MSB 
 
 3
 
 SIMON DALE 
 
 By ANTHONY HOPE 
 Author of "Phroso," "The Heart of Princess Osra/'Etc.
 
 "THIS, MADAMK, is .%:. DK I-KRRENCOURT." PAGE 152.
 
 SIMON DALE 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY HOPE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "Phroso," "The Heart of Princess Osra," "The Prisoner of 
 Zenda," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 BY 
 
 . ST. JOHN HARPER 
 
 flew 
 Frederick A. Stokes Company 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, J897 
 By A. H. HAWKINS 
 
 Copyright, J897 
 By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PACK 
 
 L The Child of Prophecy \ 
 
 II. The Way of Youth J3 
 
 III. The Music of the World 25 
 
 IV. Cydaria Revealed 37 
 V. I am Forbidden to Forget 50 
 
 VI. An Invitation to Court 65 
 
 VII. What came of Honesty 80 
 
 VIII. Madness, Magic and Moonshine 95 
 
 IX. Of Gems and Pebbles 109 
 
 X. Je Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient J24 
 
 XI. The Gentleman from Calais J39 
 
 XII. The Deference of His Grace the Duke 155 
 
 XIII. The Meed of Curiosity J7J 
 
 XIV. The King's Cup J88 
 XV. M. de Perrencourt Whispers 203 
 
 XVI. M. de Perrencourt Wonders 2J8 
 
 XVII. What Befell My Last Guinea 234 
 
 XVIII. Some Mighty Silly Business 25J 
 
 XIX. A Night on the Road 267 
 
 XX. The Vicar's Proposition 280 
 XXI. The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentle- 
 men 293 
 
 XXH. The Device of Lord Carford 307 
 
 XXIII. A Pleasant Penitence 32J 
 
 XXTV. A Comedy Before the King 336 
 
 XXV. The Mind of M. de Fontelles 349 
 
 XXVL I Come Home. 362
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 "This, Madame, is M. de Perrencourt" - Frontispiece 
 
 44 Caught fay her pretty ways and graceful boldness " - \\ 
 
 44 Again her laugh sounded above me "- 123 
 
 The King's Cup - 200 
 
 " How will you die, Sir ? 233 
 
 "'Come back/ I cried" 254 
 
 "IlVient" 305 
 
 u Do you remember ? rf .... 331
 
 Simon Dale* 
 
 jt 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 The Child of Prophecy* 
 
 ONE who was in his day a person of great place and 
 consideration, and has left a name which future gen- 
 erations shall surely repeat so long as the world may 
 last, found no better rule for a man's life than that he 
 should incline his mind to move in Charity, rest in 
 Providence, and turn upon the poles of Truth. This 
 condition, says he, is Heaven upon Earth : and al- 
 though what touches truth may better befit the phi- 
 losopher who uttered it than the vulgar and unlearned, 
 for whom perhaps it is a counsel too high and there- 
 fore dangerous, what comes before should surely be 
 graven by each of us on the walls of our hearts. For 
 any man who lived in the days that I have seen must 
 have found much need of trust in Providence, and by 
 no whit the less of charity for men. In such trust 
 and charity I have striven to write ; in the like I pray 
 you to read. 
 
 I, Simon Dale, was born on the seventh day of the 
 seventh month in the year of Our Lord sixteen-hun- 
 dred-and-forty-seven. The date was good in that the 
 Divine Number was thrice found in it, but evil in that 
 it fell on a time of sore trouble both for the nation and 
 for our own house ; when men had begun to go about
 
 2 Simon Dale. 
 
 saying that if the King would not keep his promises 
 it was likely that he would keep his head as little, 
 when they who had fought for freedom were suspect- 
 ing that victory had brought new tyrants, when the 
 Vicar was put out of his cure, and my father, having 
 trusted the King first, the Parliament afterwards, and 
 at last neither the one nor the other, had lost the 
 greater part of his substance, and fallen from wealth 
 to straightened means such is the common reward of 
 an honest patriotism wedded to an open mind. How- 
 ever, the date, good or bad, was none of my doing, 
 nor indeed, folks whispered, much of my parents' 
 either, seeing that destiny overruled the affair, and 
 Betty Nasroth, the wise woman, announced its im- 
 minence more than a year beforehand. For she pre- 
 dicted the birth, on the very day whereon I came into 
 the world, within a mile of the parish church, of a 
 male child who and the utterance certainly had a 
 lofty sound about it should love where the King 
 loved, know what the King hid, and drink of the 
 King's cup. Now inasmuch as none lived within the 
 limits named by Betty Nasroth, save on the one side 
 sundry humble labourers whose progeny could expect 
 no such fate, and on the other my Lord and Lady 
 Quinton, who were wedded but a month before my 
 birthday, the prophecy was fully as pointed as it had 
 any need to be, and caused to my parents no small 
 questionings. It was the third clause or term of the 
 prediction that gave most concern alike to my mother 
 and to my father ; to my mother because, although of 
 discreet mind and a sound Churchwoman, she was 
 from her earliest years a Rechabite, and had never 
 heard of a king that drank water, and to my father 
 by reason of his decayed estate, which made it im- 
 possible for him to contrive how properly to fit me for 
 my predestined company. " A man should not drink 
 the King's wine without giving the King as good,"
 
 The Child of Prophecy. 3 
 
 my father reflected ruefully. Meanwhile I, troubling 
 not at all about the matter, was content to prove 
 Betty right in point of the date, and, leaving the rest 
 to the future, achieved this triumph for her most 
 punctually. Whatsoever may await a man on his way 
 through the world, he can hardly begin life better 
 than by keeping his faith with a lady. 
 
 She was a strange old woman, this Betty Nasroth, 
 and would likely enough have fared badly in the time 
 of the King's father. Now there was bigger game 
 than witches afoot and nothing worse befell her than 
 the scowls of her neighbours and the frightened mock- 
 ery of children. She made free reply with curses and 
 dark mutterings, but me she loved as being the child 
 of her vision, and all the more because, encountering 
 her as I rode in my mother's arms, I did not cry but 
 held out my hands, crowing and struggling to get to 
 her ; whereat suddenly, and to my mother's great ter- 
 ror, she exclaimed " Thou see'st Satan ! " and fell to 
 weeping, a thing which, as every woman in the parish 
 knew, a person absolutely possessed by the Evil One 
 can by no means accomplish (unless indeed a bare 
 three drops squeezed from the left eye may usurp the 
 name of tears). But my mother shrank away from her 
 and would not allow her to touch me ; nor was it until 
 I had grown older and ran about the village alone that 
 the old woman, having tracked me to a lonely spot, 
 took me in her arms, mumbled over my head some 
 words I did not understand, and kissed me. That a 
 mole grows on the spot she kissed is but a fable (for 
 how do the women know where her kiss fell save by 
 where the mole grows? and that is to reason poorly,) 
 or at the most the purest chance. Nay, if it were 
 more, I am content ; for the mole does me no harm, 
 and the kiss, as I hope, did Betty some good : off she 
 went straight to the Vicar (who was living then in the 
 cottage of my Lord Quinton's gardener and exercising
 
 4 Simon Dale* 
 
 his sacred functions in a secrecy to which the whole 
 parish was privy) and prayed him to let her partake of 
 the Lord's Supper; a request that caused great scan- 
 dal to the neighbours and sore embarrassment to the 
 Vicar himself, who, being a learned man and deeply 
 read in demonology; grieved from his heart that the 
 witch did not play her part better. 
 
 " It is," said he to my father, "a monstrous lapse." 
 
 " Nay, it is a sign of grace," urged my mother. 
 
 " It is," said my father (and I do not know whether 
 he spoke perversely or in earnest) "a matter of no 
 moment." 
 
 Now being steadfastly determined that my boyhood 
 shall be less tedious in the telling than it was in the 
 living for I always longed to be a man and hated my 
 green and petticoat-governed days I will pass forth- 
 with to the hour when I reached the age of eighteen 
 years. My dear father was then in Heaven and old 
 Betty had found, as was believed, another billet. But 
 my mother lived, and the Vicar, like the King, had 
 come to his own again ; and I was five feet eleven in 
 my stockings, and there was urgent need that I should 
 set about pushing my way and putting money in my 
 purse ; for our lands had not returned with the King 
 and there was no more incoming than would serve to 
 keep my mother and sisters in the style of gentle- 
 women. 
 
 "And on that matter," observed the Vicar, stroking 
 his nose with his forefinger, as his habit was in mo- 
 ments of perplexity, "Betty Nasroth's prophecy is of 
 small service. For the doings on which she touches 
 are likely to be occasions of expense rather than 
 sources of gain." 
 
 " They would be money wasted," said my mother, 
 gently, "one and all of them." 
 
 The Vicar looked a little doubtful. 
 
 " I will write a sermon on that theme," said he ; for
 
 The Child of Prophecy. 5 
 
 this was with him a favourite way out of an argument. 
 In truth the Vicar loved the prophecy, as a quiet stu- 
 dent often loves a thing that echoes of the world which 
 he has shunned. 
 
 " You must write down for me what the King says 
 to you, Simon," he told me once. 
 
 "Suppose, sir," I suggested, mischeviously, "that it 
 should not be fit for your eye?" 
 
 "Then write it, Simon," he answered,- pinching my 
 ear, " for my understanding." 
 
 It was well enough for the Vicar's whimsical fancy 
 to busy itself with Betty Nasroth's prophecy, half 
 believing, half mocking, never forgetting nor disre- 
 garding; but I, who am after all the most concerned, 
 doubt whether such a dark utterance be a wholesome 
 thing to hang round a young man's neck. The dreams 
 of youth grow rank enough without such watering. 
 The prediction was always in my mind, alluring and 
 tantalising as a teasing girl who puts her pretty face 
 near yours, safe that you dare not kiss it. What it 
 said I mused on ; what it said not I neglected. I 
 dedicated my idle hours to it, and, not appeased, it 
 invaded my seasons of business. Rather than seek 
 my own path I left myself to its will and hearkened for 
 its whispered orders. 
 
 " It was the same," observed my mother, sadly, 
 "with a certain cook-maid of my sister's. It was 
 foretold that she should marry her master." 
 
 "And did she not?" cried the Vicar, with ears all 
 pricked-up. 
 
 "She changed her service every year," said my 
 mother, "seeking the likeliest man, until at last none 
 would hire her." 
 
 " She should have stayed in her first service," said 
 the Vicar, shaking his head. 
 
 " But her first master had a wife," retorted my 
 mother, triumphantly.
 
 6 Simon Dale. 
 
 " I had one once myself," said the Vicar. 
 
 The argument with which his widowhood supplied 
 the Vicar was sound and unanswerable, and it suited 
 well with my humour to learn from my aunt's cook- 
 maid, and wait patiently on fate. But what avails an 
 argument, be it ever so sound, against an empty purse? 
 It was declared that I must seek my fortune ; yet on 
 the method of my search some difference arose. 
 
 "You must work, Simon," said my sister Lucy, who 
 was betrothed to Justice Barnard, a young squire of 
 good family and high repute, but mighty hard on idle 
 vagrants, and free -with the stocks for revellers. 
 
 " You must pray for guidance," said my sister Mary, 
 who was to wed a saintly clergyman, a Prebend, too, 
 of the Cathedral. 
 
 " There is," said I stoutly, " nothing of such matters 
 in Betty Nasroth's prophecy." 
 
 " They are taken for granted, dear boy," said my 
 mother, gently. 
 
 The Vicar rubbed his nose. 
 
 Yet not these excellent and zealous counsellors 
 proved right, but the Vicar and I. For had I gone to 
 London as they urged, instead of abiding where I was, 
 agreeably to the Vicar's argument and my own in- 
 clination, it is a great question whether the plague 
 would not have proved too strong for Betty Nasroth, 
 and her prediction gone to lie with me in a death-pit. 
 As things befell I lived, hearing only dimly, and, as it 
 were, from afar off, of that great calamity, and of the 
 horrors that beset the city. For the disease did not 
 come our way, and we moralised on the sins of the 
 townsfolk with sound bodies and contented minds. 
 We were happy in our health and in our virtue, and 
 not disinclined to applaud God's judgment that smote 
 our erring brethren ; for too often the chastisement of 
 one sinner feeds another's pride. Yet the plague had 
 a hand, and no small one, in that destiny of mine,
 
 The Child of Prophecy. 7 
 
 although it came not near me ; for it brought fresh 
 tenants to those same rooms in the gardener's cottage, 
 where the Vicar had dwelt till the loyal Parliament's 
 Act proved too hard for the conscience of our Inde- 
 pendent minister, and the Vicar, nothing loth, moved 
 back to his parsonage. 
 
 Now I was walking one day, as I had full licence 
 and leave to walk, in the avenue of Quinton Manor 
 when I saw, first, what I had (if I am to tell the truth), 
 come to see, to wit, the figure of young Mistress Bar- 
 bara, daintily arrayed in a white summer gown. Bar- 
 bara was pleased to hold herself haughtily towards 
 me, for she was an heiress, and of a house that had 
 not fallen in the world as mine had. Yet we were 
 friends ; for we sparred and rallied, she giving offence 
 and I taking it, she pardoning my rudeness and I 
 accepting forgiveness : while my lord and my lady, 
 perhaps thinking me too low for fear and yet high 
 enough for favour, showed me much kindness; my 
 lord indeed would often jest with me on the great fate 
 foretold me in Betty Nasroth's prophecy. 
 
 " Yet," he would say, with a twinkle in his eye, 
 " the King has strange secrets, and there is some 
 strange wine in his cup, and to love what he loves " 
 but at this point the Vicar, who chanced to be by, 
 twinkled also, but shifted the conversation to some 
 theme which did not touch the King, his secrets, his 
 wine, or what he loved. 
 
 Thus then I saw, as I say, the slim tall figure, the 
 dark hair and the proud eyes of Barbara Quinton ; and 
 the eyes were flashing in anger as their owner turned 
 away from what I had not looked to see in Barbara's 
 company. This was another damsel, of lower stature 
 and plumper figure, dressed full as prettily as Barbara 
 herself, and laughing with most merry lips and under 
 eyes that half hid themselves in an eclipse of mirth. 
 When Barbara saw me she did not, as her custom was,
 
 8 Simon Dale, 
 
 feign not to see me till I thrust my presence on her, 
 but ran to me at once, crying very indignantly, 
 " Simon, who is this girl ? She has dared to tell me 
 that my gown is of country make and hangs like an 
 old smock on a beanpole." 
 
 "Mistress Barbara," I answered, "who heeds the 
 make of the gown when the wearer is of divine make ? " 
 I was young then and did not know that to compli- 
 ment herself at the expense of her apparel is not the 
 best way to please a woman. 
 
 "You are silly," said Barbara. "Who is she? " 
 
 " The girl," said I, crestfallen, " is, they tell me, 
 from London, and she lodges with her mother in your 
 gardener's cottage. But I didn't look to find her here 
 in the avenue." 
 
 " You shall not again if I have my way," said Bar- 
 bara. Then she added, abruptly and sharply, " Why 
 do you look at her? " 
 
 Now it was true that I was looking at the stranger ; 
 and on Barbara's question I looked the harder. 
 
 " She is mighty pretty," said I. " Does she not 
 seem so to you, Mistress Barbara?" And, simple 
 though I was, I spoke not altogether in simplicity. 
 
 " Pretty ? " echoed Barbara. " And pray what do 
 you know of prettiness, Master Simon ? " 
 
 " What I have learnt at Quinton Manor," I an- 
 swered with a bow. 
 
 " That doesn't prove her pretty," retorted the angry 
 lady. 
 
 " There's more than one way of it," said I discreetly, 
 and I took a step towards the visitor, who stood some 
 ten yards from us, laughing still and plucking a flower 
 to pieces in her fingers. 
 
 " She isn't known to you ? " asked Barbara, per- 
 ceiving my movement. 
 
 " I can remedy that," said I, smiling. 
 
 Never since the world began had youth been a more
 
 The Child of Prophecy. 9 
 
 faithful servant to maid than I to Barbara Quinton. 
 Yet because, if a man lie down, the best of girls will 
 set her pretty foot on his neck, and also from my love 
 of a thing that is new, I was thoroughly resolved to 
 accost the gardener's guest ; and my purpose was not 
 altered by Barbara's scornful toss of her little head as 
 she turned away. 
 
 " It is no more than civility," I protested, " to ask 
 after her health, for, coming from London, she can but 
 just have escaped the plague." 
 
 Barbara tossed her head again, declaring plainly her 
 opinion of my excuse. 
 
 " But if you desire me to walk with you " I be- 
 gan. 
 
 " There is nothing I thought of less," she inter- 
 rupted. " I came here to be alone." 
 
 " My pleasure lies in obeying you," said I, and I 
 stood bareheaded while Barbara, without another 
 glance at me, walked off towards the house. Half 
 penitent, yet wholly obstinate, I watched her go ; she 
 did not once look over her shoulder. Had she but 
 a truce to that. What passed is enough ; with what 
 might have, my story would stretch to the world's 
 end. I smothered my remorse, and went up to the 
 stranger, bidding her good-day in my most polite and 
 courtly manner; she smiled, but at what I knew not. 
 She seemed little more than a child, sixteen years old 
 or seventeen at the most, yet there was no confusion 
 in her greeting of me. Indeed she was most marvel- 
 lously at her ease, for, on my salute, she cried, lifting 
 her hands in feigned amazement, 
 
 " A man, by my faith, a man in this place ! " 
 
 Well pleased to be called a man, I bowed again. 
 
 " Or at least," she added, " what will be one, if it 
 please Heaven." 
 
 " You may live to see it without growing wrinkled," 
 said I, striving to conceal my annoyance."
 
 io Simon Dale. 
 
 " And one that has repartee in him ! Oh, marvel- 
 lous ! " 
 
 " We do not all lack wit in the country, madame," 
 said I, simpering as I supposed the Court gallants to 
 simper, " nor, since the plague came to London, 
 beauty." 
 
 " Indeed it's wonderful," she cried, in mock admira- 
 tion. . " Do they teach such sayings hereabouts, sir? " 
 
 " Even so, madame, and from such books as your 
 eyes furnish." And for all her air of mockery, I was, 
 as I remember, much pleased with this speech. It 
 had come from some well-thumbed romance, I doubt 
 not. I was always an eager reader of such silly 
 things. 
 
 She curtseyed low, laughing up at me with roguish 
 eyes and mouth. 
 
 " Now, surely, sir," she said, " you must be Simon 
 Dale, of whom my host the gardener speaks ? " 
 
 " It is my name, madame, at your service. But the 
 gardener has played me a trick ; for now I have noth- 
 ing to give in exchange for your name." 
 
 " Nay, you have a very pretty nosegay in your 
 hand," said she. " I might be persuaded to barter 
 my name for it." 
 
 The nosegay that was in my hand I had gathered 
 and brought for Barbara Quinton, and I still meant to 
 use it as a peace-offering. But Barbara had treated 
 me harshly, and the stranger looked longingly at the 
 nosegay. 
 
 "The gardener is a niggard with his flowers," she 
 said, with a coaxing smile. 
 
 "To confess the truth," said I, wavering in my 
 purpose, " the nosegay was plucked for another." 
 
 " It will smell the sweeter," she cried, with a laugh. 
 "Nothing gives flowers such a perfume." And she 
 held out a wonderfully small hand towards my nose- 
 gay-
 
 'CAl'liHT BY HKK PRKTTY WAYS AND GRACEFUL BOLDSKSS." PAGK It.
 
 The Child of Prophecy. 1 1 
 
 "Is that a London lesson?" I asked, holding the 
 flowers away from her grasp. 
 
 " It holds good in the country also, sir ; wherever, 
 indeed, there is a man to gather flowers and more 
 than one lady who loves smelling them." 
 
 " Well," said I, " the nosegay is yours at the price," 
 and I held it out to her. 
 
 " The price ? What, you desire to know my name ? " 
 
 " Unless, indeed, I may call you one of my own 
 choosing," said I, with a glance that should have been 
 irresistible. 
 
 " Would you use it in speaking of me to Mistress 
 Barbara there ? No, I'll give you a name to call me 
 by. You may call me Cydaria." 
 
 " Cydaria ! A fine name ! " 
 
 " It is," said she, carelessly, " as good as any other." 
 
 " But is there no other to follow it ? " 
 
 " When did a poet ask two names to head his son- 
 net ? And surely you wanted mine for a sonnet ? " 
 
 " So be it, Cydaria," said I. 
 
 " So be it, Simon. And is not Cydaria as pretty as 
 Barbara? " 
 
 " It has a strange sound," said I, " but is well 
 enough." 
 
 " And now the nosegay ! " 
 
 " I must pay a reckoning for this," I sighed ; but 
 since a bargain is a bargain I gave her the nosegay. 
 
 She took it, her face all alight with smiles, and 
 buried her nose in it. I stood looking at her, caught 
 by her pretty ways and graceful boldness. Boy 
 though I was, I had been right in telling her that there 
 are many ways of beauty ; here were two to start with, 
 hers and Barbara's. She looked up, and, finding my 
 gaze on her, made a little grimace as though it were 
 only what she had expected and gave her no more 
 concern than pleasure. Yet at such a look Barbara 
 would have turned cold and distant for an hour
 
 iz Simon Dale. 
 
 or more. Cydaria, smiling in scornful indulgence, 
 dropped me another mocking curtsey, and made as 
 though she would go her way. Yet she did not go, but 
 stood with her head half-averted, a glance straying 
 towards me from the corner of her eye, while with her 
 tiny foot she dug the gravel of the avenue. 
 
 " It is a lovely place, this park," said she. " But, 
 indeed, it's often hard to find the way about it." 
 
 I was not backward to take her hint. 
 
 " If you had a guide now " I began. 
 
 " Why, yes, if I had a guide, Simon," she whispered, 
 gleefully. 
 
 " You could find the way, Cydaria, and your guide 
 would be most " 
 
 " Most charitably engaged. But then " She 
 
 paused, drooping the corners of her mouth in sudden 
 despondency. 
 
 "But what then ? " 
 
 " Why then, Mistress Barbara would be alone." 
 
 I hesitated. I glanced towards the house. I looked 
 at Cydaria 
 
 " She told me that she wished to be alone," said I. 
 
 " No ? How did she say it ? " 
 
 " I will tell you all about that as we go along," said 
 I, and Cydaria laughed again.
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 The Way of Youth. 
 
 THE debate is years old ; not indeed quite so old as 
 the world, since Adam and Eve cannot, for want of 
 opportunity, have fallen out over it, yet descending to 
 us from unknown antiquity. But it has never been 
 set at rest by general consent : the quarrel over 
 Passive Obedience is nothing to it. It seems such a 
 small matter though ; for the debate I mean turns on 
 no greater question than this: May a man who owns 
 allegiance to one lady justify by any train of reason- 
 ing his conduct in snatching a kiss from another, this 
 other being (for it is important to have the terms 
 right) not (so far as can be judged) unwilling? I main- 
 tained that he might ; to be sure, my position ad- 
 mitted of no other argument, and, for the most part, 
 it is a man's state which determines his arguments 
 and not his reasons that induce his state. Barbara 
 declared that he could not ; though, to be sure, it was, 
 as she added most promptly, no concern of hers ; for 
 she cared not whether I were in love or not, nor how 
 deeply, nor with whom, nor in a word anything at all 
 about the matter. It was an abstract opinion she 
 gave, so far as love, or what men chose to call such, 
 might be involved; as to seemliness she must confess 
 that she had her view with which, may be, Mr. Dale 
 was not in agreement. The girl at the gardener's 
 cottage must, she did not doubt, agree wholly with 
 Mr. Dale ; how otherwise would she have suffered the
 
 14 Simon Dale* 
 
 kiss in an open space in the park, where anybody 
 might pass and where in fact (by the most perverse 
 chance in the world) pretty Mistress Barbara herself 
 passed at the moment when the thing occurred ? How- 
 ever, if the matter could ever have had the smallest 
 interest for her save in so far as it touched the 
 reputation of the village and might afford an evil 
 example to the village maidens it could have none at 
 all now, seeing that she set out the next day to Lon- 
 don, to take her place as Maid of Honour to her 
 Royal Highness the Duchess, and would have as little 
 leisure as inclination to think of Mr. Simon Dale or 
 of how he chose to amuse himself when he believed 
 that none was watching. Not that she had watched ; 
 her presence was the purest and most unwelcome 
 chance. Yet she could not but be glad to hear that 
 the girl was soon to go back whence she came, to the 
 great relief (she was sure) of Madame Dale and of her 
 dear friends Lucy and Mary ; to her love for whom 
 nothing no, nothing should make any difference. 
 For the girl herself she wished no harm, but she con- 
 ceived that her mother must be ill at ease concerning 
 her. 
 
 It will be allowed that Mistress Barbara had the 
 most of the argument if not the best. Indeed I found 
 little to say, except that the village would be the 
 worse by so much as the Duchess of York was the 
 better for Mistress Barbara's departure. The civility 
 won me nothing but the haughtiest curtesy and a 
 taunt, 
 
 "Must you rehearse your pretty speeches on me 
 before you venture them on your friends, sir?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " I am at your mercy, Mistress Barbara," I pleaded. 
 " Are we to part enemies? " 
 
 She made me no answer, but I seemed to see a 
 softening in her face as she turned away towards the
 
 The Way of Youth. 15 
 
 window, whence were to be seen the stretch of the 
 lawn and the park-meadows beyond. I believe that 
 with a little more coaxing she would have pardoned 
 me, but at the instant, by another stroke of perversity, 
 a small figure sauntered across the sunny fields. The 
 fairest sights may sometimes come amiss. 
 
 "Cydaria ! A fine name ! " said Barbara, with curl- 
 ing lip. " I'll wager she has reasons for giving no 
 other." 
 
 " Her mother gives another to the gardener," I 
 reminded her, meekly. 
 
 " Names are as easy given as as kisses ! " she 
 retorted. "As for Cydaria, my lord says it is a name 
 out of a play." 
 
 All this while we had stood at the window, watch- 
 ing Cydaria's light feet trip across the meadow, and 
 her bonnet swing wantonly in her hand. But now 
 Cydaria disappeared among the trunks of the beech- 
 trees. 
 
 "See, she is gone," said I, in a whisper. " She is 
 gone, Mistress Barbara." 
 
 Barbara understood what I would say, but she was 
 resolved to show me no gentleness. The soft tones of 
 my voice had been for her, but she would not accept 
 their homage. 
 
 "You need not sigh for that before my face," said 
 she. " And yet sigh if you will. What is it to me ? 
 But she is not gone far, and, doubtless, will not run 
 too fast when you pursue." 
 
 " When you are in London," said I, " you will think 
 with remorse how ill you used me." 
 
 " I shall never think of you at all. Do you forget 
 that there are gentlemen of wit and breeding at the 
 Court ? " 
 
 " The devil flyaway with every one of them ! " cried 
 I suddenly, not knowing then how well the better 
 part of them would match their escort.
 
 1 6 Simon Dale. 
 
 Barbara turned to me ; there was a gleam of triumph 
 In the depths of her dark eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps when you hear of meat Court," she cried, 
 "you'll be sorry to think how " 
 
 But she broke off suddenly, and looked out of the 
 window. 
 
 " You'll find a husband there," I suggested, bitterly. 
 
 " Like enough," said she, carelessly. 
 
 To be plain, I was in no happy mood. Her going 
 grieved me to the heart, and that she should go thus 
 incensed stung me yet more. I was jealous of every 
 man in London town ; had not my argument, then, 
 some reason in it after all ? 
 
 " Fare-you-well, madame," said I, with a heavy frown 
 and a sweeping bow. No player from the Lane could 
 have been more tragic. 
 
 " Fare-you-well, sir. I will not detain you, for you 
 have, I know, other farewells to make." 
 
 " Not for a week yet ! " I cried, goaded to a show of 
 exultation that Cydaria stayed so long. 
 
 " I don't doubt that you'll make good use of the 
 time," she said, as with a fine dignity she waved me 
 to the door. Girl as she was, she had caught or in- 
 herited the grand air that great ladies use. 
 
