 despatch box in the scrutoire of his parlour below 
 the Colonel's rooms. 
 
 That thought led Wogan's eyes again to the clock. 
 It was half an hour past ten. The Parson was due 
 in ten minutes. 
 
 * Good-bye t' ye, Colonel,' he said hastily to 
 Montague, as he turned towards the door. He 
 almost knocked against Rose, who was standing 
 close by his elbow. She made an effort to detain 
 him; he breathed a word of apology. It did not 
 occur to him then that she might have overheard 
 
246 PARSON KELLY 
 
 his conversation with the Colonel. He hurried past 
 Lady Oxford and Dr. Townley, who was talking 
 of his schooldays, when he knew Lord Oxford. 
 
 ' Mr. Hilton,' cried her ladyship. Mr. Hilton was 
 deaf as a bed-post. For when he had looked out 
 of the window at the moonlight he had seen a face in 
 the roadway of which the Parson should have knowl- 
 edge before he reached the house. It was that face 
 which had made him drop the curtain so quickly 
 and fall in so quickly with the Colonel's objections. 
 A link-boy's torch had flashed for a second upon a 
 man on the other side of the road, and his face was 
 Scrope's. Scrope was watching the house. 
 
 Wogan pressed through the throng towards the 
 door, but before he could reach it a firm hand closed 
 upon his arm. He looked round. Lord Sidney 
 Beauclerk was standing by his side with a flushed, 
 angry face. 
 
 ' A word with you, Mr. Hilton ! ' 
 
 * A hundred, my lord, in half an hour,' said Wogan, 
 and shook himself free. He must warn the Parson 
 and turn him back from the house. But he was too 
 late. Li the doorway of the house he met Mr. Kelly, 
 whose face wore a singular air of content. And on 
 the other side of the road stood Scrope with his head 
 turned towards the doorway. Scrope knew that the 
 Parson had come. 
 
 Mr. Wogan took Kelly's arm, and led him to the 
 shady side of the street, out of the noisy crowd of 
 lackeys and link-boys. 
 
 'Those divines err,' said Kelly, *who condemn the 
 occasional casting of lots. It is not an ill game.' 
 
 'Then you found our lurking luck?' 
 
PARSON KELLY 247 
 
 * Six rouleaux of gold,' said Mr. Kelly, tenderly 
 caressing his pocket. 
 
 * The sinews of war, and we are like to need them.' 
 'Then the coast is not clear?' 
 
 * Clear ! * said Wogan, 'there is every sign of 
 thunder, wind, and earthquake. First, Montague is 
 here ! ' 
 
 * And here is his Capulet ! ' said Kelly smiling. 
 Wogan smiled too, having secured his duel with 
 
 the Colonel. 
 
 *Then Miss Townley is here, and, George, she was 
 wearing my lady's miniature. The women know each 
 other.' 
 
 George's mouth opened, and his utterance was 
 stayed. Then, 
 
 * It is a trap. I go home,' he said. Despair spoke 
 in his voice. 
 
 ' No ! ' Mr. Wogan's plans had changed. 
 
 'Why not? I have no more to lose, and my duty 
 to do.' 
 
 ' You do not go home, for Scrope is watching the 
 house. He has seen you come. He is behind us 
 now.* Mr. Kelly's hand went to his sword, but 
 Wogan checked him. ' Don't let him think you know. 
 We must leave the house together, and your duty is 
 to be just now where Miss Townley is. Be quick ! ' 
 
 The argument had weight with Mr. Kelly. Wogan 
 had his reasons for advancing it. If they went away 
 together, later, Wogan could engage Mr. Scrope's 
 attentions while the Parson went safely on to Ryder 
 Street. The two passed out of the shade, but not 
 before George had placed his hand in Wogan's. His 
 hand was cold as ice. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LADY oxford's * COUP DE THEATRE.* 
 
 The Parson, when the two friends had climbed the 
 crowded stairs, began making his way towards his 
 fate and Lady Oxford's table, with a smile on his 
 face. He did not see Rose, who was a little apart, 
 hidden from him by a group of strangers. VVogan 
 was about joining her, when a woman's voice whis- 
 pered in his ear: 
 
 * You are mad ! ' 
 
 The voice was Lady Mary's. 
 
 * You are mad, both of you ! He should be half- 
 way to the coast by now. What brings him here? 
 I wrote, or rather I sent to him.' 
 
 * True,' said Wogan, remembering the letter which 
 he had picked up in the Parson's lodging, and slipped 
 into his pocket. It had been thrust clean out of his 
 mind at the Deanery by those more pressing ques- 
 tions as to how the Blow had been discovered, and 
 how they were to escape from the consequences of 
 the discovery. He drew it out, still sealed up. 
 
 ' He has not opened it?' she asked. 
 
 'He has not seen it,' replied Wogan, who began to 
 fear from her ladyship's discomposure that the letter 
 held news of an urgent importance. She took the 
 letter from his hands, and broke the seal. 
 
PARSON KELLY 249 
 
 ' This was my message,' she said. There was no 
 scrap of writing in the letter, but a feather from a 
 bird's wing : it meant ** Fly ! " 
 
 ' The feather is white,' said Wogan. He could not 
 have mounted it.' 
 
 ' He loses his life.' 
 
 ' Perhaps, but he keeps his honour. There is some- 
 thing that he must do in London if by any means he 
 can. He must burn the papers at his lodgings and 
 the best hope lies in audacity.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan tore up the sheet on which her lady- 
 ship had written Mr. Johnson's name into fragments 
 too minute for anyone to piece them together again. 
 
 * This proof of your good will,' said he, * shall not 
 rise in judgment against you.* 
 
 * But you ? ' said Lady Mary. * Why do you stay? ' 
 Wogan laughed. 
 
 * For one thing, I have a little business of my own 
 to settle, and — well — ' 
 
 * And,' said she, * your friend 's in danger.* 
 
 She spoke with so much kindliness that Mr. Wogan 
 felt a trifle awkward, and turned his eyes from her 
 face. He saw that Rose still stood alone, though 
 many of the gallants eyed her through their quizzing- 
 glasses. 
 
 ' Lady Mary,' he said, * you have the kindest 
 heart ! ' 
 
 * Hush ! Whisper it,' she replied, ' or you will 
 destroy my reputation. What service would you 
 have me do now?' 
 
 *You see Miss Rose? You have read a certain 
 ballad which the ignorant give to your ladyship? 
 And you know Lady Oxford. It is Miss Rose 
 
250 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Townley's first visit to this house, and one cannot 
 beHeve that Lady Oxford asked her with any amiable 
 intention.' 
 
 'And I am to be Lady Oxford's spoil-sport?' 
 
 * It has gone beyond sport. At this moment her 
 ladyship has murder in her mind. The girl entered 
 the room wearing our hostess's portrait in diamonds,' 
 and he told her shortly how she came to wear it. 
 
 Lady Mary looked her horror. 
 
 * She has hidden it, but you will not leave the 
 girl?' 
 
 Lady Mary nodded, her lips tight closed. 
 
 Wogan presented the girl. Lady Mary made 
 room for her at her side, and Wogan only heard her 
 say, ' My dear, be brave, you tremble.' 
 
 What else passed, Wogan did not desire to hear. 
 Lady Mary had faults, they say, as a woman, but she 
 was of a manlike courage, and her's was the friend- 
 ship of a man. Never did woman need it more than 
 Miss Townley, and never, sure, was counsel and com- 
 fort wiser and kinder than that which, Wogan knew 
 ' later, Lady Mary gave to the angry, frightened, and 
 bewildered girl. 
 
 Lady Mary's credentials were Wogan's name ; the 
 girl could not suspect them. How had she come 
 hither? Lady Oxford had invited her father, Rose 
 said, as a schoolfellow of my lord's, and had asked, 
 too, for the daughter's company. Then the young lady 
 was lured, her new friend said, by a wicked woman 
 for a cruel purpose. That purpose, whatever it was, 
 and neither Wogan nor Kelly nor Lady Mary could 
 do more than guess, must be defeated at any cost 
 — at all costs. Lady Mary glanced at the guilt 
 
PARSON KELLY 251 
 
 and guilelessness of our sex. Kelly, too, had been 
 entrapped, before he knew Rose, but that was ended. 
 Lady Mary certainly knew it was ended, however 
 things appeared. According to men's notions, he 
 was compelled to lie to Rose about the miniature. 
 Now Miss Townley might, if she chose, give Kelly 
 his conge to-morrow. To-night she must know 
 nothing, see nothing, bear no grudge, be staunch; 
 she owed it to her honour, to the honour of her 
 sex, to Kelly's very life, and to her revenge, if she 
 craved for one, on the false enchantress. That was 
 Lady Mary's sermon. And the lesson was needed. 
 She reported it later to Wogan who, at this moment, 
 was following the Parson with all his eyes. 
 
 Lady Oxford at the card-table was greeting Kelly 
 with a conspicuous kindness. Her smile was one 
 wide welcome. 
 
 * My dear Mr. Johnson,' she said, ' you are grateful 
 as flowers worked on the very finest Alengon. Sure 
 you bring me those laces for which I gave you a 
 commission in Paris, and the lutestring from my Lady 
 Mar.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly murmured a word that the laces were 
 below, and he hoped her ladyship would be satisfied. 
 But his eyes searched the room all the time for Rose, 
 whom he could not see. 
 
 * You shall show me them ! ' cried Lady Oxford ; 
 * but first you must bring me luck. Mr. Johnson and 
 I were always lucky before he went abroad.' She 
 spoke with a provoking smile at Colonel Montague, 
 and then shot a quick glance at Lord Sidney Beau- 
 clerk, who was now risen from the table, and stood 
 in a window watching her. 
 
252 PARSON KELLY 
 
 The glance said plain as writing, * You understand. 
 I have to face out the ballad. I can trust you.' 
 Wogan's blood boiled as he noticed and read the 
 look, for it was just that tender appeal to her lover's 
 faith which always brought about the lover's undoing. 
 Lord Sidney's young face flushed with pride at the 
 trust she reposed in him, and she continued to Kelly: 
 
 * Look over my hand, Mr. Johnson ; you must not 
 leave me. What card shall I choose? You, Colonel 
 Montague, I discard you. I appoint you to the 
 Commissariat, run and see that Lady Rich does not 
 starve. She is leaving her party with the air of a 
 loser, and needs the comforts of chicken and cham- 
 pagne. But first let me make you better acquainted 
 with the gentleman who supersedes you. Mr. John- 
 son, the right-hand man of my dear Bishop of 
 Rochester.' There she stopped short in a pretty 
 confusion, as though the words had slipped from her 
 lips against her will. 
 
 * Who should be thrown to the lions,' growled the 
 Colonel to himself, and added gruffly, ' Mr. Johnson 
 and I have met before.' 
 
 The Colonel turned his broad scarlet back with the 
 ghost of a bow, and went reluctantly to Lady Rich, 
 a mature matron, dressed to kill, in virginal white. 
 Wogan watched them out of the door, and was again 
 turning back to the card-table, when again Lord 
 Sidney Beauclerk's hand was laid on his sleeve. 
 
 ' A word with you, Mr. Hilton,' said he in a hard 
 voice. 
 
 * When the half-hour is past, my lord,' said Wogan, 
 looking at his watch. ' There are still eight minutes 
 ^nd a few seconds.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 253 
 
 * I will set my watch by yours,' said the lad with 
 great dignity; which he did, and went back to his 
 corner. 
 
 Mr. Johnson's welcome, meanwhile, was as that of 
 the prodigal swain. He made more than one effort 
 to slip from her side and go in search of Rose, but 
 Lady Oxford would not let him go. She had eyes 
 only for him, eyes to caress. Many curious people 
 watched the scene as at a play. All the town knew 
 the ballad, and here was Lady Oxford's reply. Mr. 
 Johnson and Lady Oxford were to all seeming the 
 best of friends, and no more than friends, for was not 
 Miss Townley in the room to testify the limits of their 
 friendship? 
 
 A shifting of the groups gave Wogan suddenly a 
 view of Rose Townley. She was still talking with 
 Lady Mary, or rather she was still listening to her, 
 and threw in now and again a short reply. But she 
 spoke with an occupied air, and her eyes were drawn 
 ever towards the card-table at which Lady Oxford 
 was practising her blandishments on the Parson. 
 Then to Wogan's relief a few ladies and gentlemen 
 stepped between, and the living screen hid him from 
 her view. 
 
 At this moment Lady Oxford lost heavily. 
 
 * An ace? Sonica ! I am bankrupt!' she cried, 
 and rising from the table she addressed the Parson. 
 ' Mr. Johnson, you bring me no better luck than did 
 the Colonel. I must console myself with private talk, 
 and news of lace and lutestring. What have you 
 brought me? Come, I positively die to see,' and so, 
 with her sweetest smile, she carried off the Parson. 
 
 It was thus she had wrought on that first night 
 
254 PARSON KELLY 
 
 when Kelly met the Colonel, but there was a mighty 
 difference in Kelly's demeanour. Then he had given 
 her his arm with the proudest gallantry. Now her 
 ladyship went out of her way to lead him past Rose, 
 where she sat with Lady Mary. He threw an implor- 
 ing glance at the girl, and followed in Lady Oxford's 
 wake, the very figure of discomfort. 
 
 Fine smiles rippled silently round the company as 
 the pair made their way to the door. Rose watched 
 them, her face grown very hard and white, but she said 
 no word until they had gone. She stood motionless, 
 except that her bosom rose and fell quickly. Then 
 she turned to Lady Mary. 
 
 ' I must bid your ladyship good-night,' she said ; 
 * I have stayed too long.' 
 
 Pride kept her voice clear, her words steady, but it 
 could not mask the pain of her face. 
 
 * What ails you, child? You must smile. Smile ! ' 
 whispered Lady Mary. But Rose was struck too 
 hard. She lowered her eyes and fixed them on the 
 floor to hide the humiliation they expressed, but she 
 could not smile. She tried, but no more came of it 
 than a quiver at the corners of her lips, and then she 
 set her mouth firmly, as though she could not trust 
 herself. 
 
 ' I thought I had persuaded you,' whispered Lady 
 Mary. * It is for honour, it is for life, his life. Ap- 
 pearances are nothing. You fmcst stay.' 
 
 * I thank your ladyship, who is most kind. I will 
 stay,' said the girl. Her face flushed purely with a 
 delicate, proud anger. 
 
 Lady Mary presented her to some of her friends, 
 with whom Rose bore herself bravely. Wogan 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 255 
 
 saw that she had taken her part, and blessed Lady 
 Mary. 
 
 He had followed Lady Oxford and the Parson out 
 of the room, and leaned over the balusters while they 
 descended the stairs. It was an ominous business, 
 this summons of Lady Oxford. Why must she carry 
 him off alone with her? What blow had she to strike? 
 Mr. Wogan was not surprised that Kelly had turned 
 pale, and though he held his head erect, had none 
 the less the air of one led to the sacrifice. To make 
 the matter yet more ominous. Lady Oxford herself 
 seemed in a flutter of excitement; her colour was 
 heightened ; she sparkled with even more than her 
 usual beauty ; her tongue rattled with even more than 
 its usual liveliness. 
 
 Half-way down the stairs she met Lady Rich and 
 Colonel Montague mounting. Lady Oxford stopped 
 and spoke to the Colonel. Mr. Wogan caught a 
 word or two, such as ' Miss Townley — the poor girl 
 knows no one.' Kelly started a little; the Colonel 
 sullenly bowed. Lady Oxford, leaning upon Mr. 
 Kelly's arm in order to provoke the Colonel, must 
 needs in pity bid the Colonel wait upon Rose in 
 order to provoke Mr. Kelly. There Wogan recog- 
 nised her ladyship's refinements. 
 
 The pair passed down to the foot of the stairs. To 
 the right of the staircase a door gave on to that little 
 room into which Kelly had led Lady Oxford on the 
 night of the Masquerade. Lady Oxford left his arm 
 and went towards it. 
 
 Kelly remained standing by the stairs, very still. It 
 was in this room that Lady Oxford had discovered 
 the Chevalier's likeness in the lid of the snuff-box, and 
 
256 PARSON KELLY 
 
 had deceived George into the beHef that she was, heart 
 and soul, as deep in the Cause as he. It was that 
 room which had witnessed the beginnings of the his- 
 tory. Now it seemed it was hke to see the end. 
 
 Kelly looked up the stairs and saw Wogan's face. 
 He smiled, in a quiet, hopeless way, and then Lady 
 Oxford threw open the door. She turned back to 
 Kelly, a languorous smile upon her lips, a tender light 
 in her eyes. Neither the smile nor the look had 
 power to beguile the two men any longer. Kelly 
 stepped forwards to her like a man that is tired. 
 Wogan had again the queer sense of incongruity. 
 Behind him voices laughed and chattered, in some 
 room to his left music sounded ; and here at the foot 
 of the stairs was a woman all smiles and graces play- 
 ing with Life and Death as a child with toys. 
 
 The pair passed into the room. The door shut 
 behind them. The click of the latch is one of the 
 things Wogan never will forget. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WHEREIN A NEW FLY DISCOURSES ON THE INNO- 
 CENCE OF THE spider's WEB 
 
 WOGAN was still leaning on the rail of the balus- 
 trade when a watch was held beneath his nose. 
 
 'The half-hour is gone, Mr. Hilton,' said Lord 
 Sidney Beauclerk. 
 
 * True,' said Wogan, ' it is now a quarter past eleven.' 
 His eyes moved from the watch to the closed door. 
 ' Half an hour, my lord,' he mused, * a small trifle of 
 minutes. You may measure it by grains of sand, 
 but, if you will, for each grain of sand you may 
 count a life.' 
 
 'You hit my sentiments to a nicety.' 
 
 Lord Sidney spoke with a grave significance which 
 roused Wogan from his reflections. The lad's face 
 was hard ; his eyes gloomy and fierce. Wogan re- 
 membered that, when Lord Sidney had spoken be- 
 fore, he had not seemed in the best of good humour. 
 
 ' My lord,' he said, ' we can hardly talk with com- 
 fort here in the doorway.' He led the way back into 
 the inner withdrawing-room and across the room to 
 the recess of a window. 
 
 ' Here we shall be private,' he said. 
 
 ' Mr. Hilton, you spoke a little while ago of a 
 ballad, wherein, to use your words, the arm of flesh 
 
 17 
 
258 PARSON KELLY 
 
 was preferred to a spiritual Blade. That may have 
 been wit, of which I do not profess to be the judge. 
 But you aimed an insult at a woman, and any man 
 may claim to be the judge of that.' 
 
 ' My lord,' answered VVogan gently, ' you do not 
 know the woman. I could wish you never will.' 
 
 Lord Sidney laughed with a sharp scorn which 
 brought the blood into Wogan's face. It was plain 
 the remark was counted an evasion. 
 
 ' At all events I know an insult when I hear it. 
 Let us keep to the insult, Mr. Hilton. It reaped its 
 reward, for here and there a coward smirked his 
 applause.' Lord Sidney's voice began to tremble 
 with passion. ' But it has yet to be paid for. You 
 must pay for it to me,' and, since Wogan kept silence, 
 his passion of a sudden got the upper hand, and in a 
 low quick voice — there was as much pain as anger 
 in it — ' It hurts me,' he said, clenching his hands, * it 
 positively hurts me. Here is a woman ' — he stopped 
 in full flight, and blushed with a youthful sort of 
 shame at his eloquence — * a woman, sir, in a word, 
 and you must torture her with your brave sneers and 
 she must wear a smiling face while her heart bleeds ! 
 Mr. Hilton, are you a man? Why, then, so am I, 
 and it humiliates me that we should both be men. 
 The humiliation will not pass even after,' and he 
 drew a breath in through his shut teeth, 'after I have 
 killed you.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan had listened to the outburst with all 
 the respect he thought due to a boy's frank faith. 
 A boy — Wogan's years were not many more than 
 his, but he had seen mankind, and marvelled how 
 they will trust a woman who, they know, has fooled 
 
PARSON KELLY 259 
 
 one man, if but a husband. But, at Lord Sidney's 
 talk of killing him, Wogan sank the philosopher and 
 could not repress a grin. 
 
 * Kill me, my young friend ; ne fait ce tour qui vcuty 
 he said ; * but sure you may try if you will. You 
 will not be the first who has tried.' 
 
 * I have no doubt of that,' said Lord Sidney gravely, 
 ' and you will oblige me by using another word. I 
 may be young, Mr. Hilton, but I thank God I am 
 not your friend.' 
 
 There was a dignity, a sincerity in his manner 
 which to Mr. Wogan's ears robbed the speech of all 
 impertinence. Wogan simply bowed and said: 
 
 * If you will send your friend to Burton's Coffee 
 House in the morning ' 
 
 ^ To Burton's Coffee House.' 
 
 Lord Sidney turned away. Mr. Wogan drew aside 
 the curtain of the window and stared out into the 
 night with an unusual discontent. Across the road 
 Mr. Scrope was still lurking in the shadow — a hired 
 spy. Very like, he had once been just such another 
 honest lad, with just the same chivalry, before my 
 lady cast her covetous eyes on him. Downstairs 
 in the little room the Parson was fighting, for the 
 Cause, for his sweetheart, for his liberty, and maybe 
 for his life, with little prospect of a safe issue. It 
 seemed a pity that Lord Sidney Beauclerk should be 
 wasted too. 
 
 ' My lord,' said Wogan, calling after Lord Sidney. 
 And Lord Sidney came back. Wogan was still hold- 
 ing the curtain aside; he had some vague thought of 
 relating Scrope's history, but his first glance at Lord 
 Sidney's face showed to him it would not avail. 
 
2 6o PARSON KELLY 
 
 Lord Sidney would disbelieve it utterly. Wogan 
 dropped the curtain. 
 
 ' How old is your lordship? ' he asked. 
 
 Lord Sidney looked surprised, as well he might, 
 and then blushed for his youth. 
 
 * I am twenty,' he said, ' and some months,' with 
 considerable emphasis on the months as though they 
 made a world of difference. 
 
 * Ah,' replied Wogan, ' I am of the century's age, 
 twenty-two and some more months. You are aston- 
 ished, my lord. But when I was fifteen I fought in 
 battles.' 
 
 ' Was it to tell me this you called me back? ' 
 
 * No,' said Wogan solemnly, ' but you meet me to- 
 morrow. I am not sure that I could do you better 
 service than by taking care that you meet no one 
 afterwards. It was that I had to tell you,' and he 
 added with a smile, * but I do not think I shall bring 
 myself to do you that service.' 
 
 Lord Sidney's face changed a little from its formal 
 politeness. He eyed Mr. Wogan as though for a mo- 
 ment he doubted whether he had not mistaken his 
 man. Then he said : 
 
 * In a duel, Mr. Hilton, there are two who fight.' 
 
 * Not always, my lord. Sometimes there is one 
 who only defends,' and with that they parted. Clam- 
 orous dames took Lord Sidney captive. Wogan 
 looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed since 
 that latch had clicked. He strolled out of the room 
 to the stairs. The door was still shut. He came 
 back into the room and stood by Lady Mary, who 
 was describing to Rose the characters of those who 
 passed by. She looked anxiously at Wogan, 
 
PARSON KELLY 261 
 
 who had no comforting news and shook his head, 
 but she did not cease from her rattle. 
 
 * And here comes Colonel Montague with a yellow 
 bundle of bones tied up in parchment,' she cried. 
 Lady Rich was the bundle of bones in parchment. 
 'Colonel Montague — well, my dear, he is a gallant 
 officer in the King's guards who fought at Preston, 
 and he owes his life to a noisy Irish boy who has 
 since grown out of all recognition.' 
 
 Here Rose suddenly looked up at Wogan. 
 
 * It was this Colonel Montague you saved ! ' said 
 she. 
 
 ' Hush,' whispered Wogan, who had his own 
 reasons for wishing the Colonel should discover 
 nothing upon that head. * Remember, if you please, 
 that my name is Hilton.' 
 
 Colonel Montague led Lady Rich to the sofa. 
 
 * Colonel, has fortune deserted you that you look 
 so glum? ' asked Lady Mary. 
 
 * I am on the losing hand indeed, your ladyship, 
 to-night,' said Montague bitterly. 
 
 * Well, malJieureiix en jeu, said her ladyship 
 maliciously, * you may take comfort from the rest of 
 the proverb.' 
 
 Lady Rich shook her rose-coloured ribbons, a 
 girlish simpleton of forty summers. 
 
 *I am vastly ashamed of being so prodigiously 
 ignorant,' said she. * I daresay I ask a mighty sill}' 
 question, but what is the rest? ' 
 
 ' French, my dear, and it means that fifteen years 
 is the properest age for a woman to continue at, but 
 why need one be five?' 
 
 Colonel Montague smiled grimly. Mr. Wogan 
 
262 PARSON KELLY 
 
 stifled a laugh. Lady Rich looked somewhat 
 disconcerted. 
 
 ' Oh, is that a proverb? ' said she with a minauderie. 
 ' I shall dote on proverbs,' and so she simpered out 
 of range. 
 
 Lady Mary lifted up her hands. 
 
 ' Regardez cet animal ! ' she cried ; ' co?tsid&ez ce 
 7i^ant. There 's a pretty soul to be immortal.' 
 
 ' Your ladyship is cruel,' said Rose in remonstrance. 
 
 * Nay, my dear, it is the only way to keep her 
 quiet. My Lady Rich is like a top that hums sense- 
 lessly. You must whip it hard enough and then it 
 goes to sleep and makes no noise. Mr. Hilton, are 
 you struck dumb?' 
 
 Mr. Hilton's ears were on the stretch to catch the 
 sound of a door, and making an excuse he moved 
 away. Suspense kept him restless ; it seemed every 
 muscle in his body clamoured to be doing. He 
 walked again to the window. Scrope was still fixed 
 at his post. Wogan sauntered out of the room to 
 the stairs, and down the stairs to the hall. The hall 
 was empty. The door of the little room where Kelly 
 and Lady Oxford were closeted was shut, and no 
 sound came through it, either of word or movement. 
 Woean wished he had been born a housemaid, 
 that he might lean his ear against the keyhole with- 
 out any shame at the eavesdropping. He stood 
 at the stair-foot gazing at the door as though his 
 eyes would melt the oak by the ardour of their 
 look. Above the voices laughed, the smooth music 
 murmured of all soft pleasures. Here, in the 
 quiet of the hall, Wogan began to think the door 
 would never open ; he had a foolish fancy that he 
 
PARSON KELLY 263 
 
 was staring at the lid of a coffin sealed down until the 
 Judgment Day, and indeed the room might prove a 
 coffin. He looked at his watch; only a poor quarter 
 of an hour had passed since the door had closed. 
 Wogan could not believe it; he shook his watch in 
 the belief that it had stopped, and then a hubbub 
 arose in the street. The noise drew nearer and 
 nearer, and Wogan could distinguish the shouts of 
 newsboys crying their papers. What they cried as 
 yet he could not hear. In the great room at the 
 head of the stairs the voices of a sudden ceased ; 
 here and there a window was thrown open. The 
 ominous din rang through the open windows and 
 floated down the stairs, first the vague cries, then the 
 sound of running feet, and last of all the words, clear 
 as a knell : 
 
 ' Bloody Popish Plot ! A Plot discovered ! ' 
 So Lady Oxford had played her cards. The plot 
 was out ; Scrope was in the street ; the Parson was 
 trapped. Wogan determined to open that door. 
 He took his hand from the balustrade, but before he 
 had advanced a step, the door was opened from 
 within. Her ladyship sailed forth upon Mr. Kelly's 
 arm, radiant with smiles ; and, to Wogan's astonish- 
 ment, Kelly in the matter of good humour seemed in 
 no wise behind her. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 STROKE AND COUNTER-STROKE 
 
 THOSE fifteen minutes had none the less proved 
 a mauvais quart d' Jieitre for Mr. Kelly. As 
 he entered the room, the memories of the grey 
 morning when first he stood there were heavy upon 
 his thoughts. A cheerful fire burnt upon the hearth 
 now as then. There was the settee on which her 
 ladyship had lain in her pretended swoon. The text 
 which he had read in the Deanery recurred to him : 
 * Her ways are the ways of Death ; her feet take 
 hold on Hell.' Through the open door came the 
 sound of music and the words jangled through 
 Kelly's mind to the tune. 
 
 Lady Oxford closed the door; as the latch caught, 
 Kelly lifted his head and faced her. On that first 
 occasion her ladyship had worn a mask, and in truth 
 she wore no mask now. A cruel smile played about 
 her lips; a cruel light glittered in her eyes. She 
 looked him over with triumph, as though he were 
 her captive bound hand and foot. The look braced 
 Mr. Kelly. He started from his memories as a man 
 starts up from sleep ; he lived alert and complete in 
 the moments as they passed. Rose, the King's 
 papers, his own liberty — this was his new text. 
 
PARSON KELLY 265 
 
 Her ladyship could be trusted to give a sufficient 
 exposition of the other. 
 
 She seated herself, and with her fan beckoned 
 him to a chair. 
 
 * We have much to speak of, sir. I hear that I 
 have to make you my congratulations, and to pay 
 you my thanks. You may conceive with what 
 sincerity. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly remained standing by the fireside. 
 
 * For what services does your ladyship thank me.-* ' 
 ' You have made me a tavern-jest. I have to 
 
 thank you for a ballad. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly did not deny or argue the point. His 
 pressing business was to know what Lady Oxford 
 intended. 
 
 ' And on what fortunate event does your ladyship 
 congratulate me? ' 
 
 ' Are there so many fortunate events in the life 
 of an Irish runagate and traitor.? On your happy 
 marriage, sir, with the starving apothecary's 
 daughter. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly laughed pleasantly. 
 
 * Your ladyship is pleased to be facetious. Upon 
 my honour, I know no such woman, ' he said, think- 
 ing thus to provoke her to disclose her purposes. 
 
 Lady Oxford, to his surprise, rose up with a 
 joyful air. ' I knew it, ' she cried. * I knew the 
 story of the girl was the idle talk of the Cocoa Tree. 
 And Lady Mary thought to stab me with the cruel 
 news. Ah, if the honour of my Strephon be pledged, 
 his Smilinda's anger vanishes.' 
 
 Here she threw her arms about Kelly's neck, in a 
 very particular embrace, as if she would kiss him. 
 
266 PARSON KELLY 
 
 But she refrained from such a caress. Her arms 
 were clasped tighter and yet more tight till Kelly 
 could scarcely breathe, and her cold whispering 
 mouth touched his ear. 
 
 ' There was, then, no starving apothecary ? ' 
 'None, madam. You have been misinformed.' 
 The embrace grew deadly tight. He could not 
 have thought that a woman had such strength in her 
 arms. 
 
 * No man named Townley .? No daughter Rose } 
 No wound } No nursing .? No love-vows .? No dog 
 Harlequin.? No betrothal.? Liar!' she whispered 
 in a strange voice, * I see your miss's ring upon your 
 finger. I saw my portrait upon her breast. Did 
 she steal it? 'Tis like enough. But 'tis likelier 
 that you lie ! * 
 
 'Your ladyship misunderstands, ' said Kelly. *I 
 denied that there was a starving apothecary's 
 daughter. I did not deny that there was a man 
 named Townley, who, by the way, is your lady- 
 ship's guest. I did not deny there was a daughter 
 Rose ' 
 
 * Go ! ' she cried suddenly, releasing Kelly, and 
 pushing him off. ' I know everything, everything. 
 Go, traitor to your King and to your word ! And 
 when you are hanged, but not till you are deady 
 remember that you have made a toy and jest of me^ 
 babbling to your Lady Marys and your Wogans. ' 
 
 She flung herself back on a settee panting and 
 tearing her laced handkerchief into shreds. Kelly 
 waited a little for her to recover her composure. 
 
 * Madam, ' he said, * in the fatal circumstances 
 you mention with such relish, it is certainly not of 
 
PARSON KELLY 267 
 
 you that I shall think, though in less painful 
 moments I shall ever do so with honour and grati- 
 tude. As for what you say of my babbling, I pro- 
 test my innocence before Heaven. Your ladyship 
 forgets that you have an enemy from whom it was 
 my good fortune once to defend you. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford dropped her handkerchief and sat 
 forward staring doubtfully at Kelly, who at once 
 pressed his advantage. 
 