 Gloomily I passed out, to fall into the hands of my 
 lord, who was walking on the terrace. He caught me 
 by the arm, laughing in good-humoured mockery. 
 
 "You've had a touch of sentiment, eh, you rogue?" 
 said he. " Well, there's little harm in that, since the 
 girl leaves us to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, there was little harm," said I, 
 long-faced and rueful. " As little as my lady herself 
 could wish." (At this he smiled and nodded). " Mis- 
 tress Barbara will hardly so much as look at me." 
 
 He grew graver, though the smile still hung about 
 his lips. 
 
 " They gossip about you in the village, Simon,"
 
 The Way of Youth. 17 
 
 said he. " Take a friend's counsel and don't be so 
 much with the lady at the cottage. Come, I don't 
 speak without reason." He nodded at me as a man 
 nods who means more than he will say. Indeed not 
 a word more would he say, so that when I left him I 
 was even more angry than when I parted from his 
 daughter. And, the nature of man being such as 
 Heaven has made it, what need to say that I bent my 
 steps to the cottage with all convenient speed ? The 
 only weapon of an ill-used lover (nay, I will not argue 
 the merits of the case again) was ready to my hand. 
 
 Yet my impatience availed little ; for there, on the 
 seat that stood by the door, sat my good friend the 
 Vicar, discoursing in pleasant leisure with the lady 
 who named herself Cydaria. 
 
 " It is true," he was saying. " I fear it is true, 
 though you're over young to have learnt it." 
 
 " There are schools, sir," she returned, with a smile 
 that had (or so it seemed to me) a touch no more 
 of bitterness in it, " where such lessons are early 
 learnt." 
 
 " They are best let alone, those schools," said he. 
 
 " And what's the lesson ? " I asked, drawing nearer. 
 
 Neither answered. The Vicar rested his hands on 
 the ball of his cane, and suddenly began to relate old 
 Betty Nasroth's prophecy to his companion. I cannot 
 tell what led his thoughts to it, but it was never far 
 from his mind when I was by. She listened with 
 attention, smiling brightly in whimsical amusement 
 when the fateful words, pronounced with due solem- 
 nity, left the Vicar's lips. 
 
 " It is a strange saying," he ended, "of which time 
 alone can show the truth." 
 
 She glanced at me with merry eyes, yet with a new 
 sort of interest. It is strange the hold these supersti- 
 tions have on all of us; though surely future ages 
 will outgrow such childishness.
 
 i8 Simon Dale* 
 
 " I don't know what the prophecy means," said she, 
 "yet one thing at least would seem needful for its 
 fulfilment that Mr. Dale should become acquainted 
 with the King." 
 
 "True!" cried the Vicar, eagerly. "Everything 
 stands on that, and on that we stick. For Simon cannot 
 love where the King loves, nor know what the King 
 hides, nor drink of the King's cup, if he abide all his 
 days here in Hatchstead. Come, Simon, the plague 
 is gone ! " 
 
 "Should I then be gone too?" I asked. "Yet to 
 what end ? I have no friends in London who would 
 bring me to the notice of the King." 
 
 The Vicar shook his head sadly. I had no such 
 friends, and the King had proved before now that he 
 could forget many a better friend to the throne than 
 my dear father's open mind had made of him. 
 
 "We must wait, we must wait still," said the Vicar. 
 " Time will find a friend." 
 
 Cydaria had become pensive for a moment, but she 
 looked up now, smiling again, and said to me, 
 
 " You'll soon have a friend in London." 
 
 Thinking of Barbara, I answered gloomily, " She's 
 no friend of mine." 
 
 " I did not mean whom you mean," said Cydaria, 
 with twinkling eyes and not a whit put out. " But I 
 also am going to London." 
 
 I smiled, for it did not seem as though she would 
 be a powerful friend, or able to open any way for me. 
 But she met my smile with another so full of con- 
 fidence and challenge that my attention was wholly 
 caught, and I did not heed the Vicar's farewell as he 
 rose and left us. 
 
 " And would you serve me," I asked, " if you had 
 the power ? " 
 
 "Nay, put the question as you think it," said 
 she. " Would you have the power to serve me if
 
 The Way of Youth. 19 
 
 you had the will ? Is not that the doubt in your 
 mind ? " 
 
 "And if it were?" 
 
 "Then indeed I do not know how to answer; but 
 strange things happen there in London, and it may be 
 that some day even I should have some power." 
 
 "And you would use it for me ? " 
 
 " Could I do less on behalf of a gentleman who has 
 risked his mistress's favour for my poor cheek's sake ? " 
 And she fell to laughing again, her mirth growing 
 greater as I turned red in the face. " You mustn't 
 blush when you come to town," she cried, "or they'll 
 make a ballad on you, and cry you in the streets for a 
 monster." 
 
 " The oftener comes the cause, the rarer shall the 
 effect be," said I. 
 
 " The excuse is well put," she conceded. " We 
 should make a wit of you in town." 
 
 " What do you in town ? " I asked squarely, looking 
 her full in the eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps, sometimes," she laughed, " what I have 
 done once and to your good knowledge since I 
 came to the country." 
 
 Thus she would baffle me with jesting answers as 
 often as I sought to find out who and what she was. 
 Nor had I better fortune with her mother, for whom I 
 had small liking, and who had, as it seemed, no more 
 for me. For she was short in her talk, and frowned 
 to see me with her daughter. Yet she saw me, I 
 must confess, often with Cydariain the next days, and 
 I was often with Cydaria when she did not see me. 
 For Barbara was gone, leaving me both sore and 
 lonely, all in the mood to find comfort where I could 
 and to see manliness in desertion ; and there was a 
 charm about the girl that grew on me insensibly and 
 without my will until I came to love, not her (as I 
 believed, forgetting that Love loves not to mark his
 
 20 Simon Dale* 
 
 boundaries too strictly) but her merry temper, her wit 
 and cheerfulness. Moreover these things were min- 
 gled and spiced with others, more attractive than all 
 to unfledged youth, an air of the world and a knowl- 
 edge of life which piqued my curiosity, and sat (it 
 seems so even to my later mind as I look back) with 
 bewitching incongruity on the laughing child's face 
 and the unripe grace of girlhood. Her moods were 
 endless, vying with one another in an ever undeter- 
 mined struggle for the prize of greatest charm. For 
 the most part she was merry, frank mirth passing into 
 sly raillery ; now and then she would turn sad, sigh- 
 ing, " Heigho, that I could stay in the sweet innocent 
 country ! " Or again she would show or ape an un- 
 easy conscience, whispering, " Ah, that I were like 
 your Mistress Barbara!" The next moment she 
 would be laughing, and jesting, and mocking, as 
 though life were naught but a great many-coloured 
 bubble, and she the brightest-tinted gleam on it. 
 
 Are women so constant and men so forgetful that 
 all sympathy must go from me and all esteem be for- 
 feited because, being of the age of eighteen years, I 
 vowed to live for one lady only on a Monday and 
 was ready for another on the Saturday? Look back ; 
 bow your heads, and give me your hands, to kiss or to 
 clasp ! 
 
 Let not you and I inquire 
 What has been our past desire, 
 On what shepherds you have smiled, 
 Or what nymphs I have beguiled : 
 Leave it to the planets too 
 What we shall hereafter do ; 
 For the joys we now may prove, 
 Take advice of present love. 
 
 Nay, I will not set my name to that in its fullness; 
 Mr. Waller is a little too free for one who has been
 
 The Way of Youth. at 
 
 nicknamed a Puritan to follow him to the end. Yet 
 there is a truth in it. Deny it, if you will. You are 
 smiling, madame, while you deny. 
 
 It was a golden summer's evening when I, to whom 
 the golden world was all a hell, came by tryst to the 
 park of Quinton Manor, there to bid Cydaria farewell. 
 Mother and sisters had looked askance at me, the 
 village gossipped, even the Vicar shook a kindly head. 
 What cared I ? By heaven, why was one man a 
 nobleman and rich, while another had no money in 
 his purse and but one change to his back? Was not 
 love all in all? and why did Cydaria laugh at a truth 
 so manifest? There she was under the beechtree, 
 with her sweet face screwed up to a burlesque of 
 grief, her little hand lying on her hard heart as 
 though it beat for me, and her eyes the playground 
 of a thousand quick expressions. I strode up to her, 
 and caught her by the hand, saying no more than just 
 her name, " Cydaria." It seemed that there was no 
 more to say ; yet she cried, laughing and reproachful, 
 " Have you no vows for me ? Must I go without my 
 tribute? " 
 
 I loosed her hand and stood away from her. On 
 my soul, I could not speak. I was tongue-tied, dumb 
 as a dog. 
 
 " When you come courting in London," she said, 
 "you must not come so empty of lover's baggage. 
 There ladies ask vows, and protestations, and despair, 
 aye, and poetry, and rhapsodies, and I know not 
 what." 
 
 " Of all these I have nothing but despair," said I. 
 
 "Then you make a sad lover," she pouted. "And 
 I am glad to be going where lovers are less woebe- 
 gone." 
 
 " You look for lovers in London ? " I cried, I that 
 had cried to Barbara well, I have said my say on 
 that.
 
 22 Simon Dale* 
 
 " If Heaven send them," answered Cydaria. 
 
 " And you will forget me ? " 
 
 " In truth, yes, unless you come yourself to remind 
 me. I have no head for absent lovers." 
 
 " But if I come " I began, in a sudden flush of 
 
 hope. 
 
 She did not (though it was her custom) answer in 
 raillery ; she plucked a leaf from the tree, and tore it 
 with her fingers as she answered with a curious glance, 
 
 "Why, if you come, I think you'll wish that you 
 had not come, unless indeed you've forgotten me be- 
 fore you come." 
 
 " Forget you ! Never while I live ! May I come, 
 Cydaria?" 
 
 " Most certainly, sir, so soon as your wardrobe and 
 your purse allow. Nay, don't be huffed. Come, 
 Simon, sweet Simon, are we not friends and may not 
 friends rally one another? No, and if I choose, I 
 will put my hand through your arm. Indeed, sir, 
 you're the first gentleman that ever thrust it away. 
 See, it is there now ! Doesn't it look well there, 
 Simon and feel well there, Simon?" She looked up 
 into my face in coaxing apology for the hurt she had 
 given me and yet still with mockery of my tragic airs. 
 " Yes, you must by all means come to London," she 
 went on, patting my arm. " Is not Mistress Barbara 
 in London ? And I think am I wrong, Simon ? 
 that there is something for which you will want to 
 ask her pardon." 
 
 " If I come to London, it is for you and you only 
 that I shall come," I cried. 
 
 " No, no. You will come to love where the King 
 loves, to know what he hides, and to drink of his cup. 
 I, sir, cannot interfere with your great destiny. She 
 drew away from me, curtseyed low, and stood opposite 
 to me, smiling. 
 
 " For you and for you only," I repeated.
 
 The Way of Youth. 23 
 
 "Then will the King love me? " she asked. 
 
 " God forbid ! " said I, fervently. 
 
 " Oh, and why, pray, your ' God forbid ' ? You're 
 very ready with your ' God forbids.' Am I then to 
 take your love sooner than the King's, Master 
 Simon ? " 
 
 " Mine is an honest love," said I, soberly. 
 
 " Oh, I should doat on the country, if everybody 
 didn't talk of his honesty there ! I have seen the 
 King in London and he is a fine gentleman." 
 
 " And you have seen the Queen also, may be ? " 
 
 " In truth, yes. Ah, I have shocked you, Simon ? 
 Well, I was wrong. Come, we're in the country, we'll 
 be good. But when we've made a townsman of you, 
 we'll we will be what they are in town. Moreover 
 in ten minutes I am going home, and it would be hard 
 if I also left you in anger. You shall have a plea- 
 santer memory of my going than Mistress Barbara's 
 gave you." 
 
 " How shall I find you when I come to town ? " 
 
 " Why, if you will ask any gentleman you meet 
 whether he chances to remember Cydaria, you will 
 find me as soon as it is well you should." 
 
 I prayed her to tell me more, but she was resolved 
 to tell no more. 
 
 " See, it is late. I go," said she. Then suddenly 
 she came near to me. " Poor Simon," she said, softly. 
 "Yet it is good for you, Simon. Some day you wiil 
 be amused at this, Simon." She spoke as though she 
 were fifty years older than I. My answer lay not in 
 words or arguments. I caught her in my arms and 
 kissed her. She struggled, yet she laughed. It shot 
 through my mind then that Barbara would neither 
 have struggled nor laughed. But Cydaria laughed. 
 
 Presently I let her go, and kneeling on my knee 
 kissed her hand very humbly, as though she had been 
 what Barbara was. If she were not and I knew not
 
 4 Simon Dale* 
 
 what she was yet should my love exalt her and make 
 a throne whereon she might sit a queen. My new 
 posture brought a sudden gravity to her face, and she 
 bent over me with a smile that seemed now tender 
 and almost sorrowful. 
 
 " Poor Simon, poor Simon," she whispered. " Kiss 
 my hand now, kiss it as though I were fit for worship. 
 It will do you no harm and and, perhaps perhaps I 
 shall like to remember it." She bent down and kissed 
 my forehead as I knelt before her. " Poor Simon," 
 she whispered, as her hair brushed mine. Then her 
 hand was gradually and gently withdrawn. I looked 
 up to see her face; her lips were smiling but there 
 seemed a dew on her lashes. She laughed, and the 
 laugh ended in a little gasp, as though a sob had 
 fought with it. And she cried out loud, her voice 
 ringing clear among the trees in the still evening air 
 
 " That ever I should be so sore a fool ! " 
 
 Then she turned and left me, running swiftly over 
 the grass, with never a look behind her. I watched 
 till she was out of sight and then sat down on the 
 ground, with twitching lips and wide-open, dreary 
 eyes. 
 
 Ah, for youth's happiness ! Alas for its dismal 
 woe ! Thus she came into my life.
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 The Music of the World. 
 
 IF a philosopher, learned in the human mind as 
 Flamsteed in the courses of the stars or the great New- 
 ton in the laws of external nature, were to take one 
 possessed by a strong passion of love or a bitter grief 
 or what overpowering emotion you will, and were to 
 consider impartially and with cold precision what 
 share of his time was in reality occupied by the thing 
 which, as we are in the habit of saying, filled his 
 thoughts or swayed his life or mastered his intellect, 
 the world might well smile (and to my thinking had 
 better smile than weep) at the issue of the investiga- 
 tion. When the first brief shock was gone, how few 
 out of the solid twenty-four would be the hours 
 claimed by the despot, however much the poets might 
 call him insatiable. There is sleeping, and meat and 
 drink, the putting on and off of raiment and the buy- 
 ing of it. If a man be of sound body, there is his 
 sport ; if he be sane there are the interests of this life 
 and provision for the next. And if he be young, there 
 is nature's own joy in living which with a patient 
 scornful smile sets aside his protest that he is vowed to 
 misery and makes him, willynilly, laugh and sing. So 
 that, if he do not drown himself in a week and thereby 
 baulk the enquiry, it is odds that he will compose him- 
 self in a month and by the end of a year will carry no 
 more marks of his misfortune than (if he be a man of 
 good heart) an added sobriety and tenderness of spirit.
 
 26 Simon Dale* 
 
 Yet all this does not hinder the thing from returning, 
 on occasion given. 
 
 In my own case and if my story be followed to its 
 close I am persuaded that I shall not be held to be one 
 who took the disease of love more lightly than my fel- 
 lows this process of convalescence, most salutary, yet 
 in a sense humiliating, was aided by a train of circum- 
 stances, in which my mother saw the favour of heaven 
 to our family and the Vicar the working of Betty Nas- 
 roth's prophecy. An uncle of my mother's had some 
 forty years ago established a manufactory of wool at 
 Norwich, and having kept always before his eyes the 
 truth that men must be clothed howsoever they may 
 think on matters of Church and State, and that it is a 
 clothweaver's business to clothe them and not to think 
 for them, had lived a quiet life through all the distur- 
 bances and had prospered greatly in his trade. For 
 marriage, either time or inclination had failed him, 
 and, being now an old man, he felt a favourable dis- 
 position towards me, and declared the intention of 
 making me heir to a considerable portion of his for- 
 tune provided that I showed myself worthy of such 
 kindness. The proof he asked was not beyond reason, 
 though I found cause for great lamentation in it; for 
 it was that, in lieu of seeking to get to London, I 
 should go to Norwich and live there with him, to so- 
 lace his last years, and, although not engaged in his 
 trade, learn by observation something of the serious 
 occupations of life and of the condition of my fellow- 
 men, of which things young gentlemen, said he, were 
 for the most part sadly ignorant. Indeed they were, 
 and they thought no better of a companion for being 
 wiser; to do anything or know anything that might 
 redound to the benefit of man or the honour of God 
 was not the mode in those days. Nor do I say that 
 the fashion has changed greatly ; no, nor that it will 
 change. Therefore to Norwich I went, although re-
 
 The Music of the World. 27 
 
 luctantly, and there I stayed full three years, applying 
 myself to the comforting of my uncle's old age, and 
 consoling my leisure with the diversions which that 
 great and important city afforded, and which indeed 
 were enough for any rational mind. But reason and 
 youth are bad bedfellows and all the while I was like 
 the Israelites in the wilderness ; my thoughts were set 
 upon the Promised Land and I endured my probation 
 hardly. To this mood I set down the fact that little 
 of my life at Norwich lives in my memory and to that 
 little I seldom recur in thought ; the time before it 
 and the time after engross my backward glances. The 
 end came with my uncle's death, whereat I, the recipi- 
 ent of great kindness from him, sincerely grieved, and 
 that with some remorse since I had caused him sorrow 
 by refusing to take up his occupation as my own, pre- 
 ferring my liberty and a moderate endowment to all 
 his fortune saddled with the condition of passing my 
 days as a clothweaver. Had I chosen otherwise, I 
 should have lived a more peaceful and died a richer 
 man. Yet I do not repent ; not riches nor peace, but 
 the stir of the blood, the work of the hand, and the 
 service of the brain make a life that a man can look 
 back on without shame and with delight. 
 
 I was Hearing my twenty-second birthday when I re- 
 turned to Hatchstead with an air and manner, I doubt 
 not, sadly provincial, but with a lining to my pocket 
 for whose sake many a gallant would have surrendered 
 some of his plumes and feathers. Three thousand 
 pounds, invested in my uncle's business and returning 
 good and punctual profit, made of Simon Dale a per- 
 son of far greater importance in the eyes of his family 
 than he had been three years ago. It was a com- 
 petence on which a gentleman could live with discre- 
 tion and modesty, it was a step from which his foot 
 could rise higher on life's ladder. London was in my 
 power, all it held of promise and possibility was not
 
 aS Simon Dale. 
 
 beyond the flight of my soaring mind. My sisters ex- 
 changed sharp admonitions for admiring deference and 
 my mother feared nothing save that the great place to 
 which I was now surely destined might impair the 
 homely virtues which she had instilled into me. As 
 for the Vicar, he stroked his nose and glanced at me 
 with an eye which spoke so plainly of Betty Nasroth 
 that I fell to laughing heartily. 
 
 Thus being in great danger of self-exaltation, I took 
 the best medicine that I could although by no means 
 with intention in waiting on my Lord Quinton, who 
 was then residing at the Manor. Here my swelled 
 spirit was smartly pricked and sank soon to its true 
 proportions. I was no great man here, and although 
 my lord received me very kindly, he had less to say 
 on the richness of my fortune than on the faults of 
 my manner and the rustic air of my attire. Yet he 
 bade me go to London, since there a man, rubbing 
 shoulders with all the world, learnt to appraise his 
 own value and lost the ignorant conceit of himself 
 that a village greatness is apt to breed. Somewhat 
 crestfallen I thanked him for his kindness, and made 
 bold to ask after Mistress Barbara. 
 
 " She is well enough," he answered, smiling. " And 
 she is become a great lady. The wits make epigrams 
 on her, and the fools address verses to her. But she's 
 a good girl, Simon." 
 
 " I'm sure of it, my lord," I cried. 
 
 " He's a bold man who would be sure of it concern- 
 ing any one now-a-days," he said, dryly. " Yet so, 
 thank God, it is. See, here's a copy of verses she had 
 lately," and he flung me the paper. I glanced over it 
 and saw much about "dazzling ice," " unmelting 
 snow," " Venus," " Diana," and so forth. 
 
 " It seems sad stuff, my lord," said I. 
 
 " Why, yes," he laughed, " but it is by a gentleman 
 of repute. Take care you write none worse, Simon."
 
 The Music of the World. 9 
 
 "Shall I have the honour of waiting on Mistress 
 Barbara, my lord ? " I asked. 
 
 "As to that, Simon, we will see when you come. 
 Yes, we must see what company you keep. For ex- 
 ample, on whom else do you think of waiting when 
 you are set up in London ? " 
 
 He looked steadily at me, a slight frown on his brow, 
 yet a smile, and not an unkind one, on his lips. I 
 grew hot, and knew that I grew red also. 
 
 " I am acquainted with few in London, my lord," I 
 stammered, " and with those not well." 
 
 " Those not well indeed," he echoed, the pucker 
 deepening and the smile vanishing. Yet the smile 
 came again as he rose and clapped me on the shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "You're an honest lad, Simon," he said, "even 
 though it may have pleased God to make you a silly 
 one. And, by heaven, who would have all lads wise? 
 Go to London, learn to know more folk, learn to 
 know better those whom you know. Bear yourself as 
 a gentleman, and remember, Simon, whatsoever else 
 the King may be, yet he is the King." 
 
 Saying this with much emphasis he led me gently 
 to the door. 
 
 " Why did he say that about the King ? " I pon- 
 dered as I walked homeward through the park; for 
 although what we all, even in the country, knew of 
 the King, gave warrant enough for the words, my 
 lord had seemed to speak them to me with some 
 special meaning, and as though they concerned me 
 more than most men. Yet what, if I left aside Betty's 
 foolish talk, as my lord surely did, had I to do with 
 the King, or with what he might be besides the King? 
 
 About this time much stir had been aroused in the 
 country by the dismissal from all his offices of that 
 great Minister and accomplished writer, the Earl of 
 Clarendon, and by the further measures which his
 
 3 Simon Dale* 
 
 enemies 'threatened against him. The village elders 
 were wont to assemble on the days when the post 
 came in and discuss eagerly the news brought from 
 London. The affairs of Government troubled my 
 head very little, but in sheer idleness I used often to 
 join them, wondering to see them so perturbed at the 
 happening of things which made mighty little differ- 
 ence in our retired corner. Thus I was in the midst 
 of them at the King and Crown tavern, on the Green, 
 two days after I had talked with my Lord Quinton. I 
 sat with a mug of ale before me, engrossed in my own 
 thoughts and paying little heed to what passed, when, 
 to my amazement, the postman leaping from his 
 horse, came straight across to me, holding out in 
 his hand a large packet of important appearance. 
 To receive a letter was a rare event in my life, and a 
 rarer followed, setting the cap on my surprise. For 
 the man, though he was fully ready to drink my 
 health, demanded no money for the letter, saying that 
 it came on the service of his Majesty and was not 
 chargeable. He spoke low enough, and there was a 
 babble about, but it seemed as though the name of 
 the King made its way through all the hubbub to the 
 Vicar's ears ; for he rose instantly, and, stepping to my 
 side, sat down by me, crying, 
 
 "What said he of the King, Simon?" 
 
 "Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter 
 comes to me on the King's service, and that I have 
 nothing to pay for it," and I turned it over and over 
 in my hands. But the inscription was plain enough, 
 "To Master Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, by 
 Hatfield." 
 
 By this time half the company was round us, and 
 my Lord Clarendon well-nigh forgotten. Small 
 things near are greater than great things afar, and at 
 Hatchstead my affairs were of more moment than the 
 fall of a Chancellor or the King's choice of new Min-
 
 The Music of the World. 31 
 
 isters. A cry arose that I should open my packet and 
 disclose what it contained. 
 
 " Nay," said the Vicar, with an air of importance, 
 " it may be on a private matter that the King writes." 
 
 They would have believed that of my lord at the 
 Manor, they could not of Simon Dale. The Vicar 
 met their laughter bravely. 
 
 " But the King and Simon are to have private mat- 
 ters between them one day," he cried, shaking his fist 
 at the mockers, himself half in mockery. 
 
 Meanwhile I opened my packet and read. To this 
 day the amazement its contents bred in me is fresh. 
 For the purport was that the King, remembering my 
 father's services to the King's father (and forgetting, 
 as it seemed, those done to General Cromwell) and be- 
 ing informed of my own loyal disposition, courage, and 
 good parts, had been graciously pleased to name me 
 to a commission in his Majesty's Regiment of Life 
 Guards, such commission being post-dated six months 
 from the day of writing, in order that Mr. Dale should 
 have the leisure to inform himself in his duties and 
 fit himself for his post ; to which end it was the 
 King's further pleasure that Mr. Dale should present 
 himself, bringing this same letter with him, without 
 delay at Whitehall and there be instructed in his drill 
 and in all other matters necessary for him to know. 
 Thus the letter ended, with a commendation of me to 
 the care of the Almighty. 
 
 I sat gasping ; the gossips gaped round me ; the 
 Vicar seemed stunned. At last somebody grumbled, 
 
 " I do not love these Guards. What need of guard 
 has the King except in the love of his subjects? " 
 
 " So his father found, did he ? " cried the Vicar, all 
 aflame in a moment. 
 
 " The Life Guards ! " I murmured. " It is the first 
 regiment of all in honour." 
 
 "Aye, my lad," said the Vicar. "It would have
 
 3* Simon Dale* 
 
 been well enough for you to serve in the ranks of it, 
 but to hold his Majesty's Commission ! " Words 
 failed him and he flew to the landlord's snuff-box, 
 which that good man, moved by subtle sympathy, held 
 out, pat to the occasion. 
 
 Suddenly those words of my lord's that had at the 
 time of their utterance caught my attention so strongly 
 flashed into my mind, seeming now to find their ex- 
 planation. If there were fault to be found in the 
 King, it did not lie with his own servants and officers 
 to find it ; I was now of his Household ; my lord must 
 have known what was on the way to me from London 
 when he addressed me so pointedly ; and he could 
 know only because he had himself been the mover in 
 the matter. I sprang up and ran across to the Vicar, 
 crying, 
 
 " Why, it is my lord's kindness ! He has spoken 
 for me." 
 
 " Aye, aye, it is my lord " was grunted and nodded 
 round the circle in the satisfaction of a discovery 
 obvious so soon as made. The Vicar alone dissented ; 
 he took another pinch and w r agged his head petulantly. 
 
 " I don't think it's my lord," said he. 
 
 " But why not, sir, and who else ? " I urged. 
 
 " I don't know, but I do not think it is my lord," 
 he persisted. 
 
 Then I laughed at him, and he understood well 
 that I mocked his dislike of a plain-sailing, everyday 
 account of anything to which it might be possible by 
 hook or by crook to attach a tag of mystery. He had 
 harked back to the prophecy, and would not have my 
 lord come between him and his hobby. 
 
 "You may laugh, Simon," said he, gravely. "But 
 it will be found to be as I say." 
 
 I paid no more heed to him, but caught up my hat 
 from the bench, crying that I must run at once and 
 offer thanks to my lord, for he was to set out for
 
 The Music of the World. 33 
 
 London that day and would be gone if I did not 
 hasten. 
 
 "At least," conceded the Vicar, "you will do no 
 harm by telling him. He will wonder as much as 
 we." 
 
 Laughing again, I ran off and left the company 
 crowding to a man round the stubborn Vicar. It was 
 well indeed that I did not linger, for, having come to 
 the Manor at my best speed, I found my lord's coach 
 already at the door and himself in cloak and hat about 
 to step into it. But he waited to hear my breathless 
 story, and, when I came to the pith of it, snatched my 
 letter from my hand and read it eagerly. At first I 
 thought he was playing a part and meant only to 
 deny his kindness or delay the confession of it. His 
 manner soon undeceived me ; he was in truth amazed, 
 as the Vicar had predicted, but more than that, he 
 was, if I read his face aright, sorely displeased also ; 
 for a heavy frown gathered on his brow and he walked 
 with me in utter silence the better half of the length 
 of the terrace. 
 
 " I have nothing to do with it," he said, bitterly. 
 " I and my family have done the King and his too 
 much service to have the giving away of favours. 
 Kings do not love their creditors ; no, nor pay them." 
 
 "But, my lord, I can think of no other friend who 
 would have such power." 
 
 " Can't you ? " he asked, stopping and laying his 
 hand on my shoulder. " May be, Simon, you don't 
 understand how power is come by in these days nor 
 what are the titles to the King's confidence." 
 
 His words and manner dashed my new pride and I 
 suppose my face grew glum, for he went on more 
 gently, 
 
 " Nay, lad, since it comes, take it without question. 
 Whatever the source of it, your own conduct may 
 make it an honour."
 
 34 Simon Dale. 
 
 But I could not be content with that. 
 
 "The letter says," I remarked, "that the King is 
 mindful of my father's services." 
 
 " I had thought that the age of miracles was past," 
 smiled my lord. " Perhaps it is not, Simon." 
 
 " Then if it be not for my father's sake nor for 
 yours, my lord, I am at a loss," and I stuffed the 
 letter into my pocket very peevishly. 
 
 " I must be on my way," said my lord, turning 
 towards the coach. " Let me hear from you when you 
 come, Simon, and I suppose you will come soon now. 
 You will find me at my house in Southampton Square, 
 and my lady will be glad of your company." 
 
 I thanked him for his civility, but my face was still 
 clouded. He had seemed to suspect and hint at some 
 taint in the fountain of honour that had so unex- 
 pectedly flowed forth. 
 
 " I can't tell what to make of it," I cried. 
 
 He stopped again, as he was about to set his foot 
 on the step of his coach, and turned, facing me 
 squarely. 
 
 "There's no other friend at all in London, Simon?" 
 he asked. Again I grew red, as he stood watching 
 me. " Is there not one oth^er ? " 
 
 I collected myself as well as I could and answered, 
 
 " One that would give me a commission in the Life 
 Guards, my lord?" And I laughed in scorn. 
 
 My lord shrugged his shoulders and mounted into 
 the coach. I closed the door behind him, and stood 
 waiting his reply. He leant forward and spoke across 
 me to the lackey behind, saying, " Go on, go on." 
 
 "What do you mean, my lord?" I cried. He 
 smiled but did not speak. The coach began to 
 move ; I had to walk to keep my place, soon I should 
 have to run. 
 
 " My lord," I cried, "how could she ?" 
 
 My lord took out his snuff-box, and opened it.
 
 The Music of the "World. 35 
 
 " Nay, I cannot tell how," said he, as he carried his 
 thumb to his nose. 
 
 " My lord," I cried, running now, " do you know 
 who Cydaria is? " 
 
 My lord looked at me, as I ran panting. Soon I 
 should have to give in, for the horses made merry 
 play down the avenue. He seemed to wait for the 
 last moment of my endurance before he answered. 
 Then waving his hand at the window he said, "All 
 London knows." And with that he shut the window 
 and I fell back breathless, amazed, and miserably 
 chagrined. For he had told me nothing of all that I 
 desired to know, and what he had told me did no 
 more than inflame my curiosity most unbearably. 
 Yet if it were true, this mysterious lady, known to all 
 London, had remembered Simon Dale ! A man of 
 seventy would have been moved by such a thing ; 
 what wonder that a boy of twenty-two should run 
 half mad with it ? 
 
 Yet, strange to say, it seemed to the Vicar's mind 
 no more unlikely and infinitely more pleasant that the 
 King's favour should be bound up with the lady we 
 had called Cydaria than that it should be the plain 
 fruit of my lord's friendly offices. Presently his talk 
 infected me with something of the same spirit, and 
 we fell to speculating on the identity of this lady, 
 supposing in our innocence that she must be of very 
 exalted rank and noble station if indeed all London 
 knew her and she had a voice in the appointment of 
 gentlemen to bear his Majesty's Commission. It was 
 but a step further to discern for me a most notable 
 career, wherein the prophecy of Betty Nasroth should 
 find fulfilment and prove the link that bound together 
 a chain of strange fortune and high achievement. 
 Thus our evening wore away and with it my vexation. 
 Now I was all eager to be gone, to set my hand to my 
 work, to try Fate's promises, and to learn that piece
 
 36 Simon Dale* 
 
 of knowledge which all London had the true name of 
 her whom we called Cydaria. 
 
 " Still," said the Vicar, falling into a sudden pen- 
 siveness as I rose to take my leave, " there are things 
 above fortune's favour, or a king's, or a great lady's. 
 To those cling, Simon, for your name's sake and for 
 my credit, who taught you." 
 
 " True, sir," said I in perfunctory acknowledgment, 
 but with errant thoughts. " I trust, sir, that I shall 
 always bear myself as becomes a gentleman." 
 
 "And a Christian," he added, mildly. 
 
 "Aye, sir, and a Christian," I agreed readily enough. 
 
 " Go your way," he said, with a little smile. " I 
 preach to ears that are full now of other and louder 
 sounds, of strains more attractive and more alluring 
 melodies. Therefore now you cannot listen ; nay, I 
 know that, if you could, you would. Yet it may be 
 that some day if it be God's will, soon the strings 
 that I feebly strike may sound loud and clear, so that 
 you must hear, however sweetly that other music 
 charms your senses. And if you hear, Simon, heed ; 
 if you hear, heed." 
 
 Thus, with his blessing, I left him. He followed 
 me to the door, with a smile on his lips, but in his 
 eyes anxiety. I went on my way, never looking back. 
 For my ears were indeed filled with that strange and 
 enchanting music.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Cydaria Revealed. 
 
 THERE mounted on the coach at Hertford (for at 
 last I am fairly on my way and may boast that I have 
 made short work of my farewells) a gentleman appar- 
 ently about thirty years of age, tall, well proportioned, 
 and with a thin face, clean-cut and high-featured. 
 He was attended by a servant whom he called Robert, 
 a stout ruddy fellow, who was very jovial with every 
 post-boy and ostler on the road. The gentleman, 
 being placed next to me by the chance of our billets, 
 lost no time in opening the conversation, a step which 
 my rustic backwardness would long have delayed. 
 He invited my confidence by a free disposal of his 
 own, informing me that he was attached to the house- 
 hold of Lord Arlington, and was returning to London 
 on his lordship's summons. For since his patron had 
 been called to the place of Secretary of State, he, Mr. 
 Christopher Darrell (such was his name), was likely to 
 be employed by him in matters of trust, and thus fill 
 a position which I must perceive to be of some im- 
 portance. All this was poured forth with wonderful 
 candour and geniality, and I, in response, opened to 
 him my fortunes and prospects, keeping back nothing 
 save the mention of Cydaria. Mr. Darrell was, or af- 
 fected to be, astonished to learn that I was a stranger 
 to London my air smacked of the Mall and of no 
 other spot in the world, he swore most politely but 
 made haste to offer me his services, proposing that,
 
 3 8 Simon Dale. 
 
 since Lord Arlington did not look for him that night, 
 and hfc had abandoned his former lodging, we should 
 lodge together at an inn he named in Covent Garden, 
 when he could introduce me to some pleasant com- 
 pany. I accepted his offer most eagerly. Then he 
 fell to talking of the Court, of the households of the 
 King and the Duke, of Madame the Duchess of Or- 
 leans, who was soon to come to England, they said 
 (on what business he did not know) ; next he spoke, 
 although now with caution, of persons no less well 
 known but of less high reputation, referring lightly to 
 Lady Castlemaine and Eleanor Gwyn and others, 
 while I listened, half scandalised, half pleased. But I 
 called him back by asking whether he were acquainted 
 with one of the Duchess's ladies named Mistress Bar- 
 bara Quinton. 
 
 " Surely," he said. " There is no fairer lady at 
 Court, and very few so honest." 
 
 I hurried to let him know that Mistress Barbara 
 and I were old friends. He laughed as he answered, 
 
 " If you'd be more you must lose no time. It is 
 impossible that she should refuse many more suitors, 
 and a nobleman of great estate is now sighing for her 
 so loudly as to be audible from Whitehall to Temple 
 Bar." 
 
 I heard the news with interest, with pride, and with 
 a touch of jealousy ; but at this time my own fortunes 
 so engrossed me that soon I harked back to them, and, 
 taking my courage in both hands, was about to ask my 
 companion if he had chanced ever to hear of Cydaria, 
 when he gave a new turn to the talk by asking care- 
 lessly, 
 
 " You are a Churchman, sir, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," I answered, with a smile, and perhaps 
 a bit of a stare. "What did you conceive me to be, 
 sir? a Ranter, or a Papist ? " 
 
 " Pardon, pardon, if you find offence in my ques-
 
 Cydaria Revealed. 39 
 
 tion," he answered, laughing. " There are many men 
 who are one or the other, you know." 
 
 " The country has learnt that to its sorrow," said I, 
 sturdily. 
 
 " Aye," he said, in a dreamy way, " and may be will 
 learn it again." And without more he fell to describ- 
 ing the famous regiment to which I was to belong, 
 adding at the end, 
 
 " And if you like a brawl, the 'prentices in the City 
 will always find one for a gentleman of the King's 
 Guards. Take a companion or two with you when 
 you walk east of Temple Bar. By the way, sir, if the 
 question may be pardoned, how came you by your 
 commission ? For we know that merit, standing alone, 
 stands generally naked also." 
 
 I was much inclined to tell him all the story, but a 
 shamefacedness came over me. I did not know then 
 how many owed all their advancement to a woman's 
 influence, and my manly pride disdained to own the 
 obligation. I put him off by a story of a friend who 
 wished to remain unnamed, and, after the feint of 
 some indifferent talk, seized the chance of a short 
 silence to ask him my great question. 
 
 " Pray, sir, have you ever heard of a lady who goes 
 sometimes by the name of Cydaria?" said I. I fear 
 my cheek flushed a little, do what I could to check 
 such an exhibition of rawness. 
 
 "Cydaria? Where have I heard that name? No, 
 
 I know nobody and yet " He paused ; then, 
 
 clapping his hand on his thigh, cried, " By my faith, 
 yes ; I was sure I had heard it. It is a name from 
 a play ; from from the ' Indian Emperor.' I think 
 your lady must have been masquerading." 
 
 " I thought as much," I nodded, concealing my 
 disappointment. 
 
 He looked at me a moment with some curiosity, but 
 did not press me further ; and, since we had begun to
 
 4 Simon Dale* 
 
 draw near London, I soon had my mind too full to 
 allow me to think even of Cydaria. There is small 
 profit in describing what every man can remember 
 for himself his first sight of the greatest city in the 
 world, with its endless houses and swarming people. 
 It made me still and silent as we clattered along, and 
 I forgot my companion until I chanced to look towards 
 him, and found an amused glance fixed on my face. 
 But as we reached the City he began to point out 
 where the fire had been, and how the task of rebuild- 
 ing progressed. Again wonder and anticipation grew 
 on me. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " it's a fine treasure-house for a 
 man who can get the key to it." 
 
 Yet, amazed as I was, I would not have it supposed 
 that I was altogether an unlicked cub. My stay in 
 Norwich, if it had not made me a Londoner, had 
 rubbed off some of the plough-mud from me, and I 
 believe that my new friend was not speaking wholly in 
 idle compliment when he assured me that I should 
 hold my own very well. The first lesson I learnt was 
 not to show any wonder that I might feel, but to re- 
 ceive all that chanced as though it were the most or- 
 dinary thing in the world ; for this, beyond all, is the 
 hallmark of your quality. Indeed it was well that I 
 was so far fit to show my face, since I was to be 
 plunged into the midst of the stream with a sudden- 
 ness which startled, although it could not displease 
 me. For the first beginning I was indebted to Mr. 
 Darrell ; for what followed to myself alone and a tem- 
 per that has never been of the most patient. 
 
 We had reached our inn and refreshed ourselves, 
 and I was standing looking out on the evening and 
 wondering at what time it was proper for me to seek 
 my bed when my friend entered with an eager air, 
 and advanced towards me, crying, 
 
 " Dear sir, I hope your wardrobe is in order, for I
 
 Cydaria Revealed. 41 
 
 am resolved to redeem my word forthwith, and to- 
 night to carry you with me to an entertainment for 
 which I have received an invitation. I am most anx- 
 ious for you to accompany me as we shall meet many 
 whom you should know." 
 
 I was, of course, full of excuses, but he would admit 
 of one only ; and that one I could not or would not 
 make. For I had provided myself with a neat and 
 proper suit, of which I was very far from ashamed and 
 which, when assumed by me and set off with a new 
 cloak to match it, was declared by Mr. Darrell to be 
 most apt for the occasion. 
 
 " You lack nothing but a handsome cane," said he, 
 "and that I can myself provide. Come, let us call 
 chairs and be gone, for it grows late already." 
 
 Our host that evening was Mr. Jermyn, a gentleman 
 in great repute at Court, and he entertained us most 
 handsomely at the New Spring Garden, according to 
 me a welcome of especial courtesy, that I might be at 
 my ease and feel no stranger among the company. 
 He placed me on his left hand, Darrell being on my 
 other side, whilst opposite to me sat my lord the Earl 
 of Carford, a fine-looking man of thirty or a year or 
 two above. Among the guests Mr. Darrell indicated 
 several whose names were known to me, such as the 
 witty Lord Rochester and the French Ambassador, 
 M. de Cominges, a very stately gentleman. These, 
 however, being at the other end of the table, I made 
 no acquaintance with them and contented myself with 
 listening to the conversation of my neighbours, put- 
 ting in a word where I seemed able with propriety 
 and without displaying an ignorance of which I was 
 very sensible. It seemed to me that Lord Carford, to 
 whom I had not been formally presented (indeed all 
 talked to one another without ceremony) received 
 what I said with more than sufficient haughtiness and 
 distance, but on Darrell whispering humourously that
 
 42 Simon Dale* 
 
 he was a great lord and held himself even greater than 
 he was, I made little of it, thinking my best revenge 
 would be to give him a lesson in courtesy. Thus all 
 went well till we had finished eating and sat sipping 
 our wine. Then my Lord Carford, being a little over- 
 heated with what he had drunk, began suddenly to 
 inveigh against the King with remarkable warmth and 
 freedom, so that it seemed evident that he smarted 
 under some recent grievance. The raillery of our 
 host, not too nice or delicate, soon spurred him to a 
 discovery of his complaint. He asked nothing better 
 than to be urged to a disclosure. 
 
 " Neither rank, nor friendship, nor service," he said, 
 smiting the table, " are enough to gain the smallest 
 favour from the King. All goes to the women ; they 
 have but to ask to have. I prayed the King to give 
 me for a cousin of mine a place in the Life Guards 
 that was to be vacant, and he by Heaven, he 
 promised ! Then comes Nell, and Nell wants it for a 
 friend, and Nell has it for a friend and I go empty ! " 
 
 I had started when he spoke of the Life Guards, and 
 sat now in a state of great disturbance. Darrell also, 
 as I perceived, was very uneasy and made a hasty 
 effort to alter the course of the conversation ; but Mr. 
 Jermyn would not have it. 
 
 " Who is the happy the new happy man, that is 
 Mistress Nell's friend?" he asked, smiling. 
 
 " Some clod from the country," returned the Earl ; 
 " his name, they say, is Dale." 
 
 I felt my heart beating, but I trust that I looked 
 cool enough as I leant across and said, 
 
 "Your lordship is misinformed. I have the best of 
 reasons for saying so." 
 
 " The reasons may be good, sir," he retorted, with a 
 stare, " but they are not evident." 
 
 "I am myself just named to a commission in the 
 King's Life Guards, and my name is Dale," said I,
 
 Cydaria Revealed. 43 
 
 restraining myself to a show of composure, for I felt 
 Darrell's hand on my arm. 
 
 " By my faith then, you're the happy man," sneered 
 Carford ; " I congratulate you on your 
 
 "Stay, stay, Carford," interposed Mr. Jermyn. 
 
 " on your godmother," said Carford. 
 
 " You're misinformed, my lord," I repeated fiercely, 
 although by now a great fear had come upon me. I 
 knew whom they meant by " Nell." 
 
 "By God, sir, I'm not misinformed," said he. 
 
 " By God, my lord," said I though I had not been 
 wont to swear " By God, my lord, you are." 
 
 Our voices had risen in anger ; a silence fell on the 
 party, all turning from their talk to listen to us. Car- 
 ford's face went red when I gave him the lie so 
 directly, and the more fiercely because, to my shame 
 and wonder, I had begun to suspect that what he said 
 was no lie. But I followed up the attack briskly. 
 
 " Therefore, my lord," I said, " I will beg of you 
 to confess your error, and withdraw what you have 
 said." 
 
 He burst into a laugh. 
 
 " If I weren't ashamed to take a favour from such a 
 hand, I wouldn't be ashamed to own it," said he. 
 
 I rose from my seat and bowed to him gravely. 
 All understood my meaning, but he, choosing to treat 
 me with insolence, did not rise nor return my salute, 
 but sat where he was, smiling scornfully. 
 
 " You don't understand me, it seems, my lord," said 
 I. " May be this will quicken your wits," and I flung 
 the napkin which had been brought to me after meat 
 lightly in his face. He sprang up quickly enough then, 
 and so did all the company. Darrell caught me by 
 the arm and held me fast. Jermyn was by Carford's 
 side. I hardly knew what passed, being much upset 
 by the sudden quarrel, and yet more by the idea that 
 Carford's words had put in my head. I saw Jermyn
 
 44 Simon Dale* 
 
 come forward, and Darrell, loosing my arm, went and 
 spoke to him. Lord Carford resumed his seat ; I 
 leant against the back of my chair and waited. Dar- 
 rell was not long in returning to me. 
 
 " You'd best go home," he said, in a low voice. 
 " I'll arrange everything. You must meet to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 I nodded my head ; I had grown cool and collected 
 now. Bowing slightly to Carford, and low to my host 
 and the company, I turned to the door. As I passed 
 through it, I heard the talk break out again behind 
 me. I got into my chair, which was waiting, and was 
 carried back to my inn in a half-mazed state. I gave 
 little thought to the quarrel or to the meeting that 
 awaited me. My mind was engrossed with the revela- 
 tion to which I had listened. I doubted it still ; nay, 
 I would not believe it. Yet whence came the story 
 unless it were true ? And it seemed to fit most aptly 
 and most lamentably with what had befallen me, and 
 to throw light on what had been a puzzle. It was 
 hard on four years since I had parted from Cydaria ; 
 but that night I felt that, if the thing were true, I 
 should receive Carford's point in my heart without a 
 pang. 
 
 Being, as may be supposed, little inclined for sleep, 
 I turned into the public-room of the inn and called for 
 a bottle of wine. The room was empty save for a 
 lanky fellow, very plainly dressed, who sat at the table 
 reading a book. He was drinking nothing, and when 
 my wine having been brought I called in courtesy 
 for a second glass and invited him to join me, he 
 shook his head sourly. Yet presently he closed his 
 book, which I now perceived to be a Bible, and fixed 
 an earnest gaze on me. He was a strange looking 
 fellow ; his face was very thin and long, and his hair 
 (for he wore his own and no wig) hung straight from 
 the crown of his head in stiff wisps. I set him down
 
 Cydaria Revealed. 45 
 
 as a Ranter, and was in no way surprised when he 
 began to inveigh against the evils of the times, and to 
 prophesy the judgment of God on the sins of the city. 
 
 " Pestilence hath come and fire hath come," lie cried. 
 " Yet wickedness is not put away, and lewdness vaunt- 
 eth herself, and the long-suffering of God is abused." 
 
 All this seeming to me very tedious, I sipped my 
 wine and made no answer. I had enough to think of, 
 and was content to let the sinners of the city alone. 
 
 " The foul superstition of Papacy raises its head 
 again," he went on, "and godly men are persecuted." 
 
 "Those same godly men," said I, "have had their 
 turn before now, sir. To many it seems as if they 
 were only receiving what they gave." For the fellow 
 had roused me to some little temper by his wearisome 
 cursing. 
 
 " But the Time of the Lord is at hand," he pursued, 
 "and all men shall see the working of His wrath. 
 Aye, it shall be seen even in palaces." 
 
 " If I were you, sir," said I, dryly, " I would not 
 talk thus before strangers. There might be danger in 
 it." 
 
 He scanned my face closely for a few moments ; 
 then, leaning across towards me, he said earnestly, 
 
 "You are young, and you look honest. Be warned 
 in time ; fight on the Lord's side, and not among His 
 enemies. Verily the time cometh." 
 
 I had met many of these mad fellows, for the country 
 was full of them, some being disbanded soldiers of the 
 Commonwealth, some ministers who had lost their 
 benefices ; but this fellow seemed more crazy than any 
 I had seen, though, indeed, I must confess there was 
 a full measure of truth, if not of charity, in the de- 
 scription of the King's Court on which he presently 
 launched himself with great vigour of declamation and 
 an intense, although ridiculous, exhibition of piety. 
 
 " You may be very right, sir "
 
 46 Simon Dale. 
 
 " My name is Phineas Tate." 
 
 " You may be very right, friend Phineas," said I, 
 yawning, " but I can't alter all this. Go and preach 
 to the King." 
 
 " The King shall be preached to in words that he 
 must hear," he retorted, with a frown, " but the time 
 is not yet." 
 
 " The time now is to seek our beds," said I, smiling. 
 " Do you lodge here ? " 
 
 " For this night I lie here. To-morrow I preach to 
 this city." 
 
 " Then I fear you are likely to lie in a less comfort- 
 able place to-morrow." And, bidding him good-night, 
 I turned to go. But he sprang after me, crying 
 " Remember, the time is short," and I doubt whether 
 I should have got rid of him had not Darrell at that 
 moment entered the room. To my surprise, the two 
 seemed to know one another, for Darrell broke into a 
 scornful laugh, exclaiming, 
 
 " Again, Master Tate ! What, haven't you left this 
 accursed city to its fate yet?" 
 
 "It awaits its fate," answered the Ranter, sternly, 
 " even, as those of your superstition wait theirs." 
 
 " My superstition must look out for itself," said 
 Darrell, with a shrug ; and, seeing that I was puzzled, 
 he added, " Mr. Tate is not pleased with me because I 
 am of the old religion." 
 
 " Indeed?" I cried. " I didn't know you were a 
 of the old Church." For I remembered with con- 
 fusion a careless remark that I had let fall as we 
 journeyed together. 
 
 " Yes," said he, simply. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Tate. " You and your master also, 
 is he not ? " 
 
 Darrell's face grew stern and cold. 
 
 " I would have you careful, sir, when you touch on 
 my Lord Arlington's name," he said. " You know
 
 Cydaria Revealed* 47 
 
 well that he is not of the Roman faith, but is a con- 
 vinced adherent of the Church of this country." 
 
 "Is he so?" asked Tate, with an undisguised 
 sneer. 
 
 "Come, enough!" cried Darrell, in sudden anger. 
 " I have much to say to my friend, and shall be glad 
 to be left alone with him." 
 
 Tate made no objection to leaving us, and, gather- 
 ing up his Bible, went out, scowling. 
 
 " A pestilent fellow," said Darrell. " He'll find 
 himself laid by the heels before long. Well, I have 
 settled your affair with my Lord Carford." 
 
 But my affair with Carford was not what I wanted 
 to hear about. I came to him as he sat down at the 
 table, and, laying my hand on his shoulder, asked 
 simply, 
 
 "Is it true?" 
 
 He looked up at me with great kindness, and an- 
 swered gently, 
 
 " It is true. I guessed it as soon as you spoke of 
 Cydaria. For Cydaria was the part in which she first 
 gained the favour of the town, and that, taken with 
 your description of her, gave me no room for doubt. 
 Yet I hoped that it might not be as I feared, or at 
 least that the thing could be hidden. It seems, though, 
 that the saucy wench has made no secret of it. Thus 
 you are landed in this quarrel, and with a good swords- 
 man." 
 
 " I care nothing for the quarrel " I began. 
 
 " Nay, but it is worse than you think. For Lord 
 Carford is the gentleman of whom I spoke, when I 
 told you that Mistress Quinton had a noble suitor. 
 And he is high in her favour and higher yet in her 
 father's. A quarrel with him, and on such a cause, 
 will do you no good in Lord Quinton's eyes." 
 
 Indeed it seemed as though all the Furies had com- 
 bined to vex me. Yet still my desire was to learn of
 
 4 8 Simon Dale. 
 
 Cydaria, for even now I could hardly believe what 
 Darrell told me. Sitting down by him I listened 
 while he related to me what he knew of her; it was 
 little more than the mentioning of her true name told 
 me, a name familiar, alas, through all the country, 
 sung in ballads, bandied to and fro in talk, dragged 
 even into high disputes that touched the nation's for- 
 tunes ; for in those strange days, when the world 
 seemed a very devil's comedy, great countries, aye, 
 and Holy Churches, fought behind the mask of an 
 actress's face or chose a fair lady for their champion. 
 I hope indeed that the end sanctified the means ; 
 they had great need of that final justification. Cas- 
 tlemaine and Nell Gwyn had we not all read and 
 heard and gossipped of them ? Our own Vicar had 
 spoken to me of Nell and would not speak too 
 harshly, for Nell was Protestant. Yes, Nell, so please 
 you, was Protestant. And other grave divines for- 
 gave her half her sins because she flouted most openly 
 and with pert wit the other lady who was suspected 
 of an inclination towards Rome and an intention to 
 charm the King into the True Church's bosom? I 
 also could have forgiven her much ; for, saving my 
 good Darrell's presence, I hated a Papist worse than 
 any man, saving a Ranter. Yes, I would have for- 
 given her all, and applauded her pretty face and 
 laughed at her pretty ways. I had looked to do as 
 much when I came to town, being, I must confess, as 
 little straight-laced as most young men. But I had 
 not known that the thing was to touch me close. 
 Could I forgive her'my angry humiliation and my sore 
 heart, bruised love and burning ridicule? I could 
 forgive her for being all she now was. How could I 
 forgive her for having been once my Cydaria ? 
 
 " Well, you must fight," said Darrell, " although it is 
 not a good quarrel," and he shook my hand very 
 kindly, with a sigh of friendship.
 
 Cydaria Revealed, 49 
 
 "Yes, I must fight," said I, "and after that if 
 there be an after I must go to Whitehall." 
 
 "To take up your commission ? " he asked. 
 
 " To lay it down, Mr. Darrell," said I, with a touch 
 of haughtiness. " You don't think that I could bear 
 it, since it comes from such a source?" 
 
 He pressed my hand, saying with a smile that 
 seemed tender, 
 
 "You're from the country. Not one in ten would 
 quarrel with that here." 
 
 " Yes, I'm from the country," said I. " It was in 
 the country that I knew Cydaria."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 I am Forbidden to Forget* 
 
 IT must be allowed that by no possible union of un- 
 lucky chances could I, desiring to appear as a staid, 
 sober gentleman and not as a ruffler or debauched 
 gallant, have had a worse introduction to my new life. 
 To start with a duel would have hurt me little, but a 
 duel on such a cause and on behalf of such a lady (for 
 I should seem to be fighting the battle of one whose 
 name was past defending) would make my reputation 
 ridiculous to the gay, and offensive to all the more 
 decent people of the town. I thought enough on 
 this sad side of the matter that night at the inn, and 
 despair would have made a prey of me had I not 
 hoped to clear myself in some degree by the step on 
 which I had determined. For I was resolved to 
 abandon the aid in my career that the King's unex- 
 pected favour had offered, and start afresh for myself, 
 free from the illicit advantage of a place gained un- 
 deservedly. Yet, amid my chagrin, and in spite of my 
 virtuous intentions I found myself wondering that 
 Cydaria had remembered ; I will not protest that I 
 found no pleasure in the thought; a young man whose 
 pride was not touched by it would have reached a 
 higher summit of severity or a lower depth of in- 
 sensibility than was mine. Yet here also I made 
 vows of renunciation, concerning which there is 
 nought to say but that, while very noble, they were 
 in all likelihood most uncalled for. What would or
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget. 5 1 
 
 could Cydaria be to me now? She flew at bigger 
 game. She had flung me a kindly crumb of re- 
 membrance ; she would think that we were well quit, 
 nay, that I was overpaid for my bruised heart and dis- 
 sipated illusion. 
 