 * It was into this room that I then had the honour 
 of escorting your ladyship. Upon that occasion, if 
 I may be pardoned for reminding you, what appears 
 now to be treachery in me, seemed more akin to 
 loyalty. But though the sentiments of your lady- 
 ship have suffered a change since then, those of Mr. 
 Scrope have not. It was he who had attacked you 
 then; it is he who attacks you now, and, believe 
 me, it is my regret that I was not again at hand to 
 defend you. ' 
 
 The Parson should have stopped before those last 
 few words were spoken. He spoke them in all 
 sincerity, but they lost him the advantage he had 
 gained, for it was not in Lady Oxford's nature to 
 believe them. She made her profit out of her 
 lovers' sincerity, yet could not comprehend it. It 
 seemed almost as though some instinct led her to 
 choose them for that very quality, with which her 
 judgment could not credit them. 
 
 * A fine story, ' she exclaimed with a sneer, * and 
 no doubt the apothecary's daughter would be entirely 
 content with it, but I know you lie.' 
 
 Kelly bowed in silence. 
 
 * Wait,' she said, mistaking the bow, for Mr. Kelly 
 
26S PARSON KELLY 
 
 had a certain question to ask before he returned to 
 the company ; * we must appear together. ' 
 
 She took in her hand a box of lace which had 
 been placed ready in the room. 
 
 * Your hand, if you please, Mr. Johnson, for the 
 last time. You are going, sir, to your death by 
 rope and knife, or by point of sword.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly gave Lady Oxford his hand, and put 
 
 his question : 
 
 ' Your Ladyship has no fear that I shall escape ? ' 
 Her ladyship had none whatever, as her smile 
 
 clearly showed. 
 
 * Then perhaps your ladyship will inform me how 
 much liberty I have still left to me.' 
 
 'You have to-night free,' she answered, and as 
 he heard the words Kelly's heart gave a great leap 
 within him. ' So much reprieve you have. But 
 you must not go till I dismiss you. Enjoy your- 
 self.' She took Kelly's hand with a low courtesy. 
 
 He had to-night free! At all events, the King's 
 papers would be saved. If all else went down, the 
 papers would be saved. So it came about that he 
 met Wogan at the stair-foot with a smiling face. 
 
 In the withdrawing-room the clatter of tongues 
 had begun again, so that neither Lady Oxford nor 
 the Parson distinguished the shouts of the news- 
 boys, as they mounted the stairs. To Mr. Wogan, 
 indeed, who followed upon their heels, the words no 
 longer rose clear and audible. But as they entered 
 the room, it was plain something was stirring. 
 The windows stood open, gentlemen leaned out, 
 ladies asked questions ; about each window there 
 was a restless, noisy group. The candles guttered 
 
PARSON KELLY 269 
 
 in the wind; the card-tables were deserted; and 
 straight in front of him Mr. Wogan saw Rose, her 
 hands clasped in an extremity of apprehension. 
 Colonel Montague stood beside her chatting easily 
 and making as though he remarked nothing of her 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Then the hoarse cries again rang through the 
 room. 
 
 * Bloody Popish Plot.' ' A Plot discovered.' 
 
 * What, yet another Plot .»* ' said Mr. Wogan smil- 
 ing to Lady Oxford. 
 
 * Mr. Walpole discovers plots by the dozen; he is 
 the most active of our guardians,' said Kelly easily. 
 He dared not look at Rose. 
 
 ' We must hear more of it, ' said Lady Oxford 
 pleasantly, and calling her black boy: * Run, Sambo, 
 bring this late-flying night-bird of ill omen.' 
 
 The boy grinned, and ran away upon his errand. 
 Lady Oxford came up to my Lady Mary Montagu. 
 
 * See, madam,' she cried, opening the box of lace 
 with the air of a child that has a new toy. 
 
 * See what this kind obliger has brought me from 
 the looms of the Fairy Queen. All point d'Alencon 
 of the finest. Yes, you may well look envious. 
 Here is meat for a Queen. ' 
 
 The other ladies, deserting the windows when 
 they heard that magical word * lace,' crowded 
 round, and Kelly was, where many a pretty fellow 
 would have loved to be, in the centre of a perfumed 
 world of fans and hoops, of sparkling eyes and 
 patched faces. Kelly, however, had other business 
 on hand, and, slipping through the group while Lady 
 Oxford was praising her lace, he drew Wogan aside 
 
2 70 PARSON KELLY 
 
 to a window now deserted. There he told him of 
 his conversation with Lady Oxford. 
 
 * So you see, Nick, I have to-night free. I mean 
 to run to my lodging, burn the papers, and then — 
 why one has a night free. I may yet outwit my 
 lady. Besides, the papers once burned, there 's 
 little proof to condemn me. Speak to Rose, Nick! 
 She will believe j/^?^; you never lied to her. Tell 
 her there's no need to despair. Then make speed 
 to the coast. I must go to Ryder Street. ' 
 
 As he turned, Nick caught him by the arm. 
 
 ' You must not go yet. ' 
 
 *Why.?' 
 
 For answer Wogan turned to the window. 
 
 ' Stand here in the shadow of the curtain. Across 
 the street ; there, in the corner. ' 
 
 Kelly put his hands to his face to shut out the 
 light of the room, and peered into the darkness. 
 
 * There is a man. Who is it .'* ' 
 
 ' I told you ! Scrope. I saw him an hour ago. 
 A link-boy's torch showed me his face. You have 
 to-night free. An hour or so more will make little 
 difference to you, and may tire out our friend there 
 — or he may mean another bout with the sharps. ' 
 
 ' I hope so,' said Kelly. 
 
 At this moment Sambo returned with a little 
 damp sheet of the Flying Post, and the laces were 
 forgotten. Sambo carried the sheet to Lady Oxford. 
 
 * Faugh, ' said she, *I dare not touch the inky 
 thing ! ' 
 
 Wogan came out from his window, where he left 
 his friend, and took the sheet from the boy's black 
 paw, 
 
PARSON KELLY 271 
 
 ^ Does your ladyship wish to alarm us all by 
 reading out the news? These Papists are terrible 
 fellows.* 
 
 * Read ! Read ! ' said Lady Oxford, with a con- 
 tented laugh. 
 
 Wogan ran his eyes over the print. 
 
 'It is scarce fit for ladies' ears,' he said mean- 
 ingly. * Some nonsense out of Grub Street. The 
 wretch should be whipped from Temple Bar to 
 Westminster,' and Wogan made as if he would tear 
 the sheet. 
 
 Her ladyship hesitated. But she could not guess 
 what the sheet contained, and she knew Mr. Wogan 
 would try to screen his friend. 
 
 ' Nay, read sir, ' she said boldly, ' or must I im- 
 peril my own fingers with the foul thing.? ' 
 
 Wogan folded the paper, and with a bow held it 
 out to her ladyship ; again she hesitated ; she did 
 not take the sheet; she looked into Wogan 's face as 
 though she would read the news-sheet there. Curious 
 smiles began to show upon the faces about her, heads 
 to nod, lips to whisper. 
 
 'Shall I oblige your ladyship.?' asked Mr. 
 Methuen, who stood by. 
 
 ' If you please, ' replied Lady Oxford, but in a 
 less certain tone than she had used before. 
 
 Mr. Methuen took the sheet from Wogan's hand, 
 unfolded it, and glanced at it. 
 
 * It is indeed scarce fit for your ladyship's ears,' 
 he said; and in his turn he folded it. 
 
 The smiles broadened, the whispers increased. 
 Lady Oxford was altogether disconcerted. 
 
 ' I will read it, ' a young voice rang out. Lord 
 
2 72 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Sidney Beauclerk stepped forward, took the sheet 
 from Mr. Methuen, and at once read it aloud. He 
 began defiantly, but towards the end his voice 
 faltered. Mr. Kelly did not turn round, and seemed 
 to pay no heed whatever. 
 
 * They write from Paris that a foul Plot against the 
 Throne, and even the sacred Person of His Most Gracious 
 Majesty hath been discovered. In Town, it is thought that 
 a Lady of great Beauty who has a Tory Lord of advanced 
 years and gouty Habit to her Husband, and a young Whig 
 Officer of great Promise for her Friend, hath given the In- 
 telligence to the Minister. Nobody has yet been taken, 
 but the Gentry of the Silver Greyhound are thought to 
 have their eyes on a certain Reverend Nonjuror. We say 
 no more for the present.* 
 
 Lord Sidney crumpled up the sheet, and retiring 
 from the circle, slowly tore it in pieces. 
 
 * To be sure, they say quite enough,' murmured 
 Lady Mary, and no one else spoke, but all looked to 
 Lady Oxford. 
 
 Lady Oxford was brave. 
 
 In the silence of the company who were gathered 
 round she spoke. 
 
 * Too scurrilous to need a contradiction ! Doubt- 
 less it is I and my kind lace-dealer who are aimed 
 at. Now Mr. Johnson is here, and is my guest. 
 The inference is plain. ' 
 
 Mr. Johnson turned from the window and came 
 up to the group. 
 
 ' My confidence in her ladyship is as great as my 
 certainty that there is no Plot in which I am con- 
 cerned,' said Kelly, bowing to the lady, and letting 
 his jolly laugh out of hina to the comfort of the 
 
PARSON KELLY 273 
 
 company who did not smoke his jest. Mr. Wogan 
 admired his friend. 
 
 It was now become impossible for Kelly to leave 
 the house. Should he go now, his going would 
 wear all the appearances of a hasty flight, and who 
 knew but what some of Mr. Walpole's spies might 
 be within the room as well as in the street ? Kelly 
 must remain and brave it out, as he clearly recog- 
 nised. For, 
 
 'There are ears to be cut for this, ' he went on, 
 * but we had better be cutting the cards. ' 
 
 ' Mr. Johnson holds the bank with me ! ' cried 
 Lady Oxford. ' After this terrible false alarm I am 
 ready to risk all, and brave everything. I must win 
 enough to pay for my laces; I am much in Mr. 
 Johnson's debt. Sambo, my money box.' 
 
 The black boy ran out of the room. Mr. Kelly 
 walked towards the card-table, and as he went, a 
 light hand was laid upon his arm, and Rose's trem- 
 bling voice whispered in his ear: 
 
 * George, you will go. Yes, now, to-night. 
 There may yet be time for you to cross to France. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly was comforted beyond words, beyond 
 belief. Rose knew, and she forgave; he had not 
 thought it was in woman's nature. But he was also 
 tempted to fly; his papers unburned, the Cause de- 
 serted. The hand upon his sleeve had its fingers 
 on his heart-strings, and was twanging them to a 
 very pretty tune. A few strides would bring him 
 to the doorway, a couple of leaps to the foot of the 
 stairs, and outside was the night. 
 
 * You will go, ' she repeated, seeing how her voice 
 weakened him. ' Now — now. ' 
 
 18 
 
274 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Yes ' trembled on his lips. It seemed to Rose 
 in her great longing that she heard the word breathed 
 upon the air. But he did not speak it; he spoke no 
 word at all. He started, his mouth dropped, his 
 blue eyes stared, the blood was drained from his 
 cheeks. He stood amazed, like one that sees a 
 ghost. Rose followed the direction of his eyes; 
 she saw the guests, the tables, the candles, but 
 nothing that should so startle her lover. 
 
 * What is it ? ' she asked, fearing any delay that 
 checked the assent she had seen tremble on his lips. 
 ' You will go ! You will go ! ' But even as she 
 spoke she knew that he would not go. His face 
 kept its pallor, but grew resolute, ennobled. He 
 had ceased to think of his own safety. 
 
 * I cannot go, ' he said. 
 'Why.?' 
 
 'Mr. Johnson,' Lady Oxford's voice broke in. 
 Sambo had returned with a casket curiously enam- 
 elled. 'Mr. Johnson,' said she, looking into the 
 casket : ' Some five hundred pounds. ' 
 
 'And six rouleaux,' added Kelly, bringing out 
 the spoils of Hazard with an air. 
 
 Rose turned away, her face of a sudden grown 
 very white and hard. She had done her best to 
 make Kelly seek safety, and he would not: could 
 she do more.-^ 
 
 The Parson crossed suddenly to Wogan, his face 
 very pale, but with a wonderful bright light in his 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Nick, I have seen the King, here, in this room, 
 young, happy. The shadow of the hundred years of 
 sorrow of his race has lifted from his forehead.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 275 
 
 * The King is at Antwerp, George. You have 
 not seen him.' 
 
 * Then it is his spirit, which has taken form to 
 hearten us,' Kelly whispered in a voice of awe. 
 
 * George, you have seen Lord Sidney Beauclerk. ' 
 It needed no more than a word to make him under- 
 stand. He had not seen the King nor the King's 
 appearance, only the King's cousin, Lord Sidney. 
 But now he could not forget any longer that the 
 King's papers were in his lodgings; that at all costs 
 he must reach his lodgings unfollowed; that at all 
 costs those papers must be a little pile of ashes 
 before the morning came. 
 
 * The bank is open, ' said Lady Oxford. ' Colonel 
 Montague, will you find a lady and be our opposite? ' 
 
 The glum Colonel bowed in silence, and allied 
 himself with silly smiling Lady Rich. The play 
 was high. The luck had not deserted Kelly, while 
 Lady Oxford paid him a hundred flattering compli- 
 ments and bantered her military lover, who was not 
 ready at repartee or was not ready then. 
 
 ^MalJieiireiixejijett,' said Lady Oxford, repeating 
 the proverb Lady Mary had already quoted that 
 evening. * How fortunate, Colonel, must be your 
 affections ! ' 
 
 ' It is only your ladyship who has all the luck 
 and wins, or wins back if she loses,' answered the 
 Colonel, looking at Mr. Kelly with an evil favour, 
 and her ladyship laughed in pure delight. 
 
 There was another game besides Quadrille played 
 at that table. Lady Oxford was setting Colonel 
 Montague and the Parson by the ears. Did she 
 wish to embroil them in a quarrel to make Kelly's 
 
276 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ruin doubly sure? Wogan watched the Colonel; 
 he had the first claim upon the Colonel's sword. 
 Mr. Kelly kept smiling and raking in the rippling 
 golden stakes. The company stood round; they 
 had left their tables to see this great battle of 
 Quadrille. At times Wogan caught a glimpse of 
 Rose Townley through a gap in the circle. She 
 could not know why her lover had not fled. She 
 only knew that, in her despite, he stayed in the 
 house of the woman of whom he had told her at 
 Avignon, though his life was in peril ; she only saw 
 that woman fawning upon him, and him smiling 
 back to the woman. Lady Mary had stolen her 
 hand into the girl's, that no doubt was cold as 
 marble, and in his heart Wogan blessed her kind 
 ladyship. At last all the tide of gold had turned to 
 Lady Oxford's side of the table. The Colonel rose 
 and confessed defeat. 
 
 People began to say their good-byes. Dr. Townley 
 crossed the room to his daughter, who rose at once 
 with a word of thanks to Lady Mary. Mr. Kelly 
 remarked her movement, and with an imploring 
 look' bade her wait until Lady Oxford released him. 
 
 * Mr. Johnson,' said her ladyship, dividing the 
 winnings, ' short accounts make long friends. I 
 think when you reckon up the night you will find 
 that all my great debt to you is fully paid.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly bowed, and took the money, his eyes 
 on her flushed face and glittering serpent's eyes. 
 Lady Oxford turned to Colonel Montague. 
 
 * Your revenge is waiting for you. Colonel, when- 
 ever you are pleased to claim it. To-morrow if 
 you will. ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 277 
 
 * Madam, I may claim my revenge to-night,' said 
 the Colonel, and stepped back with his full weight 
 upon Kelly's foot. There was no mistaking the 
 deliberate movement. Lady Oxford made as though 
 she had not seen it, but as she turned away her face 
 had a look of pleasure, which Mr. Kelly remarked. 
 
 * Nay, Colonel, ' said Wogan, ' you and I have a 
 game to play, you remember. Le Queux's is still 
 open and I claim the first call on your leisure at 
 Hazard. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague answered Mr. Wogan with a 
 good-nature which the latter did not comprehend. 
 ' I have indeed some words to say to you, sir. ' 
 
 * But, Colonel,' said the Parson, 'you trod upon 
 my foot. I shall be happy to consult you on the 
 bruise to-morrow. ' 
 
 'To-morrow.-*' said Montague, his face hardening 
 instantly. * I may inquire after it before then, ' and 
 so making his bow he got him from the room. 
 
 Lady Oxford gave her hand to Wogan and dis- 
 missed him with a friendly word. She was so 
 occupied with the pleasure of her revenge that she 
 had altogether forgotten his jest about the ballad. 
 Wogan on his side made his leave-taking as short 
 as could be, for out of the corner of his eye he saw 
 Kelly offering his arm to Miss Townley, and Kelly 
 must not leave the house without Wogan at his 
 side. For, in the first place. Colonel Montague 
 was for a sure thing standing sentinel within ten 
 paces of the door, and after he had run the gauntlet 
 of the Colonel, there was Scrope for him to make 
 his account with, should Scrope attempt to follow 
 in his tracks. Mr. Wogan had a mind to insist 
 
2 78 PARSON KELLY 
 
 upon his first claim to Colonel Montague's atten- 
 tions, and, once they were rid of him, it would not 
 be difficult to come to a suitable understanding with 
 Scrope should he attempt to follow them to Ryder 
 Street. 
 
 Mr. Wogan was indeed already relishing in antici- 
 pation the half-hour that was to come, and hurried 
 after the Parson, who was by this time close to the 
 door with Rose upon his arm and Dr. Townley at 
 his heels. 
 
 * Good night, Mr. Johnson,' said her ladyship in 
 a lazy voice. * Take care of yourself, for they tell 
 me the streets are not too safe. ' 
 
 Kelly dropped Rose Townley' s arm and turned 
 back towards Lady Oxford. 
 
 * But surely, ' said he with some anxiety, * to- 
 night the streets are safe. Your ladyship assured 
 me of their safety to-night. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford made no reply for a few seconds, she 
 stood watching Kelly with an indolent smile. A 
 word of Lady Mary's came back to Wogan's mind 
 — a word spoken two years since in Paris, ' She will 
 play cat to any man's mouse.' 
 
 'To-night.?' said Lady Oxford, lifting her eye- 
 brows, and she glanced towards the clock. It was 
 five minutes to one. Kelly stared at the clock, his 
 mouth open and his eyes fixed. Then he drew his 
 hand across his forehead, and, walking slowly to the 
 mantelpiece, leaned his hands on it in a broken 
 attitude and so stared at the clock again. Lady 
 Oxford had struck her last blow, and the last was 
 the heaviest. Kelly had the night free, but the 
 night was gone — and the streets were not safe. 
 
PARSON KELLY 279 
 
 Nothing could be saved now — not even the King's 
 papers. Then Wogan saw a change come over his 
 face. The despair died out of it and left it blank as 
 a shuttered window. But very slowly the shutter 
 opened. He was thinking; the thought became a 
 hope, the hope a resolve. First his knees straight- 
 ened, then the rounded shoulders rose stiff and 
 strong. In his turn Kelly struck. 
 
 * Your ladyship,' he said, ' was kind enough some 
 time ago to entrust me with your own brocades. 
 Those brocades are in the strong box in my lodgings. ' 
 
 Wogan understood. Brocades was the name for 
 letters in the jargon of the Plot. Lady Oxford's 
 love-letters were in that box which he had handled 
 that very afternoon. If Kelly was seized in the 
 street his rooms would be searched, the King's 
 papers found, and, with the King's papers, Lady 
 Oxford's love-letters. Lady Oxford understood too. 
 Her ingenious stratagems of the evening to dis- 
 credit the ballad and save her fair fame would be of 
 little avail if the world once got wind of those 
 pretty outpourings of Smilinda's heart. Her face 
 grew very white. She dropped her fan and stooped 
 to recover it. It was noticeable, though unnoticed, 
 that no one of those who were still present stepped 
 forward to pick up the fan. Curiosity held them in 
 chains, not for the first time that evening. It was 
 as though they stood in a room and knew that behind 
 locked doors two people were engaged in a duel. 
 Now and then a clink of steel would assure them 
 that a thrust was made; but how the duel went they 
 could not tell. 
 
 When Lady Oxford rose her colour had returned. 
 
2 8o PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' My brocades ? ' she said. ' Indeed, I had purely 
 forgotten them. You have had them repaired in 
 Paris ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, madam, ' answered Kelly deliberately. * I 
 do not think the streets are so unsafe as your lady- 
 ship supposes ; but I should be sorry for them to fall 
 into any hands but your own if by any chance foot- 
 pads end my days to-night.' 
 
 He bowed and walked towards Rose Townley and 
 her father, who stood in the doorway at a loss what 
 to make of the scene. He had crossed half the dis- 
 tance before Lady Oxford moved. Then, it seemed 
 with one swift step, she stood at Kelly's side. 
 
 'Mr. Johnson, you are my prisoner!' she ex- 
 claimed. ' My dear brocades ! Mr. Johnson, you 
 are surely the most attentive of men. You must 
 tell me how they have been repaired; I shall not 
 close my eyes unless you take pity on my impa- 
 tience. ' 
 
 Had Kelly been the man to care for triumphs 
 wrested from a woman, he would have found his 
 occasion now. A minute before, Lady Oxford's 
 eyes glittered with menaces, her face was masterful; 
 now, her eyes besought pity, her face was humbled. 
 
 ' If your ladyship will permit me,' said Kelly, "I 
 will return when I have seen Miss Townley to her 
 chair. ' 
 
 It was a difficult moment for Miss Townley. For 
 to those who looked on it seemed that by some 
 means here was Mr. Johnson brought back into 
 bondage before the very eyes of his betrothed. But 
 Rose was patient of Lady Mary's lesson. * To- 
 morrow give him his con£^e ii you will; to-night be 
 
PARSON KELLY 281 
 
 staunch! It is for life and honour! ' She knew no 
 more, but she was loyal. Wogan had seen men go, 
 for the Cause, to a shameful death by torture. But 
 he never saw courage so unfaltering, or loyalty so 
 true, as this girl's. She was not herself in that 
 hour; she had taken up a part as an actress does, 
 and she played it clean, and played it through. 
 To-morrow she might be a woman again, a woman 
 wronged, deceived, insulted; to-night, with the 
 astonishing valour and duplicity of her sex, she was 
 all in her part, to see nothing, to know nothing, to 
 be staunch. 
 
 To the smiles, the simpered sarcasms, the quiz- 
 zing glances, she paid no heed. She said, with a 
 simple dignity, to Lady Oxford: 
 
 ' I will not keep Mr. Johnson long. It is but a 
 few steps to your ladyship's door, where my chair 
 waits for me,' and she held out her hand to Kelly. 
 She had her reward. Kelly's face put on a look of 
 pride which no one in the room could mistake. He 
 took her hand with a laugh, and threw back his 
 chest. 
 
 ' I will return, your ladyship,' he said gaily, and 
 with Rose passed out of the door. The whispers 
 were stilled; the couple went down the stairs in a 
 great silence. Rose bore herself bravely until she 
 had stepped into her chair; showed a brave face 
 then at the window. 
 
 * I shall hear of you from France, ' she whispered. 
 ' Good-night. ' 
 
 The chair was carried off ; Dr. Townley followed. 
 The Parson returned slowly up the stairs. His 
 heart was full ; in Rose's eyes he had seen the tears 
 
2 82 PARSON KELLY 
 
 gathering; no doubt in the darkness of her chair 
 they were flowing now. She would hear of him 
 from France ! Well, he had his one weapon — Lady 
 Oxford's letters. If he used that weapon aright, 
 why should she not hear of him from France.? By 
 the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was 
 already putting together the words of the letter he 
 should write. 
 
 When he re-entered the withdrawing-room, the 
 last few guests, of whom Wogan was one, were tak- 
 ing their departure. Wogan saw Kelly move 
 towards the little card-table which had stood empty. 
 Kelly sat down, and with the fingers of one hand he 
 played with the cards, cutting them unwittingly as 
 though for a deal. It was, after all, he and not 
 Wogan who had to play the hand with the shrouded 
 figure. Wogan had already made his adieux. As 
 he passed out of the door Lady Oxford was standing 
 in the middle of the room plucking at her fan. As 
 he went down the stairs, the door was flung to with 
 a bang. Lady Oxford and Kelly were left alone. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 MR. SCROPE BATHES BY MOONLIGHT AND IN HIS 
 
 PERUKE 
 
 WOGAN had heard two doors shut that evening, 
 and with very different feelings. One had 
 been latched gently, and the sound had filled him 
 with apprehensions; one had been flung to with an 
 angry violence, and the sound soothed him like the 
 crooning of music. For Kelly, it seemed, after all 
 held the trumps in his hand; he had but to play 
 them aright and the game was his. 
 
 'The longer he takes to play them the better,' 
 murmured Wogan, as he stood on the steps of Lady 
 Oxford's house and looked briskly about him. 
 For to his left, standing openly in the moonlight, 
 he saw a tall martial figure wrapped in a cloak, and 
 the end of a scabbard shining beneath the cloak, 
 while across the road his eyes made out a hunched 
 form blotted against the wall. The figure in the 
 cloak was Colonel Montague ; the skulker would no 
 less certainly be Mr. Scrope. If the Parson would 
 only take time enough to deploy his arguments like 
 a careful general ! Mr. Wogan would have liked to 
 have run back and assured Kelly that there was no 
 need whatever for hurry, since he himself had 
 enough amusements on his hands to make the 
 time pass pleasantly. 
 
284 PARSON KELLY 
 
 He advanced to the Colonel first. 
 
 ' Sir, it is now to-morrow, the date at which you 
 kindly promised me a few moments of vour leisure. 
 You may hear the chimes of the Abbey strike the 
 half hour after one. ' 
 
 * Mr. Wogan, ' replied the Colonel, * I reckon this 
 yesterday — till after breakfast. At present I have 
 an engagement with another person.' 
 
 * Colonel Montague, your reckoning of time is 
 contrary to the almanac, and to a sound metaphysic, 
 of which I am the ardent advocate. You will under- 
 stand, sir, that such a difference of opinion between 
 gentlemen admits of only one conclusion. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague smiled, and to Wogan's chagrin 
 and astonishment replied: 
 
 ' You have grown a foot, or thereby, Mr. Wogan, 
 since last we met, on an occasion which you will 
 permit me to say that I can never forget. All our 
 differences are sunk for ever in that one considera- 
 tion. I implore you to leave me to the settlement 
 of my pressing business.' 
 
 So the Colonel knew of that unfortunate rescue at 
 Preston. Wogan, however, was not so easily put off. 
 
 ' Grown a foot, sir ! ' he cried. * I am not the 
 same man ! You speak of a boy, who died long 
 ago; if he made a mistake in saving your life, over- 
 look a pure accident, and oblige me.' 
 
 ' The accident does not remove my obligation.' 
 
 * If you knew the truth, you would be sensible 
 that there was no obligation in the matter. Come, 
 take a stroll in the Park, and I '11 tell the truth of 
 the whole matter to whichever of us is alive to 
 hear it.* 
 
PARSON KELLY 285 
 
 * I had the whole truth already, to-night, from 
 the young lady. ' 
 
 * The young lady ? ' Wogan had told Rose Townley 
 of how he saved the life of a Colonel Montague, and 
 to-night he had informed her that this Colonel was 
 the man. She had been standing by his elbow 
 when he had picked his quarrel with Montague. 
 Sure she had overheard and had interfered to pre- 
 vent it. ' The young lady ! ' he cried. ' All women 
 are spoil-sports. But, Colonel, you must not be- 
 lieve her. I made a great deal of that story when I 
 told it to Miss Townley. But you would find it a 
 very simple affair if you had it from an eye-witness. ' 
 
 The Colonel shook his head. 
 
 * Yet the story was very circumstantial, how you 
 leaped from the barricades — ' 
 
 ' That were but two feet high. * 
 
 * And, through a cross fire of bullets, crossed the 
 square to where I lay — ' 
 
 ' The fire was a half charge of duckshot that an 
 old fellow let off by mismanagement from a rusty 
 pistol. Both sides stopped firing the moment I 
 jumped over — the politest thing. I might have 
 been tripping down the Mall with a lady on my 
 arm, for all the danger I ran. ' 
 
 * But your wounds.'* ' 
 
 * I slipped and cut my shin on the sharp cobbles, 
 that 's true.' 
 
 * Mr. Wogan, it will not do ! Had I known your 
 name this evening when Lady Mary made us 
 acquainted, certain expressions properly distasteful 
 to you would not have escaped my lips. But now I 
 can make amends for them to the gallant gentleman 
 
286 PARSON KELLY 
 
 who brought a wounded enemy out of a cross-fire. 
 I apologise to you, but I cannot oblige you to the 
 extent you wish, however you may attempt to make 
 light of your courage, and of the obligation on my 
 side. ' 
 
 ' Sure, Colonel, to be done with adornment of 
 the real truth, I only saved such a fine man to have 
 the pleasure of killing him myself. ' 
 
 Here the Colonel broke into a laugh. 
 
 ' Mr. Wogan, if I drew my sword and stood up 
 before you without making a parry or a lunge, would 
 you kill me? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed, there would be little diversion in 
 that game, ' said Wogan, who was now grown quite 
 melancholic. 
 
 ' Well, that is the utmost you will get from me. 
 I am much pressed for time, and look to find 
 another. ' 
 
 'Another!' Wogan's failing hopes revived. 
 * Praise be to the Saints! I see your mistake, and 
 you shall understand it in a twinkling. The other 
 and myself are just one man for these purposes. 
 George is my alter ego. We are the greatest 
 friends, and have been taken for each other when 
 we are talking. I '11 talk all the time we fight, and 
 you can fancy it is George whose ribs you are trying 
 to tickle. ' 
 
 The Colonel, however, was obdurate, and before 
 Wogan could hit upon a likelier argument both 
 gentlemen heard a cough. 
 
 Someone was standing on Lady Oxford's doorstep 
 looking towards them. 
 
 The Colonel coughed in reply, and the figure — it 
 
PARSON KELLY 287 
 
 was Mr. Kelly's — waved his hand, and marched, 
 like the ghost of Hamlet's father, toward St. James's 
 Park. 
 
 The Colonel followed, like Hamlet, and Mr, 
 Wogan followed the Colonel. Would there be a 
 fourth to follow Wogan ? The three men marched 
 in the moonlight, their footsteps rang boldly on the 
 road. Was there a fourth behind them stealthily 
 creeping in the shadow of the wall ? As they 
 turned a corner out of the square Wogan fell a little 
 further to the rear. He kept his head screwed upon 
 his shoulders, and he saw a shadow slink round the 
 corner. He listened, and heard the stealthy steps. 
 He stopped ; the steps ceased. Wogan went on 
 again. He knew that Scrope was dogging them. 
 
 The figure in front moved silently on till he 
 reached a sweet spot for an occasion, a little clairihe 
 among the trees, the smoothest sward, moonlight on 
 the grass, dark shadow all around. There he stopped, 
 turned, and dropped his cloak. The moon shone 
 silvery on the silver shoulder-knots of Mr. Kelly. 
 The other two gentlemen advanced. 
 
 * Nick, ' exclaimed Kelly, ' you should be on your 
 road to the coast. ' 
 
 * At last ! ' cried Colonel Montague, dropping his 
 cloak. 
 
 * A moment, sir,' said Kelly; ' I must dismiss my 
 friend. ' 
 
 * And would you be so mad } Are you to have 
 nobody to see fair and run for the surgeon while the 
 other gentleman makes his escape.? George, I 
 never knew you were so selfish.' 
 
 Kelly drew his friend a little way aside. 
 
288 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Nick, I have that to do which cannot be done 
 before a witness. ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan merely gaped at this extraordinary 
 speech. He noticed that Kelly looked white and 
 haggard even for a man in the full moonlight. 
 
 * When I tell you that my honour hangs on it, that 
 a witness is mere ruin, when I pray you by our old 
 friendship.-* Nick, you micst go out of eye-shot and 
 ear-shot. ' 
 
 ' I think you are crazed,' said Wogan. 
 
 ' I have obeyed you all night. Things have taken 
 the turn that you must obey me. There is no time 
 for an explanation, the hour presses, and, Nick, my 
 honour hangs on it. You must retire to where you 
 can neither see nor hear us, or I am shamed — lost 
 with the Cause. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly had been whispering, his voice 
 trembled as the Cause was named. Wogan had 
 only once seen him thus moved. Had he played his 
 trumps amiss after all.-* It seemed he had not won 
 the game. 
 
 * Very well,' said Wogan. 'Good-night. I will 
 take care you are not troubled with witnesses. ' 
 
 'No,' said Kelly suddenly, and then 'yes; good- 
 night. ' 
 
 He stood looking at Wogan a moment and then 
 hurried off to the Colonel, who seemed, to Wogan' s 
 judgment, a man apt to give the Parson his bellyful. 
 Wogan twitched his cloak about him, and took his 
 road down a path, bordered by bushes. It was the 
 path by which they had come into the Park. Wogan 
 was determined that the Parson should not be 
 troubled by witnesses. 
 
PARSON KELLY 289 
 
 From his boyhood Mr. Wogan has had a singular 
 passion for bird's-nesting. He idly scanned the 
 bushes as he marched, for he had heard a twig snap, 
 and in a thick bush he saw what at a first glance cer- 
 tainly resembled a very large brown bird's-nest. 
 Looking more narrowly at this curiosity there were 
 shining eyes under the nest, a circumstance rarely 
 found in animated nature. 
 
 Mr. Wogan paused and contemplated this novelty. 
 The bush was deep; the novelty was of difficult 
 access because of the tangled boughs. Wogan reck- 
 oned it good to show a puzzled and bemused de- 
 meanour, as of one who has moored himself by the 
 punch-bowl. 
 
 ' It 's a very fine bird,' he said aloud. ' I wonder 
 what is the exact species this fine fowl may belong 
 to.?' 
 
 Then he wagged his head in a tipsy manner, and 
 so lurched down the path singing : 
 
 ' I heard a bird 
 
 Sing in a bush. 
 And on his head 
 
 Was a bowl of punch, 
 La-la-loodie I ' 
 
 But Wogan's eye was cocked back over his 
 shoulder, for he hoped that the fowl, thinking the 
 hunter gone, would save him trouble by breaking 
 cover. The bush did not stir, however; all was 
 deadly still. 
 
 Wogan lurched back to the bush, still singing, 
 parted the branches, and peered in. His mind, in 
 fact, was quite fixed as to the nature and name of 
 this nocturnal fowl. 
 
 19 
 
290 PARSON KELLY 
 
 He spied into the bush. * I have heard, in 
 France, of a bird called "the cuckoo Kelly,"' he 
 said, * I wonder if this can be le cocu Scrope? ' 
 
 Something glittered in the heart of the bush. 
 Mr. Wogan leaped aside, his hat spun round on his 
 head, he was near blinded by the flame and smoke 
 of a pistol discharged almost a bout portant. A 
 figure had scrambled out of the bush on the further 
 side, and was running at a great pace towards St. 
 James's. 
 
 Mr. Wogan gave a view halloo, and set off at the 
 top of his own pace in pursuit. He was swift of 
 foot when young, sound of wind, and long of 
 stride. 
 
 At every step he gained on the flying figure, 
 which, he happily remembered, might be armed 
 with another pistol. These commodities usually go 
 in pairs. Reflecting on this, and reckoning his 
 distance to a mathematical nicety, Mr. Wogan 
 applied his toe to that part of the flying gentleman's 
 figure which he judged most accessible and most 
 appropriate to his purpose. The flying gentleman 
 soared softly into a parabola, coming down with a 
 crash, while a pistol fell from his hand. As the 
 priming was spilled, Mr. Wogan let the weapon lie, 
 and courteously assisted the prostrate person to 
 rise. 
 
 ' I fear I stumbled over you, sir, ' he said. * I 
 hope I was not so unfortunate as to hurt you. Why, 
 't is Mr. Scrope, the celebrated critic and amateur 
 of Virgil. Mr. Scrope, the writer of ballads. ' 
 
 * You are a brutal Irish bully, ' said Scrope, whose 
 hands and face were bleeding, for he had the mis- 
 
PARSON KELLY 291 
 
 chance to slip on a gravel path covered with sharp 
 little flints at the top of the Canal. 
 
 * Nay, when last we met it was my poetry that 
 you criticised, and now 't is my manners that do not 
 please you! How could I guess that it was Mr. 
 Scrope who lay in a bush to watch an explanation 
 between gentlemen? This time, sir, of your flight, 
 you have not two horses to carry you off, and I am 
 not barefoot. Suppose we take up our conversation 
 where we left it when last you ran away.^ You 
 have a sword I see. ' 
 
 Scrope' s sword was already out, and he made a 
 desperate pass at Wogan, who broke ground and 
 drew his own weapon. Scrope was no match for his 
 reach and skill in fence. 
 
 ' Why, sir, our positions are altered,' said Wogan. 
 * Now it is you who make errors, and I who play 
 critic and instructor. ' 
 
 Wogan made a parade in contre de carte. 
 
 ' Look, sir, your blade was beaten a good half foot 
 out of line. Had I chosen to riposte, my sword- 
 hilt would have rung on your breast-bone. Ah, 
 that was rather better,' he said, stepping a pace 
 back, and offering his breast full like a fencing 
 master with his pupil. ' But you did not really 
 extend yourself. Now, sir, //;/, detix, dotiblcz, 
 d^gagez, vite!' and Mr. Wogan passed his sword 
 through the lappet of Scrope' s coat, coming back 
 on guard. * That is how you ought to lunge. There 
 is another thing that I would have you notice. 
 Coming on rashly as you do, I could stop you at any 
 moment with a time thrust. I have only to extend 
 my long arm, and where are you t * 
 
292 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Scrope broke ground, sweating, and drew breath : 
 
 ' You cowardly maitre d' annes! ' he exclaimed 
 between two pants. 
 
 'Cowardly, sir? Am I a spy? Or a nameless, 
 obscene rhymer? Do I carry pistols and try to use 
 them ? Fie, Mr. Scrope, you must see that a 
 coward who meant to kill you would have done so 
 long ago, and left you here — with an insult, and 
 without a surgeon. You remember the little square 
 at Avignon. You want another lesson. ' 
 
 Wogan parried, riposted, and just grazed his oppo- 
 nent on the fore-arm. 
 
 ' TouM! ' he said. ' Now you see I do not mean 
 to kill you : at least, not with the sword. To do so 
 would be to oblige a lady whom I have no desire to 
 please. Would you prefer to lay down your weapon 
 and come frankly to my embrace ? You remember 
 our fond hugs at Brampton Bryan ? By the way, 
 Mr. Scrope,' asked Wogan, as an idea occurred to 
 him, ' the night is warm and you seem heated, do 
 you swim ? The place is convenient for a bathe, 
 and sheltered from coarse observation. ' 
 
 With this remark Wogan switched Scrope's sword 
 out of his hand by a turn of the wrist m fianconade. 
 The blade flew up and fell flashing in the water of 
 the Canal. 
 
 "Now, sir, your life is at my mercy. You have 
 betrayed my Cause; you have nearly murdered my 
 friend; you have insulted two ladies of my acquaint- 
 ance; you have censured my poetry; and you have 
 spoiled my hat with your pistol bullet. I repeat, 
 do you swim? There are two places here mighty 
 convenient for a ducking.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 293 
 
 Here Mr. Wogan caught his enemy by the collar. 
 
 * The Canal is shallow; Rosamond's Pool is deep. 
 
 You have your choice; safety and prose, or poetry 
 
 and peril ? ' 
 
 Scrope was squirming in Wogan 's grip like a ser- 
 pent. When Mr. Wogan had calmed him he 
 carried Mr. Scrope like a babe to the edge of the 
 
 Canal. 
 
 ' One, two, three ! ' he said, heaving Mr. Scrope 
 backward and forward, like children setting a swing 
 in motion. ' And away 1 ' 
 
 A heavy body flew through the air, flashed into 
 the Canal, and did not at first arise to the surface. ^ 
 
 ' I hope he has not hit his head or broken his 
 neck, ' said Wogan with anxiety. ' It would be very 
 disagreeable to have to wade for him.' 
 
 His fears were soon set at rest. Scrope scrambled 
 to his feet, the water reaching nearly to his middle. 
 In his dripping perruque he cut a figure odd enough, 
 and sufficiently pitiable. 
 
 ' A water god ! A Triton ! ' cried Wogan. * Have 
 you a Virgil in your pocket? You might study the 
 marine deities whom you resemble. You are sure 
 you have again forgotten to bring the Virgil you 
 desired for Mr. Kelly's use at Avignon. 
 
 < D n you, I shall see your bowels burned 
 
 before your eyes for this, you Popish traitor," cried 
 Scrope, shaking his fist. 
 
 * That is as may be. You have done what you 
 can to that end already. You have told all you 
 know ; as regards myself it is not very much, and I 
 am not in Newgate yet. Moreover, I know a way 
 out. But stop, I cannot possibly permit you to 
 
2 94 PARSON KELLY 
 
 land, for Scrope was wading to the bank. ' Stay 
 where you are and admire the moonshine ! If you 
 set foot on shore I will merely throw you in again ! 
 You might be hurt. 
 
 Scrope turned and was beginning to wade to the 
 other side of the Canal. 
 
 ' It really is not safe in the middle if you do not 
 swim,' cried Wogan. ' Moreover, I can easily be at 
 the further bank before you. ' Mr. Wogan suited 
 the action to the word. He ran round the bank as 
 Scrope waded across. He met his bedraggled vic- 
 tim at the water's edge. Mr. Wogan uttered a joy- 
 ful whoop; there was a great splash and again 
 Scrope sank beneath the surface. He regained his 
 feet and rose spluttering. ' I do trust, Mr. Scrope, 
 that you are not hectic, or subject to rheumatism,' 
 said Wogan with sympathy. 
 
 Wogan walked to the centre of the path across the 
 top of the Canal. He spread his cloak upon the 
 grass and sat down, contemplating the moonlight on 
 Buckingham House. There was a sweet odour of 
 the budding may in the air. 
 
 'A more peaceful scene, Mr. Scrope,' he cried, 
 ' I have rarely witnessed. All the poet whom you 
 tried to crush wakes in my bosom. I shall recite 
 Mr. Pope's celebrated Night piece for your benefit.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan then arose from his seat on the grass, 
 and, raising his hand towards the Moon, delivered 
 Mr. Pope's lines in his best manner. 
 
 * As when the Moon, refulgent lamp of Night, 
 O'er Heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred Hght. 
 When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, 
 And not a cloud o'erspreads the solemn scene.' 
 
PARSON KELLY 295 
 
 * You are not listening, Mr. Scrope! ' 
 
 Scrope was listening, but not to Wogan. Wogan 
 ceased from reciting and listened also. He heard 
 steps and voices of men approaching. Presently, to 
 his great amazement, he recognised the tones of 
 Kelly and Montague, whose mere existence had been 
 banished from his mind. He was yet more sur- 
 prised when they both came in view, walking very 
 friendly together. 
 
 Wogan rose as they drew near him. 
 
 ' What, both of you ? ' he exclaimed. 
 
 * You do not seem to be glad to see us again, sir.^ ' 
 said Colonel Montague. 
 
 * And devil a scratch between the pair of you ! ' 
 cried Mr. Wogan. * George, what does this mean .-* 
 Am I to hear,' he asked with honest indignation, 
 * that one of you has debased himself to an apology ? ' 
 
 He looked from one to the other much perplexed 
 in mind. 
 
 * It is too long a tale for the opportunity, Mr. 
 Wogan, ' said the Colonel laughing. ' But w/iat 
 does that mean .'' ' 
 
 He pointed to the Water God in the perruque, 
 whose shadow was reflected in the calm bosom of 
 the lake. 
 
 'Colonel Montague,' cried Scrope, *I appeal to 
 you as a Protestant and an officer of his Majesty's 
 for your protection against an Irish, Popish, Jacobite 
 conspirator. ' 
 
 'That gentleman,' said Wogan, 'whom I have 
 been entertaining with Mr. Pope's poem, is an 
 English Protestant, Whig, spy, and murderer, and 
 even, I suspect, a writer in the newspapers. He 
 
296 PARSON KELLY 
 
 persists in staying out in the water there, where I 
 cannot get at him. He is one of the Maritime 
 Powers. Egad ! George, you know Mr. Scrope of 
 Northumberland and Grub Street } ' 
 
 George bowed to Mr. Scrope. 
 
 ' The fourth time you see, sir, has been lucky, 
 contrary to the proverb, ' he said politely. 
 
 * The poor devil's teeth are chattering audibly,' 
 said Colonel Montague. ' May I ask you to explain 
 his situation, Mr. Wogan.-*' 
 
 ' Faith, sir, the story, as you say, is too long for 
 the occasion. And I want an explanation myself. 
 After a gentleman has trod on another gentleman's 
 foot, here you both are, well and smiling. I am 
 betrayed, ' cried Mr. Wogan, * in the character of a 
 friend. I could not have thought it of George. ' 
 
 * What was the pistol shot we heard, Nick.? ' asked 
 Mr. Kelly. 
 
 ' That was Mr. Scrope firing at me. ' 
 
 * And the view halloo that might have wakened 
 the dead ? ' 
 
 ^ That was me remonstrating with Mr. Scrope. 
 But I crave your pardon for my thoughtlessness. 
 No doubt the noise brought up some ungentlemanly 
 person who interrupted you in your explanation. 
 You will begin it again .-^ Mr. Scrope and I will be 
 delighted to see fair play, but you will see it from 
 the water, Mr. Scrope. You don't come out yet.' 
 
 * Our honours, about which you are so kindly con- 
 cerned, Mr. Wogan, are as intact as our persons, ' 
 said the Colonel. 
 
 ' Then you have been finding out that George 
 saved your life, or you saved George's, some time 
 
PARSON KELLY 297 
 
 in the dark ages, all to prevent you killing each 
 other in a friendly way?' 
 
 ' You are in an ingenious error, Mr. Wogan ; but 
 Mr. Johnson and I have important business together 
 in the town, and we must bid you farewell. Pray 
 allow that dripping gentleman to land and go to 
 bed.' 
 
 * But I cannot take him with me, and it is purely 
 inconvenient to let him follow me, for the precise 
 reason that he would not follow me at all, but my 
 friend Mr. Johnson. I am like my countryman who 
 caught a Tartar in the Muscovite wars. To be sure, 
 I might tie him to a tree with his garters. Come 
 out, Mr. Scrope, and be tied to a tree!' 
 
 ' No, no,' said the Colonel; * your friend will die 
 of a cold. ' 
 
 'Then what am I to be doing.-*' asked Wogan. 
 * He is a very curious gentleman. ' 
 
 ' I must leave that for you and your friend to 
 determine,' said Colonel Montague. He turned to 
 Kelly. ' In ten minutes,' said he, moving off. 
 
 ' In ten minutes, Corydon,' said Kelly, and 
 Wogan thought he heard the Colonel mutter, * Oh, 
 damnation ! ' 
 
 It was all Greek to Wogan, and Kelly seemed in 
 no mind to translate the Greek for his baser com- 
 prehension. 
 
 * Be off, Nick,' said he. * I have ten minutes to 
 wait here, and for ten minutes Mr. Scrope shall 
 stand in the pond. You have that much law. It is 
 time enough for your long legs.' 
 
 * And do you think I am leaving Mr. Scrope to 
 follow you while I go quietly to bed "^ ' asked Wogan, 
 
298 PARSON KELLY 
 
 who was in truth hurt by the proposal. * No. I 
 shall take him with me. It is the best plan after 
 ail.' 
 
 ' It will not matter, I think, whether he follows 
 me or no; and, Nick, as to going to bed, I hope it 
 will not be on this side of the Channel. Truth, I 
 should be blaming you as it is for your delay, but I 
 have no heart to it. ' He had dropped into the Irish 
 accent, a thing very rare with him. ' For the world 
 topples about me to-night, and the sight of a friend 
 is very pleasant to me. There ! It is all I had to 
 say to you. Good-night. Good-bye. ' 
 
 He clapped his hand on Wogan's shoulder and 
 then sat himself down on the grass. If Mr. Scrope 
 had had his wits about him, he might have chosen 
 this occasion to creep out of the water, for Wogan 
 was paying little heed to him. 
 
 * George,' said he, ' it seems the game has gone 
 against you. But I have the simplest plan imagi- 
 nable to put matters straight. What if you give me 
 the key to that pretty despatch-box .? You see if I 
 go to your lodging and am taken — ' 
 
 'No!' cried Kelly. 
 
 ' But yes, ' said Wogan, seating himself on the 
 grass beside Kelly. * If I am taken, why, it's just 
 Nick Wogan that's taken, and no one but Nick 
 Wogan is a penny the worse. But if you go and 
 are taken — well, there's the Doctor's daughter.' 
 
 Kelly would not listen to reason. It was not, he 
 said, a mere matter of slipping into the house and 
 burning the cyphers. But a man must pay for his 
 own shortcomings, and the whole aspect of affairs 
 had changed. And then he fell to thanking Wogan, 
 
PARSON KELLY 299 
 
 which thanks Wogan cut short ; and so they sat in 
 the moonlight like a couple of owls, only they did 
 not talk. 
 
 'You are very thoughtful,' said Kelly, with a 
 tired sort of laugh, ' and you have thought most of 
 your ten minutes away. ' 
 
 *I was thinking,' said Wogan, * of a word you 
 used to say about a little parsonage in Ireland and 
 your Latin books, and an acre or two of land, and 
 how, like a fool, I laughed at you for speaking so.' 
 
 Kelly rose very quickly to his feet. 
 
 * Come, Nick,' said he almost sharply. ' My ten 
 minutes are almost up. I cannot watch Scrope after 
 that, and you may just as well save your life as lose 
 it.' 
 
 'I mean to take him with me,' said Wogan. 
 * Come out, my friend. I '11 give him the slip, 
 never fear, when I want to. ' 
 
 * And then you will start for France .'' ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan did not mention a couple of obstacles 
 which would at all events delay his departure. In 
 the first place he had a little matter of business with 
 Lord Sidney Beauclerk, and in the second it would 
 be no more than politeness to inquire after Kelly's 
 health before he went abroad. He kept silent upon 
 this subject, and again summoned Scrope, who waded 
 with his teeth chattering from the water. He drove 
 Scrope before him along a bypath, leaving the 
 Parson standing alone in the moonlight. Mr. 
 Wogan had no expectation that he would ever see 
 his friend's face again, and therefore he swore most 
 heartily at Scrope. 
 
 ' Come, my man,' said he, ' I am to see that you 
 
300 PARSON KELLY 
 
 do not catch cold,' and he marched Scrope at a 
 round pace eastwards as far as Temple Bar, and 
 thence northwards to Soho, and from Soho west- 
 wards. 
 
 Scrope had been enjoined strictly not to open his 
 lips ; but, on the other hand, he heard a great deal 
 about his own character, his merits as a poet, and 
 the morals of his family, which was no doubt new 
 to him. Some three hours later, when the moon 
 had long since set, the pair came to the fields behind 
 Holland House, and there Wogan took his leave of 
 Scrope. The man could do no more harm for that 
 night, and he had for the moment lost his taste for 
 spying. 
 
 * You will stay here for five minutes,' said Wogan, 
 who in five seconds was lost in the darkness. He 
 knew a shy place in Westminster where he could 
 pass the night undisturbed. As he laid his head on 
 the pillow it seemed to him to be a good year since 
 he had driven off from Sir Harry Goring's house in 
 the morning. And what of the Parson, whom he 
 had last seen, a sombre figure in the moonlight by 
 the water of St. James's Park.^ Well, the night had 
 only then begun for Kelly, who, to be sure, had lain 
 abed all the day before. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IN WHICH MR. KELLY SURPRISES SMILINDA 
 
 THE devil in all this affair, it was that Wogan 
 could not be in two, or even three, places at 
 once. While Kelly was shut in with Lady Oxford 
 earlier, Mr. Wogan, as he has said, was on the 
 wrong side of the door. There he was again, after 
 the rout, while he conversed with Colonel Mon- 
 tague in the street. Again, while Wogan was busy 
 with Mr. Scrope in St. James's Park, Kelly and the 
 Colonel were exchanging their unknown explana- 
 tions, of a kind not admired by Mr. Wogan, which 
 ended in their walking, like a pair of brothers, 
 towards George's rooms. In all these conjunctures 
 Mr. Wogan' s advice, could he have been present, 
 might have been serviceable, or at least his curiosity 
 must have been assuaged. 
 
 What did pass between Kelly and Lady Oxford 
 when the rout was over, and what were the consider- 
 ations which induced George and the Colonel to 
 resist their natural and mutual desire for an honour- 
 able satisfaction.-* 
 
 These questions (that perplexed Wogan when he 
 awoke, about noon, from the fatigue of the previous 
 day) were answered later by Kelly, and the answer 
 
302 PARSON KELLY 
 
 must be given before the later adventures and sor- 
 rows of George can be clearly narrated. Sure, no 
 trifle could have turned sword and gown into friends 
 that night. 
 
 When Lady Oxford and Kelly were left alone in 
 the empty rooms, among the waning candles and 
 scattered cards, Lady Oxford marched, like indig- 
 nant royalty, to the end of the inner withdrawing- 
 room, where they could not be heard or interrupted 
 without warning. 
 
 Mr. Kelly followed with a mind made up. It 
 was, after all, Lady Oxford that had betrayed him, 
 but he had, by an accident of forgetfulness, kept 
 her letters, and they now gave him the advantage. 
 If those letters could be saved, the Chevalier's 
 papers could and should be saved too, and himself 
 rescued from peril and Rose from much unhappi- 
 ness. Rose was at the bottom of his thoughts that 
 night ; her face was mirrored there bright, it seemed, 
 with divinity. The Chevalier was there too, no 
 doubt, but Rose peeped over his shoulder. Mr. 
 Kelly, then, hardened his heart, and, for love and 
 loyalty, meant to push his advantage over Lady 
 Oxford to its limits. He approached her as she 
 stood retired. 
 
 'Wretch,' cried Lady Oxford, 'you promised to 
 burn my letters. Of all traitors you are the most 
 abandoned and perfidious. ' 
 
 The Parson thought that memory supplied him 
 with a parallel, but he replied : 
 
 ' It is a promise all men make and all men break.' 
 
 Lady Oxford struck her hand upon a table. 
 
 ' You swore you had burned them. ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 303 
 
 This time George was less ready with his answer, 
 but her ladyship stood awaiting it. 
 
 * My passion must be my excuse, madam ; I could 
 not bear to part with these elegant testimonies of 
 your esteem. It is as I have the honour to tell 
 your ladyship; the brocades are in my strong box in 
 my lodgings. To-morrow they shall be restored to 
 your hands. * 
 
 * To-morrow ! ' she said, in a voice of despair. 
 * To-morrow ! I am undone ! ' 
 
 * It is not so long to wait for the finery, and I do 
 not think the streets are so purely unsafe as you 
 suppose. ' 
 
 ' I am undone ! ' she repeated. ' The public will 
 ring of my name. I shall become a byword, a thing 
 of scorn for every scribbler to aim his wit at. ' 
 
 She gnawed her fingers in an agony of fear and 
 perplexity. Mr. Kelly had learned enough. There 
 was plainly no chance within the lady's knowledge, 
 as he had hoped, of saving her letters. Neither, 
 then, could the King's papers be saved. He bowed, 
 and took a step towards the door. 
 
 ' Stop ! ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly turned with alacrity at the eager cry, 
 but Lady Oxford had no words of hope for him. 
 
 ' You must not leave this house to-night, or must 
 leave it secretly by the garden.' 
 
 Kelly smiled grimly. Her ladyship was suddenly 
 grown most tender of her reputation now that it was 
 in peril. 
 
 ' Your ladyship's care for me, and your hospitality 
 overcome me, but I have, as you perhaps remarked, 
 an assignation of honour with Colonel Montague 
 
304 PARSON KELLY 
 
 which nothing must prevent me from keeping. He 
 is longing for an instant revenge — at the Hazard 
 Table. A while ago, you may pardon me for observ- 
 ing, your ladyship was remote from feeling this 
 sudden and violent anxiety on my hand. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly's irony was poured out to deaf ears. 
 Lady Oxford paced to and fro about the room, 
 wringing her hands in her extremity. Then she 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 *I might drive to the Minister's.' She reached 
 out a hand towards the bell. Kelly shook his head. 
 
 ^ That visit would be remarked upon unfavourably 
 by the friends of my Lord Oxford, who are not in 
 the Minister's interest. Mr. Walpole has no party 
 to-night, and must have gone to bed — 't is verging 
 on two o'clock — or else he is in his cups. Moreover, 
 the Dolliad^ the ballad on his sister, was credited to 
 your pen. You know that Mr. Walpole loves a 
 broad jest, and loves revenge. He will not protect 
 you nor miss so fair an opportunity. Nay, I think 
 I read in to-morrow's Flying Post, "In the papers 
 of the prisoner Kelly, among other treasonable 
 matter reserved for a later occasion, were found 
 the following letters of a high curiosity, which we 
 are graciously permitted to publish; one begins — 
 Oh, my Dcliciotis Strephon.'' ' 
 
 Lady Oxford snapped her fan between her fingers 
 and dashed the fragments in Kelly's face. He owns 
 that he cannot well complain she served him ill, but 
 he wanted to repay her in some sort for her innuendo 
 about his fate at the hangman's hands, and similar 
 favours. Beholding her passion, which was not 
 unjust, he felt bitterly ashamed of his words. 
 
PARSON KELLY 305 
 
 * You coward ! ' she said. Her dark eyes glared 
 at him from a face white as the ivory of her broken 
 fan, and then, quite suddenly, she burst into a 
 storm of tears. Kelly's shame was increased a 
 thousandfold. 
 
 ' I humbly crave your ladyship's pardon,' he said. 
 * I have spoken in terms unworthy of a chairman. 
 But some remarks of your ladyship's on a future 
 event, to me of painful interest, had left an unhappy 
 impression. ' 
 
 But Lady Oxford paid no heed to the stammered 
 apology. As Mr. Kelly moved to her she waived 
 him aside with her hands, and, dropping on to a sofa, 
 pressed her weeping face into the cushions. Sobs 
 shook her; she lay abandoned to distress. 
 
 Mr. Kelly stood apart and listened to the dolorous 
 sound of her weeping. That was true which she 
 had said; he had promised to burn those letters; he 
 had sworn that he had burned them. His fine plan 
 of using them as a weapon against her began to take 
 quite another complexion. There were, no doubt, 
 all manner of pious and respectable arguments to be 
 discovered in favour of the plan, if only he pried 
 about for them. But a saying of Mr. Scrope's was 
 suddenly scrawled out in his recollections: * yEneas 
 was an army chaplain who invoked his religion 
 when he was tired of the lady, and so sailed away 
 with a clear conscience. ' Kelly murmured * Rose ' 
 to himself, and, again, *Rose, ' seeking to fortify 
 himself with the mention of her name. But it had 
 the contrary effect. Even as he heard his lips mur- 
 muring it, the struggle was over. 
 
 George had a number of pretty finical scruples, 
 
 20 
 
3o6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 of which his conduct at this crisis of his fortunes 
 was a particular example. He relates how it seemed 
 to him that at the mention of her name Rose threw 
 out a hand to him and drew him up out of a slough ; 
 how he understood that his fine plan was unworthy 
 of any man, and entirely despicable in the man 
 whom she, out of her great condescension, had 
 stooped to love ; how he became aware that he owed 
 it to her, since she was a woman, that no woman's 
 fame, whether a Smilinda's or no, should be smirched 
 by any omission of his; how he suddenly felt in his 
 very marrow that it would dishonour Rose to save 
 her even from great misery by a Idchete towards 
 another of her sex. His duty was revealed to him 
 in that moment, as clear as it was unexpected. He 
 sets his revulsion of feeling wholly to Rose's 
 account, as a man in love should, but very likely 
 her ladyship's fan had something to do with it. 
 
 He spoke again to Lady Oxford, and very 
 gently. 
 
 * Madam, it is true. I promised to burn your 
 letters. I swore that I had burned them. My 
 honour, I perceive, can only be saved by saving 
 yours. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford raised her head from the cushions 
 and stared at him with wondering eyes. 
 
 ' Let us play this game cartes sur table,' continued 
 Kelly. 
 
 Her ladyship rose from her sofa and sat herself in 
 a chair at a table, still wondering, still suspicious. 
 George took the chair on the other side of the table, 
 and spoke while Lady Oxford dried the tears upon 
 her face. To help her at all he must know all that 
 
<H 
 
 PARSON KELLY 307 
 
 she knew. His first business was to remove her 
 ladyship's supicions. 
 
 ' I understand that your ladyship, by some means 
 of which I am as yet ignorant, has become aware of 
 a certain Plot, and has carried the knowledge to Mr. 
 Walpole. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford neither agreed nor denied. She 
 admitted the truth of Mr. Kelly's statement in her 
 own way. 
 
 * You bragged and blabbed to my worst enemy, to 
 Lady Mary, with her poisonous pen,' and her fine 
 features writhed with hatred as she spoke Lady 
 Mary's name. 
 
 'There your ladyship was misled,' returned 
 Kelly. * My lips have been sealed, as I already had 
 the honour to inform you. My Lady Mary may not 
 love you, but she is innocent of this offence. If she 
 wrote those rhymes, she was, indeed, more my 
 enemy than yours; and my enemy, as your ladyship 
 is aware, she is not. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford understood the strength of the 
 argument. 
 
 * Ah, yes,' she said thoughtfully. 'The apothe- 
 cary's daughter! ' 
 
 The contemptuous phrase slipped from Lady 
 Oxford by mistake, and was not at all uttered in a 
 contemptuous voice. But she had no doubt fallen 
 into a habit of so terming the girl in her thoughts. 
 None the less, however, it stung Mr. Kelly, who 
 was at some trouble to keep his voice gentle. He 
 knew how much Smilinda owed at this moment to 
 the apothecary's daughter. 
 
 * The young lady to whom I conceive you refer, 
 
3o8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Miss Townley, is of a family as ancient, loyal, and 
 honourable as your ladyship's own, and you may* 
 have seen on what terms both ladies were this even- 
 ing. Moreover, Lady Mary was purely ignorant of 
 Miss Townley' s very existence when that pasquinade 
 was written. ' 
 
 * Then who wrote it ? ' 
 
 * Mr. Scrope, as I have the honour to repeat. ' 
 *Scrope.'*' she answered in a quick question, as 
 
 though for the first time she understood that George 
 might well be right. He gave the reasons for his 
 belief as he had given them at the. Deanery to 
 Nicholas Wogan. They were to the last degree 
 convincing. Lady Oxford was persuaded long before 
 Mr. Kelly had come to an end. A look came into 
 her face which Kelly could not understand, a look 
 of bitter humiliation. ' Scrope/ she muttered, as 
 her fingers played with the cards upon the table. 
 She overturned a card which lay face downwards on 
 the table, and it chanced to be the knave of hearts. 
 
 * Your ladyship now sees that you fell into a 
 natural error,' continued Kelly, who was anxious to 
 smooth Lady Oxford's path, ' in consequence of 
 which you took a natural revenge. May I ask how 
 you secured the means of revenge.? How, in a 
 word, you came to know of the hidden Plot within 
 the Plot .? ' 
 
 Her ladyship's answer fairly startled Mr. Kelly. 
 It was not given at once. She still played with the 
 cards, and overturned another. It was the knave of 
 clubs. 
 
 * The cards tell you,* she said with a bitter smile. 
 Mr. Kelly leaned back in his chair open-mouthed. 
 
PARSON KELLY 309 
 
 ' Scrope ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Scrope, ' replied her ladyship. 'I received a 
 humble letter from him praying that I would forgive 
 his odious ingratitude, and, by way of peace-offer- 
 ing, bidding me tell my Lord Oxford — ' 
 
 ' Who had already withdrawn, ' said George. * I 
 think I understand,' Lady Oxford's look of humili- 
 ation had enlightened him, ' and I think your lady- 
 ship understands with me. Mr. Scrope is a sort 
 of a gentleman, and would prefer to do his dirty 
 work without appearing as a spy. He has made 
 use of your ladyship. He sends you the Plot and 
 spurs you to disclose it with his ballad. He would 
 have disclosed it himself, I doubt not, had not your 
 ladyship served his turn. But Mr. Scrope has his 
 refinements, and, besides that he spares himself, 
 would take a particular pleasure in compassing my 
 ruin at the same time that he outwitted you." 
 
 Little wonder that Lady Oxford broke in upon 
 Mr. Kelly's reasonings. It must have been suffi- 
 ciently galling for her to reflect that in exacting her 
 revenge she had been the mere instrument of a man 
 she had tossed aside. 
 
 ' It is both of us that he has ruined, not you 
 alone, ' she cried. 
 
 Certainly, Mr. Scrope was a person to reckon with, 
 and had killed quite a covey of birds with one stone. 
 
 * Are you sure.? ' asked Kelly. ' Are you sure of 
 that ? ' 
 
 She bent across the table eagerly, but she did not 
 reply to the question. 
 