 It was a fine fresh morning when Mr. Darrell and I 
 set out for the place of meeting, he carrying a pair of 
 swords. Mr. Jermyn had agreed to support my op- 
 ponent, and I was glad to learn that the meeting was 
 to be restricted to the principals, and not, as too often 
 occurred, to embroil the seconds also in a senseless 
 quarrel. We walked briskly, and crossing the Oxford 
 Road at Holborn struck into the fields beyond Mon- 
 tague House. We were first at the rendezvous, but 
 had not to wait long before three chairs appeared, 
 containing Lord Carford, his second, and a surgeon. 
 The chairmen, having set down their burdens, with- 
 drew some way off, and we, being left to ourselves, 
 made our preparations as quickly as we might, Darrell 
 especially urging speed ; for it seemed that a rumour 
 of the affair had got about the town, and he had no 
 desire for spectators. 
 
 Now although I desire to write without malice and 
 to render fullest justice to those whom I have least 
 cause to love, I am bound to say that my Lord Car- 
 ford seemed to be most bitterly incensed against me, 
 whereas I was in no way incensed against him. In 
 the first instance he had offended without premedita- 
 tion, for he had not known who I was; his subsequent 
 insolence might find excuse in the peremptory phras- 
 ing of my demand for apology, too curt perhaps for a 
 young and untried man. Honour forced me to fight, 
 but nothing forced me to hate, and I asked no better 
 than that we should both escape with as little hurt as 
 the laws of the game allowed. His mood was dif- 
 ferent ; he had been bearded and was in a mind to give 
 my beard a pull I speak in a metaphor, for beard had
 
 52 Simon Dale* 
 
 I none and possessing some reputation as a swords- 
 man he could not well afford to let me go untouched. 
 An old sergeant of General Cromwell's, resident at 
 Norwich, had instructed me in the use of the foils, but 
 I was not my lord's equal, and I set it down to my 
 good luck and his fury that I came off no worse than 
 the event proved. For he made at me with great im- 
 petuosity, and from beginning to end of the affair I 
 was wholly concerned in defending myself; this much 
 I achieved successfully for some moments, and I heard 
 Mr. Jermyn say, " But he stands his ground well"; 
 then came a cunning feint followed by a fierce attack 
 and a sharp pang in my left arm near the shoulder, 
 while the sleeve of my shirt went red in a moment. 
 The seconds darted in between us, and Darrell caught 
 me round the waist. 
 
 " I'm glad it was no worse," I whispered to him with 
 a smile ; then I turned very sick and the meadow 
 started to go round and round me. For some minutes 
 I knew nothing more, but when I revived, the surgeon 
 was busy in binding up my arm, while the three gen- 
 tlemen stood together in a group a little way apart. 
 My legs shook under me and doubtless I was as white 
 as my mother's best linen, but I was very happy, feel- 
 ing that my honour was safe and that I had been as it 
 were baptised of the company of gentlemen. So Mr. 
 Jermyn seemed to think ; for when my arm was dressed 
 and I had got my clothes on again with some pain and 
 a silken sling under my elbow, he came and craved the 
 surgeon's leave to carry me off to breakfast. The re- 
 quest was granted on a promise that I should abstain 
 from inflaming food and from all strong liquors. Ac- 
 cordingly we set out, I dissembling a certain surprise 
 inspired in my countryman's mind by the discovery 
 that my late enemy proposed to be of the party. 
 Having come to a tavern in Drury Lane, we were re- 
 galed very pleasantly, Mr. Jermyn who (although a
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget. 53 
 
 small man and not, in my opinion, well-shaped) might 
 be seen to hold himself in good esteem, recounting to 
 us his adventures in love and his exploits on the field 
 of honour. Meanwhile Lord Carford treated me with 
 distinguished courtesy and I was at a loss to under- 
 stand his changed humour until it appeared that 
 Darrell had acquainted him with my resolution to 
 surrender the commission that the King had bestowed 
 on me. As we grew more free with one another his 
 lordship referred plainly to the matter, declaring that 
 my conduct showed the nicest honour and praying me 
 to allow his own surgeon to visit me every day until 
 my wound should be fully cured. His marked polite- 
 ness and the friendliness of the others put me in better 
 humour than I had been since the discovery of the 
 evening before, and when our meal was ended about 
 eleven o'clock, I was well-nigh reconciled to life again. 
 Yet it was not long before Carford and I were again 
 good enemies, and crossed swords with no less zest al- 
 though on a different field. 
 
 I had been advised by Darrell to return at once to 
 my inn, and there rest quietly until evening, leaving 
 my journey to Whitehall for the next day, lest too 
 much exertion should induce a fever in me; and in 
 obedience to his counsel I began to walk gently along 
 Drury Lane on my way back to Covent Garden. My 
 Lord Carford and Mr. Jermyn had gone off to a cock- 
 fight, where the King was to be, while Darrell had to 
 wait upon the Secretary at his offices ; therefore I was 
 alone, and, going easily, found fully enough to occupy 
 my attention in the business and incredible stir of the 
 town. I thought then and think still that nowhere in 
 the world is there such a place for an idle man as Lon- 
 don. Where else has he spread for him so continual a 
 banquet of contemplation ? where else are such come- 
 dies played every hour for his eyes' delight ? It is well 
 enough to look at a running river, or to gaze at such
 
 54 Simon Dale* 
 
 mighty mountains as I saw when I journeyed many 
 years later into Italy; but the mountain moves not, 
 and the stream runs always with the same motion and 
 in its wonted channel. Give me these for my age, but 
 to a young man a great city is queen of all. 
 
 So I was thinking as I walked along or so I think 
 now that I must have thought, for in writing of his 
 youth it is hard for a man to be sure that he does not 
 transfer to that golden page some of the paler charac- 
 ters which later years print on his mind. Perhaps I 
 thought of nothing at all, save that this man here was 
 a fine fellow, that girl there a pretty wench, that my 
 coat became me well, and my wounded arm gave me 
 an interesting air. Be my meditations what they 
 might, they were suddenly interrupted by the sight 
 of a crowd in the Lane near to the Cock and Pie 
 tavern. Here fifty or sixty men and women, decent 
 folk some, others porters, flower-girls, and such like, 
 were gathered in a circle round a man who was pour- 
 ing out an oration or sermon with great zeal and 
 vehemence. Having drawn nearer, I paused out of a 
 curiosity which turned to amusement when I dis- 
 covered in the preacher my good friend Phineas Tate, 
 with whom I had talked the evening before. It 
 seemed that he had set about his task without delay, 
 and if London were still unmindful of its sins, the 
 fault was not to lie at Mr. Tate's door. On he 
 plunged, sparing neither great nor small : if the Court 
 were sinful, so was Drury Lane ; if Castlemaine (he 
 dealt freely in names, and most sparingly in titles of 
 courtesy) were what he roundly said she was, which of 
 the women about him was not the same? How did 
 they differ from their betters, unless it were that their 
 price was not so high? and in what, save audacity, 
 were they behind Eleanor Gwyn ? He hurled this 
 last name forth as though it marked a climax of 
 iniquity, and a start ran through me as I heard it
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget. 55 
 
 thus treated. Strange to say, something of the same 
 effect seemed to be produced on his other hearers. 
 Hitherto they had listened with good-natured toler- 
 ance, winking at one another, laughing when the 
 preacher's finger pointed at a neighbour, shrugging 
 comfortable shoulders when it turned against them- 
 selves. They are long suffering under abuse, the folk 
 of London; you may say much what you will, pro- 
 vided you allow them to do what they will, and they 
 support the imputation of unrighteousness with mar- 
 vellous composure, as long as no man takes it in 
 hand to force them to righteousness. As they are 
 now, they were then, though many changes have 
 passed over the country and the times; so will they 
 be, although more transformations come. 
 
 But, as I say, this last name stirred the group to a 
 new mood. Friend Phineas perceived the effect that 
 he had made, but set a wrong meaning on it. Taking 
 it as ground for encouragement, he loosed his tongue 
 yet more outrageously, and so battered the unhappy 
 subject of his censures that my ears tingled, and sud- 
 denly I strode quickly up to the group, intent on 
 silencing him ; but a great brawny porter, with a dirty 
 red face, was beforehand with me. Elbowing his way 
 irresistibly through the ranks, he set himself squarely 
 before Phineas, and, wagging his head significantly 
 enough, growled out, 
 
 " Say what you will of Castlemaine and the rest, 
 Master Ranter, but keep your tongue off Nelly." 
 
 A murmur of applause ran round. They knew 
 Nelly; here in the Lane was her kingdom. 
 
 " Let Nelly alone," said the porter, " if you value 
 whole bones, master." 
 
 Phineas was no coward, and threats served only to 
 fan the flame of his zeal. I had started to stop his 
 mouth ; it seemed likely that I must employ myself 
 in saving his head. His lean frame would crack and
 
 5 6 Simon Dale* 
 
 break in the grasp of his mighty assailant, and I was 
 loth that the fool should come to harm ; so I began 
 to push my way through towards the pair, and 
 arrived just as Phineas, having shot a most pointed 
 dart, was about to pay for his too great skill with a 
 blow from the porter's mutton-fist. I caught the fel- 
 low's arm as he raised it, and he turned fiercely on 
 me, growling, " Are you his friend then ? " 
 
 ' Not I," I answered. "But you'd kill him, man." 
 
 " Let him heed what he says then. Kill him ! 
 Aye, and spare him readily ! " 
 
 The affair looked awkward enough, for the feeling 
 was all one way, and I could do little to hinder any 
 violence. A girl in the crowd reminded me of my 
 helplessness, touching my wounded arm lightly and 
 saying, " Are you hungry for more fighting, sir?" 
 
 " He's a madman," said I. " Let him alone. Who 
 heeds what he says? " 
 
 Friend Phineas did not take my defence in good 
 part. 
 
 " Mad, am I ? " he roared, beating with his fist on his 
 Bible. "You'll know who was mad, when you lie 
 
 howling in hell fire. And with you that " And 
 
 on he went again at poor Nell. 
 
 The great porter could endure no more. With a 
 seemingly gentle motion of his hand he thrust me 
 aside, pushing me on to the bosom of a buxom flower- 
 girl who, laughing boisterously, wound a pair of sturdy 
 red arms round me; then he stepped forward, and, 
 seizing Phineas by the scruff of the neck, shook him as 
 a dog shakes a rat. To what more violence he would 
 have proceeded, I do not know ; for suddenly from 
 above us, out of a window of the Cock and Pie, came 
 a voice which sent a stir through my veins. 
 
 " Good people, good people," said the voice, "what 
 with preaching and! brawling, a body can get no sleep 
 in the Lane. Pray go and work, or if you've no work,
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget, 57 
 
 go and drink. Here are the means," and a shower of 
 small coins came flying down on our heads, causing an 
 immediate wild scramble. My flower-girl loosed me 
 that she might take her part in this fray ; the porter 
 stood motionless, still holding poor Phineas, limp and 
 lank, in his hand ; and I turned my eyes upwards to 
 the window of the Cock and Pie. 
 
 I looked up and I saw her. Her sunny brown hair 
 was about her shoulders, her knuckles rubbed her 
 sleepy eyes to brightness, and a loose white bodice, 
 none too high nor too carefully buttoned about the 
 neck, showed that her dressing was not done. Indeed 
 she made a pretty picture, as she leant out, laughing 
 softly, and now shading her face from the sun with 
 one hand, while she raised the other in mocking re- 
 proof of the preacher. 
 
 " Fie, sir, fie," she said. " Why fall on a poor girl 
 who earns an honest living, gives to the needy, and is 
 withal a good Protestant?" Then she called to the 
 porter : " Let him go with what life you've left in 
 him. Let him go." 
 
 " You heard what he said of you " began the fel- 
 low, sullenly. 
 
 " Aye, I hear what everybody says of me," she an- 
 swered, carelessly. " Let him go." 
 
 The porter sulkily released his prey, and Phineas, 
 set free, began to gasp and shake himself. Another 
 coin whistled down to the porter, who, picking it up, 
 shambled off with a last oath of warning to his enemy. 
 Then and then only did she look at me, who had 
 never ceased to look at her. When she saw me, her 
 smile grew broader, and her eyes twinkled in surprise 
 and delight. 
 
 "A happy morning!" she said, clasping her little 
 hands. "Ah, a happy morning! Why, 'tis Simon, 
 my Simon, my little Simon from the country. Come 
 up to me, Simon. No, no, your pardon ; I'll come
 
 58 Simon Dale. 
 
 down to you, Simon. In the parlour, in the parlour. 
 Quick! I'll be down in an instant." 
 
 The vision vanished, but my gaze dwelt on the win- 
 dow where it had been, and I needed Phineas Tate's 
 harsh voice to rouse me from my stupor. 
 
 " Who is the woman ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Why why Mistress Gwyn herself ? " I stam- 
 mered. 
 
 "Herself the woman herself?" he asked, eagerly. 
 Then he suddenly drew himself up, and, baring his 
 head, said solemnly, " Thanks be to God ! thanks be 
 to God, for it may be His will that this brand should 
 be plucked from the burning." And before I could 
 speak or attempt to hinder him he stepped swiftly 
 across the pathway and entered the tavern. I, seeing 
 nothing else that I could do, followed him straightway 
 and as fast as I could. 
 
 I was in a maze of feeling. The night before I had 
 reasoned with myself and schooled my wayward pas- 
 sion to a resolve neither to see nor to speak with her. 
 Resentment at the shame she had brought on me 
 aided my stubbornness, and helped me to forget that 
 I had been shamed because she had remembered me. 
 But now I followed Phineas Tate. For be memory 
 ever so keen and clear yes, though it seem able to 
 bring every feature, every shade, and every pose be- 
 fore a man's eyes in absolute fidelity yet how poor 
 and weak a thing it is beside the vivid sight of bodily 
 eyes, that paints the faded picture all afresh in hot 
 and glowing colours ; and the man who bade defiance 
 to the persuasions of his recollection, falls beaten down 
 by the fierce force of a present vision. I followed 
 Phineas Tate, perhaps using some excuse with myself 
 indeed I feared that he would attack her rudely and 
 be cruelly plain with her yet knowing in my heart 
 that I went because I could do nothing else, and that 
 when she called, every atom of life in me answered to
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget* 59 
 
 her summons. So in I went, to find Phineas standing 
 bolt upright in the parlour of the tavern, turning the 
 leaves of his book with eager fingers, as though he 
 sought some text that was in his mind. I passed by 
 him and leant against the wall by the window ; so we 
 awaited her, each of us eager, but with passions most 
 unlike. 
 
 She came, daintily dressed now, although still negli- 
 gently. She put her head round the corner of the 
 door, radiant with smiles, and with no more shame or 
 embarrassment than if our meeting in this way were 
 the most ordinary thing. Then she caught sight of 
 Phineas Tate and cried, pouting, " But I wanted to be 
 alone with my Simon, my dear Simon." 
 
 Phineas caught the cue her words gave him with 
 perverse readiness. 
 
 "Alone with him, yes!" he cried. " But what of 
 the time when you must be alone with God?" 
 
 " Alas," said she, coming in and seating herself at 
 the table, " is there more still ? Indeed I thought you 
 had said all your say outside. I am very wicked ; let 
 that end it." 
 
 He advanced to the table and stood directly oppo- 
 site to her, stretching his arm towards her, while she 
 sat with her chin on her hands, watching him with 
 eyes half amused, half apprehensive. 
 
 " You who live in open sin " he began ; before he 
 could say more I was by his elbow. 
 
 " Hold your tongue," I said. " What is it to 
 you?" 
 
 " Let him go on, Simon," said she. 
 
 And go on he did, telling all as I prayed, more 
 than all the truth, while she heard him patiently. 
 Yet now and then she gave herself a little shake, as 
 though to get rid of something that threatened to 
 stick. Then he fell on his knees and prayed fervently, 
 she still sitting quiet and I standing awkwardly near.
 
 60 Simon Dale* 
 
 He finished his prayer and, rising again, looked ear- 
 nestly at her. Her eyes met his in good nature, almost 
 in friendliness. He stretched out his hand to her 
 again, saying, 
 
 " Child, cannot you understand? Alas, your heart 
 is hardened ! I pray Christ our Lord to open your 
 eyes and change your heart, that at the last your soul 
 may be saved." 
 
 Nelly examined the pink nails of her right hand 
 with curious attention. 
 
 " I don't know that I'm more of a sinner than 
 many others," said she. " Go to Court and preach, 
 sir." 
 
 A sudden fury seemed to come over him, and he 
 lost the gentleness with which he had last addressed 
 her. 
 
 " The Word shall be heard at the Court," he cried, 
 "in louder accents than mine. Their cup is full, the 
 measure of their iniquity is pressed down and running 
 over. All who live shall see." 
 
 " Like enough," said Nell, as though the matter 
 were grown very tedious, and she yawned just a little ; 
 but, as she glanced at me, a merry light gleamed in 
 her eyes. "And what is to befall Simon here?" she 
 asked. 
 
 He turned on me with a start, seeming to have for- 
 gotten my presence. 
 
 "This young man?" he asked, looking full in my 
 face. " Why, his face is honest ; if he choose his 
 friends well, he may do well." 
 
 " I am of his friends," said Nell, and I defy any 
 man on earth to have given the lie to such a claim so 
 made. 
 
 "And for you, may the Lord soften your heart," 
 said Phineas to her. 
 
 " Some say it's too soft already," said Nell. 
 
 " You will see me again," said he to her, and moved
 
 I am Forbidden to Forget* 61 
 
 towards the door. But once more he faced me be- 
 fore he went, and looked very intently at me. Then 
 he passed out, leaving us alone. 
 
 At his going Nell sighed for relief, stretched out 
 her arms, and let them fall on the table in front of 
 her; then she sprang up and ran to me, catching hold 
 of my hands. 
 
 " And how goes all at pretty Hatchstead ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 I drew back, releasing my hands from hers, and I 
 spoke to her stiffly. 
 
 " Madame," said I, "this is not Hatchstead, nor do 
 you seem the lady whom I knew at Hatchstead." 
 
 " Indeed you seem very like the gentleman I knew, 
 and knew well, there," she retorted. 
 
 "And you, very unlike the lady." 
 
 " Nay, not so unlike as you think. But are you also 
 going to preach to me ? " 
 
 " Madame," said I, in cold courtesy, " I have to 
 thank you for a good remembrance of me, and for 
 your kindness in doing me a service ; I assure you I 
 prize it none the less, because I may not accept it." 
 
 "You may not accept it?" she cried. "What? 
 You may not accept the commission ? " 
 
 " No, madame," said I, bowing low. Her face was 
 like a pretty child's in disappointment. 
 
 " And your arm ? How come you to be wounded ? 
 Have you been quarrelling already ? " 
 
 "Already, madame." 
 
 " But with whom and why? " 
 
 " With my Lord Carford. The reason I need not 
 weary you with." 
 
 " But I desire to know it." 
 
 " Because my lord said that Mistress Gwyn had ob- 
 tained me my commission." 
 
 " But it was true." 
 
 " Doubtless, yet I fought."
 
 62 Simon Dale. 
 
 " Why, if it were true ? " 
 
 I made her no answer. She went and seated her- 
 self again at the table, looking up at me with eyes in 
 which I seemed to read pain and puzzle. 
 
 "I thought it would please you, Simon," she said, 
 with a coaxing glance that at least feigned timidity. 
 
 " Never have I been so proud as on the day I re- 
 ceived it," said I, " and never, I think, so happy, un> 
 less, may be, when you and I walked in the Manor 
 park." 
 
 " Nay, Simon, but you will be glad to have it, even 
 though I obtained it for you." 
 
 " I shall not have it. I go to Whitehall to-morrow 
 to surrender it." 
 
 She sprang up in wonder, and anger also showed in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " To surrender it? You mean in truth to surrender 
 it ? And because it came from me ? " 
 
 Again I could do nothing but bow. That I did 
 with the best air I could muster, although I had no 
 love for my part in this scene. Alas for a man who, 
 being with her, must spend his time in chiding! 
 
 " Well, I wish I hadn't remembered you," she said, 
 resentfully. 
 
 " Indeed, madame, I also wish that I had for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " You have, or you would never use me so." 
 
 " It is my memory that makes me rough, madame. 
 Indeed how should I have forgotten ?" 
 
 " You hadn't ?" she asked, advancing nearer to me. 
 " No, in truth I believe you hadn't ! And, Simon, 
 listen ! " Now she stood with her face but a yard 
 from mine, and again her lips were curved with mirth 
 and malice. " Listen, Simon," she said, " you had 
 not forgotten ; and you shall not forget." 
 
 " It is very likely," said I simply, and I took up my 
 hat from the table.
 
 1 am Forbidden to Forget. 63 
 
 " How fares Mistress Barbara ? " asked Nell, sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " I have not waited on her," I answered. 
 
 " Then indeed I am honoured, although our meeting 
 was somewhat by chance. Ah, Simon, I want to be 
 so angry with you. But how can I be angry ? I can 
 never be angry. Why " (and here she came even a 
 little closer, and now she was smiling most damnably 
 nay, I mean most delightfully ; but it is often much 
 the same) " I was not very angry even when you 
 kissed me, Simon." 
 
 It is not for me to say what answer to that speech 
 she looked to receive. Mine was no more than a repe- 
 tition of my bow. 
 
 "You'll keep the commission, Simon?" she whis- 
 pered, standing on tiptoe, as though she would reach 
 my ear. 
 
 " I can't," said I, bowing no more and losing, I fear, 
 the air of grave composure that I had striven to main- 
 tain. I saw what seemed a light of triumph in her 
 eyes. Yet that mood passed quickly from her. She 
 grew pensive and drew away from me. I stepped 
 towards the door, but a hand laid on my arm arrested 
 me. 
 
 " Simon," she asked, " have you sweet memories of 
 Hatchstead ? " 
 
 " God forgive me," said I, confusedly, " sweeter than 
 my hopes of heaven." 
 
 She looked at me gravely for an instant. Then 
 sighing she said, 
 
 " Then I wish you had not come to town, but stayed 
 there with your memories. They were of me?" 
 
 " Of Cydaria." 
 
 " Ah, of Cydaria," she echoed, with a little smile. 
 
 But a moment later the full merriment of laughter 
 broke out again on her face, and, drawing her hand 
 away, she let me go, crying after me,
 
 64 Simon Dale* 
 
 " But you shall not forget, Simon. No, you shall 
 not forget." 
 
 Then I left her, standing in the doorway of the inn, 
 daring me to forget. And my brain seemed all whirl- 
 ing and swirling as I walked down the Lane.
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 An Invitation to Court. 
 
 I SPENT the rest of that day in my inn, agreeably to 
 the advice of the surgeon, and the next morning, rind- 
 ing my wound healing well and my body free from 
 fever, I removed to Mr. Darrell's new lodging by the 
 Temple, where he had most civilly placed two rooms 
 at my disposal. Here also I provided myself with a 
 servant, a fellow named Jonah Wall, and prepared to 
 go to Whitehall as the King's letter commanded me. 
 Of Mr. Darrell I saw nothing ; he went off before I 
 came, having left for me with Robert, his servant, a 
 message that he was much engaged with the Secre- 
 tary's business and prayed to be excused from afford- 
 ing me his company. Yet I was saved from making 
 my journey alone a thing that would have occasioned 
 me much trepidation by the arrival of my Lord Quin- 
 ton. The reverence of our tender years is hard to 
 break down, and I received my visitor with an uneasi- 
 ness which was not decreased by the severity of his 
 questions concerning my doings. I made haste to tell 
 him that I had determined to resign the commission 
 bestowed on me. These tidings so transformed his 
 temper that he passed from cold reproof to an excess 
 of cordiality, being pleased to praise highly a scruple 
 as honourable as (he added with a shrug) it was rare, 
 and he began to laugh at himself as he recounted 
 humorously how his wrath against me had grown 
 higher and higher with each thing that had come to 
 his ears. Eager now to make amends, he offered to
 
 66 Simon Dale. 
 
 go with me to Whitehall, proposing that we should 
 ride in his coach to the Mall and walk thence together. 
 I accepted his company most gratefully, since it would 
 save me from betraying an ignorance of which I was 
 ashamed and strengthen my courage for the task be- 
 fore me. Accordingly we set out and as we went my 
 lord took occasion to refer to my acquaintance with 
 Mistress Nell, suggesting plainly enough, although not 
 directly, that I should be wise to abandon her society 
 at the same time that I laid down the commission she 
 had obtained for me. I did not question his judg- 
 ment but avoided giving any promise to be guided by 
 it. Perceiving that I was not willing to be pressed, 
 he passed from the topic with a sigh and began to dis- 
 course of the state of the kingdom. Had I paid more 
 heed to what he said I might have avoided certain 
 troubles into which I fell afterwards, but, busy staring 
 about me, I gave him only such attention as courtesy 
 required, and not enough for a proper understanding 
 of his uneasiness at the dealings of our Court with the 
 French King and the visit of the King's sister, Ma- 
 dame d'Orleans, of which the town was full. For my 
 lord, although a most loyal gentleman, hated both the 
 French and the Papists, and was much grieved at the 
 King's apparent inclination in their favour. So he 
 talked, I nodding and assenting to all, but wondering 
 when he would bid me wait on my lady and whether 
 Mistress Barbara was glad that my Lord Carford's 
 sword had passed through my arm only and done no 
 greater hurt. 
 
 Thus we came to the Mall, and, having left the 
 coach, set out to walk slowly, my lord having his arm 
 through mine. I was very glad to be seen thus in his 
 company, for, although not so great a man here as at 
 Hatchstead, he had no small reputation and carried 
 himself with a noble air. When we had gone some 
 little way, being very comfortable with one another
 
 An Invitation to Court* 67 
 
 and speaking now of lighter matters, I perceived at 
 some distance a party of gentlemen, three in number; 
 they were accompanied by a little boy very richly 
 dressed, and were followed at a short interval by five 
 or six more gentlemen, among whom I recognised im- 
 mediately my friend Darrell. It seemed then that the 
 Secretary's business could be transacted in leisurely 
 fashion ! As the first group passed along, I observed 
 that the bystanders uncovered, but I had hardly 
 needed this sign to tell me that the King was of the 
 party. I was familiar with his features, but he seemed 
 to me even a more swarthy man than all the descrip- 
 tions of his blackness had led me to expect. He bore 
 himself with a very easy air yet was not wanting in 
 dignity, and, being attracted by him, I fell to study- 
 ing his appearance with such interest that I came near 
 to forgetting to remove my hat. Presently he seemed 
 to observe us; he smiled and beckoned with his hand 
 to my lord, who went forward alone, leaving me still 
 watching the King and his companions. 
 
 I had little difficulty in recognising the name of 
 one ; the fine figure, haughty manner and magnificent 
 attire showed him to be the famous Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, whose, pride lay in seeming more of a king 
 than the King himself ; while my lord spoke with the 
 King, this nobleman jested with the little boy, who 
 answered with readiness and vivacity. As to the last 
 member of the group (whom the Duke seemed to treat 
 with some neglect), I was at a loss. His features were 
 not distinguished, except by a perfect composure and 
 self-possession, but his bearing was very courtly and 
 graceful. He wore a slight, pleasant, yet rather rigid 
 smile, and his attitude was as though he listened to 
 what his master said with even excessive deference 
 and urbanity. His face was marked, and to my think- 
 ing much disfigured, by a patch or plaster worn across 
 the nose, as though to hide some wound or scar.
 