 * Will you kill Scrope,' she flashed out, ' and you 
 and I part friends } ' 
 
3IO PARSON KELLY 
 
 Kelly, even in the midst of this tangle of misfor- 
 tunes, could not but smile. 
 
 * I fear that I may have been anticipated. Mr. 
 Scrope has been watching your ladyship's house 
 to-night — and Mr. Wogan observed him, and, I 
 conceive, has undertaken for him. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford at that smiled too. ' Then he is a 
 dead man,' she said, slowly savouring her words like 
 wine. 
 
 * But his death, madam, will not save your letters,* 
 said Kelly; and the fire died out of her face. 
 
 * He has betrayed us both,' she moaned. It 
 seemed she had already forgotten how she herself 
 had seized at the occasion of betraying Mr. Kelly. 
 Kelly was in no mood to debate these subtleties. 
 
 * Are you sure.-*' he contented himself with ask- 
 ing for a second time. ' There is one thing Mr. 
 Scrope has not done. He has taken no measures 
 purposely to insure that your letters will be discov- 
 ered, since he does not know of them ; else, no 
 doubt, he would have done his worst. We two are 
 still engaged in a common cause- — your ladyship's. 
 Your intentions in my regard I were much less than 
 a man if I did not forgive, granting (what I now 
 know) your ladyship's erroneous interpretation of 
 my ground of offence, the babbling to Lady Mary. 
 Does your ladyship permit me, then, at the eleventh 
 hour, to save you, if I can find a way, from the 
 odious consequences of Mr. Scrope's unparalleled 
 behaviour ? ' 
 
 'You.?' 
 
 Lady Oxford's brows were drawn together in per- 
 plexity. The notion that Mr. Kelly was prepared 
 
PARSON KELLY 311 
 
 to do this thing was still new and strange to 
 her. 
 
 'You?' Her eyes searched his for the truth of 
 his purpose, and found it. ' You ? ' she said again, 
 but in a voice of gratitude and comprehension. And 
 then, with a gesture of despair, she thrust her chair 
 back and stood up. ' You cannot save yourself. I 
 cannot save you. ' 
 
 'No,' replied George, 'myself I cannot save; 
 but it may not be too late to save my honour, which 
 is now wrapped up in that of your ladyship's. My 
 case is desperate ; what can be done for yours ? Be 
 plain with me. How much does your ladyship 
 know ? ' 
 
 Lady Oxford turned away from the table. In the 
 face of Kelly's generosity no doubt she hesitated to 
 disclose the whole truth of her treachery. 
 
 * I know no more than that you are in peril of 
 ^rrest, ' she said. 
 
 ' Madam, surely you know more than that. You 
 spoke earlier this evening of my arrest, and you 
 spoke with the assurance of a more particular 
 knowledge. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford took, a turn across the room. 
 
 ' Oh, my God, what can I do.^* ' she cried, lifting 
 her hands to her head. ' I hear Lady Mary's 
 laughter and the horrid things they will say!' 
 
 The whimsical inconsequence of Smilinda's appeal 
 to her Maker did not fail to strike Kelly as ludi- 
 crous, but, as his own case was hopeless and aban- 
 doned, any thought of revenge or mockery had 
 ceased to agitate him. His honour now stood in 
 saving all that was left of hers from open and in- 
 
312 PARSON KELLY 
 
 tolerable shame, and Rose beckoned him to the 
 task. 
 
 ' Surely you know more, ' he persisted quietly. 
 
 Lady Oxford gave in and came back to the table. 
 
 ' The Messengers should be waiting for you in 
 Ryder Street. ' 
 
 At last Kelly knew the worst. He would be 
 taken before he reached his doorstep. There would 
 be no chance of saving the cyphers in his strong 
 box. Could he save Smilinda's letters.-* 
 
 He bent his forehead upon his hands, thinking. 
 Smilinda watched him ; her lips moved as though 
 she was praying. 
 
 ' I might be carried to your lodgings and claim 
 what is mine,' she suggested. 
 
 * You would be carried to a trap — a soiiricihe. 
 Ten to one you would be arrested by the Messengers. 
 At all events your visit would be remarked upon, 
 and you would not obtain the letters. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford had no other proposal at hand, and 
 there was silence in the room. Mr. Kelly remained 
 with his face buried in his hands; he took the air in 
 long deep breaths. No other sound was audible 
 except the faint ticking of the clock in the outer 
 withdrawing-room. For Smilinda was holding her 
 breath lest she should disturb the man whom she 
 had betrayed, and who was now wholly occupied 
 with the attempt to save her. Then she remarked 
 that the sound of his breathinsf ceased. She bent 
 forwards; he raised his face to hers. He did not 
 seem to see her; his eyes kindled with hope. 
 
 ' You have found a way.** ' she whispered; and he 
 whispered back: 
 
PARSON KELLY 313 
 
 * A desperate chance, but it may serve. ' He 
 started to his feet. * It must serve. ' 
 
 A smile brightened over his face. 
 
 'It will serve.' 
 
 Sure he showed as much pleasure as if he had 
 discovered an issue for himself. 
 
 'Quick!' said Smilinda, with a smile to answer 
 his. 'Tell me!' 
 
 ' Colonel Montague — ' 
 
 ' What of him ? Why speak to me now of him ^ ' 
 
 Lady Oxford's face had clouded at the name. 
 
 ' He is your only salvation. ' 
 
 ' What can he do ? ' 
 
 ' Everything we need. His loyalty to the present 
 occupant of the Throne is entirely beyond a sus- 
 picion. He can act as he will without peril to his 
 reputation. He can even rescue your papers, which 
 are not in the same strong box as my own. The 
 Colonel, if any man', can assist you if he will.' 
 
 ' But he will not,' said her ladyship sullenly. 
 
 ' He will, ' answered Kelly confidently, ' if properly 
 approached. He is a man of honour, I take it? 
 You will pardon me for saying that your ladyship's 
 flattering behaviour towards me, in his presence (for 
 the nature of which you had, doubtless, your own 
 particular reasons) can have left him in no doubt on 
 certain heads; while it is equally plain that your 
 ladyship hath no longer any very tender interest in 
 keeping his esteem and regard. Nevertheless, being 
 a gentleman, he will not abandon your ladyship's 
 cause. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford was in no way comforted. 
 
 * It may well be as you say,' she returned with a 
 
314 PARSON KELLY 
 
 look at Mr. Kelly. She had already one example 
 of how much a gentleman could forgive a woman 
 when she stood in need of his help. * But, Mr. 
 Kelly, you cannot come at Colonel Montague.' 
 
 ' Why not J ' 
 
 ' You know very well that he lodges in the same 
 house as yourself. I sent a lackey with a note to 
 you, yesterday. And your reply was dated from 13 
 Ryder Street.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly stepped back, he could hardly believe 
 his ears. 
 
 * Colonel Montague — lodges — in the same house 
 as myself ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Yes, ' Lady Oxford replied in a dispirited fashion. 
 She had lost heart altogether. Mr. Kelly, on the other 
 hand, was quite lifted up by the unexpected news. 
 
 ' This is a mere miracle in nature, ' he cried. * I 
 only went into my present lodgings two days ago. 
 I have been abroad for the greater part of the time, 
 and asleep the rest, and have had no knowledge of 
 the other tenants, even of their names. 'Faith, 
 madam, your letters are as safe as though the ashes 
 were now cold in your grate. ' 
 
 * But the Colonel will have gone home, and you 
 are to be taken in Ryder Street. You will not get 
 speech with him.' 
 
 ' Nay, madam, he has not gone home. He is 
 waiting for me now. ' Lady Oxford started. ' Ah, 
 your ladyship remembers. He is waiting for me. 
 Ten yards from your doorstep — ten yards at the 
 farthest,' and Kelly actually chuckled. Carried 
 away by his plan, he began to pace the room as he 
 unfolded it. * I shall see the Colonel, and if I can 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 315 
 
 by any means do so, I will acquaint him, as far as 
 is necessary, with the embarrassing posture of your 
 affairs. I shall give him the key of the box con- 
 taining the — brocades, and, if the Messengers be 
 not already in possession of them, the rest must be 
 entrusted to his honour as a gentleman and a soldier. 
 The unexpected accident of our being fellow-lodgers 
 gives him, to this end, a great advantage, and can 
 scarce have occurred without the providence of — 
 some invisible power or another which watches over 
 your ladyship.' 
 
 Kelly thought that Lady Oxford this night had 
 enjoyed what is called the Devil's own luck. 
 
 ' Have I your ladyship's leave to try my powers of 
 persuasion with Colonel Montague.'* ' 
 
 Very much to Kelly's surprise she moved towards 
 him, like one walking in her sleep. 
 
 * You are bleeding,' she said, and stanched with 
 her handkerchief some drops from his brow, where 
 it had been cut by the broken edges of the ivory fan. 
 Then she went again into a bitter fit of weeping, 
 which Kelly could never bear to see in a woman. 
 She may have remembered the snow upon the lawn, 
 years ago, and a moment's vision of white honour. 
 Then she stinted in her crying as suddenly as she 
 had begun; in a time incredibly short you could not 
 tell that she had wept. 
 
 ' You must carry a token. I must write. Oh my 
 shame ! ' she said, and sitting down to a scrutoire, 
 wrote rapidly and briefly, sanded the paper, and 
 offered it open to Kelly. 
 
 *I cannot see it; your ladyship must seal it,' he 
 said, which she did with a head of Cicero. 
 
3i6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 George took the note, and said: ' Now time 
 presses, madam. I must be gone. I trust that, if 
 not now, at least later, you may forgive me. ' 
 
 Her lips moved, but no words came forth. Kelly 
 made his bow, and so took leave of Smilinda, she 
 gnawing her lips, as she watched him with her 
 inscrutable eyes, moodily pushing to and fro with 
 her foot the broken pieces of the fan on the polished 
 floor. 
 
 There came into Kelly's fancy his parting view of 
 Rose at Avignon, her face framed among the vine 
 leaves, in the open window; she leaning forth, with 
 a forced smile on her dear lips and waving her ker- 
 chief in farewell. A light wind was stirring her 
 soft hair at that time, and she crying * Au revoir! 
 Au revoir!' There was a scent of lilacs from the 
 garden in the air of April, George remembered, and 
 now the candles were dying in the sconces with a 
 stench. 
 
 With these contrasted pictures of two women and 
 two farewells in his fancy, Kelly was descending 
 the wide empty staircase, not knowing too well 
 where he went. Something seemed to stir, he lifted 
 his eyes and before him he saw again the appearance 
 of his King: the King, young and happy, and as 
 beautiful as the dawn that was stealing into the 
 room and dimming the lustres on the stairs. 
 
 Then the appearance moved aside, and Kelly 
 found himself gazing into a great empty mirror that 
 hung on the wall, facing the gallery above. 
 
 Lord Sidney Beauclerk, in fact, had not left the 
 house with the other guests, and Kelly, remembering, 
 laughed aloud as he reached the fresh air without. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AN ECLOGUE WHICH DEMONSTRATES THE PASTORAL 
 SIMPLICITY OF CORYDON AND STREPHON 
 
 WOGAN has told already how Kelly came out 
 of the house in Queen's Square, how he led 
 the way to the glade, so convenient for the occasion, 
 and how he dismissed his friend. George has since 
 declared that he never was more tossed up and down 
 in his mind than during that trifle of a promenade. 
 Here was the Colonel that had insulted him, and 
 wished nothing, more or less, than to cut his clerical 
 throat. And here was Kelly, that must make 
 friends with his enemy, if he was to save his honour, 
 and the reputation, such as it was, of the woman 
 whom he had once loved. It was a quandary. If 
 Kelly began by showing a flag of truce, the Colonel, 
 as like as not, would fire on it by way of a kick or 
 cuff, and then a friendly turn to the conversation 
 would be totally out of the possible. Had Kelly 
 been six inches taller than he was and a perfect 
 master of his weapon, he might have trusted to the 
 chance of disarming the Colonel and then proposing 
 a cartel, but unhappily it was the Elector's officer 
 who possessed these advantages. Thus Kelly could 
 think of nothing except to get rid of Mr. Wogan's 
 presence as a witness of the explanation. He sue- 
 
3i8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ceeded in that, and then marched back to the 
 Colonel, who had stood aside while George con- 
 versed with his friend. 
 
 Kelly waited, as the wiser part, till the Colonel 
 should show his hand. But the Colonel also waited, 
 and there the two gentlemen stood speechless, just 
 out of thrust of each other, while every convenience 
 in nature called on them to begin. 
 
 At last the Colonel cleared his throat and said, 
 ' Reverend Mr. Lace-Merchant, I am somewhat at a 
 loss as to how I should deal with you. ' 
 
 ' Faith, it is my own case, ' thought George to 
 himself, but all he uttered was, ' Gallant Mr. Drill- 
 Sergeant, the case seems clear enough. You trod 
 on my foot, and,' said George, as he let his cloak 
 slip from his shoulders to the ground, ' you invited 
 me to take a walk; what circumstance now befogs 
 your intellects .'* ' 
 
 Kelly's instincts, naturally good, though dimmed 
 a trifle by a learned education and a clerical train- 
 ing, showed him but that one way out of the wood. 
 
 ' Several circumstances combine, sir. Thus, I 
 do not want to save the hangman a job. Again, my 
 respect for your cloth forbids me to draw sword on 
 you, and rather prompts to a public battooning to- 
 morrow in St. James's. I therefore do but wait to 
 favour you with this warning, which is more than a 
 trafficker of your kidney deserves. ' 
 
 ' Truth, sir, if you wait to cane me till to-morrow, 
 I have every reason to believe that you may wait a 
 lifetime. As to cloth, mine is as honourable as ever 
 a German usurper's livery.' 
 
 This did not promise a friendly conclusion, but 
 
PARSON KELLY 319 
 
 George was ever honourably ready to support the 
 honour of his gown, and he confesses that, at this 
 moment, he somewhat lost sight of his main object. 
 
 The Colonel stepped forward with uplifted cane, 
 a trifle of tortoise-shell and amber, in his hand. 
 
 George drew back one pace and folded his arms 
 on his breast. His eyes, which are of an uncommon 
 bright blue, were fixed on the Colonel's. 
 
 * You will find, sir, if you advance one foot, that 
 I do not stand kick or cuff. You are dealing with 
 one who knows his weapon ' (no experience could 
 cure George of this delusion), ' and who does not 
 value his life at a straw. Moreover, you began a 
 parley for which I did not ask, though I desired it, 
 and I have to tell you that your honour is involved 
 in continuing this conversation in quite another 
 key.' 
 
 George stepped forward the pace he had with- 
 drawn, and clasped his hands behind his back, 
 watching the Colonel narrowly. 
 
 There was something in his voice, more in his 
 eyes. The Colonel had seen fire, and knew a brave 
 man when he met one. He threw down his cane 
 and Kelly reckoned that the worst of his task was 
 over. 
 
 ' You may compel me to fight, ' George went on, 
 * and I never went to a feast with a better stomach, 
 but first I have certain words that must be spoken 
 to you. * 
 
 * You cannot intend to escape by promising a dis- 
 covery } ' 
 
 * Sir, I do not take you for a Messenger or a Min- 
 ister. One or both I can find without much seek- 
 
320 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ing, and, for that sufficient reason, before they lay 
 hands on me I absolutely demand to speak to you on 
 a matter closely touching your own honour, which, 
 as I have never heard it impeached, I therefore 
 sincerely profess my desire to trust. ' 
 
 ' You are pleased to be complimentary, but I 
 know not how my honour can be concerned with a 
 Jacobite trafficker and his treasons.' 
 
 * I make you this promise, that, if you do thus 
 utterly refuse to listen for five minutes, I will give 
 you every satisfaction at the sword's point, or, by 
 God ! will compel you to take it, as you have been 
 pleased to introduce battoons into a conversation 
 between gentlemen. And if, when you have heard 
 me, you remain dissatisfied, again I will give you a 
 lesson with sharps. You see that we are not likely 
 to be interrupted, and that I am perfectly cool. 
 This is a matter to each of us of more than life or 
 death. ' 
 
 ' I do see that you desire to pique my curiosity for 
 the sake of some advantage which I am unable to 
 perceive. Perhaps you expect your friends on the 
 scene ? ' 
 
 ' You may observe that I began by dismissing the 
 only friend I have in this town. Do you, perhaps, 
 suspect that Mr. Nicholas Wogan needs, or has 
 gone to procure, assistance .'' ' 
 
 ' I confess that I know that gentleman tdo well 
 for any such suspicions. ' 
 
 ' Then, sir, remember that the Roman says 
 noscitiir a sociis, and reflect that I am a friend of 
 Mr. Wogan' s, who must stand sponsor, as you do 
 not know me, for my honesty. Moreover,' said 
 
PARSON KELLY 321 
 
 George, working round by a risky way to his point, 
 ' had I wished to escape I could, instead of seeking 
 you, have sneaked off t'other way. You observed 
 that I remained some minutes with a lady to-night 
 after you and the rest of her company had with- 
 drawn?' 
 
 ' It is very like your impudence to remind me 
 of that among other provocations ! I am not con- 
 cerned in your merchant's business of brocades.' 
 
 * But, indeed, with your pardon, you are concerned 
 in the highest degree, and that is just the point I 
 would bring you to consider. ' 
 
 * I tire of your mysteries, sir,' he said, shrugging 
 his shoulders. * Speak on, and be brief. ' 
 
 * On these brocades turns the question whether the 
 honour of a lady, which you are bound to cherish, 
 shall be the laughing-stock of the town. Sir, in a 
 word, you, and you only, can save that person; 
 need I say more } ' 
 
 * Did she send you with this message to save your 
 own skin ? ' 
 
 ' That is past saving, except by a miracle, which 
 I am in no situation to expect will be wrought for 
 me. Understand me, sir, I am out of hope of 
 earthly salvation. I have nothing to gain, nothing 
 to look for from. man. I make you freely acquainted 
 with that position of my affairs, which are purely 
 desperate. And the person of whom we speak looks 
 to you as her sole hope in the world. She sends 
 you this, take it, I know not the contents, the seal, 
 as you perceive, being unbroken. ' 
 
 'This looks more serious, ' said the Colonel, tak- 
 ing the sealed note which Kelly handed to him. 
 
 21 
 
32 2 PARSON KELLY 
 
 He pored over the letter, holding it up to the 
 moonlight. ' Do as the bearer bids you, if you 
 would have me live,' he read; then, with a bitter 
 laugh, he tore the note into the smallest shreds, 
 and was about to dash them down on the grass. 
 
 * Hold, sir,' Kelly said; 'preserve them till you 
 can burn them. Or — I have myself swallowed the 
 like before now. ' 
 
 The Colonel stared, and put the fragments into 
 his pocket-book. 
 
 * Well,' he said, * I am hearing you.' 
 
 * I thank you, sir; you will grant that I did not 
 wrong you in trusting your generosity. If I am a 
 free man to-morrow, or even to-night after this 
 business is done, I shall have the honour of meeting 
 you, wherever you are pleased to appoint. For my 
 cloth have no scruple, I never was more than half a 
 parson. ' 
 
 * Sir, I shall treat you as you may merit. And 
 now for your commands, which, it seems, I am in a 
 manner under the necessity to obey. ' 
 
 ' You see this k,ey, sir,' said Kelly, offering that 
 of one of his strong boxes, ' take it, go to my lodg- 
 ings, which, by a miracle, are in the same house as 
 your own. Enter my parlour, 't is on the ground 
 floor; open the small iron strong box which this key 
 fits, and burn all the — brocades which you find there. ' 
 
 'This is a most ingenious stroke of the theatre! 
 I am to burn, I perceive, all the papers, or brocades 
 as you call them, which damn you for a Jacobite 
 plotter ! It is not badly contrived, sir, but you have 
 come to the wrong agent. I am acquainted with the 
 ingenious works of the French playwrights. ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 323 
 
 ' Sir, you compel me, against my will, to be more 
 plain with you than I desire. It is your own fault 
 if I give you concern. On opening the coffer you 
 may satisfy yourself of the hand of the writer, which 
 cannot but be familiar to you. Moreover, the letters 
 of the person for whom we are concerned are 
 addressed (that you may not make the error which 
 you apprehend) to one Strephon — not a cant name 
 of a political plot. ' 
 
 ' She called you — Strephon } ' 
 
 ' She was so kind.' 
 
 * And I was Corydon, ' groaned the Colonel 
 between his teeth. 
 
 ^Arcades anibo!' said George. 'But now 'tis 
 the hour of a third shepherd ! Lycidas, perhaps, le 
 plus heureiix des trois. Oh, Colonel, be easy, we are 
 both yesterday's roses, or, rather, I am the rose of 
 the day before yesterday. ' 
 
 ' And it is for this woman — ' 
 
 ' Ay, it is just for this woman that you are to 
 risk your commission, for a risk there may be, and 
 I my life, for I could get away from this place. 
 You perceive that we have no alternative.-*' 
 
 'What must be, must,' he said, after some 
 moments of thought ; ' but what if I find the Mes- 
 sengers already in possession of your effects } ' 
 
 ' In that case I must depend solely on your own 
 management and invention. But I may say that 
 gold will do much, nay, everything with such fel- 
 lows, and your position, moreover, as a trusted 
 officer of your King's, will enable you to satisfy 
 men not very eminent for scruples.' 
 
 * Gold ! I have not a guinea, thanks to the cards, 
 
324 PARSON KELLY 
 
 not a stiver in my rooms to-night. The cards took 
 all' 
 
 * Here, at least, ' cried George, * I can offer some 
 kind of proof of my honesty, and even be of service. 
 I am poor, Heaven knows, but there are my win- 
 nings, easily enough to corrupt four Messengers. 
 Use the money; I have friends who will not let me 
 starve in the Tower. Nay, delicacy is purely foolish. 
 I insist that you take it. ' 
 
 * Mr. Johnson,' the Colonel said, ' you are a very 
 extraordinary man.' 
 
 * Sir, I am an Irishman, ' said George. 
 
 ' I will not say that I never met one like you, but 
 I hope, after all accounts are settled between us, to 
 have the advantage of your acquaintance. Sir, au 
 revoir. ' 
 
 * I shall be with you, sir, in ten minutes after 
 your arrival in your lodgings, whether the coast be 
 clear or not. But let me attend you across the Park, 
 as far as the corner of Pall Mall Street. ' 
 
 If Kelly was an Irishman, Montague was an 
 Englishman, and Kelly was well enough acquainted 
 with that nation to know that the last proof given of 
 his disinterestedness was by much the most power- 
 ful he could have used. He reflected again on the 
 Devil's own luck of Smilinda that night, for if the 
 cards had gone contrary to her and George he could 
 not have produced this demonstration of his loyalty, 
 nor could he very well have invited the Colonel to 
 pay the piper out of his own pocket. 
 
 The Colonel also walked silently, turning about 
 in his mind all the aspects of this affair. 
 
 * I understand, ' he said, ' that you are upon honour 
 
PARSON KELLY 325 
 
 not to involve me in tampering with anything dis- 
 affected? You will take no advantage whatever 
 that may give me the air of being concerned, to 
 shelter yourself or your party?' 
 
 ' You have my word for it, sir. Your honour, 
 next to that in which we are equally concerned, is 
 now my foremost consideration.' 
 
 He nodded, then sighed, as one not very well 
 satisfied. 
 
 ' Things may come to wear a very suspicious com- 
 plexion, but I must risk a little; the worse the luck. 
 Mr. Johnson, neither of us has been very wise in 
 the beginnings of this business. ' 
 
 * I came to that conclusion rather earlier than 
 you, sir, and on very good evidence. ' 
 
 * No doubt, ' growled Montague, and he muttered 
 once or twice, * Strephon, Corydon — Corydon, 
 Strephon. ' Then he turned unexpectedly to Kelly. 
 ' You mentioned these letters as I was leaving the 
 room, and I noticed that her ladyship grew white. 
 She kept you, she knew then of the danger you were 
 in and has just informed you of it. Now, how came 
 she to have so particular a knowledge of your 
 danger? ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly did not answer a question which boded 
 no good for Lady Oxford. ' She had grounds of 
 resentment against you in a certain ballad.' 
 
 Kelly seized at the chance of diverting Montague 
 from his suspicions, and showed how the ballad was 
 aimed at him no less than at her ladyship, and, 
 without giving the Colonel time to interrupt, 
 
 * Here I must bid you ati revoir, sir, ' he said, ' for 
 some ten minutes, time enough for you to do what 
 
326 PARSON KELLY 
 
 is needed, if, as I hope, you are not disturbed. The 
 Messengers, I conceive, will be lurking for me in 
 Ryder Street outside our common door; they will 
 not think of preventing you from entering, and be- 
 fore I arrive, whatever befalls me, our common in- 
 terest will be secured. ' 
 
 ' You are determined to follow? ' 
 
 * What else can I do? I must know the end of 
 this affair of the brocades. It is not wholly impos- 
 sible that the Messengers have wearied of waiting, 
 and think to take me abed to-morrow. When you 
 have done what you know, you will leave my room, 
 and I, if I am not taken, have some arrangements of 
 my own to make. That, I presume, is not a breach 
 of my engagement with you ? ' 
 
 * Certainly not, sir. When I have left your room 
 I am in no sense responsible for your actions. I 
 wish you good fortune. ' 
 
 While they thus walked and were sad enough, 
 they came within ear-shot of Wogan, who, at that 
 moment, was declaiming Mr. Pope's Night piece to 
 Mr. Scrope, who was in the Canal. 
 
 What conversation passed between the four gentle- 
 men Wogan has already told, and he has mentioned 
 how the Colonel went away, and how, after using 
 pains to prevent Mr. Scrope from catching a cold, 
 he himself withdrew to court slumber, and left Mr. 
 Kelly alone in the moonlight. 
 
 Mr. Kelly did not remain in the open, but lay 
 perdii on the shadowy side of the grove. Conceal- 
 ing himself from any chance of a rencounter, he 
 allotted a space of twelve minutes by his watch, and 
 time never paced more tardy with him in all his 
 
PARSON KELLY 327 
 
 life. There was in his favour but the one chance 
 that the Messengers might choose to take him abed 
 in the early morning, when the streets would be 
 empty. At this moment St. James's Street was 
 full of chairs and noises ; night-rakers were abroad, 
 and the Messengers, who are not very popular, 
 might fear a rescue by the rabble. On this chance 
 Kelly fixed his hopes, for if he could but be alone 
 for ten minutes in his lodgings, he and his friends 
 would have little to fear from any evidence in his 
 possession. 
 
 If the Colonel succeeded, Lady Oxford, and, with 
 her ladyship, George's honour, were safe. If, by an 
 especial miracle of heaven, George could have a few 
 minutes alone in his room, the Cause and the faith- 
 ful of the Cause would be safe. The Colonel, 
 Kelly hoped, could hardly fail to do his part of the 
 work; he would enter his own rooms unchallenged, 
 his uniform and well-known face must secure him 
 as much as that, and the Epistles of Smilinda 
 would lie in ashes. 
 
 So he hoped, but nothing occurred as he antici- 
 pated. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HOW THE MESSENGERS CAPTURED THE WRONG 
 GENTLEMAN ; AND OF WHAT LETTERS THE 
 COLONEL BURNED. 
 
 FOR Colonel Montague was taken in Mr. Kelly's 
 place, as you may see with your own eyes in 
 his Grace of Dorset's Report to the Lords' Com- 
 mittees, where the informations of John Hutchins 
 and Daniel Chandler, described as ' two of his 
 Majesty's Messengers in Ordinary,' are printed. 
 These did not chance to be men of a very high 
 degree of intelligence, as their own confessions bear 
 testimony, in itself a fortunate circumstance. 
 
 Colonel Montague, when he parted from the 
 Parson at the grove in St. James's Park, walked 
 into Pall Mall Street by the path at the corner of 
 St. James's House and up to St. James's Street to 
 the corner of Ryder Street, where he turned. 
 Ryder Street, what with gentlemen walking home 
 on the footpaths and chairs carried in the road, was 
 a busy thoroughfare at this time of the night, and 
 he remarked nothing extraordinary until he was 
 close to his own doorstep. Then he distinguished, 
 or rather seemed to distinguish — for in the doubtful 
 light he could not be certain — at a little distance 
 
PARSON KELLY 329 
 
 on the opposite side of the road a man in the blue 
 and silver livery of Lady Oxford. The man was 
 loitering at the edge of the path, taking a few steps 
 now this way now that. He was tall, and not un- 
 like Mr. Wogan in his girth. Now, Colonel 
 Montague was aware that her ladyship possessed a 
 lackey of just such a conspicuous figure. 
 
 'For once in a while,' he thought, 'the news- 
 sheet spoke truth to-night. It seems it was Lady 
 Oxford that set the reverend non-juror, for here is 
 her lackey to point him out to the Messengers.' 
 
 With this thought urging him to get his business 
 done quickly, Montague walked up to his door and 
 knocked. On the instant, three men ran across the 
 road and collared him. The capture was observed 
 by one or two gentlemen, who stopped, and imme- 
 diately a small crowd began to gather about them. 
 
 Montague was prudent enough to waste no time 
 in a useless struggle with the Messengers, and 
 asked them quietly who they were and what they 
 intended. At this moment the door was opened by 
 Mrs. Kilburne's maid, and the Messengers, lifting 
 the Colonel up, carried him into the house. Hutchins, 
 a short, stoutish fellow, who was the chief of the 
 three men, told the Colonel who they were. 
 
 ' And we hold a warrant for your apprehension 
 under Lord Townshend's seal,' he said, and showed 
 his scutcheon and the warrant. 
 
 'Not for my apprehension,' replied Montague. 
 'There is one without there who can speak for me.' 
 For the door was still open to the street, and 
 amongst the people who thronged the entrance, he 
 now saw very clearly the blue and silver livery of 
 
330 
 
 PARSON KELLY 
 
 her ladyship. The lackey, however, pushed back- 
 wards out of range, and since those who were fore- 
 most of the crowd turned about to see who it was 
 that Montague pointed to, Hutchins took the occa- 
 sion to close the door in their faces. 
 
 * You are George Kelly, alias James Johnson, 
 alias Joseph Andrews,' said he, turning again to 
 Colonel Montague, and reading out from the war- 
 rant a number of names by which the Parson was 
 known to the honest party. 
 
 ' It is the first I have heard of it,' replied Mon- 
 tague, and he invited the Messengers up to his 
 rooms on the first floor, where he would be happy to 
 satisfy them of their mistake. Mrs. Kilburne had 
 now joined her maid in the passage, and she fol- 
 lowed the Messengers up the stairs, wringing her 
 hands over the disgrace which, through no fault of 
 hers, had fallen upon her house. When they were 
 come within the room, Montague threw open his 
 cloak, which he wore wrapped about his shoulders, 
 and discovered his scarlet coat beneath it. 
 
 ' I am Colonel Montague, ' he said, * and an officer 
 under the King as well as you. If there is work to 
 be done for the King, I shall be very happy to assist 
 you. I fought for the King at Preston,' and he 
 made a great flourish of his services and valorous 
 acts, not being sure that the Messengers had rein- 
 forcements without, and hoping that Mr. Kelly 
 might enter meanwhile and do what was needful. 
 Mrs. Kilburne' s tongue and care for the Parson 
 seemed likely to forward this plan, for, with many 
 unnecessary words, she declared how the Colonel had 
 lodged with her for years. 
 
PARSON KELLY 331 
 
 'And as for Mr. Johnson,' she said, 'there was 
 such a man who came and went, but he lodged with 
 Mrs. Barnes in Bury Street, and there you should 
 go if you seek for news of him. ' 
 
 But the ten minutes were not yet gone. The 
 maid remained downstairs in the passage. She was 
 a perfectly honest poor wench, who would have 
 risked herself for the Parson or for any gentleman 
 in distress. But Montague, however closely he 
 listened, could not hear that she opened the door, 
 or any noise in the room below. 
 
 Hutchins made his apologies with a great many 
 'your honours,' and the Colonel was no less polite 
 in his compliments upon Hutchins's zeal, which he 
 would be sure to make known in the proper quarters. 
 But still the Parson did not come, and Montague 
 could hold the Messengers in talk no longer, though 
 that would have been of little use, as he now 
 discovered. 
 
 For Hutchins turned about to Chandler, — 
 
 * Go down into the street and tell Lyng and Ran- 
 dall, ' he said, ' that our man is not come. Bid them 
 watch for him at the corner of Ryder Street and St. 
 James's.' And as he spoke he gave Chandler the 
 warrant. Chandler slipped it into his pocket, and 
 ran downstairs to join the others of his worshipful 
 calling in the street. Hutchins followed him, but 
 remained within, in the passage, to watch the maid 
 of the house, and see that she did not go out to warn 
 the Parson. 
 
 The Colonel and Mrs. Kilburne were thus left 
 alone. 
 
 * Mrs. Kilburne,' said Montague. * You must take 
 
332 PARSON KELLY 
 
 my word for it, I am Mr. Kelly's friend, and with- 
 out any argument, if you please. ' For he saw that 
 she was on the point of interrupting him. ' There 
 is but one thing you can do for him. Send some- 
 one you can trust, or go yourself to lure the Mes- 
 sengers off to Mrs. Barnes's house. But you must 
 be quick, and here 's money to help you. ' 
 
 He filled her hands with the Parson's gold, and 
 she, in her turn, went downstairs and out of the 
 house by a door at the back. Montague, for his 
 part, had it in mind to try whether the like means 
 might not over-persuade Hutchins's zeal. With that 
 design he descended to Hutchins, whom he found 
 lighting a candle in Mr. Kelly's room with the door 
 open so that he might command a view of the maid 
 who was still waiting in the passage. 
 
 The Colonel stepped into the room, casting his 
 eyes about for the strong-box with Smilinda's letters, 
 which he could not see. He saw the scrutoire, 
 however, which stood in the window with the lid 
 closed. Hutchins held the candle above his head 
 and remarked it at the same time. 
 
 ' I will search the rooms,' he said with an air of 
 consequence. Colonel Montague was in a quandary. 
 Hutchins had only to throw back the lid and the 
 Parson's strong-box would be in his hands. He 
 had only then to break open the lock, and all 
 Smilinda's dainty sentiments about the union of souls 
 would be splotched over by the dirty thumbs of a 
 constable. And the Colonel could not prevent the 
 sacrilege unless the money did it for him. 
 
 ' Mr. Hutchins,' he said, and jingled the gold in 
 his pockets. But he got no further in his persua- 
 
PARSON KELLY ss3 
 
 sions. For the name was scarce off his lips when 
 a hubbub arose without. It was a confusion of 
 noise at the first as though it came from the end of 
 the street. 
 
 'They have taken him,' said Hutchins, setting 
 down the candle and flinging aside the curtains of 
 the window. 
 
 The noise was louder, and Kelly's voice was 
 heard, bawling, ' A rescue ! An arrest ! an arrest ! 
 A rescue!' that the rabble might think he was 
 taken for debt. Those who were gathered in front 
 of the house did indeed turn themselves about, but 
 they were for the most part of the better class, and 
 the night-rakers and such-like who might have 
 attempted a rescue, only came up behind at Mr. 
 Kelly's bawling, from St. James's Street, where 
 they were likely to find more profit than in Ryder 
 Street. This friendly mob was running together 
 indeed, but came too late. 
 
 * Yes, they have taken him,' said Montague. Mrs. 
 Kilburne had not drawn the Messengers off. On the 
 other hand, Hutchins had not opened Mr. Kelly's 
 scrutoire. * They have taken him,' and the Parson 
 was already under the window. His sword was 
 gleaming in his hand but the Messengers dragged 
 upon his arms and he could not use it. 
 
 Hutchins threw up the window. 
 
 * Bring him in,' and he rushed to the street door 
 and unlocked it. Kelly was hustled up the steps, 
 shouting all the while. He was forced into the 
 passage just as the rabble came up at his heels. 
 
 * A rescue ! ' they cried. 
 
 Lyng and Chandler turned about and drove them 
 
334 PARSON KELLY 
 
 back. Randall sprang in after Kelly and slammed 
 the door. 
 
 The posture of affairs then was this : 
 
 Colonel Montague and Hutchins were standing 
 in Mr. Kelly's room close to the scrutoire and the 
 open window. 
 
 Mr. Kelly, Lyng, who was a big lout, designed 
 by Providence for this office and no other, and the 
 maid, were in the passage. Randall and Chandler 
 were outside in the street and at their wits' ends to 
 keep back the mob, which was now grown very 
 clamorous. 
 
 Mr. Kelly was the first to make any movement. 
 He sheathed his sword, carefully dusted the sleeves 
 of his coat where the Messengers had held him and 
 arranged his cravat. 
 
 ' These are ill times for a peaceful man to live in,* 
 he said. ' It seems a gentleman cannot walk home 
 of an evening but he must be set upon and cuffed. ' 
 
 With a shrug of the shoulders, as though the 
 whole matter was a mystery, he sauntered into his 
 parlour. His eyes carelessly took in the room. It 
 seemed that nothing had been disturbed. The 
 scrutoire was shut, but were Smilinda's letters still 
 hidden there or were they safe in Montague's 
 pockets? His eyes rested on the Colonel's face and 
 put the question. But the Colonel gave no sign ; 
 Hutchins stood at his elbow. Kelly's eyes travelled 
 from the Colonel's face to his red coat. 
 
 ' One of the King's officers,' he said with a smile. 
 
 * In the presence of one of the King's officers, 
 gentlemen,' he said politely with a bow to Hutchins, 
 
 * I take it that you will forgo your ingenious 
 
PARSON KELLY 335 
 
 attempt to rob me and we may all go quietly to 
 bed.' 
 
 He moved as he spoke towards the scrutoire, and 
 again looked at the Colonel. The Colonel's face 
 was still a blank. 
 
 ^ We hold a warrant for the arrest of George Kelly, 
 alias James Johnson,' began Hutchins. 
 
 ' Indeed? ' replied George with an effort of atten- 
 tion, as though fatigue put a strain upon his good 
 manners. ' And why should George Kelly prefer to 
 call himself James Johnson.^ I cannot think it is 
 the better name. Mr. George Kelly lacks taste, I 
 am afraid,' and he stifled a yawn with his hand. 
 
 'Colonel Montague,' said Hutchins, who was in 
 some perplexity as to what to make of Kelly's 
 present indifference, ' your honour promised to assist 
 me. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague being appealed to, nodded his 
 head. 
 
 ' Though you will not need my assistance, ' he 
 said, ' for here is another of your fellows. ' 
 
 Chandler had come within the house, and pushing 
 into the room said that the curtains were drawn 
 apart so that the rabble could see clearly all that 
 happened in the room and were on that account the 
 less inclined to disperse. As he spoke he hitched 
 the curtains to and a volley of curses went up from 
 the disappointed crowd. 
 
 Hutchins immediately turned to Kelly. 
 
 ' Give me your sword.' 
 
 Kelly, who knew not what to make of the 
 Colonel's manner, but thought it likely he had 
 taken his measures, took his sword by the hanger 
 
336 PARSON KELLY 
 
 and handed it sheath and all to Hutchins, who in his 
 turn passed it to Montague. Montague stood in the 
 corner by the window. 
 
 ' There is some stupid blunder, ' said Kelly, 
 ' which I cannot take it upon me to understand. 
 You talk to me a great deal about a warrant, but I 
 have not seen it. It is a new thing to come taking 
 off gentlemen to the round-house in the middle of 
 the night without a warrant, but we live in ill 
 times.' All this he said with an admirable air of 
 resignation, though his eyes kept glancing towards 
 Montague, who still dared give no sign. The 
 Colonel waited upon occasion; his present aim was 
 to hinder the Messengers from any suspicion that 
 the Parson and he were in one purpose or indeed 
 were acquainted. 
 
 In answer to Kelly, Chandler took the warrant 
 from his pocket and handed it to Colonel Montague, 
 who read it through. 
 
 * It is a very sufficient warrant, ' he said, * and this 
 gentleman may be satisfied if he is rightly named, 
 of which of course I have no assurance,' and folding 
 the paper he handed it back to Chandler. Where- 
 upon Chandler went out again into the street to 
 guard the door from the rabble. 
 
 Hutchins then took Kelly's hat, placed it on the 
 table, and searching his pockets, pulled out some 
 papers which he had about him, things of no moment ; 
 and these papers he laid in the hat. But to search 
 Kelly's pockets Hutchins must needs stoop. Here 
 was the Colonel's chance. Over Hutchins' shoulder, 
 Kelly's eyes again put their question. The Colonel 
 now answered with a shake of the head, 3miUnda's 
 
PARSON KELLY 337 
 
 letters had not been saved, a great surprise and 
 disappointment to the Parson, who of course knew 
 nothing of Montague's mistaken arrest. 
 
 Kelly, however, wasted no precious moments in 
 regrets. As Hutchins turned to place the papers in 
 the hat, Kelly thrust Lyng aside, and, springing to 
 the window, tore aside the curtains and again bawled 
 at the top of his voice. ' A rescue ! An arrest! ' 
 
 Shouts of encouragement greeted him ; the hubbub 
 filled the street again. Hutchins and Lyng at once 
 sprang upon Kelly, tore him back from the window, 
 and sent him staggering across the room. 
 
 ' Tie his hands ! ' cried Hutchins, as he pulled 
 down the sash. ' Knock him down ! Gag him ! ' 
 and he turned to help Lyng. 
 
 The maid in the passage began to cry; the Colonel 
 stood irresolute; the Parson drew himself up against 
 the wall as the two men approached him. His Irish 
 blood bubbled in his veins at the prospect of so fine 
 a tumble. He clenched his hands. He forgot 
 Smilinda's letter, the Cause, even Rose. His face 
 became one broad grin and in an accent as broad as 
 the grin. 
 
 'And what '11 I be doin' while you're tyin' my 
 hands.?' he asked. 'Why, just this,' and his fist 
 shot out like a battering-ram and took the worthy 
 Lyng on the tip of the* chin. Mr. Lyng was clean 
 lifted off both his feet and so sat down on the floor 
 with some violence, where he felt his neck in a 
 dazed sort of way to make sure that it was not 
 broken. 
 
 'Oh, why isn't Nick here.?' cried Kelly, and 
 indeed Nicholas Wogan bewails his absence at that 
 
 22 
 
338 PARSON KELLY 
 
 festivity to this day. ' Come, Mr. Hutchins, I have 
 the other fist for you, ' and he began to dance towards 
 Hutchins, who called on the Colonel to mark the 
 murderous look in the prisoner's eyes and save him 
 from immediate destruction. 
 
 * Is it destruction you want } ' asked Kelly with a 
 chuckle. * I '11 gratify you with all the destruction 
 imaginable. ' And no doubt he would have been as 
 good as his word. But Hutchins, while shutting 
 the window had not drawn the curtains, and the 
 rabble in the street had thus enjoyed a full view of 
 the Parson's prowess. They had roared their 
 applause when Lyng went down, and as Hutchins 
 drew back before the Parson's fisticuffs, they hooted 
 the Messenger for a coward and made a rush at the 
 door. A stone or two shattered the window and a 
 voice was yelling, * Murder ! murder!' in tones of 
 unmistakable sincerity. Chandler then rushed in, 
 his face bleeding, and said that Randall was being 
 mobbed, and, if they did not come to help him, 
 would be knocked on the head. At this, Lyng, who 
 was now got to his feet, ran out into the street with 
 Chandler. Hutchins remained in the room, but 
 cried out to Chandler that he should go or send for 
 a file of musquets. 
 
 Now Chandler, when he rushed into the room, was 
 holding the warrant in his 4iand, he still held it 
 when he ran out again, as the Parson remarked, and 
 instantly thought of a plan by which, after all, 
 Smilinda's letters might be secured, and her name 
 kept wholly out of the business. Accordingly he 
 ceased from his warlike posture and sat down in a 
 chair. Hutchins took the occasion to draw the 
 
PARSON KELLY 339 
 
 curtains and shut out the mob from a view of the 
 room. Mr. Kelly smiled, for he was just wondering 
 what excuse he could discover to do that very thing 
 himself. Mr. Hutchins was helping him very well. 
 
 * It is a pity,' said the Parson in a plaintive voice, 
 sucking his knuckles, which were bleeding, ' that a 
 peaceful, law-abiding citizen must put himself to 
 so much discomfort because a couple of rascally 
 Messengers will not show him their warrant.' 
 
 ' It is under Lord Townshend's seal,' began 
 Hutchins. 
 
 ' It may be, or it may not be. I have not seen it. 
 I cannot really surrender unless the proper formali- 
 ties are observed.' 
 
 Hutchins, who was no doubt well pleased to see 
 the peaceful turn things were taking and had not 
 the wits to suspect it, replied with an oafish grin 
 that the prisoner was wise to submit himself to his 
 lawful captors. 
 
 ' And as for the warrant. Chandler has it safe 
 enough in the street. ' 
 
 * In the street! ' cried Kelly, suddenly flying into 
 a passion. * And what 's the warrant doing in the 
 street } How dare the warrant be in the street 
 when it is intended for a gentleman in the house.'* 
 Upon my word it would take very little to persuade 
 me that there 's no warrant at all,' and he began to 
 stamp and fume about the room. 
 
 * Colonel Montague has read it,' said Hutchins. 
 
 ' I certainly read a warrant, ' agreed the Colonel 
 with an impartial air. 
 
 'A warrant, yes,' said Kelly in a testy voice. 
 * But how can the Colonel know whether it is in- 
 
340 PARSON KELLY 
 
 tended for me? How can he know whether it is 
 a real warrant at all? You come here with a 
 scutcheon, Mr. Hutchins. But you might have 
 stolen the scutcheon, as you have certainly forged 
 the warrant.' He stopped in front of Hutchins and 
 wagged his head at him. ' Mr. Hutchins, I begin 
 to suspect you are one of a gang of cheats come here 
 to rob me. But I will not be your gull,' he cried 
 out as though his fury overmastered him. * No, nor 
 his worship the Colonel either,' and he called to the 
 maid to lock the street door. 
 
 ' Lock it, ' said he. ' Lock the door and Mr. 
 Hutchins and I will get to the bottom of the matter 
 quietly.' 
 
 That very thing now happened which Mr. Kelly 
 most desired. The maid ran down the passage to 
 the street door : Hutchins ran out of the room after 
 her to prevent her locking it. Kelly flung to the 
 door of the parlour: Mr. Hutchins was outside, the 
 Colonel and Kelly were alone within the room. 
 
 * My sword,' said the Parson in a quick whisper. 
 Montague held it out to him without a word : he 
 had no right to refuse it to a free man. Kelly 
 snatched the hilt; the blade rattled out of the 
 scabbard ; he stood on guard with his naked 
 blade. 
 
 Meanwhile Hutchins and the maid were quar- 
 relling in the passage over the door key, as Kelly 
 could distinguish from their voices. 
 
 He made a quick step towards the window, threw 
 open the scrutoire, and returned to his station at the 
 door. But he had not so much as glanced at the 
 scrutoire; he had kept his eyes fixed upon the door. 
 
PARSON KELLY 341 
 
 Still keeping his eyes so fixed, he pointed towards 
 the strong boxes. 
 
 * Be quick, ' he whispered. ' In the strong box ! 
 Take the candle and have done. You know the 
 hand, and you have the key.' 
 
 Montague pulled the key from his pocket, and 
 fumbled at the lock. 
 
 * It will not fit,' he said under his breath and 
 swore. 
 
 * Be quick, ' repeated Kelly. 
 
 The key rattled in the lock as the Colonel turned 
 it this way and that. Mr. Kelly was about to throw 
 a glance over his shoulder when he saw the handle 
 of the door turn. It was turned cautiously without 
 any noise. The next moment the door flew open. 
 Fortunately it opened upwards towards the window 
 and the scrutoire. Kelly stopped it with his foot 
 when it was but half open, so that Montague was 
 entirely hidden behind the panels from the eyes 
 of any one on the threshold or in the passage. 
 Hutchins was on the threshold peering into the 
 room. But he did not peer long, for at the same 
 moment that Kelly stopped the door with his foot 
 he made at Hutchins, with his sword, a pass so vigor- 
 ous that the hulking fellow leaped back a good yard, 
 crying out to Montague : 
 
 ' Will your honour let a poor man be killed in his 
 duty?' 
 
 The Colonel made no answer to the pathetic 
 question. He was occupied with business of another 
 complexion. Mr. Kelly heard a crack. 
 
 * What is the matter.? ' he asked, in a low voice. 
 
 * The key is filled with dust, or the lock is 
 
342 PARSON KELLY 
 
 jammed, ' Montague whispered back. * I have broken 
 open the box with the guard of my sword. ' 
 
 ' Be quick, ' said Kelly. ' Make sure you have 
 Smilinda's letters.' 
 
 All this while he had not looked towards the 
 scrutoire. The most that he saw was the shadow 
 of the Colonel thrown on the wall of the room by 
 the single candle, a shadow monstrous big that held 
 the shadow of a paper to its eyes. It is to be said 
 in Mr. Kelly's defence that he dared not look about 
 him. The door of the room was half open ; the 
 Messenger who had retreated into the passage was 
 plainly hardening his heart for a rush. Mr. 
 Kelly's attention was entirely distracted from 
 Colonel Montague's proceedings at this important 
 moment. 
 
 'Yes,' whispered Montague. 'This is her hand, 
 this is the blue-edged paper she affects of late. 
 "My own Strephon," and dated two days back. It 
 bids you to her rout. ' 
 
 The words passed in and out of Mr. Kelly's ears. 
 His eyes were occupied with Hutchins, and with his 
 eyes his mind. He did not remember that he had 
 thrust this letter of her ladyship's, as he had told 
 to VVogan, into the wrong box, the box holding the 
 papers of the Bishop and the King. Then a little 
 flame shot up and illumined the room, which was at 
 once filled with a smell of burning paper. Montague 
 had burned Smilinda's letter, inviting Kelly to her 
 rout. 
 
 It seemed that Hutchins had after all no stomach 
 for Mr. Kelly's sword, which to be sure must have 
 glittered ominously in the dismal light of the soli- 
 
PARSON KELLY 343 
 
 tary candle. He ran back again down the passage 
 and pulled open the street door. 
 
 * Chandler, ' he shouted, calling his fellow to 
 assist him. A yell of laughter answered him, and a 
 voice from the street cried out that Chandler was 
 gone for a file of soldiers. Kelly could hear 
 Hutchins swearing and cursing, though it was him- 
 self that had sent Chandler on the errand. 
 
 A second flame spirted up and died away. Mon- 
 tague had burned a second letter. 
 
 * Lyng ! Randall!' cried Hutchins at the street- 
 door, but again he was answered with jeers, and 
 again the voice called to him mockingly that they 
 were gone to Bury Street, where they were told they 
 would be sure to snare the right man. 
 
 Montague, who heard everything clearly, blessed 
 Mrs. Kilburne aloud, and burned a third paper. Kelly 
 kicked the door to. 
 
 * We are safe, then, it seems, ' he said. * Smi- 
 linda 's safe.' 
 
 He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat 
 from his face, leaning his back against the panels of 
 the door. He could hear Hutchins bawling up the 
 street for his partners, and his voice sounded as 
 though he had moved from the door in search of 
 them. So for the first time Kelly looked at Mon- 
 tague and the scrutoire. 
 
 Colonel Montague had turned the strong-box up- 
 side down and emptied the papers on the scrutoire, 
 so that they lay face downwards. By a scruple of 
 delicacy, having read the topmost letter to make 
 sure it was Lady Oxford's hand, he looked at them 
 no more. He took them up one by one, face down- 
 
344 PARSON KELLY 
 
 wards, and so burned them separately, knowing no 
 doubt that, lighted in a single heap, only those on 
 the outside and the edges of the letters in the 
 middle, would catch fire. One by one he burnt 
 them face downwards at the candle, the secret letters 
 of the Cause. He had burned three, and he now 
 held the fourth in his hand. He approached it to 
 the candle; he did not so much as look at it. But 
 had he merely glanced once at Mr. Kelly leaning 
 there against the panels of the door, that glance 
 would have surely told him what papers he was 
 burning. 
 
 Kelly did not speak a word, or stir a muscle. 
 He had wiped the sweat from his face a second 
 ago, but his forehead was wet now : his eyes stared 
 greedily at the papers: a slow smile, of a knavish 
 kind, that went very ill with his face, curved his 
 lips. An extreme temptation chained him; the 
 Devil whispered in his ear, * Be silent,' and the 
 Parson held his peace. 
 
 The blue-edged letter bidding him to the rout he 
 had slipped on the top of the Chevalier's papers, as 
 he had told Mr. Wogan. Colonel Montague was 
 merrily burning the papers of the Plot. Kelly had 
 but to hold his tongue, and in a few minutes he was 
 safe. The Cause was saved so far as the papers 
 went, and Lady Oxford, her letters unburned, was 
 lost. No wonder the key did not fit; it was the 
 wrong key! Kelly could see the corner of Wogan 's 
 strong-box peeping out from beneath a thatch of 
 papers in the corner of the scrutoire. 
 
 All this the Parson saw and understood in the one 
 short moment during which Montague approached 
 
PARSON KELLY 345 
 
 the paper to the candle. His mind was tossed up 
 and down in a tempest; the winds of temptation 
 blew hard against the tides of his nature. On one 
 side was safety and the King's interest, and Rose, 
 who to be sure need never know of the treachery by 
 which the Parson had won her; on the other, a broken 
 pledge that he had given to the Colonel, and the ruin 
 of Smilinda, who had betrayed him. 
 
 Montague lit the sheet of paper and held it up. 
 Kelly saw the blue flame creep down from the edge, 
 the writing turn brown, the paper curl over black 
 and tattered, with a multitude of red sparks; and 
 still he kept his peace. 
 
 Montague dropped the ashes on the scrutoire, and 
 took a fifth paper from the pile. The Parson turned 
 away, and laid his ear to the panel, making a pre- 
 tence that he heard Hutchins stirring in the passage. 
 
 ' Be quick ! ' he said first, and then, moistening 
 his dry lips with his tongue: * Make quite sure you 
 have Smilinda's letters.' 
 
 * Smilinda.'' ' asked Montague. 
 Kelly forced a laugh. 
 
 * No doubt she called herself something equally 
 pretty to you. ' 
 
 * Phylissa, ' growled Montague. 
 
 * She has a pretty conceit in names. Make sure 
 those are her letters,' and again he spoke with an 
 effort. 
 
 ' Not L I have had my fill of the lady's hand- 
 writing. ' 
 
 Montague was already holding the paper to the 
 flame, when Kelly's good angel got the upper hand 
 with him. He is happy now to think that no chance 
 
346 PARSON KELLY 
 
 accident, such as the return of Hutchins or the 
 coming of the soldiers, hurried him into the better 
 choice with a mind half made up. Here was the 
 very occasion of which he had dreamed when he 
 stayed behind in Lady Oxford's withdrawing room. 
 He could use the weapon which her letters put into 
 his hand to save the Chevalier's papers and himself 
 and Rose. But he put the weapon aside. He 
 turned about from the door: Montague was holding 
 the paper to the flame, and a corner of it had taken 
 fire. Kelly sprang to the scrutoire, snatched the 
 paper out of Montague's hand, and crushed the fire 
 out in the palm of his hand. 
 
 ' I gave you the right key,' he whispered. ' You 
 chose the wrong box. ' 
 
 Montague snatched up the pile of papers and 
 turned them over. 
 
 ' Good God ! Cyphers ! ' he exclaimed, and dropped 
 them as though they were, in truth, burning. 
 
 ' The other box; the other box,' said Kelly, point- 
 ing; to it. He fancied that he heard Hutchins mov- 
 ing cautiously just outside the door, and was now in 
 a fever lest the delay brought about by his incerti- 
 tude might balk his intentions. At any moment the 
 Messenger might come back from Bury Street, or the 
 file of the musquets march tramping up the stairs. 
 
 All this indeed takes a long time to tell, and 
 seemed no less long to Mr. Kelly in the happening; 
 but the whole of the occurrences, the movements of 
 the Messengers, the tidings cried to him from the 
 street, the burning of the papers, with Kelly's own 
 thoughts and doubts and unlooked-for temptations, 
 passed with momentary speed. 
 
PARSON KELLY 347 
 
 Montague found Wogan's strong box, the box of 
 the love-letters, unlocked it, tore out all the con- 
 tents, and glanced at a few at the top, middle and 
 bottom. 
 
 ' Smilinda — Smilinda — Smilinda, ' he said, read- 
 ing the signatures. * And it's for this woman,' he 
 cried, striking the letters with his fist, ' Smilinda, 
 Phylissa, and the Lord knows what else to the 
 Lord knows what other men, that • ' 
 
 But the Parson was in no mood to listen to Mon- 
 tague's reflections. 
 
 * Put the other papers back into that box, the box 
 with the unbroken lock, lock it and give me the key, ' 
 he said. Montague crammed her ladyship's letters 
 into the inner pocket of his coat. But before he 
 could move the door opened with a crash, and 
 Hutchins flew in, Kelly made a furious pass, and 
 Hutchins, leaping back, ' parried the thrust with the 
 door,' as he truly said in his evidence before the 
 Lords' Committee. Had he not used that novel 
 parade Kelly would infallibly have run him through, 
 and, as it was, George could scarcely drag his point 
 out of the wood of the door, which Hutchins in leap- 
 ing back had shut. Being now sufficiently terrified, 
 for indeed no man ever had a narrower escape of 
 his life, Hutchins contented himself with a plaintive 
 expostulation from the safety of the passage. 
 
 ' Sure, I would serve Lord Townshend himself in 
 the same way,' Kelly shouted back, ' if he tried to 
 enter my room against my will without a warrant,' 
 and lowering his voice so that only Montague might 
 hear, ' Lock the box, and throw me the key. ' If 
 only for Montague's sake the papers of the Plot 
 
348 PARSON KELLY 
 
 must not be found lying open upon Kelly's scrutoire, 
 and the box which held them broken among a litter 
 of ashes. Mr. Kelly could not but remember with 
 what care, earlier in the evening, he had burned and 
 buried the ashes of his Grace of Rochester's letters, 
 and reflect with some sadness what little good had 
 come of it. Montague locked up the papers of the 
 Plot in the box which had held Smilinda's letters, 
 and tossed the key to Kelly, who caught it. 
 
 * There is no more to do ? ' said Montague. 
 
 * Nothing,' and Kelly handed him back his sword 
 and sat him down on a sofa. He seized the occasion 
 to make Montague acquainted with the accident 
 through which Smilinda's last letter had been laid 
 on the top of those in the box that contained very 
 different wares, adding apologies for his brief delay 
 to inform him. The Colonel then sat down over 
 against Kelly and laid the flat of Kelly's sword 
 across his knees. He looked at the sword for a 
 little. Then, 
 
 ' You had a chance to let me destroy your own 
 papers, ' he said. 
 
 ' Yes, and to be a liar to a loyal gentleman, and 
 a traitor to a more sacred cause than even my 
 King's.' 
 
 ' Smilinda's? ' Montague looked up in perplexity, 
 
 * No,' said Kelly, and he stared for a little at the 
 floor, then he said very slowly, ' A long while ago I 
 made a prayer that nothing might ever come between 
 the Cause and me except it be death. Even while 
 I made the prayer I was summoned to visit Lady 
 Oxford, who was then unknown to me. Well, 
 something has come between the Cause and me — 
 
PARSON KELLY 349 
 
 honour. A more sacred Cause than even my King's. 
 Himself would say it.' 
 
 Colonel Montague fancied that he heard a distant 
 regular tramp of feet like soldiers. But Mr. Kelly 
 was clean lost in his thoughts. 
 
 * I could meet the King with a clear face and this 
 story on my lips,' he continued, * even though it 
 were over there in Rome, and in his old lodging. 
 The very approach to him was secret, his ante- 
 chamber a cellar underground. You went by night, 
 you crossed the cellar in the dark, you climbed a 
 little winding stair, and above, in a mean crazy 
 chamber which overhangs the Tiber, there was my 
 King looking towards England. A man like me, 
 with a man's longings and a man's despair, but, 
 unlike me, robbed of a nation. Day by day delay 
 shadowed his eyes and wrote upon his face until the 
 face became an open book of sorrows. Yet himself 
 would say, " Perish the Cause, perish all but 
 honour," ' and, suddenly throwing up his arms, Mr. 
 Kelly cried out in a voice of great passion and long- 
 ing, * The King! The King! ' 
 
 Colonel Montague very likely had his own opinions 
 as to how the King would take it, but he was care- 
 ful to keep them to himself, and in the silence 
 which followed upon Kelly's outburst the tread of 
 soldiers was heard very distinct, and Hutchins's 
 voice at the door bidding them hurry. 
 
 Mr. Kelly raised his head. He too had heard the 
 sound, and, drawing a ring from his finger, 
 
 * Take my seal ring, when you are alone seal up 
 the brocades in a packet. You know the person 
 whom they concern. ' 
 
350 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Montague took the ring and slipped it on his 
 finger. 
 
 * Mr. Johnson, or Kelly, or whoever you are,' he 
 said cordially, * we must needs be public enemies, 
 but I wish my King had many as loving servants as 
 your King has in you.' 
 
 The rattle of the butts of musquets could now be 
 heard in the passage. 
 
 * And, damme, ' said Montague, bending forward 
 suddenly; he had all this while maintained in word 
 and carriage the reserve of the Englishman, but now 
 he showed a decent warmth of blood, ' had you been 
 in my place and I in yours, Smilindaorno Smilinda, 
 I should have let you burn the cyphers. ' 
 
 On those words he was pleased to say, which Mr. 
 Kelly merely counted a politeness, the door was 
 driven open by the butts of several fusils, a sergeant 
 with a file of musqueteers entered; behind them 
 came Chandler with the warrant, Lyng with a broken 
 head, Hutchins with a white, scared face, and 
 Randall whose coat was in tatters. 
 
 They were surprised enough, you may be sure, to 
 see the Colonel on one side of the fireplace and 
 their redoubtable prisoner as quiet upon the other. 
 
 *0h,' said Mr. Kelly, with an admirable air of 
 astonishment, ' it seems you have a warrant after 
 all.' 
 
 Hutchins then read the warrant through, and Mr. 
 Kelly surrendered. But the Messenger had not 
 done; he picked up presently the impudence to 
 question the Colonel. 
 
 * Your worship let the prisoner take his sword.-* ' 
 The dignified Montague stared at Hutchins with 
 
PARSON KELLY 351 
 
 a strong amazement until the fellow was quite 
 abashed. 
 
 ' What 's the world coming to? ' he said. * Here 
 is your prisoner's sword, if he is your prisoner,' 
 and, lifting Mr. Kelly's sword from his knees, he 
 handed it to Hutchins. Hutchins then made haste 
 to secure Mr. Kelly's effects. He went over to the 
 scrutoire, and the first things he clapped his eyes 
 upon were a pile of black ashes and a great many 
 splotches of hot grease from the candle. 
 
 Hutchins looked at the Colonel with a question 
 upon his lips; the Colonel looked stonily at 
 Hutchins. Hutchins raised his nose and sniffed the 
 air. 
 
 ' Will your worship tell me whether the prisoner 
 meddled with any papers.^ ' he asked, but with less 
 impertinence than before. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, the gentleman did. ' 
 
 ' What was done with them } ' 
 
 * Sir, they were burned, as you may perceive.' 
 
 ' And how came you, sir, to let them be burned 1 ' 
 
 ' I am not to answer to you, sir, for my conduct, 
 of which I can give a sufficient account to persons 
 who have the right to question me. I have, for 
 your satisfaction, no knowledge of this gentleman's 
 name, nor as to whether he is correctly described 
 in a warrant which was not in the house while we 
 were together. It appears to me that you are all 
 very likely to lose your scutcheons for your doltish 
 stupidity, whether you have hold of the right or the 
 wrong gentleman. I wish you a good night, sir,' 
 he said, bowing to Kelly, ' and speedy deliverance, 
 if you deserve it, from your present company. * 
 
352 
 
 PARSON KELLY 
 
 He put his hat on his head and walked out of the 
 room without another word. Hutchins thereupon 
 searched Mr. Kelly's scrutoire; he found one box 
 broken open and empty, another box, its own fellow, 
 locked. Mr. Kelly delivered the key to it, with a 
 great show of reluctance. It held the papers of the 
 Bishop's Plot and a key to the Bishop's cypher, 
 which was used to convict him at his trial. As for 
 the burned papers, it came out at George's trial that 
 he had destroyed letters in the presence of a King's 
 officer. But the Duke of Wharton, in his famous 
 speech, argued that a man of Mr. Kelly's figure 
 might very well have letters to burn which were not 
 political. 
 
 That night the Parson was taken to the house of 
 John Gardiner, living in Westminster Market, there 
 to be kept in safe custody. He walked between the 
 soldiers, and whistled a lively tune as he walked. 
 