 68 Simon Dale* 
 
 After a few minutes, during which I waited very 
 uneasily, my lord turned and signed to me to ap- 
 proach. I obeyed, hat in hand, and in a condition of 
 great apprehension. To be presented to the King was 
 an honour disquieting enough ; what if my lord had 
 told his Majesty that I declined to bear his commis- 
 sion through a disapproval of his reasons for granting 
 me the favour? But when I came near I fell into the 
 liveliest fear that my lord had done this very thing; 
 for the King was smiling contemptuously, Buckingham 
 laughing openly, and the gentleman with the plaster 
 regarding me with a great and very apparent curiosity. 
 My lord, meanwhile, wore a propitiatory but doubtful 
 air, as though he prayed but hardly hoped a gracious 
 reception for me. Thus we all stood a moment in 
 complete silence, I invoking an earthquake or any 
 convulsion of nature that should rescue me from my 
 embarrassment. Certainly the King did not hasten 
 to do me this kindly service. He grew grave and 
 seemed displeased ; nay, he frowned most distinctly, 
 but then he smiled, yet more as though he must than 
 because he would. I do not know how the thing 
 would have ended, if the Duke of Buckingham had 
 not burst out a-laughing again, at which the King 
 could not restrain himself but began to laugh also, 
 although still not as though he found the jest alto- 
 gether to his liking. 
 
 "So, sir," said the King composing his features as 
 he addressed me, "you are not desirous of bearing my 
 commission and fighting my enemies for me? " 
 
 " I would fight for your Majesty to the death," said 
 I, timidly but with fervour. 
 
 " Yet you are on the way to ask leave to resign 
 your commission. Why, sir?" 
 
 I could not answer ; it was impossible to state my 
 reason to him. 
 
 " The utility of a woman's help," observed the King,
 
 An Invitation to Court. 69 
 
 " was apparent very early in the world's history. 
 Even Adam was glad of it." 
 
 "She was his wife, Sir," interposed the Duke. 
 
 " I have never read of the ceremony," said the King. 
 " But if she were, what difference ? " 
 
 " Why, it makes a great deal of difference in many 
 ways, Sir," laughed Buckingham, and he glanced with 
 a significance which I did not understand at the boy 
 who was waiting near with a weary look on his pretty 
 face. 
 
 The King laughed carelessly and called, " Charles, 
 come hither." 
 
 Then I knew that the boy must be the King's son, 
 afterwards known as Earl of Plymouth, and found the 
 meaning of the Duke's glance. 
 
 " Charles, what think you of women ? " the King 
 asked. 
 
 The pretty child thought for a moment, then an- 
 swered, looking up, 
 
 " They are very tiresome creatures, Sir." 
 
 " Why, so they are, Charles," said the King, gravely. 
 
 " They will never let a thing alone, Sir." 
 
 " No, they won't, Charles, nor a man either." 
 
 " It's first this, Sir, then that a string, or a garter, 
 or a bow." 
 
 " Yes, Charles ; or a title, or a purse, or a commis- 
 sion," said the King. " Shall we have no more to do 
 with them ?" 
 
 " I would desire no more at all, Sir," cried the boy. 
 
 " It appears, Mr. Dale," said the King, turning to 
 me, " that Charles here, and you, and I are all of one 
 mind on the matter of women. Had Heaven been on 
 our side, there would have been none of them in the 
 world." 
 
 He seemed to be examining me now with some de- 
 gree of attention, although I made, as I fear, a very 
 poor figure. Lord Quinton came to my rescue and
 
 70 Simon Dale. 
 
 began to enlarge on my devotion to his Majesty's per- 
 son and my eagerness to serve him in any way I 
 might, apart from the scruple which he had ventured 
 to disclose to the King. 
 
 " Mr. Dale says none of these fine things for him- 
 self," remarked the King. 
 
 " It is not always those that say most who do most, 
 Sir," pleaded my lord. 
 
 " Therefore this young gentleman who says nothing 
 will do everything?" The King turned to his com- 
 panion who wore the plaster and had as yet not 
 spoken at all. " My Lord Arlington," said he, " it 
 seems that I must release Mr. Dale." 
 
 " I think so, Sir," answered Arlington, on whom I 
 looked with much curiosity, since he was Darrell's 
 patron. 
 
 " I cannot have servants who do not love me," pur- 
 sued the King. 
 
 " Nor subjects," added Buckingham, with" a mali- 
 cious smile. 
 
 " Although I am not, unhappily, so free in the choice 
 of my Ministers," said the King. Then he faced 
 round on me and addressed me in a cold tone. 
 
 " I am reluctant, sir, to set down your conduct to 
 any want of affection or loyalty towards me. I shall 
 be glad if you can show me that my forbearance is 
 right." With this he bent his head slightly, and 
 moved on. I bowed very low, shame and confusion 
 so choking me that I had not a word to say. Indeed 
 I seemed damned beyond redemption, so far as my 
 fortunes depended on obtaining the King's favour. 
 
 Again I was left by myself, for the King, anxious, 
 as I took it, to show that his displeasure extended to 
 me only, had stopped again to speak with my lord. 
 But in a moment, to my surprise, Arlington was at my 
 side. 
 
 " Come, sir," said he, very genially, " there's no need
 
 An Invitation to Court* 7 1 
 
 of despair. The King is a little vexed, but his resent- 
 ment is not obstinate and let me tell you that he has 
 been very anxious to see you." 
 
 "The King anxious to see me? " I cried. 
 
 " Why, yes. He has heard much of you." His lips 
 twitched as he glanced at me. I had the discretion to 
 ask no further explanation, and in a moment he grew 
 grave again, continuing, " I also am glad to meet with 
 you, for my good friend Darrell has sounded your 
 praises to me. Sir, there are many ways of serving 
 the King." 
 
 " I should rejoice with all my heart to find one of 
 them, my lord," I answered. 
 
 " I may find you one, if you are willing to take 
 it." 
 
 " I should be your lordship's most humble and 
 grateful servant." 
 
 " Tut, if I gave, I should ask in return," said he, and 
 he added suddenly, "You're a good Churchman, I sup- 
 pose, Mr. Dale? " 
 
 " Why, yes, my lord, I and all my family. 
 
 " Good, good. In these days our Church has many 
 enemies. It is threatened on more than one side." 
 
 I contented myself with bowing ; when the Secre- 
 tary spoke to me on such high matters, it was for me 
 to listen and not to bandy opinions with him. 
 
 " Yes, we are much threatened," said he. " Well, 
 Mr. Dale, I shall trust that we may have other meet- 
 ings. You are to be found at Mr. Darrell's lodging? 
 You may look to hear from me, sir." He moved 
 away, cutting short my thanks with a polite wave of 
 his hand. 
 
 Suddenly to my amazement the King turned round 
 and called to me, 
 
 " Mr. Dale, there is a play to be acted at my house 
 to-morrow evening. Pray give me the pleasure of 
 your company."
 
 72 Simon Dale* 
 
 I bowed almost to the ground, scarcely able to be- 
 lieve my ears. 
 
 " And we'll try," said the King, raising his voice so 
 that not only we who were close to him but the gen- 
 tlemen behind also must hear, " to find an ugly woman 
 and an honest man, between whom we may place you. 
 The first should not be difficult to come on, but the 
 second I fear is well-nigh impossible unless another 
 stranger should come to Court. Good-day to you, 
 Mr. Dale." And away he went, smiling very happily 
 and holding the boy's hand in his. 
 
 The King's immediate party was no sooner gone 
 than Darrell ran up to me eagerly and before my lord 
 could rejoin me, crying, 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " 
 
 " The King ? Why, he said " 
 
 "No, no. What did my lord say?" He pointed 
 to Arlington, who was walking off with the King. 
 
 " He asked whether I were a good Churchman, and 
 told me that I should hear from him. But if he is so 
 solicitous about the Church, how does he endure your 
 religion ? " 
 
 Darrell had no time to answer, for Lord Quinton's 
 grave voice struck in. 
 
 " He is a wise man who can answer a question 
 touching my Lord Arlington's opinion of the Church," 
 said he. 
 
 Darrell flushed red, and turned angrily on the inter- 
 rupter. 
 
 "You have no cause, my lord," he cried, "to attack 
 the Secretary's churchmanship." 
 
 " Then you have no cause, sir," retorted Quinton, 
 " to defend it with so much temper. Come, let me 
 be. I have said as much to the Secretary's face, and 
 he bore it with more patience than you can muster on 
 his behalf." 
 
 By this time I was in some distress to see my old
 
 An Invitation to Court. 73 
 
 friend and my new at such variance, and the more as 
 I could not understand the ground of their difference; 
 the Secretary's suspected leaning towards the Popish 
 religion had not reached our ears in the country. 
 But Darrell, as though he did not wish to dispute 
 further with a man his superior in rank and age, drew 
 off with a bow to my lord and a kindly nod to me, 
 and rejoined the other gentlemen in attendance on 
 the King and his party. 
 
 "You came off well with the King, Simon," said 
 my lord, taking my arm again. "You made him 
 laugh, and he counts no man his enemy who will do 
 him that service. But what did Arlington say to 
 you?" 
 
 When I repeated the Secretary's words, he grew 
 grave, but he patted my arm in a friendly fashion, 
 saying, 
 
 "You've shown wisdom and honour in this first 
 matter, lad. I must trust you in others. Yet there 
 are many who have no faith in my Lord Arlington, as 
 Englishman or Churchman either." 
 
 " But," cried I, " does not Lord Arlington do as the 
 King bids him ? " 
 
 My lord looked full in my face, and answered 
 steadily, 
 
 " I think he does, Simon." But then, as though he 
 had said enough, or even too much, he went on : 
 " Come, you needn't grow too old or too prudent all 
 at once. Since you have seen the King, your business 
 at Whitehall will wait. Let us turn back to the coach 
 and be driven to my house, for, besides my lady, Bar- 
 bara is there to-day on leave from her attendance, and 
 she will be glad to renew her acquaintance with you." 
 
 It was my experience as a young man, and, per- 
 chance, other young men may have found the like, 
 that whatsoever apprehensions or embarrassments 
 might be entailed by meeting a comely damsel, and
 
 74 Simon Dale 
 
 however greatly her displeasure and scorn were to be 
 dreaded, yet the meeting was not forgone, all perils 
 being taken rather than that certain calamity. There- 
 fore I went with my lord to his handsome house in 
 Southampton square, and found myself kissing my 
 lady's hand before I was resolved on how I should 
 treat Mistress Barbara, or on the more weighty ques- 
 tion of how I might look to be treated by her. 
 
 I had not to wait long for the test. After a few 
 moments of my lady's amiable and kindly conversa- 
 tion, Barbara entered from the room behind, and with 
 her Lord Carford. He wore a disturbed air which his 
 affected composure could not wholly conceal ; her 
 cheek was flushed and she seemed vexed : but I did 
 not notice these things so much as the change which 
 had been wrought in her by the last four years. She 
 had become a very beautiful woman, ornamented with 
 a high-bred grace and exquisite haughtiness, tall and 
 slim, carrying herself with a delicate dignity. She 
 gave me her hand to kiss, carelessly enough and rather 
 as though she acknowledged an old acquaintance than 
 found any pleasure in its renewal. But she was gentle 
 to me and I detected in her mannera subtle indication 
 that, although she knew all, yet she pitied rather than 
 blamed ; was not Simon very young and ignorant, and 
 did not all the world know how easily even honest 
 young men might be beguiled by cunning women? 
 An old friend must not turn her back on account of a 
 folly, distasteful as it might be to her to be reminded 
 of such matters. 
 
 My lord, I think, read his daughter very well, and, 
 being determined to afford me an opportunity to 
 make my peace, engaged Lord Carford in conversation, 
 and bade her lead me into the room behind, to see the 
 picture that Lely had lately painted of her. She 
 obeyed, and, having brought me to where it hung, 
 listened patiently to my remarks on it, which I tried
 
 An Invitation to Court. 7S 
 
 to shape into compliments that should be pleasing 
 and yet not gross. Then, taking courage, I ventured 
 to assure her that I fell out with Lord Carford in 
 sheer ignorance that he was a friend of her family and 
 would have borne anything at his hands had I known 
 it. She smiled, answering, 
 
 " But you did him no harm," and she glanced at 
 my arm in its sling. She had not troubled herself to 
 ask how it did, and I, a little nettled at her neglect, 
 said, 
 
 " Nay, all ended well. I alone was hurt, and the 
 great lord came off safe." 
 
 " Since the great lord was in the right," said she, 
 " we should all rejoice at that. Are you satisfied with 
 your examination of the picture, Mr. Dale? " 
 
 I was not to be turned aside so easily. 
 
 " If you hold me to have been wrong, then I have 
 done what I could to put myself in the right since," 
 said I, not doubting that she knew of my surrender of 
 the commission. 
 
 " I don't understand," said she, with a quick glance. 
 "What have you done?" 
 
 In wonder that she had not been informed I cried, 
 
 " I have obtained the King's leave to decline his 
 favour." 
 
 The colour which had been on her cheeks when she 
 first entered had gone before now, but at my words it 
 returned a little. 
 
 " Didn't my lord tell you ? " I asked. 
 
 " I haven't seen him alone this week past," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 But she had seen Carford alone, and that in the 
 last hour past. It was strange that he, who had 
 known my intention and commended it so highly, 
 should not have touched on it. I looked in her eyes; 
 I think she followed my thoughts, for she glanced 
 aside, and said in visible embarrassment,
 
 76 Simon Dale* 
 
 "Shall we return?" 
 
 "You haven't spoken on the matter with my Lord 
 Carford then ? " I asked. 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then answered as though 
 she did not love the truth but must tell it. 
 
 " Yes ; but he said nothing of this. Tell me of it." 
 
 So I told her in simple and few words what I had 
 done. 
 
 " Lord Carford said nothing of it," she said, when I 
 ended. Then she added, " But although you will not 
 accept the favour, you have rendered thanks for it?" 
 
 " I couldn't find my tongue when I was with the 
 King," I answered, with a shamefaced laugh. 
 
 "I didn't mean to the King," said Barbara. 
 
 It was my turn to colour now ; I had not been long 
 enough at town to lose the trick. 
 
 "I have seen her," I murmured. 
 
 Then Barbara suddenly made me a curtsey, saying 
 bitterly, 
 
 " I wish you joy, sir, of your acquaintance." 
 
 When a man is alone with a beautiful lady, he is 
 apt not to love an intruder ; yet on my soul I was 
 glad to see Carford in the doorway. He came to- 
 wards us, but before he could speak Barbara cried to 
 him, 
 
 " My lord, Mr. Dale tells me news that will interest 
 you." 
 
 " Indeed, madame, and what? " 
 
 " Why, that he has begged the King's leave to re- 
 sign his commission. Doesn't it surprise you? " 
 
 He looked at her, at me, and again at her. He was 
 caught, for I knew that he had been fully acquainted 
 with my purpose. He gathered himself together to 
 answer her. 
 
 " Nay, I knew," he said, " and had ventured to ap- 
 plaud Mr. Dale's resolution. But it did not come into 
 my mind to speak of it."
 
 An Invitation to Court, 77 
 
 " Strange," said she, " when we were deploring that 
 Mr. Dale should obtain his commission by such 
 means." 
 
 She rested her eyes on him steadily, while her lips 
 were set in a scornful smile. A pause followed her 
 words. 
 
 " I daresay I should have mentioned it, had we 
 not passed to another topic," said he at last and sul- 
 lenly enough. Then, attempting a change in tone, he 
 added, " Won't you rejoin us? " 
 
 " I am very well here," she said. 
 
 He waited a moment, then bowed, and left us. He 
 was frowning heavily, and, as I judged, would have 
 greeted another quarrel with me very gladly, had I 
 been minded to give him an opportunity ; but think- 
 ing it fair that I should be cured fram the first en- 
 counter before I faced a second, I held my peace till 
 he was gone ; then I said to Barbara, 
 
 " I wonder he didn't tell you." 
 
 Alas for my presumption ! The anger that had 
 been diverted on to Carford's head swept back to 
 mine. 
 
 "Indeed, why should he?" she cried. "All the 
 world can't be always thinking of you and your af- 
 fairs, Mr. Dale." 
 
 " Yet you were vexed because he hadn't." 
 
 " I vexed ! Not I ! " said Barbara, haughtily. 
 
 I could not make that out ; she had seemed angry 
 with him. But because I spoke of her anger, she was 
 angry now with me. Indeed I began to think that 
 little Charles, the King, and I had been right in that 
 opinion in which the King found us so much of a 
 mind. Suddenly Barbara spoke, 
 
 " Tell me what she is like, this friend of yours," she 
 said. " I have never seen her." 
 
 It leapt to my lips to cry, " Aye, you have seen 
 her ! " but I did not give utterance to the words.
 
 7 8 Simon Dale* 
 
 Barbara had seen her in the park at Hatchstead, seen 
 her more than once, and more than once found sore 
 offence in what she saw. There is wisdom in silence ; 
 I was learning that safety might lie in deceit. The 
 anger under which I had suffered would be doubled 
 if she knew that Cydaria was Nell and Nell Cydaria. 
 Why should she know ? Why should my own mouth 
 betray me and add my bygone sins to the offences of 
 to-day ? My lord had not told her that Nell was 
 Cydaria. Should I speak where my lord was silent? 
 Neither would I tell her of Cydaria. 
 
 "You haven't seen her?" I asked. 
 
 " No ; and I would learn what she is like." 
 
 It was a strange thing to command me, yet Bar- 
 bara's desire joined with my own thoughts to urge me 
 to it. I began tamely enough, with a stiff list of fea- 
 tures and catalogue of colours. Yet as I talked recol- 
 lection warmed my voice ; and when Barbara's lips 
 curled scornfully, as though she would say, " What is 
 there in this to make men fools? There is nothing in 
 all this," I grew more vehement and painted the pic- 
 ture with all my skill. What malice began, my ar- 
 dour perfected, until, engrossed in my fancy, I came 
 near to forgetting that I had a listener, and ended 
 with a start as I found Barbara's eyes fixed on mine, 
 while she stood motionless before me. My exaltation 
 vanished, and confusion drove away my passion. 
 
 "You bade me describe her," said I, lamely. " I do 
 not know whether others see as I do, but such is she 
 to my eyes." 
 
 A silence followed. Barbara's face was not flushed 
 now, but rather seemed paler than it was wont to be. 
 I could not tell how it was, but I knew that I had 
 wounded her. Is not beauty jealous, and who but a 
 clod will lavish praise on one fair face while another is 
 before him ? I should have done better to play the 
 hypocrite and swear that my folly, not Nell's features,
 
 An Invitation to Court. 79 
 
 was to blame. But now I was stubborn and would 
 recall not a word of all my raptures. Yet I was glad 
 that I had not told her who Cydaria was. 
 
 The silence was short. In an instant Barbara gave 
 a little laugh, saying, 
 
 "Small wonder you were caught, poor Simon! 
 Yes, the creature must be handsome enough. Shall 
 we return to my mother? " 
 
 On that day she spoke no more with me.
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 What came of Honesty. 
 
 I SHOULD sin against the truth and thereby rob this 
 my story of its solitary virtue were I to pretend that 
 my troubles and perplexities, severe as they seemed, 
 outweighed the pleasure and new excitement of my 
 life. Ambition was in my head, youth in my veins, 
 my eyes looked out on a gay world with a regard none 
 too austere. Against these things even love's might 
 can wage but an equal battle. For the moment, I 
 must confess, my going to Court, with the prospect it 
 opened and the chances it held, dominated my mind, 
 and Jonah Wall, my servant, was kept busy in prepar- 
 ing me for the great event. I had made a discovery 
 concerning this fellow which afforded me much amuse- 
 ment; coming on him suddenly, I found him deeply 
 engaged on a Puritan Psalm-book, sighing and casting 
 up his eyes to heaven in a ludicrous excess of glum- 
 faced piety. I pressed him hard and merrily, when it 
 appeared that he was as thorough a Ranter as my 
 friend Phineas himself, and held the Court and all in 
 it to be utterly given over to Satan, an opinion not 
 without some warrant, had he observed any modera- 
 tion in advancing it. Not wishing to harm him, I kept 
 my knowledge to myself, but found a malicious sport 
 in setting him to supply me with all the varieties of 
 raiment, perfumes, and other gauds that last was his 
 word not mine which he abhorred, but which Mr. 
 Simon Dale's newborn desire for fashion made imper-
 
 What came of Honesty. 81 
 
 ative, however little Mr. Simon Dale's purse could 
 properly afford the expense of them. The truth is 
 that Mistress Barbara's behaviour spurred me on. I 
 had no mind to be set down a rustic : I could stomach 
 disapproval and endure severity; pitied for a mis- 
 guided befooled clod I would not be ; and the best 
 way to avoid such a fate seemed to lie in showing my- 
 self as reckless a gallant and as fine a roisterer as any at 
 Whitehall. So I dipped freely and deep into my 
 purse, till Jonah groaned as woefully for my extrava- 
 gance as for my frivolity. All day he was in great 
 fear lest I should take him with me to Court to the 
 extreme peril of his soul ; but prudence at last stepped 
 in and bade me spare myself the cost of a rich livery 
 by leaving him behind. 
 
 Now Heaven forbid that I should imitate my ser- 
 vant's sour folly (for, if a man must be a fool, I would 
 have him a cheerful fool), or find anything to blame 
 in the pomp and seemly splendour of a Royal Court; 
 yet the profusion that met my eyes amazed me. It 
 was the King's whim that on this night himself, his 
 friends and principal gentlemen should, for no reason 
 whatsoever except the quicker disbursing of their 
 money, assume Persian attire, and they were one and 
 all decked out in richest Oriental garments, in many 
 cases lavishly embroidered with precious stones. The 
 Duke of Buckingham seemed all ablaze, and the other 
 courtiers and wits were little less magnificent, foremost 
 among them being the young Duke of Monmouth, 
 whom I now saw for the first time and thought as 
 handsome a youth as I had set eyes on. The ladies 
 did not enjoy the licence offered by this new fashion, 
 but they contrived to hold their own in the French 
 mode; and I, who had heard much of the poverty of 
 the nation, the necessities of the fleet, and the straits 
 in which the King found himself for money, was left 
 gaping in sheer wonder whence came all the wealth
 
 82 Simon Dale. 
 
 that was displayed before my eyes. My own poor 
 preparations lost all their charm, and I had not been 
 above half an hour in the place before I was seeking a 
 quiet corner in which to hide the poverty of my coat 
 and the plainness of my cloak. But the desire for 
 privacy thus bred in me was not to find satisfaction. 
 Darrell, whom I had not met all day, now pounced on 
 me, and carried me off, declaring that he was charged 
 to present me to the Duke of York. Trembling be- 
 tween fear and exultation, I walked with him across 
 the floor, threading my way through the dazzling 
 throng that covered the space in front of his Maj- 
 esty's dais. But before we came to the Duke, a 
 gentleman caught my companion by the arm and 
 asked him how he did in a hearty, cheerful, and rather 
 loud voice. Darrell's answer was to pull me forward 
 and present me, saying that Sir Thomas Clifford de- 
 sired my acquaintance, and adding much that erred 
 through kindness of my parts and disposition. 
 
 "Nay, if he's your friend, it's enough for me, 
 Darrell," answered Clifford, and putting his mouth to 
 Darrell's ear he whispered. Darrell shook his head, 
 and I thought that the Treasurer seemed disappointed. 
 However, he bade me farewell with cordiality. 
 
 "What did he ask you?" said I, when we started 
 on our way again. 
 
 " Only whether you shared my superstition," 
 answered Darrell, with a laugh. 
 
 "They're all mighty anxious about my religion," 
 thought I. " It would do no harm if they bestowed 
 more attention on their own." 
 
 Suddenly turning a corner, we came on a group in a 
 recess hung on three sides with curtains and furnished 
 with low couches in the manner of an Oriental divan. 
 The Duke of York, who seemed to me a handsome 
 courtly Prince, was sitting, and by him Lord Arlington. 
 Opposite to them stood a gentleman to whom the
 
 What came of Honesty. 83 
 
 Duke, when I had made my bow, presented me, bid- 
 ding me know Mr. Hudleston, the Queen's Chaplain. 
 I was familiar with his name, having often heard of 
 the Romish priest who befriended the King in his 
 flight from Worcester ; I was examining his features 
 with the interest that an unknown face belonging to a 
 well-known name has for us, when the Duke addressed 
 me with a suave and lofty graciousness, his manner 
 being in a marked degree more ceremonious than the 
 King's. 
 
 " My Lord Arlington," said he, " has commended 
 you, sir, as a young gentleman of most loyal senti- 
 ments. My brother and we who love him have great 
 need of the services of all such." 
 
 I stammered out an assurance of devotion. Arling- 
 ton rose and took me by the arm, whispering that I 
 had no need to be embarrassed. But Mr. Hudleston 
 turned a keen and searching glance on me, as though 
 he would read my thoughts. 
 
 " I'm sure," said Arlington, " that Mr. Dale is most 
 solicitous to serve his Majesty in all things." 
 
 I bowed, saying to the Duke, 
 
 " Indeed I am, sir ; I ask nothing but an oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 " In all things?" asked Hudleston, abruptly. "In 
 all things, sir? " He fixed his keen eyes on my face. 
 
 Arlington pressed my arm and smiled pleasantly ; 
 he knew that kindness binds more sheaves than 
 severity. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Dale says in all things," he observed. 
 " Do we need more, sir? " 
 
 But the Duke was rather of the priest's temper than 
 of the minister's. 
 
 " Why, my lord," he answered, " I have never 
 known Mr. Hudleston ask a question without a reason 
 for it." 
 
 " By serving the King in all things some mean in
 
 8 4 Simon Dale* 
 
 all things in which they may be pleased to serve the 
 King," said Hudleston, gravely. " Is Mr. Dale one of 
 these? Is it the King's pleasure or his own that sets 
 the limit to his duty and his services? " 
 
 They were all looking at me now, and it seemed as 
 though we had passed from courtly phrases, such as 
 fall readily but with little import from a man's lips, 
 and had come to a graver matter. They were asking 
 some pledge of me, or their looks belied them. Why 
 or to what end they desired it I could not tell ; but 
 Darrell, who stood behind the priest, nodded his head 
 to me with an anxious frown. 
 
 " I would obey the King in all things," I began. 
 
 "Well said, well said," murmured Arlington. 
 
 " Saving," I proceeded, thinking it my duty to 
 make this addition, and not conceiving that there 
 could be harm in it, " the liberties of the Kingdom 
 and the safety of the Reformed Religion." 
 
 I felt Arlington's hand drawn half away, but in an 
 instant it was back, and he smiled no less pleasantly 
 than before. But the Duke, less able or less careful to 
 conceal his mood, frowned heavily, while Hudleston 
 cried impatiently, 
 
 " Reservations ! Kings are not served with reserva- 
 tions, sir." 
 
 He made me angry. Had the Duke said what he 
 did, I would have taken it with a dutiful bow and a 
 silent tongue. But who was this priest to rate me in 
 such a style? My temper banished prudence, and, 
 bending my head towards him, I answered, 
 
 " Yet the Crown itself is worn with these reserva- 
 tions, sir, and the King himself allows them." 
 
 For a moment nobody spoke. Then Arlington 
 said, 
 
 " I fear, sir, Mr. Dale is as yet less a courtier than 
 an honest gentleman." 
 
 The Duke rose to his feet.
 
 What came of Honesty. 85 
 
 " I have found no fault with Mr. Dale," said he 
 haughtily and coldly, and, taking no more heed of me, 
 he walked away, while Hudleston, having bestowed on 
 me an angry glance, followed him. 
 
 " Mr. Dale, Mr. Dale ! " whispered Arlington, and 
 with no more than that, although still with a smile, 
 he slipped his arm out of mine and left me, beckoning 
 Darrell to go with him. Darrell obeyed with a shrug 
 of despair. I was alone and, as it seemed, ruined. 
 Alas, why must I blurt out my old lessons as though 
 I had been standing again at my father's knee and 
 not in the presence of the Duke of York? Yes, my 
 race was run before it was begun. The Court was 
 not the place for me. In great bitterness I flung my- 
 self down on the cushions and sat there, out of heart 
 and very dismal. A moment passed ; then the cur- 
 tain behind me was drawn aside, and an amused 
 laugh sounded in my ear as I turned. A young 
 man leapt over the couch and threw himself down 
 beside me, laughing heartily and crying, 
 
 " Well done, well done ! I'd have given a thousand 
 crowns to see their faces ! " 
 
 I sprang to my feet in amazement and confusion, 
 bowing low, for the young man by me was the Duke 
 of Monmouth. 
 