 This was related in more than one inn-parlour the 
 next day by the sergeant, who was mightily sur- 
 prised that a man should bear so heavy a charge so 
 easily, and so the story got about. 
 
 But Mr. Kelly was sensibly lightened by having 
 saved Smilinda in the end after so many mischances, 
 and when he thought of her letters safe in the 
 Colonel's inner pocket, felt a private glow of pleasure 
 which put all conjectures of his fate and doom clean 
 out of his head. Moreover, he says that Rose was 
 never nearer to him than on that night and during 
 that walk. He speaks as though she walked by his 
 side amongst his captors, and walked with a face 
 that smiled. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MR. WOGAN WEARS LADY OXFORD'S LIVERY, BUT 
 DOES NOT REMAIN IN HER SERVICE. 
 
 THE question with which Mr. Wogan lay down 
 to sleep after Lady Oxford's rout, woke him 
 at noon; he sent a boy whom he could trust to Ryder 
 Street to desire Colonel Montague's attendance. 
 Montague came back presently with the boy, and 
 gave Wogan the news that the Parson was taken. 
 
 'There was no escape possible,' he said. 'I 
 cannot tell you the innermost truth of the affair, 
 because the secret is not mine to tell; but, Mr. 
 Wogan, you will take my word for it, your friend 
 was in the net. ' 
 
 ' The room was searched ? ' 
 
 ' And his papers seized. One or two, I believe, 
 were burned, but the greater part were seized,' and 
 then he broke out with an oath. ' Damn these plots ! 
 What in the world made you meddle with such 
 Tory nonsense ? ' 
 
 * Faith, ' said Wogan, 'I have been wondering 
 how ever you demeaned yourself to become a Whig. ' 
 
 Wogan wondered very much more what strange 
 mishap had brought Mr. Kelly to this pass at the 
 moment when he seemed to have success beneath 
 his hand. Something wholly unexpected must have 
 
 23 
 
354 PARSON KELLY 
 
 happened during those few minutes when he and 
 Smilinda were left alone. Something had happened, 
 indeed, but it was something very much simpler 
 than Mr. Wogan looked for, who had not the key to 
 the Parson's thoughts. However, he forebore to 
 inquire, and instead: 
 
 'Colonel,' said he, 'you professed last night 
 that you were under some trifling obligation to 
 me. ' 
 
 ' I trust to-day to make the profession good. ' 
 
 'Faith, then you can. Colonel. There's a little 
 matter of a quarrel. ' 
 
 At this the Colonel broke in with a laugh. 
 
 ' With whom ? ' 
 
 ' With a lad I have taken a great liking for, ' and 
 the Colonel laughed again. ' Therefore I would not 
 put a slight on him by missing a certain appoint- 
 ment. It is Lord Sidney Beauclerk. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague's face clouded as he heard the 
 name. 
 
 ' And the reason of the quarrel } ' 
 
 ' He took objection to a few words I spoke last 
 night.' 
 
 ' About a ballad ? I heard the words. ' 
 
 ' 1 told him that he would find a friend of mine 
 waiting at Burton's Coffee-house this morning, and 
 I doubt if many friends of mine will be seen abroad 
 to-day. ' 
 
 Montague rose from the bed. 
 
 ' I will not deny,' he said, ' that there are services 
 I should have preferred to render you. But I will 
 go to Burton's, on one condition, Mr. Wogan — that 
 you do not stir from this house until I come back 
 
PARSON KELLY 355 
 
 to you. There 's an ill wind blowing which might 
 occasion you discomfort if you went abroad. ' 
 
 This he said with some significance. 
 
 ' It catches at one's throat, I dare say,' replied 
 Wogan, taking his meaning. ' I have a tender sort 
 of delicate throat in some weathers. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague walked to Burton's, at the 
 corner of King Street in St. James's. The coffee- 
 house buzzed with the news of Mr. Kelly's arrest, 
 and Colonel Montague saw many curious faces look 
 up from their news-sheets and whisper together as 
 he entered. In a corner of the room sat Lord 
 Sidney Beauclerk, with a man whom Montague had 
 remarked at Lady Oxford's rout the night before. 
 
 Lord Sidney arose as Montague aj^proached and 
 bowed stiffly. 
 
 ' I come on behalf of a gentleman, whom, perhaps, 
 we need not name, ' said Montague. 
 
 'Indeed.-*' said Lord Sidney, with a start of 
 surprise. 
 
 * I can understand that your lordship did not 
 expect me, but I am his friend. ' 
 
 * To be frank, I expected no one. ' 
 
 ' Your lordship, then, hardly knows the gentle- 
 man ? ' 
 
 * On the contrary,' said Lord Sidney, and he took 
 up from the table the Flying Post of that morning. 
 He handed the paper to Montague, and pointed to a 
 sentence which came at the end of a description of 
 Mr. Kelly's arrest. 
 
 ' It is said that Mr. Nicholas Wogan is also in 
 London, hiding under the incognito of Hilton, and 
 that he will be taken to-day. ' 
 
356 PARSON KELLY 
 
 'You see, my lord,' said Montague, 'that there 
 are certain difficulties which threaten to interfere 
 with our arrangements. ' 
 
 ' My friend is aware of them, ' said Lord Sidney, 
 and presented his friend. 
 
 ' Before making any arrangements I should be 
 glad if your lordship would favour me with a hear- 
 ing in some private place. It is I who ask, not my 
 friend, Mr. Hilton.' 
 
 Lord Sidney reluctantly consented, and the two 
 men walked out of the coffee-house. 
 
 ' There are to be no apologies, I trust, ' said Lord 
 Sidney. 
 
 Montague laughed. 
 
 ' Your lordship need have no fears. What I pro- 
 pose is entirely unknown to Mr. Wogan. But it 
 seems to me that the conditions of the duel have 
 changed. If Mr. Wogan shows his face in London 
 he will be taken. If he fights you, it matters not 
 whether you pink him or no, for if he escapes your 
 sword he will be taken by the Messengers. On the 
 other hand, he will not go from London until he has 
 met you; unless — ' 
 
 'Unless — .?' 
 
 'Unless your lordship insists upon deferring the 
 meeting until it can take place in France. ' 
 
 'Yes, I will consent to that,' said Lord Sidney, 
 after a moment's pause. ' It is common fairness. ' 
 
 ' Again I take the liberty to observe that your lord- 
 ship does not know the gentleman. You must insist. ' 
 
 Lord Sidney was brought without great difficulty 
 to understand the justice of Colonel Montague's 
 argument. 
 
PARSON KELLY 357 
 
 ' Very well ; I will insist, ' he said ; and, coming 
 back to Burton's coffee-house, he wrote a polite 
 letter, which the Colonel put in his pocket. 
 
 Montague, however, did not immediately carry it 
 to Mr. Wogan. He stood on the pavement of King 
 Street for a little, biting his thumb in a profundity 
 of thought; then he hurried to the stable where he 
 kept his horses, and gave a strict order to his groom. 
 From the stable he set out for Queen's Square, but 
 on the way he bought a Flymg Post, and stopped in 
 St. James's Park to see what sort of account it gave 
 of Mr. Kelly's arrest. 
 
 ' The Plot concerning which they write from 
 Paris, ' it began, ' hath brought the Guards into the 
 Park, and a reverend and gallant non-juror within 
 danger of the Law. The Messengers that were 
 essaying to take Mr. Kelly needed reinforcement by 
 a file of musquets before his reverence's lodgings 
 could be stormed. It is said that a loyal Colonel 
 of the Guards who lodges in the same house in 
 Ryder Street was discovered with Mr. Kelly when 
 the soldiers forced their way in, and that by his 
 interference many valuable papers have been saved, 
 which would otherwise have been destroyed. It 
 appears that Kelly was intent upon burning certain 
 cyphers and letters, and had, indeed, burnt two or 
 three of them before the loyal Colonel interrupted 
 him.' 
 
 The loyal Colonel took off his hat to Grub Street 
 for this charitable interpretation of his conduct. 
 Lady Oxford, he reflected, must be in a fine flutter, 
 for assuredly she would have sent for the news- 
 sheet the first thing. 
 
358 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Montague tapped the pocket in which were her 
 ladyship's letters, and smiled. Her anxieties would 
 be very suitable to a certain plan of his own. 
 
 He walked straight to Queen's Square and knocked 
 at the door. It seemed to him purely providential 
 that the man who opened the door was the big 
 lackey whom he had seen in Ryder Street the night 
 before. Montague looked him over again and said, 
 ' I think that I saw you last night in Ryder Street. ' 
 
 He had some further conversation with the lackey, 
 and money passed between them. But the conver- 
 sation was of the shortest, for her ladyship, in a 
 fever of impatience, and bearing every mark of a 
 sleepless night, ran down the stairs almost before 
 Colonel Montague had finished. She gave her hand 
 to him with a pretty negligence, and the Colonel 
 bent a wooden face over it, but did not touch the 
 fingers with his lips. Then she led the way into 
 the little parlour, and her negligence vanished in a 
 second. She was all on fire to know whether her 
 letters had been seized or no; yet even at that 
 moment it was not in her nature to put a frank ques- 
 tion when a devious piece of cajolery might serve. 
 
 * Corydon!' she said in a whisper of longing, as 
 though Montague was the one man her heart was set 
 upon, as though she had never brought Mr. Kelly 
 into this very room on a morning of summer two 
 years ago. ' My Corydon ! ' she said, and sighed. 
 
 * Madam,' said Montague, in a most sudden enthu- 
 siasm, ' I think there is no poetry in the world like 
 a nursery rhyme. ' 
 
 Her ladyship could make nothing of the remark. 
 
 * A nursery rhyme .<* ' she repeated. 
 
PARSON KELLY 359 
 
 * A nursery rhyme, ' repeated the Colonel. ' " Will 
 you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the 
 fly.'" 
 
 Lady Oxford looked at him quite gravely. 
 
 * I do not in the least understand, ' she said. She 
 had a wonderful knack of burying her head in the 
 sand and believing that no one spied her, as travel- 
 lers tell of the ostrich. ' But you have a message 
 for me, have you not } ' 
 
 She put the question frankly now, since coquetry 
 had failed. 
 
 *I have a packet to deliver to your ladyship,' 
 replied Montague. 
 
 Lady Oxford drew a breath and dropped into a 
 chair. ' Thank you ! How shall I thank you.** ' she 
 cried ; and seeing' that Montague made no answer 
 whatever, but stood stiff as a ramrod, she became at 
 once all weak woman. ' You are very good to me,' 
 she murmured in a very pathetical voice. 
 
 'Your ladyship owes me no thanks,' replied 
 Montague. ' Your ladyship has need of all your 
 gratitude for a gentleman who gave up all that he 
 held dear to save your good name. ' 
 
 He had it on the tip of his tongue to add, ' which 
 was not worth saving, ' and barely refrained from 
 the words. 
 
 Lady Oxford was not abashed by the rebuke. She 
 turned upon the Colonel eyes that swam with pity 
 for Mr. Kelly's misfortunes. 
 
 'I read that he was taken,' she said sadly. 
 ' Poor gentleman ! But he should have burnt my 
 letters long ago. They were letters written, as we 
 women write, with a careless pen and ill-considered 
 
36o PARSON KELLY 
 
 words which malice might misconstrue. He should 
 have burnt them, as he swore to do; but he broke 
 his word, and so, alas ! pays most dearly for his 
 fault. Indeed, it grieves me to the heart, and all 
 the more because he brought his own sufferings 
 about. So unreasonable we poor women are,' and 
 she shook her head, and smiled with a sort of pity 
 for women's frail readiness to forgive. 
 
 * Madam, ' said Montague, growing yet colder, ' it 
 is not for me either to construe or to misconstrue 
 the packet which I am to give you, nor am I at all 
 concerned to defend a gentleman whom I am proud 
 to name my friend. ' 
 
 The indifference of the speech no doubt stung her 
 ladyship. 
 
 ' Friend ! ' she said with a sneer. ' This friend- 
 ship is surely something of the suddenest. I did 
 not even so late as last night notice any great cor- 
 diality between you.' 
 
 'Very likely not,' said Montague. 'Last night 
 there was a trivial cause for disagreement upon 
 which to-day we are of one mind.' 
 
 Lady Oxford flushed and took another tone. 
 
 * You are cruel,' she said. She was not so much 
 insulted as hurt. * You are ungenerous. You are 
 cruel. ' 
 
 But Colonel Montague was not in a melting mood, 
 and so, * Give me the packet,' she said sullenly. 
 
 Montague pressed his hand over his pocket and 
 smiled. 
 
 Lady Oxford rose from her chair with a startled 
 face. 
 
 * You mean to keep it ? To use it ? ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 361 
 
 * Not to your ladyship's hurt.' 
 
 Lady Oxford looked at him with eyes mournful in 
 their reproach. 
 
 ' Mr. Kelly bade you give these letters back to 
 me at once, ' she said ; and then, with a great fervour 
 of admiration, ' Mr. Kelly would have given them 
 back to me at once. ' It seemed as though the 
 thought of the noble Mr. Kelly was the one thing 
 which now enabled her to keep her faith in 
 men. 
 
 'Very likely,' replied Montague coolly, who was 
 not at all moved by the disparaging comparison of 
 himself with the Parson. ' Mr. Kelly would have 
 given them back to you at once had not your lady- 
 ship taken good care that a few locks and bars should 
 hinder him. But I am not Mr. Kelly, and indeed 
 it is well for your ladyship I am not. Had your 
 ladyship betrayed me, why, when that pretty news- 
 sheet was read out last night, I would have stood up 
 before the whole company, and told boldly out how 
 your ladyship came by the knowledge which gave 
 you the power to betray me. ' 
 
 The words and the stern voice in which they were 
 spoken stung Lady Oxford into a passion. She for- 
 got to deny that she had betrayed Mr. Kelly. 
 
 ' It would have been an infamy ! ' she cried. 
 
 ' A harsh critic might say that it would have 
 matched an infamy. ' 
 
 Her ladyship saw her mistake. 
 
 * There was nothing which Mr. Kelly could have 
 said. Mr. Kelly was my friend, as I have told you 
 frankly; but I did not betray him. ' 
 
 * Your ladyship's livery is blue and silver, I think 
 
362 PARSON KELLY 
 
 — a pretty notable livery even at night, as I had 
 occasion to remark in Ryder Street. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford was put out of countenance. 
 
 * What am I to do to earn the packet which is 
 mine.^' she asked bitterly. 
 
 ' The simplest thing imaginable. Your ladyship, 
 I fear me, has not slept well. What say you to a 
 little country air, with your humble servant for a 
 companion ? If your ladyship would order your 
 carriage to be at your door in an hour's time we 
 might take the air for a while together. On our 
 return your ladyship will be refreshed for this even- 
 ing's diversions, and I shall be the lighter by a 
 packet of letters. ' 
 
 Lady Oxford did not know what to make of 
 the Colonel's proposal, but she perforce consented 
 to it. 
 
 ' I obey your orders,' said she bitterly; and Mon- 
 tague went back to Wogan, whom he found sitting 
 on the edge of the bed and disconsolately swinging 
 his legs. 
 
 ' I have a letter for you from Lord Sidney Beau- 
 clerk, ' said Montague. 
 
 It was a very polite letter, and assured Mr. Wogan 
 that he would on no account fight with him in Eng- 
 land; but would cut his throat somewhere in France 
 with the greatest friendliness possible. 
 
 'Very well,' said Wogan, 'but I have to reach 
 France first. ' 
 
 ' You will start in an hour's time,' said Montague. 
 
 ' In broad daylight.'* ' asked Wogan. ' And what 
 of the ill wind and the sore throat that's like to 
 come of it ? * 
 
PARSON KELLY 363 
 
 ' I have got a fine coat to protect the throat. ' 
 Montague went outside and cried down the stairs 
 to know whether a parcel had been brought into the 
 house. The parcel was carried upstairs into Mr. 
 Wogan's room. The Colonel unwrapped it, and 
 spread out on the bed a blue and silver livery. 
 ' A most distasteful garb, ' said Wogan. 
 
 * It is indeed not what we would choose for the 
 descendant of kings, ' murmured Montague gently as 
 he smoothed out the coat. 
 
 ' Viceroys, Colonel, viceroys. ' 
 
 ' Viceroys, then, Mr. Wogan ; but no doubt they 
 murdered, and robbed, and burned, and ravished, 
 just like kings. Besides, you have an example. 
 For I seem to have heard of another Wogan, who 
 went to Innspruck as a shopkeeper. ' 
 
 * To be sure,' cried Nick. 'That is the finest 
 story in the world. It was my brother Charles — ' 
 
 ' You shall tell me that story another time,' said 
 Montague, and Wogan stripped off his clothes. 
 
 ' Will you tell me what I am to do when I am 
 dressed .^ ' 
 
 ' You will go to a certain house.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Wogan, and pulled on the lackey's 
 breeches. 
 
 ' At the house you will find a carriage. * 
 
 ' I shall find a carriage. * Wogan drew on a 
 stocking. 
 
 ' You will mount behind as though you were a 
 footman from the house. ' 
 
 ' A footman from the house,' repeated Wogan, 
 and he pulled on the other stocking. 
 
 ' I shall get into the carriage with a companion. 
 
364 PARSON KELLY 
 
 You won't know me. The carriage will drive off. 
 You won't speak a word for fear your brogue should 
 betray you. ' 
 
 ' I will whisper my opinions to you in English, 
 Colonel, ' said Wogan as he fastened his garters. 
 
 *I don't think you could,' said Montague, * and 
 certainly you will not try. We shall drive to the 
 almshouses at Dulwich. When we get there, I will 
 make an excuse to stop the carriage. ' 
 
 ' You won't be alone, then.^ ' 
 
 ' No. Let me see. It is a fine sunny day. I 
 will say that my watch is stopped, and I will send 
 you to see the time by the sundial in the court. ' 
 
 Wogan buttoned his waistcoat. 
 
 * I will bring you the exact minute. ' 
 
 ' No you won't. You will cross the court to the 
 chapel, by the chapel you will find a path, and the 
 path will lead you out through an arch into another 
 road, bordered with chestnut trees. ' 
 
 ' And when I am in the road } ' Wogan tied his 
 cravat. 
 
 ' You will find my groom with a horse. The 
 horse will be saddled. There will be pistols in 
 the holsters, and then your patron saint or the devil 
 must help you to get out of the country. ' 
 
 ' I have a friend or two on the coast of Sussex 
 who will do as well,' said Wogan, and he drew the 
 coat over his shoulders, ' and I am very grateful to 
 you. But sure. Colonel, what if a constable pulls 
 me off the carriage by the leg before we are out of 
 London } You will be dipped yourself. ' 
 
 ' There 's no fear of that if you hold your tongue. ' 
 
 Wogan took up his hat. 
 
PARSON KELLY 365 
 
 * And who is to be your companion ? * 
 Montague hesitated. 
 
 * My companion will be a lady.' 
 
 'Oh! And Where's the house with the carriage 
 waiting at the door.'* ' 
 
 ' In Queen's Square, Westminster. 
 
 Wogan looked at his clothes. 
 
 'I am wearing her damned livery,' he cried. 
 ' No, I will stay and be hanged like a gentleman, 
 but I take no favours at Lady Oxford's hand,' and 
 in a passion he began to tear off the clothes. 
 
 'She offers none,' said Montague. 'She knows 
 nothing of what I intend. I would not trust her. 
 If you have to stand behind, I have to drive by her 
 side; and upon my word I would sooner be in your 
 place. Her ladyship's footman for an hour! Man, 
 are you so proud that your life cannot make up for 
 the humiliation.-* Why, I have been her lapdog for 
 a year. ' 
 
 Wogan stopped, with one arm out of the sleeve of 
 his coat. The notion that her ladyship was not 
 helping him, but that, on the contrary, he was 
 tricking her, gave the business a quite different 
 complexion. 
 
 ' D 'ye see.^ The one place in London where the 
 King's Messengers will not look to find you is 
 the footboard of Lady Oxford's carriage,' urged 
 Montague. 
 
 There was reason in the argument : it was the 
 same argument which Mr. Wogan had used to per- 
 suade Mr. Kelly to go to Queen's Square the even- 
 ing before, and now he suffered it to persuade 
 himself. 
 
^66 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Wogan drew on the coat again, pulled his peruke 
 about his face, and drew his hat forward on his 
 forehead. 
 
 ' Now follow me. It is a fortunate thing wc are 
 close to her ladyship's house.' 
 
 Montague walked quickly to Queen's Square. 
 Wogan followed ten yards behind. As they turned 
 into the square they saw Lady Oxford's carriage 
 waiting at the door. 
 
 ' Does the coachman know .? ' asked Wogan, 
 lounging up to the Colonel and touching his hat 
 with his forefinger. 
 
 ' The lackey whose place you took has primed him. * 
 
 At the door Mr. Wogan climbed up to the foot- 
 board while Montague entered the house. In a 
 minute Lady Oxford came out, and was handed into 
 the carriage by the Colonel. She did not look at 
 her new lackey, but gave an order to the coachman 
 and the carriage drove off. Mr. Wogan began to 
 discover a certain humour in the manner of his 
 escape which tickled him mightily. He noticed 
 more than one of his acquaintances who would have 
 been ready to lay him by the heels, and once Lady 
 Oxford made a little jump in her seat and would 
 have stopped the coachman had not Colonel Mon- 
 tague prevented her. For Lord Sidney Beauclerk 
 stood on the path gazing at her ladyship and the 
 Colonel with a perplexed and glowing countenance. 
 Mr. Wogan winked and shook a friendly foot at him 
 from the back of the carriage, and his lordship was 
 fairly staggered at the impertinence of her lady- 
 ship's footman. So they drove out past the houses 
 and between the fields. 
 
PARSON KELLY 367 
 
 Colonel Montague was plainly in a great concern 
 lest Lady Oxford should turn round and discover 
 who rode behind her. He talked with volubility 
 about the beauty of spring and the blue skies and 
 the green fields, and uttered a number of irreproach- 
 able sentiments about them. Lady Oxford, how- 
 ever, it seemed, had lost her devotion to a country 
 life, and was wholly occupied with the Colonel's 
 indifference to herself. Her vanity put her to a 
 great many shifts, which kept her restless and Mr. 
 Wogan in a pucker lest she should turn round. 
 Now it was her cloak that, with an ingenious jerk, 
 she slipped off her shoulders, and the Colonel must 
 hoist it on again ; now it was her glove that was too 
 small, and the Colonel must deny the imputation 
 and admire her Liliputian hand, which he failed to 
 do ; now his advice was asked upon the proper shape 
 of a patch at the corner of the mouth, and a win- 
 some, smiling face was bent to him that he might 
 judge without any prejudice. The Colonel, how- 
 ever, remained cold, and Wogan was sorely per- 
 suaded to lean over and whisper in his ear: 
 
 * Flatter her, soften your face and adore her, and 
 she will be quiet as a cat purring in front of a fire. ' 
 
 For it was solely his indifference that pricked 
 her. Had he pretended a little affection, she would 
 have whistled him off without any regret, but she 
 could not endure that he should discard her of his 
 own free will. This, however, Colonel Montague 
 did not know; he had not Mr. Wogan's experience 
 of the sex, and so Lady Oxford restlessly practised 
 her charms upon him until they came to the gates 
 of the almshouses at Dulwich. 
 
368 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Then Colonel Montague cried to the coachman to 
 halt. 
 
 'Or would your ladyship go further?' he asked, 
 and pulled his watch out of his fob to see the time. 
 But his watch had unaccountably stopped. * Nay, 
 there's a sundial in the court there,' he said, and 
 over his shoulder bade the lackey go and look at it. 
 The lackey climbed down from the footboard. At 
 the same moment Colonel Montague bade the coach- 
 man turn, and since the lackey kept at the back of 
 the carriage as it turned, Lady Oxford did not catch 
 a glimpse of him. The lackey walked through the 
 gates, crossed the grass to the chapel without troub- 
 ling his head about the sundial, ran down the pas- 
 sage and under the archway into a quiet road shaded 
 with chestnut trees and laburnums. Colonel Mon- 
 tague's groom was walking a horse up and down the 
 road. Wogan mounted the horse, thrust his feet 
 into the stirrups, and took the air into his chest 
 with incomparable contentment. 
 
 The afternoon sunlight shone through the avenue 
 and glistened on the laburnum flowers. But there 
 is another sort of yellow flower that blooms from 
 the mouth of a pistol barrel with which Mr. Wogan 
 was at that moment more concerned, and he un- 
 strapped the holsters and looked to the priming to 
 see whether the buds were ready to burst. Then he 
 drove his heels into his horse's flanks and so rode 
 down between the chestnut trees. ' Your ladyship, 
 we need wait no longer,' said Montague to Lady 
 Oxford. ' Your footman will not come back, and I 
 have the honour to return you your packet of letters. ' 
 
 With that he drew the letters frorn his pocket. 
 
PARSON KELLY 369 
 
 sealed up in a parcel with Mr. Kelly's ring. Lady 
 Oxford clutched them tight to her bosom, and lay 
 back in the carriage, her eyes closed. The coach- 
 man drove back to London. 
 
 They had gone almost half the way before Lady 
 Oxford recovered sufficiently from her joy to have a 
 thought for anything but the letters. Then she 
 looked at Montague, and her eyes widened. 
 
 ' The footman ! ' she said. 'Ah ! I have saved Mr. 
 Kelly after all. I have saved him ! ' 
 
 The Colonel might have pointed out that what- 
 ever saving had been done. Lady Oxford had taken 
 but an involuntary hand in it. But he merely 
 shrugged his shoulders ; he imagined her anxiety on 
 Mr. Kelly's account to be all counterfeit, although, 
 may be, she was sincere. 
 
 'Mr. Kelly,' he said, 'is most likely in the 
 Tower. Your footman was Mr. Nicholas Wogan.' 
 
 Lady Oxford was silent for some little time. 
 Then in a low, broken voice she said : 
 
 ' There was no need you should have so distrusted 
 me.' 
 
 Montague glanced at her curiously. Her face had 
 a new look to him. It was thoughtful, but with a 
 certain simplicity in the thoughtfulness; compunc- 
 tion saddened it, and it seemed there was no artifice 
 in the compunction. 
 
 ' Madam, ' he answered gently, ' if I had told you, 
 and the manner of Mr. Wogan' s escape became 
 known, you might fall under the imputation of 
 favouring Mr. Wogan's cause.' 
 
 Lady Oxford thanked him with a shy look, and 
 they drove back among the streets. Neither of 
 
 24 
 
370 PARSON KELLY 
 
 them spoke until they reached Queen's Square, but 
 Colonel Montague was again very gentle as he 
 handed her from the carriage and bade her good-bye. 
 Lady Oxford's discretion was to seek. The Colonel 
 seemed to be in a relenting mood; she could not 
 resist the temptation. 
 
 ' My Corydon ! ' she whispered under her breath. 
 
 Montague's face hardened in an instant. 
 
 'My Phylinda!' he replied. 'No, I should say 
 my Smilissa. Madam, there is, in truth, some 
 family likeness between the names, and perhaps it 
 would be better if I said simply " Lady Oxford." ' 
 
 So the Colonel got his foot out of the net. Her 
 ladyship made no answer to his sneer, but bowed 
 her head and passed slowly into her house. Mon- 
 tague had struck harder than he had intended, and 
 would gladly have recalled the words. But the 
 door was closed, and the strange woman out of sight 
 and hearing. He walked away to his lodging in 
 Ryder Street, very well content with his day's 
 work, and opening the door of his parlour on the 
 first floor was at once incommoded by a thick fog of 
 tobacco-smoke. But through the fog he saw, com- 
 fortably stretched in his best armchair, with his 
 peruke pushed back and his waistcoat unbuttoned, 
 a lackey in Lady Oxford's livery. Montague lifted 
 up his voice and swore. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 HOW THE MINIATURE OF LADY OXFORD CAME BY 
 A MISCHANCE. 
 
 * T LENT you the swiftest horse I have,' said 
 X Montague. 
 
 * It is just for that reason I am back before you/ 
 replied Wogan. 
 
 Colonel Montague at once became punctilious to 
 the last degree. He stood correct in the stiffest 
 attitude of military deportment. A formal polite- 
 ness froze the humanity out of his face. 
 
 'This makes me very ridiculous, Mr. Wogan,' 
 he said in a tone of distaste. ' If you will pardon 
 the remark, I was at some pains and perhaps a little 
 risk to get you safe out of London. You accepted 
 my services, as it seemed, and yet here you are back 
 in London ! Indeed this makes me very ridiculous. ' 
 
 Mr. Wogan had quite forgotten that Colonel 
 Montague was an Englishman, and so hated ridicule 
 worse than the devil. He was briskly reminded of 
 the fact, and having ruffled the gentleman's feel- 
 ings, must now set to work to soothe them. 
 
 * It is very true, Colonel. My behaviour looks 
 uncommonly like a breach of good taste. But it 
 was not for the purpose of playing a trick on you 
 that I came back into danger, when I was safe upon 
 
372 PARSON KELLY 
 
 the back of your beautiful horse. Sure, never have 
 I ridden a nobler beast. A mouth of velvet, a leg 
 tapered like a fine lady's finger, a coat — sir, I have 
 seen the wonderful manufactures of Lyons. There 
 never was silk so smooth or of so bright a gloss, as 
 the noble creature's coat. He spurned the earth, 
 at each moment he threatened to float among the 
 clouds. Sure, that horse was the original of Pegasus 
 in a direct descent. A true horse, and more than a 
 horse, a copy of all that is best in England, an 
 example of what is most English and therefore most 
 admired, the true English military gentleman. ' 
 
 ' Mr. Wogan, ' interrupted Montague, with a grim 
 sort of smile, ' you are likely to learn a little more 
 particularly about the velvet mouth of the English 
 military gentleman if you continue to praise his 
 horse at the expense of his sense. Will you tell 
 me why you have come back ? ' 
 
 ' You have a right to ask that. Colonel, but I have 
 no right to answer you. It is a private affair 
 wherein others are concerned. I should have 
 remembered it before, but I did not. It only came 
 into my mind when I was riding between the chest- 
 nut trees, and leaving my friend behind me. ' 
 
 Colonel Montague was silent for a little. 
 
 * In another man, Mr. Wogan, I should suspect 
 an intention to meddle with these plots. But I 
 have no need to remind you that such a proceeding 
 would not be fair to me. And if Mr. Kelly's con- 
 cerns have brought you back I cannot complain. 
 Meanwhile how are you to lie hidden ? I cannot 
 keep you here. ' 
 
 ' There are one or two earths, Colonel, which are 
 
PARSON KELLY 373 
 
 not yet stopped, I have no doubt. I did but take 
 the liberty to use your lodging until it grew dark.' 
 
 The evening was falling while Wogan and INTon- 
 tague thus talked together. Wogan wrote a letter 
 which he put into his pocket, and holding the ends 
 of his wig in his mouth, without any fear ran the 
 hazard of the streets. 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was that evening 
 adorning herself for a masquerade in her house, 
 when word was carried to her that Lady Oxford's 
 big lackey was below and had brought a letter. 
 Lady Mary had no sooner glanced at the superscrip- 
 tion than she sent her maid downstairs to bring the 
 lackey immediately to her boudoir. Thither he 
 came without awaking suspicion in the servants, and 
 found Lady Mary sitting in front of her toilette, 
 which was all lighted up with candles, and the rest 
 of the room dark. 
 
 Mr. Wogan remained in a dark corner by the 
 door. 
 
 ' You have a message from Lady Oxford, ' said 
 she, carelessly holding out a hand as though to take 
 a letter. 
 
 ' By word of mouth, your ladyship,' replied Wogan 
 in a disguised voice. 
 
 Lady Mary dismissed her maid and spoke in 
 considerable heat: 
 
 ' Colonel Montague told me you had escaped. ' 
 
 *I have come back,' replied Wogan coolly, who 
 had no reason to think he had justly incurred Lady 
 Mary's anger, and so made no account of it. 
 
 ' It is sheer madness,' she exclaimed, ' and yet no 
 more mad than it is for your friends to take pre- 
 
374 PARSON KELLY 
 
 cautions for your safety, ' and she dabbed a patch on 
 her cheek viciously. ' Why have you come back ? ' 
 
 ' Your ladyship has not forgotten how some while 
 ago Lady Oxford paid her losses at cards. ' 
 
 Lady Mary raised her head from her mirror and 
 looked at Wogan. 
 
 * With Mr. Kelly's winnings from the South Sea,' 
 said she. 
 