 " Sit, man," said he, pulling me down again. " I 
 was behind the curtain, and heard it all. Thank God, 
 I held my laughter in till they were gone. The liber- 
 ties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed 
 Religion ! Here's a story for the King ! " He lay 
 back, seeming to enjoy the jest most hugely. 
 
 " For the love of heaven, sir," I cried, " don't tell 
 the King! I'm already ruined." 
 
 " Why, so you are, with my good uncle," said he. 
 "You're new to Court, Mr. Dale?" 
 
 " Most sadly new," I answered in a rueful tone, 
 which set him laughing again.
 
 86 Simon Dale* 
 
 " You hadn't heard the scandalous stories that ac- 
 cuse the Duke of loving the Reformed Religion no 
 better than the liberties of the Kingdom ?" 
 
 " Indeed, no, sir." 
 
 " And my Lord Arlington ? I know him ! He 
 held your arm to the last, and he smiled to the last?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, my lord was most gentle to me." 
 
 " Aye, I know his way. Mr. Dale, for this enter- 
 tainment let me call you friend. Come then, we'll 
 go to the King with it." And, rising, he seized me 
 by the arm and began to drag me off. 
 
 " Indeed, your Grace must pardon me " I be- 
 gan. 
 
 " But, indeed, I will not," he persisted. Then he 
 suddenly grew grave as he said, " I am for the liber- 
 ties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed 
 Religion. Aren't we friends, then ? " 
 
 " Your Grace does me infinite honour." 
 
 " And am I no good friend ? Is there no value in 
 the friendship of the King's son the King's eldest 
 son ? " He drew himself up with a grace and a dignity 
 which became him wonderfully. Often in these later 
 days I see him as he was then, and think of him with 
 tenderness. Say what you will, he made many love 
 him even to death, who would not have lifted a finger 
 for his father or the Duke of York. 
 
 Yet in an instant such slaves are we of our moods 
 I was more than half in a rage with him. For as we 
 went we encountered Mistress Barbara on Lord Car- 
 ford's arm. The quarrel between them seemed past 
 and they were talking merrily together. On the sight 
 of her the Duke left me and ran forward. By an adroit 
 movement he thrust Carford aside and began to ply 
 the lady with most extravagant and high-flown com- 
 pliments, displaying an excess of devotion which wit- 
 nessed more admiration than respect. She had treated 
 me as a boy, but she did not tell him that he was a
 
 What came of Honesty 87 
 
 boy, although he was younger than I ; she listened 
 with heightened colour and sparkling eyes. I glanced 
 at Carford and found, to my surprise, no signs of an- 
 noyance at his unceremonious deposition. He was 
 watching the pair with a shrewd smile and seemed to 
 mark with pleasure the girl's pride and the young 
 Duke's evident passion. Yet I, who heard something 
 of what passed, had much ado not to step in and bid 
 her pay no heed to homage that was empty if not dis- 
 honouring. 
 
 Suddenly the Duke turned round and called to me. 
 
 " Mr. Dale," he cried, " there needed but one thing 
 to bind us closer, and here it is! For you are, I learn, 
 the friend of Mistress Quinton, and I am the humblest 
 of her slaves, who serve all her friends for her sake." 
 
 " Why, what would your Grace do for my sake ? " 
 asked Barbara. 
 
 " What wouldn't I ? " he cried, as if transported. 
 Then he added, rather low, " Though I fear you're too 
 cruel to do anything for mine." 
 
 " I am listening to the most ridiculous speeches in 
 the world for your Grace's sake," said Barbara, with a 
 pretty curtsey and a coquettish smile. 
 
 "Is love ridiculous?" he asked. "Is passion a 
 thing to smile at ? Cruel Mistress Barbara ! " 
 
 " Won't your Grace set it in verse ? " said she. 
 
 " Your grace writes it in verse on my heart," said 
 he. 
 
 Then Barbara looked across at me, it may be acci- 
 dentally, yet it did not appear so, and she laughed 
 merrily. It needed no skill to measure the meaning 
 of her laugh, and I did not blame her for it. She had 
 waited for years to avenge the kiss that I gave Cyda- 
 ria in the Manor park at Hatchstead ; but was it not 
 well avenged when I stood humbly, in deferential 
 silence, at the back while his Grace the Duke sued for 
 her favour, and half the Court looked on ? I will not
 
 88 Simon Dale* 
 
 set myself down a churl where nature has not made 
 me one ; I said in my heart and I tried to say to her 
 with my eyes, " Laugh, sweet mistress, laugh ! " For 
 I love a girl who will laugh at you when the game runs 
 in her favour. 
 
 The Duke fell to his protestations again, and Carford 
 still listened with an acquiescence that seemed strange 
 in a suitor for the lady's hand. But now Barbara's 
 modesty took alarm ; the signal of confusion flew in 
 her cheeks and she looked round, distressed to see 
 how many watched them. Monmouth cared not a jot. 
 I made bold to slip across to Carford, and said to him 
 in a low tone, 
 
 " My lord, his Grace makes Mistress Barbara too 
 much marked. Can't you contrive to interrupt him ? " 
 
 He stared at me with a smile of wonder. But some- 
 thing in my look banished his smile and set a frown in 
 its place. 
 
 " Must I have more lessons in manners from you, 
 sir? " he asked. " And do you include a discourse on 
 the interrupting of princes?" 
 
 " Princes?" said I. 
 
 "The Duke of Monmouth is " 
 
 " The King's son, my lord," I interposed, and carry- 
 ing my hat in my hand I walked up to Barbara and the 
 Duke. She looked at me as I came, but not now 
 mockingly ; there was rather an appeal in her eyes. 
 
 " Your Grace will not let me lose my audience with 
 the King? " said I. 
 
 He started, looked at me, frowned, looked at Bar- 
 bara, frowned deeper still. I remained quiet, in an 
 attitude of great deference. Puzzled to know whether 
 I had spoken in sheer simplicity and ignorance, or 
 with a meaning which seemed too bold to believe in, 
 he broke into a doubtful laugh. In an instant Bar- 
 bara drew away with a curtsey. He did not pursue 
 her, but caught my arm and looked hard and straight
 
 "What came of Honesty* If 
 
 in my face. I am happily somewhat wooden of fea- 
 ture, and a man could not make me colour now al- 
 though a woman could. He took nothing by his 
 examination. 
 
 "You interrupted me," he said. 
 
 " Alas, your Grace knows how poor a courtier I am, 
 and how ignorant " 
 
 " Ignorant ! " he cried ; " yes, you're mighty ignorant, 
 no doubt ; but I begin to think you know a pretty face 
 when you see it, Master Simon Dale. Well, I'll not 
 quarrel. Isn't she the most admirable creature alive? " 
 
 " I had supposed Lord Carford thought so, sir." 
 
 "Oh ! And yet Lord Carford did not hurry me off 
 to find the King ! But you ? What say you to the 
 question?" 
 
 " I'm so dazzled, sir, by all the beautiful ladies of 
 his Majesty's Court that I can hardly perceive indi- 
 vidual charms." 
 
 He laughed again and pinched my arm, saying, 
 
 " We all love what we have not. The Duke of 
 York is in love with truth, the King with chastity, 
 Buckingham with modesty of demeanour, Rochester 
 with seemliness, Arlington with sincerity, and I, 
 Simon, I do fairly worship discretion ! " 
 
 " Indeed I fear I can boast of little, sir." 
 
 " You shall boast of none, and thereby show the 
 more, Simon. Come, there's the King." And he 
 darted on, in equal good humour, as it seemed, with 
 himself and me. Moreover he lost no time on his 
 errand, for when I reached his side (since they who 
 made way for him afforded me no such civility) he had 
 not only reached the King's chair, but was half way 
 through his story of my answer to the Duke of York ; 
 all chance of stopping him was gone. 
 
 " Now I'm damned indeed," thought I ; but I set 
 my teeth, and listened with unmoved face. 
 
 At this moment the King was alone, save for our-
 
 90 Simon Dale* 
 
 selves and a little long-eared dog, which lay on his lap 
 and was incessantly caressed with his hand. He 
 heard his son's story with a face as impassive as I 
 strove to render mine. At the end he looked up at 
 me, asking, 
 
 " What are these liberties which are so dear to you, 
 sir?" 
 
 My tongue had got me into trouble enough for one 
 day, so I set its music to a softer tune. 
 
 "Those which I see preserved and honoured by 
 your Majesty," said I, bowing. 
 
 Monmouth laughed, and clapped me on the back ; 
 but the King proceeded gravely, 
 
 " And this Reformed Religion that you set above 
 my orders? " 
 
 "The Faith, Sir, of which you are Defender." 
 
 " Come, Mr. Dale," said he, rather surlily, " if you 
 had spoken to my brother as skilfully as you fence 
 with me, he would not have been angry." 
 
 I do not know what came over me. I said it in all 
 honest simplicity, meaning only to excuse myself for 
 the disrespect I had shown to the Duke ; but I phrased 
 the sentence most vilely, for I said, 
 
 " When his Royal Highness questioned me, Sir, I 
 had to speak the truth." 
 
 Monmouth burst into a roar, and a moment later 
 the King followed with a more subdued but not less 
 thorough merriment. When his mirth subsided he 
 said, 
 
 "True, Mr. Dale. I am a king, and no man is 
 bound to speak truth to me. Nor, by heaven and 
 there's a compensation I to any man ! " 
 
 " Nor woman," said Monmouth, looking at the 
 ceiling in apparent absence of mind. 
 
 " Nor even boy," added the King, with an amused 
 glance at his son. " Well, Mr. Dale, can you serve 
 me and this conscience of yours also?"
 
 What came of Honesty. 91 
 
 " Indeed I cannot doubt it, Sir," said I. 
 
 " A man's king should be his conscience," said the 
 King. 
 
 "And what should be conscience to the King, Sir?" 
 asked Monmouth. 
 
 "Why, James, a recognition of what evil things he 
 may bring into the world, if he doesn't mind his 
 ways." 
 
 Monmouth saw the hit, and took it with pretty 
 grace, bending and kissing the King's hand. 
 
 " It is difficult, Mr. Dale, to serve two masters," 
 said the King, turning again to me. 
 
 " Your Majesty is my only master," I began, but the 
 King interrupted me, going on with some amuse- 
 ment, 
 
 " Yet I should like to have seen my brother." 
 
 " Let him serve me, Sir," cried Monmouth. " For 
 I am firm in my love of these liberties, aye, and of the 
 Reformed Religion," 
 
 " I know, James, I know," nodded the King. " It is 
 grievous and strange, however, that you should speak 
 as though my brother were not." He smiled very 
 maliciously at the young Duke, who flushed red. The 
 King suddenly laughed, and fell to fondling the little 
 dog again. 
 
 "Then, Sir," said Monmouth, " Mr. Dale may come 
 with me to Dover? " 
 
 My heart leapt, for all the talk now was of Dover, 
 of the gaiety that would be there, and the correspond- 
 ing dullness in London, when the King and the Duke 
 were gone to meet Madame d'Orlans. I longed to 
 go, and the little hope I had cherished that Darrell's 
 good offices with the Secretary of State would serve 
 me to that end had vanished. Now I was full of joy, 
 although I watched the King's face anxiously. 
 
 For some reason the suggestion seemed to occasion 
 him amusement ; yet, although for the most part he
 
 92 Simon Dale* 
 
 laughed openly without respect of matter or person, 
 he now bent over his little dog, as though he sought 
 to hide the smile, and when he looked up again it 
 hung about his lips like the mere ghost of mirth. 
 
 " Why not ? " said he. " To Dover, by all means. 
 Mr. Dale can serve you and me, and his principles, as 
 well at Dover as in London." 
 
 I bent on one knee and kissed his hand for the 
 favour. When I sought to do the like to Monmouth 
 he was very ready, and received my homage most 
 regally. As I rose, the King was smiling at the pair 
 of us in a whimsical, melancholy way. 
 
 " Be off with you, boys," said he, as though we were 
 a pair of lads from the grammar school. " Ye are 
 both fools, and James there is but indifferently 
 honest. But every hour's a chance and every wench 
 an angel to you. Do what you will and God forgive 
 your sins." And he lay back in his great chair with a 
 good-humoured, lazy, weary smile as he idly patted the 
 little dog. In spite of all that all men knew of him, I 
 felt my heart warm to him, and I knelt on my knee 
 again, saying, 
 
 " God save your Majesty." 
 
 "God is omnipotent," said the King, gravely. "I 
 thank you, Mr. Dale." 
 
 Thus dismissed, we walked off together, and I was 
 awaiting the Duke's pleasure to relieve him also of my 
 company, when he turned to me with a smile, his 
 white teeth gleaming. 
 
 " The Queen sends a maid of honour to wait on 
 Madame," said he. 
 
 " Indeed, sir. It is very fitting." 
 
 "And the Duchess sends one also. If you could 
 choose from among the Duchess's for I swear no 
 man in his senses would choose any of her Majesty's 
 whom would you choose, Mr. Dale?" 
 
 " It is not for me to say, your Grace," I answered.
 
 What came of Honesty. 93 
 
 "Well," said he, regarding me drolly, "I would 
 choose Mistress Barbara Quinton." And with a last 
 laugh he ran off in hot pursuit of a lady who passed 
 at that moment and cast a very kindly glance at 
 him. 
 
 Left alone, but in a good humour that the Duke's 
 last jest could not embitter, I stood watching the 
 scene. The play had begun now on a stage at the 
 end of the hall, but nobody seemed to heed it. They 
 walked to and fro, talking always, ogling, quarrelling, 
 love-making and intriguing. I caught sight here of 
 great ladies, there of beauties whose faces were their 
 fortune or their ruin, which you will. Buckingham 
 went by, fine as a galley in full sail. The Duke of 
 York passed with Mr. Hudleston ; my salute went un- 
 acknowledged. Clifford came soon after ; he bowed 
 slightly when I bowed to him, but his heartiness was 
 gone. A moment later Darrell was by my side; his 
 ill-humour was over, but he lifted his hands in comical 
 despair. 
 
 " Simon, Simon, you're hard to help," said he. 
 "Alas, I must go to Dover without you, my friend ! 
 Couldn't you restrain your tongue?" 
 
 " My tongue has done me no great harm," said I, 
 "and you needn't go to Dover alone." 
 
 "What?" he cried, amazed. 
 
 " Unless the Duke of Monmouth and my Lord Ar- 
 lington travel apart." 
 
 "The Duke of Monmouth? What have you to do 
 with him ? " 
 
 " I am to enter his service," I answered, proudly ; 
 " and moreover I'm to go with him to Dover to meet 
 Madame d'Orleans." 
 
 "Why, why? How comes this? How were you 
 brought to his notice ? " 
 
 I looked at him, wondering at his eagerness. Then 
 I took him by the arm, and I said laughingly,
 
 94 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Come, I am teachable, and I have learnt my les- 
 son." 
 
 " What lesson do you mean ? " 
 
 " To restrain my tongue," said I. " Let those who 
 are curious as to the Duke of Monmouth's reasons for 
 his favour to me, ask the Duke." 
 
 He laughed, but I caught vexation in his laugh. 
 
 "True, you're teachable, Simon," said he.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine* 
 
 WHEN the curtain had fallen on the little heeded 
 play and the gay crowd began to disperse, I, perceiv- 
 ing that no more was to be seen or learnt, went home 
 to my lodging alone. After our conversation Darrell 
 had left me abruptly, and I saw him no more. But 
 my own thoughts gave me occupation enough ; for 
 even to a dull mind, and one unversed in Court in- 
 trigues, it seemed plain that more hung on this ex- 
 pedition to Dover than the meeting of the King's 
 sister with her brother. So far all men were of the 
 same opinion; beyond, their variance began. I had 
 not thought to trouble my head about it, but, not 
 having learnt yet that a small man lives most comfort- 
 ably with the great by opening his eyes and ears only 
 when bidden and keeping them tight locked for the 
 rest, I was inspired with eagerness to know the full 
 meaning of the scene in which I was now to play a 
 part however humble. Of one thing at least I was 
 glad here I touched on a matter more suitable to my 
 condition and this was that since Barbara Quinton 
 was to go to Dover, I was to go also. But, alas, 
 neither here did perplexity lag far behind ! It is easy 
 to know that you are glad to be with a lady ; your 
 very blood tells you ; but to say why is often difficult. 
 I told myself that my sole cause for pleasure lay in the 
 services I might be able to render to my old friend's 
 daughter : she would want one to run her errands and
 
 9* Simon Dale. 
 
 do her bidding; an attentive cavalier, however lowly, 
 seldom comes amiss. These pleas I muttered to myself, 
 but swelling pride refused them, and for once reason 
 came as pride's ally, urging that in such company as 
 would assemble at Dover, a girl might well need pro- 
 tection no less than compliments. It was true; my 
 new master's bearing to her showed how true. And 
 Carford was not, it seemed, a jealous lover. I was no 
 lover my life was vowed to another most unhappy 
 love but I was a gentleman, and (sweet thought !) the 
 hour might come when the face which had looked so 
 mockingly at me to-night should turn again in appeal 
 to the wit and arm of Simon Dale. I grew taller as I 
 thought of that, and, coming just then to my own 
 door, rapped with my cane as loudly and defiantly as 
 though I had been the Duke of Monmouth himself, 
 and not a gentleman in his suite. 
 
 Loud as my rapping was, it brought no immediate 
 answer. Again I knocked ; then feet came shuffling 
 along the passage. I had aroused my sleepy wretch ; 
 doubtless he would come groaning (for Jonah might 
 not curse save in the way of religion), and rubbing his 
 eyes to let me in. The door opened and Jonah ap- 
 peared : his eyes were not dull with sleep but seemed 
 to blaze with some strong excitement ; he had not 
 been to his bed for his dress was not disordered, and a 
 light burnt bright in my parlour. To crown all, from 
 the same parlour came the sound of a psalm most 
 shrilly and villainously chanted through the nose in a 
 voice familiar to my ears. I, unlike my servant, had 
 not bound myself against an oath where the case 
 called, and with a round one that sent Jonah's eyes in 
 agony up to the ceiling I pushed by him and ran into 
 the parlour. A sonorous "Amen " came pat with my 
 entrance ; Phineas Tate stood before me, lean and 
 pale, but calm and placid. 
 
 " What in the devil's name brings you here ? " I cried.
 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. 9) 
 
 "The service of God," he answered, solemnly. 
 
 "What, does it forbid sleep at nights?" 
 
 " Have you been sleeping, young man ? " he asked, 
 pertinently enough, as I must allow. 
 
 " I have been paying my respects to his Majesty," 
 said I. 
 
 " God forgive him and you," was the retort. 
 
 " Perhaps, sir, perhaps not," I replied, for I was 
 growing angry. " But I have asked your intercession 
 no more than has the King. If Jonah brought you 
 here, it was without my leave ; I beg you to take 
 your departure. Jonah, hold the door there for Mr. 
 Tate." 
 
 The man raised his hand impressively. 
 
 " Hear my message first," he said. " I am sent 
 unto you, that you may turn from sin. For the Lord 
 has appointed you to be his instrument. Even now 
 the plot is laid, even now men conspire to bring this 
 kingdom again into the bondage of Rome. Have you 
 no ears, have you no eyes, are you blind and deaf? 
 Turn to me, and I will make you see and hear. For 
 it is given to me to show you the way." 
 
 I was utterly weary of the fellow, and, in despair of 
 getting quit of him, flung myself into a chair. But 
 his next words caught my attention. 
 
 "The man who lives here with you what of him? 
 Is he not an enemy of God ? " 
 
 " Mr. Darrell is of the Romish faith," said I, smiling 
 in spite of myself, for a kinder soul than Darrell I had 
 never met. 
 
 Phineas came close to me, leaning over me with an 
 admonishing forefinger and a mysterious air. 
 
 " What did he want with you ? " he asked. " Yet 
 cleave to him. Be where he is, go where he goes." 
 
 " If it comforts you, I am going where he goes," 
 said I, yawning. " For we are both going to Dover 
 when the King goes."
 
 98 Simon Dale. 
 
 " It is God's finger and God's will ! " cried Phineas, 
 catching me by the shoulder. 
 
 " Enough ! " I shouted, leaping up. " Keep your 
 hands off me, man, if you can't keep your tongue. 
 What is it to you that we go to Dover ? " 
 
 "Aye, what?" came suddenly in Darrell's voice. 
 He stood in the doorway with a fierce and angry 
 frown on his face. A moment later he was across the 
 room and laid his hand on Phineas. " Do you want 
 another cropping of your ears? " he asked. 
 
 " Do your will on me," cried the fanatic. And 
 sweeping away his lanky hair he showed his ears ; 
 to my horror they had been cropped level across their 
 tops by the shears. " Do your will," he shrieked, " I 
 am ready. But your hour comes also ; yea, your cup 
 shall soon be full." 
 
 Darrell spoke to him in low, stern tones. 
 
 " It may be more than ears, if you will not bridle 
 your tongue. It's not for you to question why the 
 King comes or goes." 
 
 I saw Jonah's face at the door, pale with fright as 
 he looked at the two men. The interest of the scene 
 grew on me ; the talk of Dover seemed to pursue me 
 strangely. 
 
 " But this young man," pursued Phineas, utterly 
 unmoved by Darrell's threat, " is not of you ; he 
 shall be snatched from the burning, and by his hand 
 the Lord will work a great deliverance." 
 
 Darrell turned to me and said stiffly, 
 
 " This room is yours, sir, not mine. Do you suffer 
 the presence of this mischievous knave ? " 
 
 " I suffer what I can't help," I answered. " Mr. 
 Tate doesn't ask my pleasure in his coming and going 
 any more than the King asks Mr. Tate's in his." 
 
 " It would do you no good, sir, to have it known 
 that he was here," Darrell reminded me, with a sig- 
 nificant nod of his head.
 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. 99 
 
 Darrell had been a good friend to me and had won 
 my regard, but, from an infirmity of temper that 1 
 have touched on before, his present tone set me 
 against him. I take reproof badly, and age has hardly 
 tamed me to it. 
 
 " No good with whom ? " I asked, smiling. " The 
 Duke of York ? My Lord Arlington ? Or do you 
 mean the Duke of Monmouth ? It is he whom I have 
 to please now." 
 
 " None of them love Ranters," answered Darrell, 
 keeping his face stiff and inscrutable. 
 
 " But one of them may prefer a Ranter to a Papist," 
 laughed I. 
 
 The thrust told, Darrell grew red. To myself I 
 seemed to have hit suddenly on the key of a mystery. 
 Was I then a pawn in the great game of the Churches, 
 and Darrell another, and, (to speak it with all due 
 respect), these grand dukes little better? Had 
 Phineas Tate also his place on the board where souls 
 made the stakes ? In such a game none is too low for 
 value, none too high for use. Surely my finger was 
 on the spring ! At least I had confounded Darrell ; 
 his enemy, taking my help readily enough, glared on 
 him in most unchristian exultation, and then, turning 
 to me, cried in a species of fierce ecstasy, 
 
 " Think not that because you are unworthy, you 
 shall not serve God. The work sanctifies the instru- 
 ment ; yea, it makes clean that which is foul. Verily, 
 at His hour, God may work through a woman of sin." 
 And he fixed his eyes intently on me. 
 
 I read a special meaning in his words, my thoughts 
 flew readily to the Cock and Pie in Drury Lane. 
 
 " Yea, through a woman of sin," he repeated slowly 
 and solemnly; then he faced round, swift as the wind, 
 on Darrell, and, minding my friend's sullen scowl not 
 a whit, cried to him, " Repent, repent, vengeance is 
 near ! " and so at last was out of the room before
 
 ioo Simon Dale* 
 
 either of us could hinder him, had we wished, or could 
 question him further. I heard the house-door shut 
 behind him, and I rose, looking at Darrell with an 
 easy smile. 
 
 " Madness and moonshine, good friend," said I. 
 " Don't let it disturb you. If Jonah admits the fellow 
 again he shall answer for it." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Dale, when I prayed you to share my 
 lodging, I did not foresee the nature of your com- 
 pany." 
 
 " Fate more than choice makes a man's company," 
 said I. " Now it's you, now Phineas, now my lord the 
 Secretary, and now his Grace the Duke. Indeed, see- 
 ing how destiny or if you will, chance rules, a man 
 may well be thought a fool who makes a plan or 
 chooses a companion. For my own part, I am fate's 
 child and fate shall guide me." 
 
 He was still stiff and cold with me, but my friendly 
 air and my evident determination to have no quarrel 
 won him to civility if to no warmer demonstration of 
 regard. 
 
 " Fate's child ? " he asked with a little scorn, but 
 seating himself and smoothing his brow. "You're 
 fate's child ? Isn't that an arrogant speech, Simon ? " 
 
 " If it weren't true, most arrogant," I answered. 
 "Come, I'll tell you; it's too soon for bed and too 
 late to go abroad. Jonah, bring us some wine, and if 
 it be good, you shall be forgiven for admitting Master 
 Tate." 
 
 Jonah went off and presently returned with a bot- 
 tle which we drank, while I, with the candour I had 
 promised, told my friend of Betty Nasroth and her 
 prophecy. He heard me with an attention which 
 belied the contempt he asserted ; I have noticed that 
 men pay heed to these things however much they 
 laugh at them. At the end, growing excited not only 
 with the wine but with the fumes of life which had
 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. 101 
 
 been mounting into my young brain all the day, I 
 leapt up, crying aloud, 
 
 " And isn't it true ? Sha'n't I know what he hides? 
 Sha'n't I drink of his cup ? For isn't it true? Don't 
 I already, to my infinite misery, love where he loves ? " 
 For the picture of Nell had come suddenly across me 
 in renewed strength and sweetness ; when I had 
 spoken I dropped again into my chair and laid my 
 head down on my arms. 
 
 Silence followed : Darrell had no words of consola- 
 tion for my woes and left my lovelorn cry unheeded ; 
 presently then (for neglected sorrows do not thrive) I 
 looked furtively at him between the fingers of my 
 hand. He sat moody, thoughtful and frowning. I 
 raised my head and met his eyes. He leant across 
 the table, saying in a sneering tone, " A fine witch, on 
 my life ! You should know what he hides? " 
 
 Aye." 
 
 " And drink of his cup ? " 
 
 " Aye, so she said." 
 
 He sat sunk in troubled thought, but I, being all 
 this night torn to and fro by changing and warring 
 moods, sprang up again and cried in boisterous scorn, 
 " What, you believe these fables? Does God reveal 
 hidden things to old crones ? I thought you at Court 
 were not the fools of such fancies ! Aren't they fitter 
 for rustic churls, Mr. Darrell ? God save us, do we 
 live in the days of King James?" 
 
 He answered me shortly and sternly, as though I 
 had spoken of things not to be named lightly, 
 
 " It is devil's work, all of it." 
 
 " Then the devil is busier than he seems, even after 
 a night at Court," I said. " But be it whose work it 
 will, I'll do it. I'll find what he hides. I'll drink of his 
 cup. Come, you're glum! Drink, friend Darrell! 
 Darrell, what's in his cup? what does he hide? Dar- 
 rell, what does the King hide?"
 
 102 Simon Dale* 
 
 I had caught him by the shoulder and was staring 
 in his face. I was all aglow and my eyes, no doubt, 
 shone bright with excitement and the exhilaration of 
 the wine. The look of me, or the hour of the night, 
 or the working of his own superstition, got hold of 
 him ; for he sprang up, crying madly, 
 
 " My God, do you know ? " and glared into my face 
 as though I had been the very devil of whom I spoke. 
 
 We stood thus for a full minute. But I grew cool 
 before my companion, wonder working the change in 
 me sooner than confusion could in him. For my ran- 
 dom ravings had most marvellously struck on some- 
 thing more than my sober speculations could discern. 
 The man before me was mad or he had a secret. 
 And friend Darrell was no madman. 
 