 * Your ladyship was kind enough then to say that 
 you would not count the money yours. ' 
 
 * I remember. ' 
 
 ' But would keep it, since you could not return it 
 to George, until such time as it could be used on 
 his behalf. ' 
 
 Lady Mary took a key from a drawer in her toilette 
 and, unlocking a cabinet in a corner of the room, 
 showed Wogan a parcel of bills of exchange lying 
 amongst a heap of guineas. 
 
 ' The moment for using it has come, ' said Wogan. 
 
 * Take it, then, ' said Lady Mary, who now asked 
 for no explanations. 
 
 ' No. It is only of use if your ladyship uses it.' 
 
 'How.?' 
 
 Lady Mary went back to her toilette and busied 
 herself with a number of little silver pots and boxes, 
 while Wogan disclosed his plan. 
 
 ' George was taken last night in his lodging, as 
 your ladyship is no doubt aware. It is a large sum 
 that Lady Oxford lost at cards, and a large sum 
 might perhaps bail George, if a trusted Whig were 
 the surety. He would have some few weeks of 
 liberty, at all events. ' 
 
 * Some few weeks that are like to cost you your 
 
PARSON KELLY 375 
 
 life,' said Lady Mary, who was now grown friendly. 
 * It was to tell me this you came back. I should 
 have guessed. ' 
 
 ' Madam, I shall never believe my life's in danger 
 until I am dead,' replied Wogan, with a laugh. 
 
 ^I will see what the money can do to-morrow,' 
 said Lady Mary. * Where shall I have news of you.-* 
 Or very likely I am to meet you at Ranelagh.? ' 
 
 Wogan disclaimed any such bravado, and told her 
 ladyship of a house where she might hear of him if 
 she sent by night and if her messenger knocked in a 
 particular way. To that house he now bent his 
 steps, and stayed there that night and the next day. 
 It was already dark when the particular knock 
 sounded on the door, and Mr. Wogan lifted a corner 
 of the blind and peered down into the street. What 
 he saw brought him down the stairs in a single 
 bound; he opened the door cautiously, and who 
 should slip in but the Parson. 
 
 'Nick!' said he, in a warm voice. His hand 
 clasped Wogan's in the dark. ' Thanks, thanks! ' 
 
 It appeared that Lady Mary, after seeing that George 
 was bailed out, had told him that the notion of bail- 
 ing him was none of hers. Moreover, in order to 
 make sure Smilinda's letters were safe, Kelly had 
 gone as soon as he was released to Colonel Mon- 
 tague, who told him of Wogan's return to London 
 and other matters of no importance, so that he now 
 wasted a great deal of time in superfluous compli- 
 ments. ' But you shall not lose your life on my 
 account, Nick. Montague's horse, which it seems 
 you have taken a liking to,' he said, with a smile, 
 ' will be waiting for you at twelve o'clock to-night 
 
376 PARSON KELLY 
 
 at Dulwich, and in the same road ; but, Nick, this 
 time you will have to walk to Dulwich. There is a 
 warrant out for you. You can slip away with a 
 better chance on foot; and, Nick, this time you will 
 not come back. Promise me that. ' 
 
 Wogan promised readily enough. 
 
 ' I brought the Colonel into some danger of sus- 
 picion by returning before, ' he said. ' It is a strange 
 thing, George, that, while our friends have left us 
 in the lurch, we should owe, I my escape, you your 
 few weeks of liberty, to perfectly inveterate Whigs, 
 though how you came to an understanding with the 
 Colonel is quite beyond me to imagine. ' 
 
 * I will tell you that now, Nick, since you have 
 an hour to spare; ' and, going up to Wogan' s room, 
 Mr. Kelly related to him the story of his meeting 
 with the Colonel in the Park, of the disturbance 
 with the Messengers in his rooms, and of the saving 
 of Smilinda, and how his love for Rose urged him 
 to it. It was eight o'clock when he had come to an 
 end. Mr. Wogan heard the clocks striking the hour. 
 
 * It will take me an hour to get to Dulwich,' he 
 said, ' so I have three hours to spare. George, have 
 you seen Rose ? ' 
 
 ' No; but she knows that I am free, for Lady Mary 
 sent the news to her. ' 
 
 ' That 's a pity,' said Wogan, pursing his lips. 
 
 ' On the contrary, it was not the least kind of 
 Lady Mary's many kindnesses,' said George, who 
 was astonished at Mr. Wogan' s cruelty, that would 
 have left the girl in her anxieties a moment longer 
 than was necessary. ' Had she not heard the news 
 till it was stale, she would never have forgiven me 
 
PARSON KELLY 377 
 
 — she that has forgiven me so much, ' said he, with 
 more sentiment than logic. 
 
 * Oh, ' said Wogan, ' she has forgiven you so much ? 
 My young friend, you are very certain upon a very 
 uncertain point. There 's that little matter of her 
 ladyship's miniature.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly looked anxiously at Wogan. 
 
 'True,' said he; ' I told her a lie about it at 
 Avignon, and made out it was the likeness of Queen 
 Clementina. ' 
 
 ' The lie is the smallest part of the difficulty. 
 She wore the miniature, and wore it in Lady Oxford's 
 withdrawing-room. There 's the trouble, for there's 
 the humiliation. ' 
 
 ' But, Nick,' said Kelly, ' she forgave it. Didn't 
 I escort her to her chair.? Didn't I feel her hand 
 upon the sleeve of my coat ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! she carried herself very bravely, never a 
 doubt of that. For one thing, you were in peril ; 
 and, to be sure, she will have kept a liking for you 
 at the worst of it. For another. Lady Oxford was 
 there, and Lady Oxford was not to win the day. 
 My little friend Rose is a girl of an uncommon 
 spirit, and would hold her own against any woman, 
 for all her modest ways. But, just because she has 
 spirit, she will not meekly forgive you. If you 
 expect her to droop humbly on to your bosom, you 
 are entirely in the wrong of it. 'Oons! but it must 
 have been a hard blow to her pride when she found 
 she was in Lady Oxford's house, and knew who 
 Lady Oxford was, and had that miniature about her 
 throat. Will she forgive you at all .-^ The best you 
 have to hope is that she will be content with mak- 
 
378 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ing your head sing. That she will do for a sure 
 thing; and I think — ' 
 
 ' What ? ' asked the Parson. The danger of life, 
 the Messengers, the angry Colonel, had only raised 
 his blood; the fear of Rose drove it to his heart. 
 He was now plainly scared. 
 
 ' I think it was the greatest pity imaginable that 
 Lady Mary sent word to her you were free. For, 
 d' ye see, if you had dropped upon Rose suddenly, 
 and she thinking you locked up in a dark prison 
 and your head already loose upon your shoulders, 
 why, you might have surprised her into a forgetful- 
 ness of her pride; but now she will be prepared for 
 your coming. I think, George, I will walk along 
 with you as far as Soho, since I have three hours to 
 kick my heels in. ' 
 
 'Will you, Nick.'*' cried George eagerly; and 
 then, with his nose in the air, ' But I have no fears 
 whatever. She is a woman in a thousand. ' He 
 was, none the less, evidently relieved when Wogan 
 clapped his hat on his head. The night was 
 dark, and Wogan in his livery had no fears of 
 detection. 
 
 The two men walked through by-streets until they 
 came to Piccadilly. The Parson was nerving him- 
 self for the meeting, but would not allow that he 
 was in the least degree afraid. ' A trivial woman 
 would think of nothing but her humiliation and her 
 slight, but Rose is, as you say, of an uncommon 
 spirit, Nick,' he argued. 
 
 Nick, however, preserved a majestic silence, 
 which daunted the Parson, who desired arguments 
 to confute. They were by this time come into Bond 
 
PARSON KELLY 379 
 
 Street, and Mr. Kelly, who must be talking, declared 
 with a great fervour, ' There are no limits to a 
 woman's leniencies. Black errors she will pardon; 
 charity is her father and her mother; she has an 
 infinity of forgiveness, wherefore with truth we 
 place her among the angels.' Upon that text he 
 preached most eloquently all the way up Bond 
 Street, past the New Building, until he came to 
 the corner of Frith Street in Soho. In Frith Street, 
 all at once the Parson's assurance was shown to be 
 counterfeit. He caught at his friend's arm. 
 
 ' Nick,' said he, in a quavering, humble voice, * it 
 is in Frith Street she lives. What am I to do at 
 all ? I am the most ignorant man, and a coward into 
 the bargain. Nick, I have done the unpardonable 
 thing. What am I to do now .? ' 
 
 Thus the Parson twittered in a most deplorable 
 agitation. Mr. Wogan, on the contrary, was very 
 calm. It was just in these little difficulties, which 
 require an intimate knowledge of the sex, that he 
 felt himself most at home. He stroked his chin 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Nick,' and George shook the arm he held, ' sure 
 you can advise me. You have told me so often of 
 your great comprehension of women. Sure, you 
 know all there is to be known about them, at 
 all.' 
 
 * No, not quite all,' said Wogan, with a proper 
 modesty. ' But here I think I can help you. Which 
 is the house .'* ' 
 
 Kelly pointed it out. A couple of windows shone 
 very bright upon the dark street, a few feet above 
 their heads. Looking upwards they could see the 
 
38o PARSON KELLY 
 
 ceiling of the room and the globe of a lamp reflected 
 on the ceiling, but no more. 
 
 ' It is in that room she will be sitting,' whispered 
 the Parson. 
 
 ' And waiting for you, ' added Mr. Wogan grimly. 
 
 ' And waiting for me,' repeated the Parson with a 
 shiver. 
 
 They both stared for a little at the ceiling and 
 the shadow of the lamp. 
 
 'Now, if the ceiling would only tell us something 
 of her face, ' said Kelly. 
 
 * It would be as well to have a look at her, ' said 
 Wogan. The street was quite deserted. ' Will you 
 give me a back ' ? 
 
 The house was separated from the path by an iron 
 railing a couple of feet from the wall. The Parson 
 set his legs apart and steadied himself by the rail- 
 ing, while Wogan climbed up and knelt on to his 
 shoulders. In that position he was able to lean 
 forward and catch hold of the sill. His forehead 
 was on a level with the sill. By craning his neck 
 he could just look into the room. 
 
 * Is she there ? ' asked the Parson. 
 
 * Yes, and alone. ' 
 
 * How does she look.^ Not in tears .^ Nick, don't 
 tell me she's in tears. ' The Parson's legs became 
 unsteady at the mere supposition of such a calamity. 
 
 * Make yourself easy upon that point, ' said 
 Wogan, clinging for dear life to the sill, 'there's 
 never a trace of a tear about her at all. For your 
 sake, George, I could wish that there was. Her 
 eyes are as dry as a campaigner's biscuits. Oh, 
 George, I ani in despair for you. ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 381 
 
 * Nick, you are the most consoling friend,' groaned 
 the Parson, who now wished for tears more than 
 anything else in the world. ' What is she doing? ' 
 
 ' Nothing at all. She is sitting at the table. 
 George, have you ever noticed her chin.*^ It is a 
 sort of decisive chin, and upon my word, George, it 
 has the ugliest jilting look that ever I saw. She 
 has just the same look in her big grey eyes, which 
 are staring at nothing at all. Keep still, George, 
 or you will throw me. ' 
 
 For the Parson was become as uneasy as a restive 
 horse. 
 
 ' But, Nick, is she doing nothing at all ? Is she 
 reading ? ' 
 
 ' No, she is doing nothing but expect you. But 
 she IS expecting you. Steady, for if I tumble off 
 your shoulders the noise will bring her to the 
 windows. ' 
 
 The menace had its effect. Mr. Kelly's limbs 
 became pillars of marble, and Wogan again looked 
 into the room. 
 
 'Wait a moment,' he said, 'I see what she is 
 doing. She is staring at something she holds in 
 her hands. ' 
 
 ' My likeness.'' ' cried the Parson hopefully. ' To 
 be sure it will be that. ' 
 
 * I will tell you in a moment. Hold on to the 
 railings, George.' 
 
 George did as he was bid, and Wogan, still hold- 
 ing to the window-sill very cautiously, stood up on 
 his friend's shoulders. George, however, seemed 
 quite insensible to Mr. Wogan' s weight. 
 
 ' It will be my likeness,' he repeated to himself. 
 
382 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' I had it done for her by Mr. Zincke. I was right, 
 Nick; she has forgiven me altogether.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan's head was now well above the win- 
 dow-sill, and he looked downwards upon Rose, who 
 sat at the table. 
 
 ' Yes, it 's a likeness,' said Nick. 
 
 'I told you. I told you, ' said the Parson. The 
 man began to wriggle with satisfaction. ' You are 
 wrong, Nick. You know nothing at all about 
 women, after all. Come down, you vainglorious 
 boaster. ' It seemed he was about to cut capers with 
 Mr. Wogan on his shoulders. 
 
 'Wait,' said Nick suddenly, and hitched himself 
 higher. 
 
 * Nick, she will see you.' 
 
 ' No, she 's occupied. George ! ' 
 
 ' What is it .? ' 
 
 'It's Lady Oxford's miniature she is staring at, 
 and not yours at all.' 
 
 The Parson grew quite stiff and rigid. 
 
 ' Are you sure.? ' he whispered, in an awe-stricken 
 voice. 
 
 ' I can see the diamonds flashing. 'Faith my 
 friend, but I had done better to have let you throw 
 them into the sea at Genoa. ' 
 
 A groan broke from the Parson. 
 
 ' Why did n't you, Nick ? What am I to do now ? ' 
 
 ' I can see the face. 'Tis the miniature of her 
 ladyship that you gave out to be Queen Clemen- 
 tina's. Did you ever meet Gaydon, George.?' he 
 asked curiously. 
 
 ' Gaydon ? ' asked Kelly. ' What in the world has 
 Gaydon to do with Rose.? ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 383 
 
 * Listen, and I '11 inform you. He told my brother 
 Charles a very pretty story of the Princess Clemen- 
 tina. It seems that when she escaped out of her 
 perils and came to Bologna to marry the Chevalier, 
 who had, just at the moment when he expected his 
 bride, unaccountably retired into Spain, she stayed 
 at Bologna, and so, picking up the gossip of the 
 town, expressed a great desire to visit the Caprara 
 Palace. 'Twas there the lady lived who had con- 
 soled the Chevalier in his anxieties. No doubt he 
 never expected the Princess to get out of the 
 Emperor's prison. But Charles got her out, and 
 here was she at Bologna. To be sure, the Princess 
 was a most natural woman, eh .-* And when she 
 came to the Caprara Palace she asked to be shown 
 the portrait of the Princess de la Caprara. That 
 was more natural still. Gaydon describes how she 
 looked at the portrait, and describes very well. 
 For sure Rose is looking at Lady Oxford's in just 
 the same way. ' 
 
 'That's good news, Nick,' said Kelly, grasping 
 at a straw of comfort. * For the Princess Clementina 
 forgave. ' 
 
 * Ah, but there 's a difference I did not remark at 
 the first. I remember Gaydon said the Princess 
 turned very red, while your little friend Rose, on the 
 contrary, is white to the edge of her lips. Sure, 
 red forgives, when white will not. George,' and 
 Mr. Wogan ducked his head beneath the window- 
 ledge, * she is coming to the window ! For the love 
 of mercy don't move, or she will hear! ' 
 
 George pressed himself close to the railings. 
 Wogan hunched himself against the wall in the 
 
384 PARSON KELLY 
 
 most precarious attitude. Would she open the 
 window? Would she see them? Both men quaked 
 as they asked themselves the question, though they 
 had come thither for no other purpose but to see her 
 and be seen of her. Wogan threw a glance over his 
 shoulder to where the light of the window fell upon 
 the road. But no shadow obscured it. 
 
 * Sure, she's not coming to the window at all,' 
 said Nick. 
 
 ' Oh, Nick,' whispered the Parson, * you made my 
 heart jump into my throat. ' 
 
 Wogan drew his head up level with the window 
 again, and again ducked. 
 
 ' She is standing looking towards the window with 
 the likeness in her hand, ' and he scrambled to the 
 ground, where the pair of them stood looking at one 
 another, and then to the house, and from the house 
 down the street. Wogan was the first to find his 
 tongue. 
 
 * It is a monstrous thing,' said he, and he thumped 
 his chest, ' that a mere slip of a girl should frighten 
 two grown men to death. ' 
 
 Mr. Kelly thumped his chest too, but without any 
 assurance. 
 
 * Nick, I must look for myself,' he said. 
 Footsteps sounded a little distance down the 
 
 street, and sounded louder the next moment. A 
 man was approaching; they waited until he had 
 passed, and then Mr. Kelly climbed on to Wo- 
 gan's shoulders, and in his turn looked into the 
 room. 
 
 ' Nick! ' he whispered in a voice of awe. 
 
 ' What is she doing? ' 
 
PARSON KELLY 385 
 
 * She has thrown Smilinda's likeness on the 
 ground. She is stamping on it with her heeL 
 She is grinding it all in pieces.' 
 
 ' And the beautiful diamonds ? Look if she picks 
 them up, George ! ' 
 
 ' No ; she pays no heed to the stones. It is the 
 likeness she thinks of. It was in pieces a moment 
 ago; it is all powder now,' and he groaned. 
 
 * George, it is an ill business. When a woman 
 spurns diamonds you may be sure she is in a mortal 
 fluster. It's a Gorgon you have to meet — a veri- 
 table Gorgon.' 
 
 Mr. Kelly slid from Wogan's shoulders to the 
 ground. 
 
 ^ What will I do, Nick.?' 
 
 Nick bit his thumb, then threw his shoulders 
 back. 
 
 ' I am not afraid of her, ' said he. ' No, I am not. 
 I have done nothing to anger or humiliate her. I 
 am not afraid of her at all — not the least in the 
 world. I will go in myself. I will beard her just 
 to show you I am not at all afraid of her.' 
 
 ' Will you do that ? Nick, you are a friend,' cried 
 Kelly, who was most reasonably startled by his 
 friend's heroism. 
 
 * To be sure I will,' said Nick, looking up at the 
 window. ' I am not afraid of her. A little slip of 
 a girl! Why should we fear her at all.? Haven't 
 we killed men more than once.? Do you wait here, 
 George. If I hold my hand up at the window with 
 my fingers open — so, you may come in. But if I 
 hold up a clenched fist, you had best go home as fast 
 as your legs can carry you. You see, the case is 
 
 25 
 
386 PARSON KELLY 
 
 different with you. I have no reason whatever to be 
 frightened at her. ' 
 
 He knocked at the door, and in a little the door 
 was opened. * Not the least bit in the world ! ' he 
 stopped to say to Mr. Kelly in the street. Then he 
 stepped into the passage. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MR. WOGAN TRADUCES HIS FRIEND, WITH THE 
 HAPPIEST CONSEQUENCES 
 
 MR. WOGAN'S title of Hilton was now, thanks 
 to the Flying Post, as familiar as his name ; 
 he refused both the one and the other to the ser- 
 vant, and was admitted to Rose Townley without 
 any formalities. Her eyes flashed as they remarked 
 his livery, but she was not in any concern about Mr, 
 Wogan, and asked him no questions. She rose with 
 the utmost coldness, did not give Jiim her hand, and 
 only the bare mockery of a bow, as though her in- 
 dignation against Mr. Kelly was so complete that it 
 must needs embrace his friend. 
 
 ' I thought that he would have plucked up enough 
 courage to come himself,' said she, with a con- 
 temptuous shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 * He is a man of the meanest spirit,' replied 
 Wogan, in a sullen agreement. * It is a strange 
 thing how easily one may be misled. Here have 
 I been going up and down the world with him for 
 years, and I never knew him until now, never knew 
 the black heart of him, and his abominable per- 
 fidies.' 
 
 Rose was taken aback by Wogan's speech. No 
 doubt she expected a hotch-potch of excuses and 
 
SSS PARSON KELLY 
 
 arguments on Mr. Kelly's behalf, which would 
 but have confirmed her in her own opinion ; but 
 falling in with her views, he took the words out 
 of her mouth. 
 
 ' So,' she said doubtfully, * he has lost your friend- 
 ship too? ' 
 
 * To be sure,' cried Wogan in a heat, * would you 
 have me keep friends with a vile wretch whose 
 thoughts writhe at the bottom of his soul like a 
 poisonous nest of vipers?' 
 
 Rose neither answered the question nor expressed 
 any approval of Wogan's elegant figure describing 
 Mr. Kelly's mind. 
 
 * Oh,' said she, * then he did not send you to make 
 his peace with me ? ' 
 
 Wogan answered with all the appearances of 
 reluctance. 
 
 * No. In fact the man was coming himself, and 
 with a light heart. He made a great to-do about 
 the infinite fairness and charity of women, which 
 place them equal to the angels, and how you ex- 
 celled all women in that and other womanly quali- 
 ties. But I told him, on the contrary, that I knew 
 your spirit, and that you were of too noble a pride 
 to shut your eyes to a slight, and would certainly 
 dismiss him. However, he would not be persuaded, 
 so I slipped away from him and ran here, so that I 
 might warn you against him.' 
 
 Rose forgot to thank Mr. Wogan for his zeal 
 on her behalf. Indeed her face, in spite of her- 
 self, had lightened for a second ; in spite of her- 
 self her eyes had sparkled when Wogan spoke of 
 the great faith Mr. Kelly had in her charity. 
 
PARSON KELLY 389 
 
 * It was more than a slight,' she said, ' I could 
 forgive a slight — He would have come himself had 
 not you prevented him.' 
 
 * But he is coming. He would have been here 
 already, but that he paid a visit on the way to 
 Colonel Montague to discover whether Lady Ox- 
 ford's letters had been restored to her.' 
 
 * Lady Oxford's letters ! ' exclaimed Rose, her face 
 flushing again with anger. 
 
 * To be sure,' said Wogan, * you would know 
 nothing of them. It is a fine story — the story 
 of Lady Oxford's love-letters.' 
 
 * I have no wish to hear it,' cried Rose sharply, and 
 she turned towards the window. Mr. Wogan took a 
 quick step towards her. If she looked out of the 
 window she could hardly fail to observe the Parson. 
 
 * Nor is it a story that you should hear,' said 
 Wogan in a soothing voice, * though indeed to hear it 
 from Mr. Kelly's lips would surely make you aware 
 of his devilish sophistries. For he declares that, 
 but for you. Lady Oxford's love-letters would never 
 have been restored to her, nor would he have gone 
 to prison and put his neck in the noose.* 
 
 Rose shivered at those last words and drew in her 
 breath. She turned quickly back to Wogan. 
 
 ' But for me ? ' she asked. ' What have I to do with 
 Lady Oxford's love-letters, or with his danger?' and 
 her voice softened towards the end of the sentence. 
 
 'Why, Lady Oxford, who knew very well Mr. 
 Kelly's trade, betrayed him in revenge for a cer- 
 tain ballad wherein your name was mentioned.' 
 
 * Yes,' interrupted Rose, * Lady Mary told me of 
 the ballad.' 
 
390 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Well, you heard Mr. Kelly perhaps assure Lady 
 Oxford that he had her brocades in his lodging, and 
 perhaps you remarked her ladyship's confusion.' 
 
 * Yes. I guessed what the brocades were.' 
 *Very well. Mr. Kelly remained with her Lady- 
 ship, who informed him that he would be taken out- 
 side his door, and his rooms searched. There 
 were papers in his rooms of a kind to bring him 
 into great danger. But there were also Lady Ox- 
 ford's letters. The story he will tell you is this, 
 that he meant to use Lady Oxford's letters as a 
 weapon by which he might save his papers and so 
 himself ; but a complete revolution took place in 
 his thoughts. He suddenly understood that he 
 owed it to you that no woman's name should be 
 smirched by his fault, and that thus he was bound, 
 at the peril of his life, to rescue Lady Oxford's 
 letters, as he did. A strange chance put it into 
 his hands to burn his own papers, and leave Lady 
 Oxford's to be seized, in which case he would have 
 been saved, and she lost. But he saved his honour 
 instead, and his love for you helped him to it. He 
 rescued her Ladyship's letters, his own are in the 
 hands of the Minister.' 
 
 Mr. Wogan, who had now secured a most at- 
 tentive listener, disclosed all that Mr. Kelly had 
 told him of what took place in Ryder Street. 
 
 * This is the story he will tell you. And to be 
 sure, he adds a pretty touch to the pretence. For 
 he went whistling to prison and he says that he 
 whistled because he felt as if you were walking 
 by his side.' 
 
 'But what if it were no pretence at all?* 
 
PARSON KELLY 391 
 
 Mr. Wogan sagely shook his head, though the 
 story had the stamp of truth on it to those who 
 knew the Parson. 
 
 * If he had held you in such respect would he 
 have sent you Lady Oxford's miniature to wear 
 at Lady Oxford's rout ? ' 
 
 * But he did not send it to me for that purpose/ 
 she cried, * he did not even know that I was going 
 to the rout. He gave me the miniature a long 
 time ago, when it would have been very difficult 
 for him to tell me whose it was.' 
 
 * But he told you it was Queen Clementina's.* 
 
 * No. It was I who guessed at that, and he — 
 did not deny it' 
 
 Here at all events was sophistry, but Mr. Wogan 
 was less indignant at it than his anger with the 
 Parson's subtleties would lead one to expect. 
 
 ' Well,' said Wogan, ' I have told you what it was 
 my plain duty to disclose to you.' 
 
 At this moment Wogan chanced to look towards 
 the window. He beheld Mr. Kelly's face pressed 
 against the glass. The man had grown impatient 
 and so had climbed on to the railings. Mr. Wogan 
 broke off with an exclamation he could not repress. 
 
 'What is it?' said Rose, turning about. 
 
 * Some most beautiful diamonds,' said Wogan, 
 spreading out his hand to the window. He then 
 dropped on to the floor and began picking up the 
 diamonds which Rose had scattered when she set 
 her foot on the miniature. Rose bit her lips, and 
 flushed, as he held them in his palm. Then he 
 said carelessly: 
 
 * That fine miniature had diamonds set about it. 
 
392 PARSON KELLY 
 
 D' ye know, Miss Townley, that miniature would 
 have been at the bottom of the sea long before 
 Mr. Kelly came to Avignon, but for the diamonds 
 about it. 'T was I held his arm when, having 
 done with her Ladyship, he would also have done 
 with her Ladyship's present, and I bade him keep 
 it for the value of the jewels.' 
 
 There was a loud knocking at the door, which 
 came not a moment earlier than was necessary 
 to prevent Mr. Wogan revealing himself as still 
 the Parson's friend. 
 
 'There's the fellow come to importune you,' said 
 Wogan. 
 
 'Then he would have thrown it away but for you,' 
 said Miss Townley thoughtfully. * He did not keep 
 it out of any — * 
 
 But Wogan heard the servant pass down to the 
 door, and thought it would be as well if he had 
 a private word with the Parson. 
 
 ' You will excuse me,' he said with dignity, ' but I 
 have no heart for the man's company. Besides, I 
 have stayed too long in London as it is. Delays 
 would be dangerous.* 
 
 But Rose had no ears for any dangers of Mr. 
 Wogan, as he was indescribably glad to remark. 
 For her eyes looked past him to the door; from 
 head to foot she seemed to listen for the sound of 
 the Parson's voice. Mr. Wogan bowed, and opened 
 the door. Though she followed him to the door, 
 and held it open as he passed out, she did not 
 notice that he was going, she had no word of 
 farewell. She did not even notice that Mr. Wogan 
 put the diamonds in his pocket. For Mr. Wogan 
 
PARSON KELLY 393 
 
 had his wits about him. Diamonds were diamonds, 
 and the carpet no place for them. Some day they 
 might be of use to the Parson. The door of 
 the street was opened as Wogan stepped into the 
 passage. But Rose did not shut the door of the 
 parlour and so Wogan, as he met Kelly, could 
 only whisper hurriedly, * Remember, I am your worst 
 enemy,' and so left him to his own resources. 
 
 It appeared, however, that they were sufficient. 
 The Parson made no excuses whatever ; he carried 
 the day by the modesty of his omissions. Both with 
 regard to the miniature and to the saving of Smil- 
 inda he disclosed to her no more than a bald array 
 of facts. He made no parade of the part which the 
 thought of Rose had played in the revulsion of his 
 feelings, bringing him to see that he was bound in 
 honour to save Smilinda's honour ; he did not tell her 
 why he went whistling to prison. But Rose knew 
 from Wogan of these evidences of his love, and no 
 doubt thought of them the more because he would 
 not use them to soften her just resentments. 
 
 Mr. Wogan left them together, and, walking out to 
 Dulwich, found the Colonel's horse waiting in the road 
 between the chestnut trees. He came to the coast of 
 Sussex in the morning, where he had friends among 
 the smugglers, and lay all that day in a hut within 
 sound of the waves. It was a black, melancholy day 
 for Nicholas Wogan, who was leaving his friends 
 behind him to face their perils alone, and who felt 
 very solitary; not even the memory of the noble 
 deeds of his illustrious forefathers had any power to 
 cheer him, until he heard the grating noise of the 
 boat's keel as it was dragged down the beach to the 
 
394 PARSON KELLY 
 
 sea, and saw the sail like a great wing waft up be- 
 tween him and the stars. 
 
 He got safe to Paris, where he heard of the strange 
 use to which the Parson put his few weeks of liberty, 
 for the Parson married Rose Townley three weeks 
 later at St. James's Church in Piccadilly, and wrote 
 to Mr. Wogan a very warm, human sort of letter 
 which had not one single classical allusion to disfigure 
 it. In that letter he gave the reasons which had 
 induced him to the marriage. 
 
 ' I am told,' he wrote, * that a man so dangerously 
 circumstanced must be selfish in the extreme to marry 
 a woman who, in a short while, may, at the worst, be 
 widowed ; and at the best must be separated from 
 her husband in his gaol. I do not fear that you will 
 have so mean an opinion of my inclinations, but I 
 would not have you think me careless upon this point 
 neither. Dr. Townley is old, and his health breaks. 
 He will leave his daughter, when he dies, but little 
 money, and that moment cannot be very far off. It 
 is true that Rose has beauty, and no doubt she might 
 make a rich marriage if she had only beauty. But she 
 has frankness, truth, and constancy as well, qualities 
 which are not marketable wares, since those who 
 possess them will not bring them into the market. 
 Now, if I suffer death for the Cause, Rose will be no 
 poorer than she was before ; if, on the other hand, I 
 live, there are the booksellers, and from the silence of 
 my prison I can make shift to earn for her a decent 
 livelihood.' 
 
 As all the world knows, Mr. Kelly lived, and even 
 gained much credit by his speech at his trial. He 
 made it plain, to all but prejudiced Whigs, that there 
 
PARSON KELLY 
 
 395 
 
 was no Plot, nor he concerned in any, if there were. 
 But what is Whig justice? He was sentenced to 
 prison for Hfe. The papers in his strong box were 
 enough to help a foolish fellow, Counsellor Layer, 
 on his way to Tyburn, enough to send Lord Orrery 
 to the Tower, and Lord North and Grey into exile. 
 The Plot was ruined for that time; the Bishop of 
 Rochester was banished, for Mar's traitorous mention 
 of the dog Harlequin fixed the guilt on that holy 
 man. Mr. Kelly came off with loss of fourteen years 
 of his life, which years he passed in the Tower. 
 
 It was not, after all, so silent a prison as he imagined 
 it would be. For though during the first months his 
 confinement was severe, and he never drew air except 
 from between the bars, afterwards this rigour was re- 
 laxed. He was placed in a room of which one window 
 took the morning sun, and the other commanded the 
 river, and the ships going up and down with the tide; 
 he was allowed the use of his books, and to receive 
 what visitors he would. His visitors were not few, 
 and amongst them Colonel Montague was the most 
 frequent. His gaolers, the officers who were stationed 
 in the Tower, and their wives, became his familiar 
 friends, and it is said that when, after fourteen years, 
 he escaped, not a woman in the precincts could make 
 up her mind whether to clap her hands for joy, or 
 weep at the loss of his society. Moreover, Rose came 
 and went at her pleasure. 
 
 The first years of his imprisonment were thus not 
 wholly unhappy years. He sat amongst his books 
 translating Cicero, and if at times his limbs ached for 
 the stress and activity of his youth, and he began 
 to dream of hours in the saddle and starry nights at 
 
396 PARSON KELLY 
 
 sea, it was not perhaps for very long. He had friends 
 enough to divert his leisure moments, and Rose to 
 keep him busy at his work. For what he had fore- 
 seen came to pass. Two years after Mr. Kelly came 
 to the Tower, Dr. Townley died, and left Rose but 
 poorly circumstanced. She came to lodge close by 
 the Tower Gates, and the Parson set his pen to his 
 paper and wrote essays and translations till the whole 
 Tower of London buzzed with his learning, and no 
 doubt a friendly Jacobite here and there bought one 
 of his books. Mr. Wogan, indeed, bought them all. 
 He has them ranged upon a bookshelf in his lodging 
 at Paris, all bound in leather and most dignified ; the 
 very print has a sonorous look. ' Mr. Kelly's Opera * 
 he calls them, and always speaks of the books as 
 * tomes ' with prodigious respect and perhaps a sigh. 
 For — 
 
 ' He lacks one quality,' Mr. Wogan was heard to 
 say, * to set him on the pinnacle of fame. He can- 
 not write poetry. It is a trick, no doubt, a poor sort of 
 trick ; but George had it not, and so when there was 
 poetry to be written, he had to come to his friends.* 
 
 Thus ten years passed, and then came the black 
 day, when Rose fell sick of a fever and must keep her 
 bed. She sent word to George daily that he should 
 expect her on the morrow, until a delirium took her, 
 and the doctor, who had been charged by Rose to 
 make light of her suffering, was now forced to tell 
 Mr. Kelly the truth. She lay at death's door, calling 
 on her husband, who could not come to her, and 
 talking ever of that little garden at Avignon above 
 the Rhone, in which she fancied that he and she 
 now walked. 
 
PARSON KELLY 397 
 
 Mr. Kelly took the news in silence as a dog takes 
 pain, and never slept and barely moved while the 
 fever ran its course. Rose was at the Tower Gates, 
 George was in his prison ; a few yards only were 
 between them, but those few yards were built upon 
 with stones. In the daytime messages were brought 
 to him often enough, but at night, when the mists 
 rose from the river and the gates were closed, and 
 the Parson had the dark loitering hours wherein to 
 picture the sick room with its dim light and the tired 
 figure tossing from this side to that of the bed, then 
 indeed Smilinda had her revenge. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 HOW, BY KEEPING PAROLE, MR. KELLY BROKE 
 
 PRISON 
 
 EVERY morning Mr. Kelly looked for the doctor 
 to come to him with word that in the little 
 house without the Tower Gate the blinds were drawn. 
 But that message was not brought to him, and Colonel 
 Montague, making a visit to the prison, three weeks 
 after Rose fell ill, found the Parson sitting very quiet 
 in his chair with a face strangely illumined. 
 
 * Last night she slept,' said George, ' and waked 
 only at midday. The fever has left her, and she will 
 live. It is wonderful.' 
 
 The Colonel said what was fitting to the occasion, 
 and the Parson replied to him absently, with his eyes 
 upon the river and the boats swinging on the tide ; 
 and after a while Father Myles Macdonnell, whom 
 the Colonel had neither seen nor heard of, was 
 ushered into the room. 
 
 The Reverend Father was a kinsman of Parson 
 Kelly, and though their acquaintance had been of 
 the slightest, the Parson now turned to him with a 
 great welcome. For his thoughts were now entirely 
 bent upon an escape from his captivity. He dared 
 not survey the possibility that some time Rose might 
 again fall ill, and that again he must sit behind the 
 bars and only hear news of how she fared. 
 
PARSON KELLY 399 
 
 The Reverend Myles, who was of the honest party, 
 but not as yet blown upon by suspicion, seemed to 
 him his only help and instrument. For a long while, 
 when the Colonel had gone, the pair debated the 
 means of escape, but found no issue; and Rose 
 brought her white face back to the Tower, and the 
 Parson's spirits drooped, so that at last his health 
 began to fail. He was therefore allowed to drive 
 out in a coach to any place within ten miles of Lon- 
 don in the custody of a warder, and on his parole to 
 return before dark. Of this favour he made frequent 
 use, and no doubt the sight of the busy faces in the 
 streets urged him yet more to make a bid for his 
 freedom. 
 
 Now these journeys of the Parson to take the air 
 set Father Myles Macdonnell upon a pretty plan, 
 which he imparted to Rose and to George. 
 
 ' You drive one afternoon up into Highgate Woods 
 — d' ye follow that ? I have half-a-dozen well-disposed 
 persons hiding in a clump of trees who will take care 
 of your warder — d'ye see? There will be a stout 
 horse tethered to a branch close by, and a lugger 
 waiting off the coast of Essex — ' but the Parson 
 would hear no more of the scheme. 
 
 ' I have given my parole to come back to the 
 Tower before dark,' said he, and glanced at Rose, 
 who was looking away, to strengthen him in his ob- 
 jection. ' I cannot break it, can I, Rose ? I have 
 given my parole. T am not one of the Butcher Cum- 
 berland's officers. We must keep troth.* 
 
 Rose made an effort and agreed. 
 
 ' Yes,' said she, ' he has given his parole, and he 
 cannot break it.' 
 
400 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Not so long as he 's a lost Protestant/ said the 
 Reverend Father. He tapped George on the knee, 
 and continued in a wheedling voice : * It is a matter 
 of religion, d'ye see? Just let me convert you. I 
 can do it in a twinkling, and so I shall save your body 
 and your soul in one glorious moment' 
 
 ' How so? ' asked the Parson with a laugh, for he 
 was by this time well used to his kinsman's efforts to 
 convert him. * How shall a Catholic creep out of the 
 Tower more easily than a Protestant?' 
 
 * Because a Catholic can break his parole. It 's a 
 great sin, to be sure, but I can absolve him for it 
 afterwards.' 
 
 To Mr. Kelly's thinking (and, indeed, to Mr. 
 Wogan's) this was no sterling theology, and he would 
 not be persuaded. Another device had to be in- 
 vented, and when at last a satisfactory plan was 
 resolved upon, the plotters must wait for the quick 
 nightfalls of autumn. 
 
 It was on Guy Fawkes day, the fifth of November, 
 1736, that Mr. Kelly made his escape. On the 
 morning of that day he drove out to Epsom in the 
 custody of his warder and upon his parole to return 
 before dark. At four o'clock, when the light was just 
 beginning to fall, Father Myles Macdonnell came 
 into the Tower by the Sally Port Stairs opposite the 
 Mint. He was told that the Parson was taking the 
 air, and replied that he would go to the Parson's room 
 and wait. Thereupon he crossed the precincts of the 
 Tower, and coming over the green and down the 
 steps of the main-guard, he inquired of the porter 
 at Traitor's Gate whether or no Mr. Kelly had 
 returned. 
 
PARSON KELLY 401 
 
 The porter answered ' Not yet' 
 
 ' It is a great pity/ said the Reverend Myles, who 
 seemed much flustered. ' I am in a great hurry, and 
 would you tell him, if you please, the moment he 
 comes, to run with all haste to his room?' 
 
 Upon that he turned off under the archway of the 
 Bloody Tower, and again mounted the steps of the 
 main-guard. 
 
 About half-an-hour afterwards, in the deepening 
 twilight, Mr. Kelly was set down within the Traitor's 
 Gate ; he had kept his parole. The porter gave him 
 Father Myles's message; and the warder, since it 
 appeared that he could only proceed as usual to his 
 lodging, took his leave of him. 
 
 The Parson accordingly ran up the steps of the 
 main-guard on to the green, which was by this time 
 very obscure. Three minutes afterwards Father 
 Myles Macdonnell hurried past the sentry at the 
 Sally Port Stairs opposite the Mint, grumbling that 
 he would wait no longer, and so came out upon 
 Tower Hill. Just at that time to a moment another 
 Father Myles Macdonnell accosted the porter at 
 Traitor's Gate and requested him to let him out, see- 
 ing that he was, as he had already said, in a great 
 hurry. The porter let him out with no more ado. 
 
 The second Father Myles was the real Father 
 Myles ; the first one who went grumbling out by the 
 Sally Port Stairs was Parson Kelly. He had met 
 Father Myles in the dark corner by Beauchamp 
 Tower, had slipped over his head a cassock which 
 the Father had brought with him, and had run across 
 to the entrance over against the Mint, and so into 
 freedom. 
 
 26 
 
402 PARSON KELLY 
 
 The carriage which had driven him to Epsom, after 
 putting him down again at the Tower, had driven to 
 Tower Hill, where it waited for the Parson close by 
 the Sally Port Stairs. It did not wait long: and the 
 Parson was hurried at a gallop out of London amidst 
 the crackling of fireworks and the burning of effigies 
 of Guy Fawkes. It seemed the town was illuminated 
 to celebrate his escape. 
 
 At the Tower his evasion was not discovered until 
 half-past seven of the evening, when the two porters, 
 being relieved from their separate stations at the 
 Traitor's Gate and the Sally Port Stairs, each vowed 
 that he had let out Father Myles Macdonnell. This 
 seemed so miraculous an occurrence that the warder 
 ran to Mr. Kelly's chamber. It was empty, and then 
 the clamour began. The Parson had thus three 
 hours' start, and, though a reward of 300/. was offered 
 for his recapture, no more was heard of him for a 
 week. 
 
 Then, however, two fishermen coming into an ale- 
 house at Broadstairs saw the reward for Kelly pro- 
 claimed in print upon the wall, and fell into a great 
 fury and passion, saying that they had only received 
 five pounds when they might have had three hundred. 
 For a fee of five pounds they had put a man over 
 from Broadstairs to Calais, who, when once he was 
 landed in France, had said to them: 
 
 ' If anyone inquires for George Kelly, you may say 
 that he is safely landed in France.' 
 
 And indeed at the very moment when the fisher- 
 men were lamenting their mistake in the alehouse, 
 George Kelly and Rose were taking their dinner in 
 Mr. Wogan's lodging at Paris. Rose had travelled 
 
PARSON KELLY 403 
 
 into France the day before the Parson escaped, and 
 so, after fourteen years, they were united. It was a 
 merry sort of a party, and no doubt VVogan made 
 a great deal of unnecessary noise. He drew the 
 Parson aside into a window before the evening was 
 over. 
 
 ' You are not very rich, I suppose? ' said he. 
 
 * I want for nothing,' said the Parson with a fooHsh 
 eye on Rose, Hke a boy of eighteen. 
 
 Wogan fumbled in his fob and brought out a packet 
 which he unfolded. 
 
 * Diamonds ! ' cried Kelly. 
 
 * They are yours,' said Wogan. * I picked them up 
 off the floor of a room in Soho on an occasion which 
 you may remember. A miniature frame had come by 
 a mischance.' 
 
 ' Smilinda's? ' asked Kelly with a frightened glance 
 over his shoulder to Rose, who had the discretion not 
 to meddle in this private conversation. 
 
 * Yes,' says Wogan ; ' Smilinda's. She gave the 
 stones to you. Very likely they are worth a trifle.' 
 
 ** We '11 slip out and sell them to-morrow,' answered 
 the Parson in a whisper. 
 
 They slipped out, but they did not sell them. The 
 diamonds were paste, and Mr. Wogan at last under- 
 stood why Lady Oxford, when she gave her miniature 
 set with brilliants to the Parson, had been so anxious 
 that he should never part with it. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 MR. WOGAN AGAIN INVADES ENGLAND, MEETS THE 
 ELECT LADY, AND BEARS WITNESS TO HER PER- 
 FECTIONS 
 
 IT seemed to Wogan that this particular story of the 
 Parson's fortunes, which began in Paris so long 
 ago, had now ended in Paris. But he was wrong, and 
 it was not till ten years after Mr. Kelly's escape from 
 the Tower that Wogan witnessed the last circumstance 
 in England, and himself spoke the closing word. 
 
 Retiring soon from Paris, which ill suited a slender 
 purse, Mr. Kelly lived, with his fair wife, at Avignon, 
 where he played secretary to the Duke of Ormond. 
 The Parson was a ghie on the amours of the aged 
 Duke, who posted him off, in the year Forty-Five, to 
 escort the Prince of Wales to the Scottish islands. 
 Wogan himself, earlier in the same year of grace, 
 lost an arm at the battle of Fontenoy, but got a leaf 
 of the laurels, being dubbed Chevalier of the Order 
 of St. Louis. 
 
 His arm amputated and the wound healed, Wogan 
 must needs join the Prince of Wales, then residing in 
 his palace of Holyrood, near Edinburgh. Wogan 
 came too late for that pretty onfall at Prestonpans, but 
 he marched south with the Prince's forces, riding again 
 the old roads from Carlisle to Lancaster and Preston. 
 
PARSON KELLY 405 
 
 The buxom maids of the inns were broad-blown 
 landladies now; some of them remembered Wogan; 
 and the ale was as good as ever. 
 
 It chanced that at Preston, where he tarried for a 
 couple of days, Mr. Wogan was billeted on a cobbler, 
 a worthy man, but besotted with a new religion, which 
 then caused many popular tumults. To England it 
 had been brought over from America by two brothers 
 of Wogan's old friend, Sam Wesley, the usher at 
 Westminster School, and familiar of Bishop Atter- 
 bury. 
 
 Wogan's host could talk of nothing but this creed, 
 whose devotees cried out (it seemed), laughed, fell 
 down in fits, barked, and made confession in public. 
 
 * Ah, sir,' he said to Wogan, * if you could but hear 
 the Brothers Wesley, Charles and John, in the pulpit 
 or singing hymns ! Charles sings like an angel, and 
 to hear John exhort the unaroused might waken those 
 who have lain for a score of years in the arms of the 
 Devil.' 
 
 * John Wesley, little Jack Wesley?' cried Wogan. 
 ' Why, I have saved him from many a beating at 
 Westminster School ! ' 
 
 * Do you know that saint, sir? ' asked the cobbler, 
 in an enthusiasm. 
 
 *Know him, I know nobody else, if he is the 
 brother of honest Sam Wesley, that once let me into 
 the Deanery on a night in May. Assuredly I knew 
 little Jack.' 
 
 The cobbler came near kneeling to Wogan. ' Here, 
 indeed, is the finger of Providence,* he exclaimed. 
 * Dear sir, you may yet cast off the swathings of the 
 Scarlet Woman,' 
 
4o6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * Easy, be easy, Mr. Crispin ! ' quoth Wogan. 
 * But tell me, is Jack to preach and is Charles to sing 
 in this town of yours to-night?* 
 
 * Unhappily no, but we are promised the joy of 
 hearing that famed disciple, Mr. Bunton, discourse, 
 and the Elect Lady, as the Brethren style her, will 
 also speak.' 
 
 'Do the women preach in your new Church? ' 
 
 * No, but they are permitted to tell the story of 
 their call, and to-night we shall hear the Elect 
 Lady — ' 
 
 'Confess before the congregation? 'Faith, the 
 discourse may be improving. Is the Elect Lady 
 handsome? ' 
 
 ' She hath been one of the most renowned beauties 
 of her age, and there are some who say that she is 
 little altered by time. Ah, sir, she will make you 
 embrace the truth.' 
 
 * My embraces were ever at the mercy of feminine 
 persuasion,' said Wogan. * Is this Elect Lady of 
 these parts?' 
 
 ' No, sir, she comes from the South, travelling 
 with holy Mr. Bunton. You will oblige me infinitely, 
 sir, if you will take pity on your own poor soul and 
 join our love-feast. We meet in the warehouse of 
 Mr. Brown, our most eminent grocer, in Scotch 
 Lane, behind the ''Jackdaw and Bagpipes."' 
 
 * I thank you for your solicitude,' Wogan said ; 
 ' and as to the love-feast, I '11 think of it.* 
 
 Consequently he thought no more of it till the 
 bottle had gone round half-a-dozen times at the 
 Prince's mess in the ' Bull Tavern.' Lord Elcho, 
 who had certainly drunk his dose, began teUing, as a 
 
PARSON KELLY 407 
 
 good thing, of his conversation with a bourgeois of 
 Preston. 
 
 '"What is your Prince's religion?" asked the 
 bourgeois, 
 
 * ** That is still to seek, my good man, still to seek," 
 I answered him,' cried Elcho, laughing. 
 
 The Prince laughed also; the free-thinking phil- 
 osophers had been at him already, first in Rome, 
 then in Paris. 
 
 *Good for you, Elcho,' he cried; then, musing, 
 ' 'T is a very awkward business, this of religion. We 
 have given three crowns for a mass, and there 's the 
 difficulty, there it is, as black as ever. I wish some 
 one would invent a new creed, and the rest agree 
 
 about it, d n them, and then what is still to seek, 
 
 my religion, would be found.' 
 
 A thought came into Wogan's head ; the bottle had 
 made rounds enough, and more; next morning they 
 were to march early. 
 
 * Sir,' he said, * there is a new religion, and a 
 handsome lady to preach it' Then he repeated 
 what his host, the cobbler, had chanted to him, 'The 
 meeting is at night in the warehouse of Mr. Brown, 
 the eminent grocer.' 
 
 'A handsome woman! — a new belief! By St. 
 Andrew, I '11 go,' cried Charles. ' You '11 come, 
 Nick, you and — ' he looked at the faces looming 
 through the tobacco smoke round the wine-stained 
 table. The blue reek of pipes clouded and clung to 
 men's faces; to the red rough beard of Lochgarry, 
 the smart, clean-shaven Ker of Graden and Maxwell 
 of Kirkconnell, the hardy gaze of brave Balmerino, 
 the fated Duke of Perth. Wogan thought of the 
 
4o8 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Highland belief in the shroud of mist that is seen 
 swathing men doomed soon to die, as were so many 
 of them. The Prince stood and stared, his pipe in 
 his hand. ' Nick, you will come, you and Ker of 
 Graden ; he 's sober ! Allans ! ' 
 
 'Sir,' whispered Mr. Murray of Broughton, 'think 
 of the danger ! The Elector has his assassins every- 
 where ; they are taken ; your Royal Highness laughs 
 and lets them go, and the troops murmur.' 
 
 * Danger ! Will they look for me at a tub-thumping 
 match ? ' 
 
 The Prince picked up a cork from the floor; he 
 set it to the flame of a candle ; he touched with it his 
 eyebrows and upper lip ; he tucked his brown hair 
 under his wig, standing before the mirror on the 
 chimneypiece. Then he flung a horseman's cloak 
 over his shoulders, stooped, and limped a little in his 
 walk. 
 
 * A miracle,' everyone called out, for scarce a 
 man of them could have known him. 
 
 He tossed his hand in the air; ' Allans y en avant!* 
 he cried, with a laugh ; and Wogan, with Ker of 
 Graden, did what all might have better done at 
 Derby — followed their leader. 
 
 The night was wintry, and a cold north wind blew 
 about the rare flickering oil lamps in the street. All 
 three men buttoned themselves up in their cloaks. 
 The Prince, still stooping and limping, took an arm 
 of each of his aides-de-camp ; indeed, he somewhat 
 needed their support. 
 
 ' I am like that Sultan in Monsieur Galland's 
 Eastern tales,' he said, * visiting my subjects incog- 
 nito. Nick, you are Mesrour, the Chief of the — 
 
PARSON KELLY 409 
 
 no, you 're Glafifar. Graden is — I forget the Eastern 
 minister's name. I am the Caliph. But what are the 
 rabble about? ' 
 
 The three pilgrims had entered the lane that led to 
 the warehouse of the devout grocer. There was a 
 mob around the door waving torches and shouting 
 insults at a few decent tradesmen and their wives who 
 were bent on the same pious errand as Wogan and 
 his friends. 
 
 * Away, swaddlers ! ' * Down with the Methodists ! * 
 they cried ; and a burly fellow brushed against 
 Wogan's shoulder in the least gentlemanly style. He 
 reeled off and fell flat in the lane, while the other 
 ragamuffins laughed at him. 
 
 The three devotees stepped briskly through the 
 grinning crowd that cried to Graden, * Come to buy 
 brimstone, Scotch Sandy?' 
 
 * Come to escape it, my dear friend,* quoth Wogan's 
 host, the cobbler, who stood at the door, and kept 
 it, too, against the mob with a great show of 
 spirit. 
 
 ' You have thought of us, sir? ' asked the cobbler. 
 
 * Ay, and brought two other inquiring spirits,' said 
 Wogan. 
 
 They were conducted into a long half-empty ware- 
 house, smelling of cheese and festooned with cob- 
 webs. A light or two burned dimly in horn lanterns; 
 a low platform of new planks had been set up at the 
 top of the room; a table with seven candles made an 
 illumination there; a big black Bible, and a jug of 
 water with a glass flanked the Bible. The preacher 
 sat on a chair (most of the congregation stood, or 
 reposed on barrels and benches) and on another 
 
4IO PARSON KELLY 
 
 chair, beside the preacher, was a lady, veiled, her fine 
 figure obscured by widow's weeds. 
 
 ' Is that your beauty? ' whispered the Prince. 
 
 * The Elect Lady, sir,' murmured the cobbler 
 devoutly. 
 
 * Mon Dieii ! she has a very pretty foot ! ' 
 
 And Wogan, too, noticed the blaze of a diamond 
 buckle that nearly covered the little arched instep. 
 Tap, tap ! went the Elect Lady's foot, thrust out in 
 front of her heavy petticoat of crape. 
 
 ' The lady is travelling everywhere, for the good of 
 souls, gentlemen, with Mr. Wesley's friend and choice 
 disciple, the preacher, Mr. Bunton.' 
 
 ' L'heureux Monsieur Bunton ! Quelle chancel * 
 quoth his Highness. 
 
 Mr. Bunton, the preacher, was indeed a fine, hand- 
 some young fellow as any widow could wish to look 
 upon. He wore lay dress, not being a priest ordained 
 of the Church of England. As for the congregation, 
 they were small trading people, not rabble; indeed, 
 the mob outside broke most of the windows during 
 the sermon, that was interrupted, not only by the 
 pebbles of the ragamufhns, but by the antics of the 
 congregation. 
 
 Mr. Bunton, after a hymn had been sung without 
 any music, began his preaching. He assured the 
 audience that none of them could be a gayer dog 
 than he had been, that was now a shining light. He 
 obliged the congregation with a history of his early 
 life and adventures, which Wogan now tells in few 
 words, that people may know what manner of men 
 were certain of these saints, or had been. Mr. Bunton 
 was reared in sin, he said, as a land-surveyor. A 
 
PARSON KELLY 411 
 
 broth of a boy he was, and nine times his parents 
 sent him from Reading to London to bind him to a 
 trade. Nine times his masters returned him on their 
 hands. 
 
 Here the audience groaned aloud, and one went off in 
 a fit. Mr. Bunton then told how he was awakened to 
 sin as he walked in Cheapside. At this many, and 
 the cobbler among them, cried * Hallelujah ! ' but 
 some went off into uncontrollable fits of laughter, 
 which did not disturb the gravity of the rest of the 
 assembly. 
 
 The preacher's confession was, indeed, of such a 
 nature that VVogan let a laugh out of himself, while 
 Graden and the Prince rolled in extreme convulsions. 
 
 * Go on, gentlemen ; you are in the right path,* 
 said the cobbler. * Our converts are generally taken 
 in this way first. It is reckoned a very favourable 
 sign of grace. Some laugh for a week without stop- 
 ping to sleep, eat, or drink. 
 
 * I '11 try to stop to drink,' hooted his Highness, 
 his face as red as a lobster; and then off he v/ent 
 again, the bench shaking beneath him, while Wogan 
 and Graden laughed till the tears ran down their 
 cheeks in their dark corner. The sympathetic cobbler 
 murmured texts of an appropriate character. Indeed, 
 now he thinks of it all, and sees Mr. Bunton sawing 
 the air while he tells the story of his early wicked 
 days, Mr. Wogan laughs as he writes. The man was 
 greasy and radiant with satisfied vanity. His narra- 
 tive of what he did and thought after he awoke to sin 
 in Cheapside was a marvel. 
 
 ' I felt that beef and mutton were sinful things.' 
 Here came a groan from an inquiring butcher. 
 
412 PARSON KELLY 
 
 ' I wished to put away all that was of the flesh 
 fleshy. My desire was to dwell alone, in a cave, far 
 from the sight of woman.' 
 
 The Elect Lady groaned, and all the wenches in 
 the congregation followed suit. 
 
 ' Abstaining from feasts of fat things, my mind was 
 set on a simple diet of acorns, grass, and crabs.' 
 
 * Les glands, les ecrevisses, et I'herbe des champs ! ' 
 hooted the Prince. * Mon Dieu, quel souper, et quelle 
 digestion il doit avoir, cet homme-la ! ' 
 
 * But, sisters and brethren,' Mr. Bunton went on, 
 ' did I yield to these popish temptations? Did I live, 
 like one of their self-righteous so-called saints, on 
 crabs, acorns, and grass? Did I retire to a cave? 
 No, dear sisters and brethren. My motive for ab- 
 staining was bad ; it was a suggestion of the Old 
 Man—' 
 
 'Qui done est-il, ce vieillard bien pensant? ' whis- 
 pered the Prince. 
 
 'The devil, sir,' answered Graden, who knew the 
 doctrine of the Scotch ministers. 
 
 * My motive for not living on crabs in a cave was 
 bad, I confess, but it was over-ruled for the best. 
 Dear friends, I kept myself far from these tempta- 
 tions, because, indeed, I was afraid of ghosts that 
 haunt caves and such places.' 
 
 * II ne mangeait pas les ecrevisses, parce qu 'il avait 
 peur des revenants ! O c'est trop ! ' said the Prince, 
 in a voice choked with emotion, while more advanced 
 disciples cried ' Glory ! ' and ' Hallelujah ! ' 
 
 *But next,' the preacher went on, much gratified 
 and encouraged by these demonstrations, * I was 
 happily brought acquainted with that precious sister, 
 
PARSON KELLY 413 
 
 that incomparable disciple of Mr. Wesley, whom we 
 call the Elect Lady. Then I awoke to light, and saw 
 that it was laid upon me to preach, continually and 
 unceasingly, making in every town confession of my 
 offences. That dear lady, friends, promises for this 
 once (she is as modest as she is generous and good) 
 to tell us the moving story of her own early dangers, 
 while she was a dweller in the tents of — of Shem, 
 I think.' 
 
 The congregation cheered and stamped with their 
 feet, all but a few who were rolling on the floor in fits 
 and foaming at the mouth. Mr. Bunton sat down 
 very warm, and applied himself to the mug of 
 water. 
 
 The Elect Lady rose up to her full height, and 
 tossed back her veil over her shoulders. 
 
 * Ah, nous sommes trompes,' said the Prince. 
 * C'est une femme de quarante ans, bien sonn6s ! * 
 
 But Wogan, between the shoulders of the congre- 
 gation, stared from his dim corner as he had never 
 stared at mortal woman before. The delicate features 
 were thickened, alas, the lips had fallen in, the gold 
 threads had been unwoven out of the dark brown 
 hair. There were two dabs of red on a powdered 
 face, where in time past the natural roses and lilies 
 had bloomed; but the voice and the little Andalusian 
 foot that beat the time with the Elect Lady's periods 
 were the voice and the foot of the once incomparable 
 Smilinda ! Nay, when she turned and looked at the 
 converted land-surveyor beside her, Mr. Wogan knew 
 in her gaze the ghost of the glance that had bewitched 
 Scrope, and Kelly, and Colonel Montague, and Lord 
 Sidney Beauclerk, and who knows how many other 
 
414 PARSON KELLY 
 
 * gallants? In that odd place Wogan felt a black fit 
 of the spleen. A woman's loss of beauty, — Wogan 
 can never think of it unmoved. What tragedy that 
 we men endure or enact is like this ? 
 
 But her ladyship spoke, and she spoke very well. 
 The congregation, all of them that were not in fits or 
 in laughing hysterics, listened as if to an angel. 
 Heavens ! what a story she told of her youth ! What 
 dangers encountered ! What plots prepared against 
 her virtue, ay, by splendid soldiers, beautiful young 
 lords, and even clergymen ; above all, by one mon- 
 ster whom she had discovered to be, not only a 
 monster, but a traitor to the King, and an agent of 
 the Pretender. She was a young thing then, married 
 to an old lord, all unprotected, on every side beset 
 by flattery. 
 
 The congregation groaned and swayed at the pic- 
 ture of man's depravity, but Wogan, his spleen quite 
 forgotten, was chuckling with delight. 
 
 Yet, all unawakened as she was, said this penitent, 
 an unknown influence had ever shielded her. She 
 remembered how one of these evil ones, the clergy- 
 man, after kneeling vainly at her feet, had cried, 
 'Sure, some invisible power protects your ladyship.' 
 
 Here the groans gave place to cries of praise, arms 
 were lifted, the simple, good people wept. Wogan 
 listened with a less devotional air, bending forward 
 on his bench, and rubbing his hands for joy. In 
 truth it had just come upon him that it was his duty 
 to stand up when the Elect Lady sat down, and bear 
 his witness to the truth of her narrative. 
 
 "' Not to her be the triumph,' she went on, * all 
 unawakened as she then was, and remained, till 
 
PARSON KELLY 415 
 
 she heard Mr. Wesley preach,' and thereafter went 
 through the world with Brother Bunton, converting 
 land-surveyors, colliers, and others. 
 
 Wogan does not care to remember or quote 
 any more of this lady's pieties. They had a kind 
 of warmth and ease of familiarity which, in sacred 
 things, are not to his liking. However, when she 
 ceased, Mr. Wogan stood up, a tall figure of a 
 French officer with an empty sleeve in his dim 
 corner. 
 
 ' Good people,' he said ; ' in my heedless youth I 
 had the honour to be of the acquaintance of this 
 lady who has just spoken to you.' 
 
 The Elect Lady glanced at Wogan ; she gave 
 a strange, short cry, and the black veil swept over 
 her face again. 
 
 * I was,' Wogan went on, ' the eye-witness of these 
 trials to which her Ladyship's virtue was exposed by 
 the wicked ones of whose company I was a careless 
 partaker. I have heard that wicked minister say 
 that some invisible power protected her Ladyship. 
 If any testimony to the truth of her ladyship's 
 moving tale were needed I could bear that evi- 
 dence, as could my friend the Rev. Mr. Kelly, 
 now in France with despatches, and also General 
 Montague, at present serving with Field-Marshal 
 Wade, in the neighbourhood of Newcastle.' 
 
 Wogan sat down. 
 
 'That was providential indeed,' said the cobbler; 
 and all the congregation bawled * Miracle.' But the 
 Elect Lady sat still, her face in her hands, like a 
 Niobe in black bombazine. 
 
 In the confusion, the three inquirers from the 
 
41 6 PARSON KELLY 
 
 Prince's army slipped modestly out. A heavy 
 shower of snow had swept the rabble out of the 
 lane. All was dark and cold, after the reek of the 
 crowded warehouse. 
 
 'Nick,' said the Prince, 'was that story all true? 
 Was the Elect Lady a prude?' 
 
 ' It is Mr. Kelly's story, sir,' said Wogan. Your 
 Royal Highness can ask him.' 
 
 'George was her adorer? Then George shall tell 
 me the tale over a bottle. How the cold strikes ! 
 Hey, for a bowl of punch ! ' cried the Prince. 
 
 * I am at your commands, sir, but may I say 
 that it is one of the morning, and the pipes play 
 the reveille at four?' 
 
 'To quarters, then! What is the word, damme? 
 What is the word?* 
 
 ' Slaijit an Righ, sir.' 
 
 ' Slaint an Righ? I never can get my tongue 
 about it. Oh, if our subjects had but one language 
 and one religion ! But it shall not be the rehgion of 
 Mr. Bunton. Bofi soirl^ 
 
 ' You have taken every trick, Wogan ! ' said 
 Graden, as the Prince entered his inn. * A sober 
 night, for once, before a long day's march.' 
 
 Next morning the army went south, to Derby, 
 and then (by no fault of the Irish officers or of 
 their Prince) came back again. Wogan was at 
 Falkirk, Culloden, and Ruthven, woe worth the 
 day ! How he reached France when all was over, 
 is between him and a very beautiful young lady 
 of Badenoch ; she said she bore a king's name 
 — Miss Helen Macwilliam. Of King Macwilliam 
 
PARSON KELLY 417 
 
 Wogan hath never heard, but the young lady 
 (whose brothers had taken to the heather) pro- 
 tected Wogan in his distress, tended his wound, 
 hid him from the red-coat soldiers, and at last 
 secured for him a passage in a vessel from Mont- 
 rose. 
 
 And for all souvenir, she kept the kerchief with 
 which she had first bound up the bayonet-stab that 
 Wogan came by, when he, with the Stewarts, broke 
 through Barrel's regiment at Culloden. He writes 
 this at Avignon, where George and his wife also 
 dwell, in the old house with the garden, the roses, 
 and the noisy, pretty children that haunted Mr. 
 Kelly's dreams when he was young. 
 
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