 " Do I know ? " I asked. " Do I know what ? 
 What could I, Simon Dale, know ? What in Heaven's 
 name is there to know ? " And I smiled cunningly, 
 as though I sought to hide knowledge by a parade of 
 ignorance. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," he muttered, uneasily. " The 
 wine's got in my head." 
 
 " Yet you've drunk but two glasses ; I had the rest," 
 said I. 
 
 " That damned Ranter has upset me," he growled, 
 " That and the talk of your cursed witch." 
 
 " Can Ranters and witches make secrets where 
 there are none?" said I, with a laugh. 
 
 " They can make fools think there are secrets where 
 there are none," said he, rudely. 
 
 "And other fools ask if they're known?" I re- 
 torted, but with a laugh; and I added, "I'm not for 
 a quarrel, secret or no secret, so if that's your purpose 
 in sitting the night through, to bed with you, my 
 friend." 
 
 Whether from prudence, or whether my good 
 humour rebuked his temper, he grew more gentle;
 
 Madness, Magic, and MoonshinCt 1 03 
 
 he looked at me kindly enough and sighed, as he 
 said, 
 
 " I was to be your guide in London, Simon ; but 
 you take your own path." 
 
 " The path you snowed me was closed in my face," 
 said I, " and I took the first that was opened to me." 
 
 " By the Duke of Monmouth ? " 
 
 "Yes or by another, if it had chanced to be 
 another." 
 
 " But why take any, Simon ? " he urged, persuasively. 
 " Why not live in peace and leave these great folk 
 alone?" 
 
 " With all my heart," I cried. " Is it a bargain ? 
 Whither shall we fly from the turmoil ? " 
 
 " We ! " he exclaimed, with a start. 
 
 "Aren't you sick of the same disease? Isn't the 
 same medicine best for you ? Come, shall we both go 
 to-morrow to Hatchstead a pretty village, Mr. 
 Darrell and let the great folk go alone to Dover?" 
 
 " You know I cannot. I serve my Lord Arling- 
 ton." 
 
 "And I the Duke of Monmouth." 
 
 " But my lord is the King's servant." 
 
 "And his Grace the King's son." 
 
 " Oh, if you're obstinate " he began, frowning. 
 
 " As fate, as prophecy, as witch, as Ranter, as devil 
 or as yourself! " I said, laughing and throwing myself 
 into a chair as he rose and moved towards the door. 
 
 " No good will come of it to you," he said, passing 
 me on his way. 
 
 " What loyal servant looks to make a profit of his 
 service ? " I asked, smiling. 
 
 " I wish you could be warned." 
 
 " I'm warned, but not turned, Darrell. Come, we 
 part friends ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, we are friends," he answered, but with 
 a touch of hesitation.
 
 104 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Saving our duty to the King?" 
 
 "If need should come for that reservation, yes/' 
 said he, gravely. 
 
 " And saving," said I, " the liberties of the King- 
 dom and safety of the Reformed Religion if need 
 should come for those reservations, Mr. Darrell," and 
 I laughed to see the frown gather again on his brow. 
 But he made no reply, being unable to trust his self- 
 control or answer my light banter in its own kind. 
 He left me with no more than a shake of his head and 
 a wave of his hand ; and although we parted thus in 
 amity and with no feelings save of kindness for one 
 another, I knew that henceforth there must be a 
 difference in our relations ; the days of confidence 
 were gone. 
 
 The recognition of my loss weighed little with me. 
 The diffidence born of inexperience and of strange- 
 ness to London and the Court was wearing away ; the 
 desire for another's arm to lean on and another's eyes 
 to see with gave way before a young man's pride in 
 his own arm's strength and the keenness of his own 
 vision. There was sport afoot ; aye, for me in those 
 days all things were sport, even the high disputes of 
 Churches or of Kingdoms. We look at the world 
 through our own glasses ; little as it recks of us, it is 
 to us material and opportunity ; there in the dead of 
 night I wove a dream wherein the part of hero was 
 played by Simon Dale, with Kings and Dukes to bow 
 him on and off the stage and Christendom to make an 
 audience. These dream-doings are brave things ; I 
 pity the man who performs none of them, for in them 
 you may achieve without labour, enjoy without ex- 
 pense, triumph without cruelty ; aye, and sin mightily 
 and grandly with never a reckoning for it. Yet do 
 not be a mean villain even in your dreaming, for that 
 sticks to you when you awake. 
 
 I had supposed myself alone to be out of bed and
 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine* 105 
 
 Jonah Wall to have slunk off in fear of my anger. 
 But now my meditations were interrupted by his en- 
 trance. He crept up to me in an uneasy fashion, but 
 seemed to take courage when I did not break into 
 abuse, but asked him mildly why he had not sought 
 rest and what he wanted with me. His first answer 
 was to implore me to protect him from Mr. Darrell's 
 wrath ; through Phineas Tate, he told me timidly, he 
 had found grace and he could deny him nothing ; 
 yet, if I bade him, he would not admit him again. 
 
 " Let him come," said I, carelessly. " Besides, we 
 shall not be long here, for you and I are going on a 
 journey, Jonah." 
 
 " A journey, sir?" 
 
 "Aye ; I go with the Duke of Monmouth, and you 
 go with me, to Dover when the King goes." 
 
 Now either Dover was on everybody's brain, or was 
 very sadly on my brain, for I swear even this fellow's 
 eye seemed to brighten as I named the place. 
 
 " To Dover, sir?" 
 
 " No less. You shall see all the gaiety there is to 
 be seen, Jonah." 
 
 The flush of interest had died away, he was dole- 
 fully tranquil and submissive again. 
 
 " Well, what do you want with me?" I asked, for 
 I did not wish him to suspect that I detected any 
 change in his manner. 
 
 "A lady came here to-day, sir, in a very fine coach 
 with Flemish horses, and asked for you. Hearing you 
 were from home, she called to me and bade me take a 
 message for you. I prayed her to write it, but she 
 laughed, and said she spoke more easily than she 
 wrote ; and she bade me say that she wished to see 
 you." 
 
 " What sort of lady was she, Jonah? " 
 
 " She sat all the while in the coach, sir, but she 
 seemed not tall ; she was very merry, sir." Jonah
 
 io6 Simon Dale* 
 
 sighed deeply ; with him merriment stood high among 
 the vices of our nature. 
 
 " She didn't say for what purpose she wanted me?" 
 I asked, as carelessly as I could. 
 
 " No, sir. She said you would know the purpose, 
 and that she would look for you at noon to-morrow." 
 
 " But where, Jonah ?" 
 
 "At a house called Burford House, sir, in Chelsea." 
 
 " She gave you no name ? " 
 
 " I asked her name, and she gave me one." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " It was a strange heathenish name, and she laughed 
 as she gave it ; indeed she laughed all the time." 
 
 "There's no sin in laughter," said I, dryly. "You 
 may leave me. I need no help in undressing." 
 
 " But the name " 
 
 " By heaven, man, I know the name ! Be off with 
 you! " 
 
 He shuffled off, his whole 'Banner expressing repro- 
 bation, whether most of my oath, or of the heathenish 
 name, or of the lady who gave it, I know not. 
 
 Well, if he were so horror-stricken at these things, 
 what would he say at learning with whom he had 
 talked ? Perhaps he would have preached to her as 
 had Phineas Tate, his master in religion. For, beyond 
 doubt, that heathenish name was Cydaria, and that 
 fine coach with Flemish horses I left the question of 
 that coach unanswered. 
 
 The moment the door was shut behind my servant, 
 I sprang to my feet, crying in a low but very vehe- 
 ment voice, " Never !" I would not go. Had she not 
 wounded me enough ? Must I tear away the bandage 
 from the gash ? She had tortured me, and asked me 
 now, with a laugh, to be so good as stretch myself on 
 the rack again. I would not go. That laugh was 
 cruel insolence. I knew that laugh. Ah, why so I 
 did I knew it well how it rose and rippled and fell,
 
 Madness, Magic, and Moonshine. 107 
 
 losing itself in echoes scarcely audible, but rich with 
 enticing mirth. Surely she was cunningly fashioned 
 for the undoing of men ; yes, and of herself, poor 
 soul. What were her coaches, and the Flemish 
 horses, and the house called Burford House in Chel- 
 sea? A wave of memory swept over me and I saw 
 her simple -well then, more simple ! though always 
 merry, in the sweet-smelling fields at home, playing 
 with my boy's heart as with a toy that she knew little 
 of, but yet by instinct handled deftly. It pleased her 
 mightily, that toy, and she seemed to wonder when 
 she found that it felt. She did not feel ; joy was hers, 
 nothing deeper. Yet could she not, might she not, 
 would she not ? I knew what she was ; who knew 
 what she might be? The picture of her rose again 
 before my eyes, inviting a desperate venture, spur- 
 ring me on to an enterprise in which the effort seemed 
 absurdity, and success would have been in the eyes 
 of the world calamity. Yet an exaltation of spirit 
 was on me, and I wove another dream that drove 
 the first away ; now I did not go to Dover to play 
 my part in great affairs and jostle for higher place 
 in a world where in God's eyes all places are equal 
 and all low, but away back to the country I had 
 loved, and not alone. She should be with me, love 
 should dress penitence in glowing robes, and purity 
 be decked more gloriously than all the pomps of sin. 
 Could it be? If it could it seemed a prize for which 
 all else might be willingly forgone, an achievement 
 rare and great, though the page of no history recorded 
 it. 
 
 Phineas Tate had preached to her, and gone away 
 empty and scorned. I would preach too, in different 
 tones and with a different gospel. Yet my words 
 should have a sweetness his had not, my gospel a 
 power that should draw where his repelled. For my 
 love shaken not, yet shattered ; wounded, not dead
 
 io8 Simon Dale* 
 
 springing again to full life and force, should breathe 
 its vital energy into her soul and impart of its endless 
 abundance till her heart was full. Entranced by this 
 golden vision, I rose and looked from the window at 
 the dawning day, praying that mine might be the 
 task, the achievement, the reward. 
 
 Bright dawned that day as I, with brighter bright- 
 ness in my heart, climbed the stairs that led to my 
 bedroom. But as I reached the door of it, I paused. 
 There came a sound from the little closet beyond, 
 where Jonah stretched his weary legs, and, as I hoped, 
 had forgotten in harmless sleep the soul that he him- 
 self tormented worse than would the hell he feared. 
 No, he did not rest. From his closet came low, fer- 
 vent, earnest prayers ; listening a minute, half in 
 scorn, half in pity, and in no unkindness, I heard him. 
 
 "Praise be to God," he said, "Who maketh the 
 crooked places straight, and openeth a path through 
 the wilderness, and setteth in the hand of His servant 
 a sword wherewith to smite the ungodly even in high 
 places." 
 
 What crooked places were made straight, what path 
 opened, what sword set in Jonah's hand ? Of the un- 
 godly in high places there was no lack in the days of 
 King Charles. But was Jonah Wall to smite them ? 
 I opened my door with a laugh. We were all mad 
 that night, and my madness lasted till the morning. 
 Yes, till the morning grew full, my second dream was 
 with me.
 
 CHAPTER EX. 
 
 X 
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 
 
 HOW I sought her, how I found her, that fine house 
 of hers with the lawn round it and the river by it, the 
 stare of her lackeys, the pomp of her living, the great 
 lord who was bowed out as I went in, the maid who 
 bridled and glanced and laughed they are all there 
 in my memory, but blurred, confused, beyond clear 
 recall. Yet all that she was, looked, said, aye, or left 
 the clearer for being unsaid, is graven on my memory 
 in lines that no years obliterate and no change of mind 
 makes hard to read. She wore the great diamond 
 necklace whose purchase was a fresh text with the 
 serious, and a new jest for the wits ; on her neck it 
 gleamed and flashed as brilliantly and variously as the 
 dazzling turns in her talk and the unending chase of 
 fleeting moods across her face. Yet I started from my 
 lodging, sworn to win her, and came home sworn to 
 have done with her. Let me tell it ; I told it to my- 
 self a thousand times in the days that followed. But 
 even now, and for all the times that the scene has 
 played itself again before my unwilling eyes, I can 
 scarcely tell whence and how, at the last, the change 
 came. I think that the pomp itself, the lord and the 
 lackeys, the fine house, and all her state struck, as it 
 were, cold at my heart, dooming to failure the mad 
 appeal which they could not smother. But there was 
 more ; for all these might have been, and yet not 
 reached or infected her soul. But when I spoke to
 
 no Simon Dale* 
 
 her in words that had for me a sweetness so potent 
 as to win me from all hesitation and make as noth- 
 ing the whole world beside, she did not understand. 
 I saw that she tried to understand ; when she failed, I 
 had failed also. The flower was dead ; what use then 
 to cherish or to water it ? I had not thought it was 
 dead, but had prayed that, faded and choked though 
 it were, yet it might find life in the sunshine of my 
 love and the water of her tears. But she did not 
 weep, unless in a passing petulance because I asked 
 what she could not give ; and the clouds swept dark 
 over my love's bright face. 
 
 And now, alas, I am so wise that I cannot weep ! I 
 must rather smile to have asked, than lament that my 
 asking was in vain. I must wonder at her patience 
 in refusing kindly, and be no more amazed that she 
 refused at last. Yet this sad wisdom that sits well on 
 age I do not love in youth. I was a fool ; but if to 
 hold that good shall win and a true love prevail be 
 folly, let my sons be fools after me until their sons in 
 turn catch up from them the torch of that folly which 
 illuminates the world. 
 
 You would have said that she had not looked to see 
 me, for she started as though in surprise when I stood 
 before her, saying, " You sent for me." 
 
 "I sent for you?" she cried, still as if puzzled ; 
 then, " Ah, I remember. A whim seized me as I 
 passed your lodging. Yet you deserved no such fa- 
 vour, for you treated me very rudely why, yes, with 
 great unkindness last time we met. But I wouldn't 
 have you think me resentful. Old friends must for- 
 give one another, mustn't they? Besides you meant 
 no hurt, you were vexed, perhaps you were even sur- 
 prised. Were you surprised? No, you weren't sur- 
 prised. But were you grieved, Simon ? " 
 
 I had been gazing dully at her, now I spoke heavily 
 and dully.
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 1 1 1 
 
 " You wear gems there on your neck," said I, point- 
 ing at the necklace. 
 
 "Isn't the neck worthy?" she murmured quickly 
 yet softly, pulling her dress away to let me see the 
 better, and raising her eyes to mine. 
 
 " Yes, very worthy. But wouldn't you be grieved 
 to find them pebbles ? " 
 
 " By my faith, yes ! " she laughed, " for I paid the 
 price of gems for them." 
 
 " I also paid the price of a gem," said I, " and 
 thought I had it." 
 
 "And it proved a pebble?*' said she, leaning over 
 me ; for I had seated myself in a chair, being in no 
 mood for ceremony. 
 
 " Yes, a pebble ; a very pebble, a common pebble ! " 
 
 " A common pebble ! " she echoed. " Oh, Simon, 
 cruel Simon ! But a pretty bright pebble ? It looked 
 like a gem, Simon?" 
 
 " God forgive you, yes. In heaven's name then 
 long ago, when you came to Hatchstead what then? 
 Weren't you then ? " 
 
 " No gem," said she. " Even then a pebble." Her 
 voice sank a little, as though for a single moment 
 some unfamiliar shame came on her. "A common 
 pebble," she added, echoing my words. 
 
 " Then God forgive you," said I again, and I leant 
 my head on my hand. 
 
 " And you, good Simon, do you forgive me ? " 
 
 I was silent. She moved away petulantly, crying, 
 
 " You're all so ready to call on God to forgive ! Is 
 forgiveness God's only? Will none of you forgive 
 for yourselves ? Or are you so righteous that you 
 can't do what God must ? " 
 
 I sprang up and came to her. 
 
 " Forgive ! " I cried, in a low voice. " Aye, I'll for- 
 give. Don't talk of forgiveness to me. I came to 
 love."
 
 ii2 Simon Dale* 
 
 "To love? Now?" Her eyes grew wide in won- 
 der, amusement, and delight. 
 
 " Yes," said I. 
 
 "You loved the gem; you'd love the pebble? 
 Simon, Simon, where is Madame your mother, where 
 my good friend the Vicar ? Ah, where's your virtue, 
 Simon ? " 
 
 " Where yours shall be," I cried, seizing and cover- 
 ing her hands in mine. "Where yours, there mine, 
 and both in love that makes delight and virtue one." 
 I caught a hand to my lips and kissed it many times. 
 " No sin comes but by desire," said I, pleading, " and 
 if the desire is no sin, there is no sin. Come with me ! 
 I will fulfil all your desire and make your sin dead." 
 
 She shrank back amazed ; this was strange talk to 
 her, yet she left her hand in mine. 
 
 "Come with you ? But whither, whither? We are 
 no more in the fields at Hatchstead." 
 
 " We could be again," I cried. " Alone in the 
 fields at Hatchstead." 
 
 Even now she hardly understood what I would have, 
 or, understanding, could not believe that she under- 
 stood rightly. 
 
 " You mean leave leave London and go with you ? 
 With you alone? '* 
 
 " Yes alone with your husband." 
 
 She pulled her hand away with a jerk, crying, 
 " You're mad." 
 
 " May be. Let me be mad, and be mad yourself 
 also, sweetheart. If both of us are mad, what hurt?" 
 
 " What I I go I leave the town I leave the 
 Court? And you? You're here to seek your for- 
 tune! " 
 
 " Mayn't I dream that I've found it?" And again 
 I caught her hand. 
 
 After a moment she drew nearer to me ; I felt her 
 fingers press mine in tenderness.
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 113 
 
 " Poor Simon ! " said she, with a little laugh. " In- 
 deed he remembers Cydaria well. But Cydaria, such 
 as she was, even Cydaria, is gone. And now I am not 
 she." Then she laughed again, crying, " What folly ! " 
 
 " A moment ago you didn't call it folly." 
 
 " Then I was doubly a fool," she answered, with the 
 first touch of bitterness. " For folly it is, deep and 
 black. I am not nay, was I ever? one to ramble in 
 green fields all day and go home to a cottage." 
 
 " Never," said I. " Nor will be save for the love of 
 a man you love. Save for that, what woman has 
 been ? But for that, how many ! " 
 
 " Why, very few," said she with a gentle little laugh. 
 "And of that few I am not one. Nay, nor do I 
 am I cruel ? nor do I love you, Simon." 
 
 " You swear it ? " 
 
 " But a little as a friend, an old friend." 
 
 "And a dear one?" 
 
 " One dear for a certain pleasant folly that he has." 
 
 "You'll come?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? But in a day neither you nor I would 
 ask why." 
 
 "Ask now. There's a regiment of reasons." Her 
 laugh burst out again ; yet her eyes seemed tender. 
 
 " Give me one." 
 
 " I have given one. I don't love you." 
 
 " I won't take it." 
 
 " I am what I am." 
 
 " You should be what I would make you." 
 
 " You're to live at the Court. To serve the Duke 
 of Monmouth, isn't it?" 
 
 " What do I care for that? Are there no others ? " 
 
 " Let go my hand No, let it go. See now, I'll 
 show you. There's a ring on it." 
 
 " I see the ring." 
 
 " A rich one."
 
 ii4 Simon Dale. 
 
 "Very rich." 
 
 " Simon, do you guess who set it there ?" 
 
 " He is your King only while you make him such." 
 
 " Nay," she cried, with sudden passion, " I am set 
 on my course." Then came defiance. " I wouldn't 
 change it. Didn't I tell you once that I might have 
 power with the King? " 
 
 " Power ? What's that to you ? What's it to any 
 of us beside love?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know anything about your love," she 
 cried, fretfully, " but I know what I love the stir, 
 and the frowns of great ladies, and the courting of 
 great lords. Ah, but why do I talk? Do we reason 
 with a madman ? " 
 
 " If we are touched ever so little with his disease." 
 
 She turned to me with sparkling eyes ; she spoke 
 very softly. 
 
 " Ah, Simon, you too have a tongue ! Can you also 
 lure women? I think you could. But keep it, 
 Simon, keep it for your wife. There's many a maid 
 would gladly take the title, for you're a fine figure, 
 and I think that you know the way to a woman's 
 heart." 
 
 Standing above me (for I had sunk back in my 
 chair) she caressed my cheek gently with her hand. 
 I was checked, but not beaten. My madness, as she 
 called it (as must not I also call it ?), was still in me, 
 hot and surging. Hope was yet alive, for she had 
 shown me tenderness, and once it had seemed as 
 though a passing shadow of remorse shot across her 
 brightness. Putting out my hands, I took both of 
 hers again, and so looked up in her face, dumbly be- 
 seeching her; a smile quivered on her lips as she shook 
 her head at me. 
 
 " Heaven keeps you for better things," she said. 
 
 " I'd be the judge of them myself," I cried, and I 
 sought to carry her hands to my lips.
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 1 1 5 
 
 " Let me go," she said ; " Simon, you must let me 
 go. Nay, you must. So ! Sit there, and I'll sit 
 opposite to you." 
 
 She did as she said, seating herself over against me, 
 although quite close. She looked me in the face. 
 Presently she gave a little sigh. 
 
 "Won't you leave me now?" she asked, with a 
 plaintive smile. 
 
 I shook my head, but made no other answer. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she went on softly, " that I came to 
 Hatchstead ; I'm sorry that I brought you to London, 
 that I met you in the Lane, that I brought you here 
 to-day. I didn't guess your folly. I've lived with 
 players, and with courtiers, and with with one other ; 
 so I didn't dream of such folly as yours. Yes, I'm 
 sorry." 
 
 " You can give me joy infinitely greater than any 
 sorrow I've had by you," said I, in a low voice. 
 
 On this she sat silent for a full minute, seeming to 
 study my face. Then she looked to right and left, 
 as though she would fain have escaped. Then she 
 laughed a little, but grew grave again, saying, " I don't 
 know why I laughed," and sighing heavily. I watched 
 every motion and change in her, waiting for her to 
 speak again. At last she spoke. 
 
 "You won't be angry with me, Simon?" she asked, 
 coaxingly. 
 
 " Why, no," I answered, wondering. 
 
 " Nor run quite mad, nor talk of death, nor any 
 horrors ? " 
 
 " I'll hear all you say calmly," I answered. 
 
 She sat looking at me in a whimsical distress, 
 seeming to deprecate wrath and to pray my pardon, 
 yet still to hint amusement deep-hidden in her 
 mind. Then she drew herself up and a strange 
 and most pitiful pride appeared in her face. I did 
 not know the meaning of it. Then she leant for-
 
 n6 Simon Dale. 
 
 ward towards me, blushing a little, and whispered my 
 name. 
 
 " I'm waiting to hear you," said I ; my voice came 
 hard, stern and cold. 
 
 " You'll be cruel to me, I know you will," she cried, 
 petulantly. 
 
 " On my life, no," said I. " What is it you want 
 to say ? " 
 
 She was like a child who shows you some loved, for- 
 bidden toy that she should not have, but prizes above 
 all her trifles; there was that sly joy, that ashamed 
 exultation in her face. 
 
 " I have promises," she whispered, clasping her 
 hands and nodding her head at me. "Ah, they make 
 songs on me, and laugh at me, and Castlemaine looks 
 at me as though I were the street-dirt under her feet. 
 But they shall see ! Aye, they shall see that I can 
 match them ! " She sprang to her feet in reckless 
 merriment, crying, " Shall I make a pretty countess, 
 Simon?" She came near to me and whispered with 
 a mysterious air, " Simon, Simon ! " 
 
 I looked up at her sparkling eyes. 
 
 " Simon, what's he whom you serve, whom you're 
 proud to serve? Who is he, I say?" And she broke 
 into a laugh of triumph. 
 
 But I, hearing her laugh, and finding my heart filled 
 with a sudden terror, spread my hands over my eyes 
 and fell back heavily in my chair, like a sick man or a 
 drunken. For now, indeed, I saw that my gem was 
 but a pebble. And the echo of her laugh rang in my 
 ears. 
 
 " So I can't come, Simon," I heard her say. " You 
 see that I can't come. No, no, I can't come; "and 
 again she laughed. 
 
 I sat where I was, hearing nothing but the echo of 
 her laugh, unable to think save of the truth that was 
 driven so cruelly into my mind. The first realising
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. i 1 7 
 
 of things that cannot be undone brings to a young 
 man a fierce impotent resentment ; that was in my 
 heart, and with it a sudden revulsion from what I had 
 desired, as intemperate as the desire, as cruel, it may 
 be, as the thing which gave it birth. Nell's laughter 
 died away and she was silent. Presently I felt a hand 
 rest on my hands as though seeking to convey sym- 
 pathy in a grief but half understood. I shrank away, 
 moving my hands till hers no longer touched them. 
 There are little acts, small matters often, on which re- 
 morse attends while life lasts. Even now my heart is 
 sore that I shrank away from her : she was different 
 now in nothing from what I had known of her ; but I 
 who had desired passionately now shunned her : the 
 thing had come home to me, plain, close, in an odious 
 intimacy. Yet I wish I had not shrunk away ; before 
 I could think I had done it, and I found no words : 
 better perhaps that I attempted none. 
 
 I looked up : she was holding out the hand before 
 her ; there was a puzzled smile on her lips. 
 
 " Does it burn, does it prick, does it soil, Simon ? " 
 she asked. " See, touch it, touch it. It is as it was, 
 isn't it ? " She put it close by my hand, waiting for 
 me to take it, but I did not take it. "As it was when 
 you kissed it," said she ; but still I did not take it. 
 
 I rose to my feet slowly and heavily, like a tired 
 man whose legs are reluctant to resume their load. 
 She stood quite still, regarding me now with alarm and 
 wondering eyes. 
 
 " It's nothing," I stammered. " Indeed, it's noth- 
 ing; only I hadn't thought of it." Scarcely knowing 
 what I did, I began to move towards the door. An 
 unreasoning instinct impelled me to get away from 
 her. Yet my gaze was drawn to her face ; I saw her 
 lips pouting and her cheek flushed, the brightness of 
 her eyes grew clouded. She loved me enough to be 
 hurt by me, if no more. A pity seized me ; turning, I
 
 i iS Simon Dale* 
 
 fell on my knee, and, seizing the hand whose touch I 
 had refused, I kissed it. 
 
 " Ah, you kiss my hand now ! " she cried, breaking 
 into smiles again. 
 
 " I kiss Cydaria's hand," said I. " For in truth I'm 
 sorry for my Cydaria." 
 
 " She was no other than I am," she whispered, and 
 now with a touch of shame ; for she saw that I felt 
 shame for her. 
 
 " Not what is hurts us, but what we know," said I. 
 " Good-bye, Cydaria," and again I kissed her hand. 
 She drew it away from me and tossed her head, crying 
 angrily, 
 
 " I wish I hadn't told you." 
 
 " In God's name, don't wish that," said I, and drew 
 her gaze on me again in surprise. I moved on my 
 way, the only way my feet could tread. But she 
 darted after me, and laid her hand on my arm. I 
 looked at her in amazed questioning. 
 
 "You'll come again, Simon, when ?" The smile 
 would not be denied though it came timidly, afraid 
 for its welcome and distrustful of its right. " When 
 you're better, Simon?" 
 
 I longed, with all my heart I longed, to be kind to 
 her. How could the thing be to her what it was to 
 me? She could not understand why I was aghast; 
 extravagant despair, all in the style of a vanquished 
 rival, would have been easy for her to meet, to ridi- 
 cule, to comfort. I knew all this, but I could not find 
 the means to affect it or to cover my own distress. 
 
 " You'll come again then ? " she insisted, pleadingly. 
 
 " No," said I, bluntly, and cruelly, with unwilling 
 cruelty. 
 
 At that a sudden gust of passion seized her and 
 she turned on me, denouncing me fiercely, in terms 
 she took no care to measure, for a prudish virtue that 
 for good or evil was not mine, and for a narrowness
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 1 19 
 
 of which my reason was not guilty,, I stood defence- 
 less in the storm, crying at the end no more than, " I 
 don't think thus of you." 
 
 " You treat me as though you thought thus," she 
 cried. Yet her manner softened and she came across 
 to me, seeming now as if she might fall to weeping. 
 But at the instant the door opened and the saucy 
 maid who had ushered me in entered, running hastily 
 to her mistress, in whose ears she whispered, nodding 
 and glancing the while at me. 
 
 "The King!" cried Nell, and turning to me, she 
 added hastily, " He'd best not find you here." 
 
 " I ask no better than to be gone," said I. 
 
 " I know, I know," she cried. " We're not dis- 
 turbed ! The King's coming interrupts nothing, forall's 
 finished. Go then, go! out of my sight!" Her an- 
 ger seemed to rise again, while the serving-girl stared 
 back astonished, as she passed out. But if she went to 
 stay the King's coming, she was too late. For he was 
 in the doorway, the instant she had passed through ; 
 he had heard Nell's last speech, and now he showed 
 himself, asking easily, 
 
 " Who's the gentleman of whose society you are so 
 ready to be relieved ? " 
 
 I turned, bowing low. The King arched his brows. 
 It may well be that he had had enough of me already, 
 and that he was not well pleased to stumble on me 
 again and in this place. But he said nothing, merely 
 turning his eyes to Nell in question. 
 
 "You know him, Sir," said she, throwing herself 
 into a chair. 
 
 "Yes, I know him," said the King. " But if I may 
 ask without presumption, what brings him here ? " 
 
 Nell looked at the pair of us, the King and Simon 
 Dale, and answered coolly, 
 
 " My invitation." 
 
 " The answer is all sufficient," bowed the King.
 
 i2o Simon Dale* 
 
 " I'm before my time then, for I received a like hon- 
 our." 
 
 " No, he's after his," said she. " But as you heard, 
 Sir, I was urging him to go." 
 
 " Not on my account, I pray," said the King, po- 
 litely. 
 
 " No, on his. He's not easy here." 
 
 "Yet he outstayed his time ! " 
 
 " We had a matter of business together, Sir. He 
 came to ask something of me, but matters did not 
 prove to be as he thought." 
 
 " Indeed, you must tell me more, or should have 
 told me less. I'm of a mighty curious disposition. 
 Won't Mr. Dale sit ? " And the King seated himself. 
 
 " I will beg your Majesty's permission to depart," 
 said I. 
 
 " All requests here, sir, lie with this lady to grant or 
 to refuse. In this house I am a servant nay, a 
 slave." 
 
 Nell rose and coming to the side of the King's chair 
 stood there. 
 
 " Had things been other than they are, Mr. Dale 
 would have asked me to be his wife," said she. 
 
 A silence followed. Then the King remarked, 
 
 " Had things been other than they are, Mr. Dale 
 would have done well. ' 
 
 " And had they been other than they are, I might 
 well have answered yes,' 1 said Nell. 
 
 " Why, yes, very well," said the King. " For Mr. 
 Dale is, I'm very sure, a gentleman of spirit and 
 honour, although he seems, if I may say so, just now 
 rather taciturn." 
 
 " But as matters are Mr. Dale would have no more 
 of me." 
 
 " It's not for me," said the King, " to quarrel with 
 his resolve, although I'm free to marvel at it." 
 
 " And asks no more of me than leave to depart."
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 121 
 
 " Do you find it hard, madame, to grant him that 
 much?" 
 
 She looked in the King's face and laughed in amuse- 
 ment, but whether at him or me or herself I cannot 
 tell. 
 
 "Why, yes, mighty hard," said she. " It's strange 
 how hard." 
 
 " By my faith," said the King, " I begin to be glad 
 that Mr. Dale asked no more. For if it be hard to 
 grant him this little thing, it might have been easy to 
 grant him more. Come, is it granted to him ? " 
 
 " Let him ask for it again," said she, and leaving 
 the King she came and stood before me, raising her 
 eyes to mine. "Would you leave me, Simon?" she 
 cried. 
 
 " Yes, I would leave you, madame," said I. 
 
 " To go whither ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Yet the question isn't hard," interposed the King. 
 " And the answer is elsewhere." 
 
 "Elsewhere!" cried Nell. "But what does that 
 mean, Sir?" 
 
 "Nay, I don't know her name," said the King. 
 " Nor, may be, does Mr. Dale yet. But he'll learn and 
 so, I hope, shall I, if I can be of service to him." 
 
 " I'm in no haste to learn it," cried Nell. 
 
 " Why, no," laughed the King. 
 
 She turned to me again, holding out her hand as 
 though she challenged me to refuse it. 
 
 "Good-bye, Simon," said she, and she broke into a 
 strange little laugh that seemed devoid of mirth, and 
 to express a railing mockery of herself and what she 
 did. 
 
 I saw the King watching us with attentive eyes and 
 brows bent in a frown. 
 
 " Good-bye," said I. Looking into her eyes, I let 
 my gaze dwell long on her; it dwelt longer than I
 
 122 Simon Dale. 
 
 meant, reluctant to take last leave of old friends. 
 Then I kissed her hand and bowed very low to the 
 King, who replied with a good-natured nod ; then 
 turning I passed out of the room. 
 
 I take it that the change from youth to manhood, 
 and again from full manhood to decline, comes upon 
 us gradually, never ceasing but never swift, as mind 
 and body alike are insensibly transformed beneath the 
 assault of multitudinous unperceived forces of matter 
 and of circumstances ; it is the result we know ; that, 
 not the process, is the reality for us. We awake to 
 find done what our sleepy brains missed in the doing, 
 and after months or years perceive ourselves in a 
 second older by all that period. We are jogged by 
 the elbow, roused ruthlessly and curtly bidden to look 
 and see how we are changed, and wonder, weep, or 
 smile as may seem best to us in face of the metamor- 
 phosis. A moment of such awakening came to me now ; 
 I seemed a man different from him who had, no great 
 number of minutes before, hastened to the house, in- 
 spired by an insane hope, and aflame with a passion 
 that defied reason and summed up life in longing. 
 The lackeys were there still, the maid's smile altered 
 only by a fuller and more roguish insinuation. On 
 me the change had passed, and I looked open-eyed 
 on what I had been. Then came a smile, close neigh- 
 bour to a groan, and the scorn of my old self which is 
 the sad delirium wrought by moving time ; but the 
 lackey held the door for me and I passed out. 
 
 A noise sounded from above as the casement of the 
 window was thrown open. She looked out ; her 
 anger was gone, her emotion also seemed goneo She 
 stood there smiling, very kindly but with mockery. 
 She held in either hand a flower. One she smelt and 
 held her face long to it, as though its sweetness kept 
 her senses willing prisoners ; turning to the other, 
 she smelt it for a short instant and thn drew away,
 
 AliAIN HHk I.AL'l.H SOINDKI) ABOVK MK." PAl.K ) 23.
 
 Of Gems and Pebbles. 123 
 
 her face that told every mood with unfailing aptness 
 twisted into disappointment or disgust. She leant 
 out looking down on me ; now behind her shoulder I 
 saw the King's black face, half hidden by the hang- 
 ings of the window. She glanced at the first flower, 
 then at the second, held up both her hands for a mo- 
 ment, turned for an instant with a coquettish smile 
 towards the swarthy face behind, then handed the first 
 flower with a laugh into a hand that was stretched out 
 for it, and flung the second down to me. As it 
 floated through the air, the wind disengaged its loose 
 petals and they drifted away, some reaching ground, 
 some caught by gusts and carried away, circling, 
 towards the housetops. The stalk fell by me, almost 
 naked, stripped of its bloom. For the second flower 
 was faded, and had no sweetness nor life left in it. 
 Again her laugh sounded above me, and the casement 
 closed. 
 
 I bent and picked up the stalk. Was it her own 
 mood she told me in the allegory ? Or was it the 
 mood she knew to be in me ? There had been an 
 echo of sorrow in the laugh, of pity, kindness and 
 regret : and the laugh that she uttered in giving the 
 fresh bloom to the King had seemed pure derision. 
 It was my love, not hers, that found its symbol in the 
 dying flower and the stalk robbed of its glory. She 
 had said well, it was as she said ; I picked up what she 
 flung and went on my way, hugging my dead. 
 
 In this manner then, as I, Simon the old, have 
 shown, was I, Simon the young, brought back to my 
 senses. It is all very long ago.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Je Viens, T Viens, II Vicnt, 
 
 IT pleased his Grace the Duke of Monmouth so to 
 do all things that men should heed his doing of them. 
 Even in those days, and notwithstanding certain trans- 
 actions hereinbefore related, I was not altogether a 
 fool, and I had not been long about him before I de- 
 tected this propensity, and, as I thought, the intention 
 underlying it. To set it down boldly and plainly, the 
 more the Duke of Monmouth was in the eye of the 
 nation, the better the nation accustomed itself to re- 
 gard him as the king's son ; the more it fell into the 
 habit of counting him the king's son, the less as- 
 tonished and unwilling would it be, if Fate should 
 place him on the king's seat. Where birth is beyond 
 reproach, dignity may be above display ; a defect in 
 the first demands an ample exhibition of the second. 
 It was a small matter, this journey to Dover, yet, that 
 he might not go in the train of his father and the 
 Duke of York, but make men talk of his own going, 
 he chose to start beforehand and alone ; lest even thus 
 he should not win his meed of notice, he set all the 
 inns and all the hamlets on the road a-gossiping by 
 accomplishing the journey from London to Canter- 
 bury in his coach-and-six between sunrise and sunset 
 of a single day. To this end it was needful that the 
 coach should be light ; Lord Carford, now his Grace's 
 inseparable companion, alone sat with him, while the 
 rest of us rode on horseback, and the Post supplied us
 
 Jc Vien*, Tu Viens, II Vient. 1 25 
 
 with relays where we were in want of them. Thus we 
 went down gallantly and in very high style, with his 
 Grace much delighted at being told that never had 
 King or subject made such pace in his travelling since 
 the memory of man began. Here was reward enough 
 for all the jolting, the flogging of horses, and the pain 
 of yokels pressed unwillingly into pushing the coach 
 with their shoulders through miry places. 
 
 As I rode, I had many things to think of. My woe 
 I held at arm's length. Of what remained, the in- 
 timacy between his Grace and my Lord Carford, who 
 were there in the coach together, occupied my mind 
 most constantly. For by now I had moved about in 
 the world a little and had learnt that many counted 
 Carford no better than a secret Papist, that he was 
 held in private favour, but not honoured in public, by 
 the Duke of York, and that communications passed 
 freely between him and Arlington by the hand of the 
 Secretary's good servant and my good friend Mr. Dar- 
 rell. Therefore I wondered greatly at my lord's friend- 
 ship with Monmouth, and at his showing an attachment 
 to the Duke which, as I had seen at Whitehall, ap- 
 peared to keep in check even the natural jealousy and 
 resentment of a lover. But at Court a man went 
 wrong if he held a thing unlikely because there was 
 dishonour in it. There men were not ashamed to be 
 spies themselves, nor to use their wives in the same 
 office. There to see no evil was to shut your eyes. I 
 determined to keep mine open in the interests of my 
 new patron, of an older friend, and perhaps of myself 
 also, for Carford's present civility scarcely masked his 
 dislike. 
 
 We reached Canterbury while the light of the long 
 summer evening still served, and clattered up the 
 street in muddy bravery. The town was out to see 
 his Grace, and his Grace was delighted to be seen by 
 the town. If of their courtesy they chose to treat
 
 126 Simon Dale* 
 
 him as a Prince, he could scarcely refuse their homage, 
 and if he accepted it, it was better to accept like one 
 to the manner born than awkwardly ; yet I wondered 
 whether my lord made a note in his aspiring brain of 
 all that passed, and how soon the Duke of York would 
 know that a Prince of Wales, coming to Canterbury, 
 could have received no greater honour. Nay, and 
 they hailed him as the champion of the Church, with 
 hits at the Romish faith which my lord heard with 
 eyes downcast to the ground and a rigid smile carved 
 on his face. It was all a forecast of what was one day 
 to be, perhaps to the hero of it a suggestion of what 
 some day might be. At least he was radiant over it, 
 and carried Carford off with him into his apartment in 
 the merriest mood. He did not invite me to join his 
 party, and I was well content to be left to wander for 
 an hour in the quiet close of the great cathedral. For 
 let me say that a young man who has been lately 
 crossed in love is in a better mood for most unworldly 
 meditation, than he is likely to be before or after. 
 And if he would not be taken too strictly at his word 
 in all he says to himself then, why, who would, pray, 
 and when ? 
 
 It was not my fault, but must be set down to our 
 nature, that in time my stomach cried out angrily at 
 my heart, and I returned to the inn, seeking supper. 
 His Grace was closeted with my lord, and I turned 
 into the public-room, desiring no other company than 
 what should lie on my plate. But my host imme- 
 diately made me aware that I must share my meal 
 and the table with a traveller who had recently ar- 
 rived and ordered a repast. This gentleman, concern- 
 ing whom the host seemed in some perplexity, had 
 been informed that the Duke of Monmouth was in 
 the house, but had shown neither excitement at the 
 news nor surprise, nor, to the host's great scandal, the 
 least desire for a sight of his Grace. His men-ser-
 
 Jc Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient. 1 2 7 
 
 vants, of whom he had two, seemed tongue-tied, so 
 that the host doubted if they had more than a few 
 phrases of English and set the whole party down for 
 Frenchmen. 
 
 " Hasn't the gentleman given his name ? " I asked. 
 
 " No. He didn't offer it, and since he flung down 
 money enough for his entertainment I had no cause to 
 ask it." 
 
 "None," I remarked, "unless a man may be al- 
 lowed more curiosity than a beast. Stir yourself 
 about supper," and walking in I sa uted, with all the 
 courtesy at my command, a young gentleman of ele- 
 gant appearance (so far as I could judge of him in 
 travellers' garb) who sat at the table. His greetings 
 equalled mine in politeness, and we fell into talk on 
 different matters, he using the English language, 
 which he spoke with remarkable fluency, although 
 evidently as a foreigner. His manner was easy and 
 assured, and I took it for no more than an accident 
 that his pistol lay ready to his hand, beside a small 
 case or pocket-book of leather on the table. He 
 asked me my business, and I told him simply that I 
 was going in the Duke's train to Dover. 
 
 "Ah, to meet Madame the Duchess of Orleans?" 
 said he. " I heard of her coming before I left France. 
 Her visit, sir, will give great pleasure to the King her 
 brother." 
 
 " More, if report speak true, than to the Prince her 
 husband," said I, with a laugh. For the talk at Court 
 was that the Duke of Orleans hated to let his wife 
 out of his sight, while she for her part hated to be in 
 it. Both had their reasons, I do not doubt. 
 
 " Perhaps," he answered, with a shrug. " But it's 
 
 hard to know the truth in these matters. I am myself 
 
 acquainted with many gentlemen at the French Court, 
 
 and they have much to say, but I believe little of it." 
 
 Though I might commend his prudence I was not
 
 128 Simon Dale* 
 
 encouraged to pursue the topic, and, seeking a change 
 of conversation, I paid him a compliment on his mas- 
 tery of English, hazarding a suggestion that he must 
 have passed some time in this country. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " I was in London for a year or 
 more a little while ago." 
 
 " Your English puts my French to the blush," I 
 laughed, " else hospitality would bid me use your lan- 
 guage." 
 
 "You speak French?" he asked. "I confess it is 
 easier to me." 
 
 " Only a little, and that learnt from merchants, not 
 at Court." For traders of all nations had come from 
 time to time to my uncle's house at Norwich. 
 
 " But I believe you speak very well," he insisted, 
 politely. " Pray let me judge of your skill for my- 
 self." ' 
 
 I was about to oblige him, when a loud dispute 
 arose outside, French ejaculations mingling with 
 English oaths. Then came a scuffle. With a hurried 
 apology the gentleman sprang to his feet and rushed 
 out. I went on with my supper, supposing that his 
 servants had fallen into some altercation with the 
 landlord and that the parties could not make one 
 another understand. My conjecture was confirmed 
 when the traveller returned, declaring that the quarrel 
 arose over the capacity of a measure of wine and had 
 been soon arranged. But then, with a little cry of 
 vexation, he "caught up the pocket-book from the 
 table and darted a quick glance of suspicion at me. I 
 was more amazed than angry, and my smile caused 
 him confusion, for he saw that I had detected his 
 fear. Thinking him punished enough for his rudeness 
 (although it might find some excuse in the indifferent 
 honesty of many who frequented the roads in the 
 guise of travellers) I relieved him by resuming our 
 conversation, saying with a smile,
 
 Je Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient* 129 
 
 " In truth my French is a school-boy's French. I 
 can tell the parts of the verb J'aime, tu aimes, il aime ; 
 it goes so far, sir, and no farther." 
 
 " Not far in speech, though often far enough in act," 
 he laughed. 
 
 " Truly," said I, with a sigh. 
 
 " Yet I swear you do yourself injustice. Is there 
 no more? " 
 
 " A little more of the same sort, sir." And, casting 
 about for another phrase with which to humour him, 
 I took the first that came to my tongue ; leaning my 
 arms on the table (for I had finished eating), I said 
 wjth a smile, " Well, what say you to this? This is 
 something to know, isn't it ? Je viens, tu viens, ilvient" 
 
 As I live, he sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm ! 
 His hand darted to his breast where he had stowed 
 the pocket-book ; he tore it out and examined the 
 fastening with furious haste and anxiety. I sat struck 
 still with wonder ; the man seemed mad. He looked 
 at me now, and his glance was full of deepest sus- 
 picion. He opened his mouth to speak, but words 
 seemed to fail him ; he held out the leathern case 
 towards me. Strange as was the question that his 
 gesture put I could not doubt it. 
 
 " I haven't touched the book," said I. " Indeed, 
 sir, only your visible agitation can gain your pardon 
 for the suggestion." 
 
 "Then how how?" he muttered. 
 
 " You pass my understanding, sir," said I, in petu- 
 lant amusement. " I say in jest ' I come, thou comest, 
 he comes,' and the words act on you like abracadabra 
 and the blackest of magic. You don't, I presume, 
 carry a hornbook of French in your case, and if you 
 do I haven't robbed you of it." 
 
 He was turning the little case over and over in his 
 hands, again examining the clasps of it. His next 
 freak was to snatch his pistol and look to the priming.
 
 13 Simon Dale* 
 
 I burst out laughing, for his antics seemed absurd. 
 My laughter cooled him and he made a great effort to 
 regain his composure. But I began to rally him. 
 
 "Mayn't a man know how to say in French ' He 
 comes ' without stealing the knowledge from your 
 book, sir? " I asked. " You do us wrong if you think 
 that so much is known to nobody in England." 
 
 He glared at me like a man who hears a jest, but 
 cannot tell whether it conceals earnest or not. 
 
 " Open the case, sir," I continued, in raillery. " Make 
 sure all is there. Come, you owe me that much." 
 
 To my amazement he obeyed me. He opened the 
 case and searched through certain papers which it con- 
 tained ; at the end he sighed as though in relief, yet 
 his suspicious air did not leave him. 
 
 " Now perhaps, sir," said I, squaring my elbows, 
 "you'll explain the comedy." 
 
 That he could not do. The very impossibility of 
 any explanation showed that I had, in the most unex- 
 pected fashion, stumbled on some secret with him even 
 as I had before with Darrell. Was his secret DarreH's 
 or his own, the same or another? What it was I 
 could not tell, but for certain there it was. He had 
 no resource but to carry the matter with a high hand, 
 and to this he betook himself with the readiness of his 
 nation. 
 
 " You ask an explanation, sir ? " he cried. " There's 
 nothing to explain, and if there were, I give explana- 
 tions when I please, and not to every fellow who 
 chooses to ask them of me." 
 
 " I come, thou comest, he comes 'tis a very mys- 
 terious phrase," said I. " I can't tell what it means. 
 And if you won't tell me, sir, I must ask others." 
 
 "You'll be wiser to ask nobody," he said, menac- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Nay, I shall be no wiser if I ask nobody," I re- 
 torted, with a smile.
 
 Jc Viens, Tu Viens, II Vicnt. 131 
 
 " Yet you'll tell nobody of what has passed," said 
 he, advancing towards me with the plain intention of 
 imposing his will on me by fear, since persuasion 
 failed. I rose to my feet and answered, mimicking 
 his insolent words, 
 
 " I give promises, sir, when I please, and not to 
 every fellow who chooses to ask them of me." 
 
 " You shall give me your promise before you leave 
 this room," he cried. 
 
 His voice had been rising in passion and was now 
 loud and fierce. Whether the sound of it had reached 
 the room above, or whether the Duke and Carford 
 had grown weary of one another, I do not know, but 
 as the French gentleman uttered this last threat Car- 
 ford opened the door, stood aside to let his Grace 
 enter, and followed himself. As they came in, we 
 were in a most hostile attitude ; for the Frenchman's 
 pistol was in his hand, and my hand had flown to the 
 hilt of my sword. The Duke looked at us in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why, what's this, gentlemen ? " he s'aid. " Mr. 
 Dale, are you at variance with this gentleman ? " But 
 before I had time to answer him, he had stepped for- 
 ward and seen the Frenchman's face. " Why, here is 
 M. de Fontelles ! " he cried, in surprise. " I am very 
 pleased to see you, sir, again in England. Carford, 
 here is M. de Fontelles. You were acquainted with 
 him when he was in the suite of the French Ambas- 
 sador. You carry a message, sir ? " 
 
 I listened keenly to all that the Duke's words told 
 me. M. de Fontelles bowed low but his confusion 
 was in no way abated, and he made no answer to his 
 Grace's question. The Duke turned to me, saying 
 with some haughtiness, 
 
 " This gentleman is a friend of mine, Mr. Dale. 
 Pray, why was your hand on your sword ? " 
 
 " Because the gentleman's pistol was in his hand, sir."
 
 *3 2 Simon Dale. 
 
 " You appear always to be very ready for a quarrel, 
 Mr. Dale," said the Duke, with a glance at Carford. 
 " Pray, what's the dispute ? " 
 
 " I'll tell your Grace the whole matter," said I 
 readily enough, for I had nothing to blame myself 
 with. 
 
 " No, I won't have it told," cried M. de Fontelles. 
 
 " It's my pleasure to hear it," said the Duke coldly. 
 
 " Well, sir, it was thus," said I, with a candid air. 
 " I protested to this gentleman that my French was 
 sadly to seek ; he was polite enough to assure me that 
 I spoke it well. Upon this I owned to some small 
 knowledge, and for an example I said to him, 'J'aime, 
 tu aimes, il aime! He received the remark, sir, with 
 the utmost amiability." 
 
 " He could do no less," said the Duke, with a smile. 
 
 " But he would have it that this didn't exhaust my 
 treasure of learning. Therefore, after leaving me for 
 a moment to set straight a difference that had arisen 
 between his servants and our host, he returned, put 
 away a leathern case that he had left on the table 
 (concerning which indeed he seemed more uneasy 
 than would be counted courteous here in England, 
 seeing that I had been all the while alone in the room 
 with it), and allowed me to resume my exhibition of 
 French-speaking. To humour him and to pass away 
 the hour during which I was deprived of the pleasure 
 of attending your Grace " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Dale. Don't delay in order to com- 
 pliment me," said the Duke, smiling still. 
 
 " I leant across the table, sir, and I made him a 
 speech that sent him, to all seeming, half-way out of 
 his senses ; for he sprang up, seized his case, looked 
 at the fastenings, saw to the priming of his pistol, and 
 finally presumed to exact from me a promise that I 
 would consult nobody as to the perplexity into which 
 this strange behaviour of his had flung me. To that I
 
 Je Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient. 133 
 
 demurred, and hence the quarrel with which I regret 
 most humbly that your Grace should have been 
 troubled." 
 
 " I'm obliged to you, Mr. Dale. But what was this 
 wonder-working phrase ? " 
 
 "Why, sir, just the first that came into my head. 
 I said to the gentleman to M. de Fontelles, as I 
 understand him to be called I said to him softly and 
 gently Je viens, tu viens " 
 
 The Duke seized me by the arm, with a sudden air 
 of excitement. Carford stepped forward and stood 
 beside him. 
 
 "Je viens, tu viens . . . Yes! And any more?" 
 cried the Duke. 
 
 "Yes, your Grace," I answered, again amazed. " I 
 completed what grammarians call the Single Number 
 by adding "It vient ; whereupon but 1 have told 
 you." 
 
 " II vient?" cried the Duke and Carford, all in a 
 breath. 
 
 " // vient," I repeated, thinking now that all the 
 three had run mad. Carford screened his mouth with 
 his hand and whispered in the Duke's ear. The Duke 
 nodded and made some answer. Both seemed infi- 
 nitely stirred and interested. M. de Fontelles had 
 stood in sullen silence by the table while I told the 
 story of our quarrel ; now his eyes were fixed intently 
 on the Duke's face. 
 
 " But why," said I, " that simple phrase worked 
 such strange agitation in the gentleman, your Grace's 
 wisdom may discover. I am at a loss." 
 
 Still Carford whispered, and presently the Duke 
 said, 
 
 " Come, gentlemen, you've fallen into a, foolish 
 quarrel where no quarrel need have come. Pray be 
 friends again." 
 
 M. de Fontelles drew himself up stiffly.
 
 *34 Simon Dale. 
 
 " I asked a promise of that gentleman and he re- 
 fused it me," he said. 
 
 " And I asked an explanation of that gentleman, 
 and he refused it me," said I, just as stiffly. 
 
 " Well then, Mr. Dale shall give his promise to me. 
 Will that be agreeable to you, Mr. Dale ? " 
 
 " I'm at your Grace's commands in all things," I 
 answered, bowing. 
 
 "And you'll tell nobody of M. de Fontelles' agita- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " If your Grace pleases. To say the truth, I don't 
 care a fig for his fierceness. But the explanation, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Why, to make all level," answered the Duke, 
 smiling and fixing his gaze upon the Frenchman, 
 " M. de Fontelles will give his explanation to me." 
 
 " I cry agreed, your Grace ! " said I. " Come, let 
 him give it." 
 
 "To me, Mr. Dale, not to you," smiled the Duke. 
 
 " What, am I not to hear why he was so fierce with 
 me?" 
 
 " You don't care a fig for his fierceness, Mr. Dale," 
 he reminded me, laughing. 
 
 I saw that I was caught, and had the sense to show 
 no annoyance, although I must confess to a very 
 lively curiosity. 
 
 "Your Grace wishes to be alone with M. de Fon- 
 telles ? " I asked, readily and deferentially. 
 
 " For a little while, if you'll give us leave," he 
 answered, but he added to Carford, " No, you needn't 
 move, Carford." 
 
 So I made my bow and left them, not well pleased, 
 for my brain was on the rack to discover what might 
 be the secret which hung on that mysterious phrase 
 and which I had so nearly surprised from M. de Fon- 
 telles. 
 
 " The gist of it," said I to myself as I turned to the
 
 Je Vkns, To Viens, n Vient. 135 
 
 kitchen, " lies, if I am not mistaken, in the third 
 member. For when I had said Je viens, tu viens, the 
 Duke interrupted me, crying, ' Any more?' ' 
 
 I ha.d made for the kitchen, since there was no 
 other room open to me, and I found it tenanted by the 
 French servants of M. de Fontelles. Although peace 
 had been made between them and the host, they sat 
 in deep dejection ; the reason was plain to see in two 
 empty glasses and an empty bottle that stood on a 
 table between them. Kindliness, aided, it may be, 
 by another motive, made me resolve to cure their 
 despondency. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said I in French, going up to them, 
 "you do not drink ! " 
 
 They rose, bowing, but I took a third chair be- 
 tween them and motioned them to be seated. 
 
 " We have not the wherewithal, sir," said one, with 
 a wistful smile. 
 
 " The thing is mended as soon as told," I cried, and, 
 calling the host, I bade him bring three bottles. " A 
 man is more at home with his own bottle," said I. 
 
 With the wine came new gaiety, and with gaiety a 
 flow of speech. M. de Fontelles would have admired 
 the fluency with which I discoursed with his servants, 
 they telling me of travelling in their country, I describ- 
 ing the incidents of the road in England. 
 
 " There are rogues enough on the way in both coun- 
 tries, I'll warrant," I laughed. " But perhaps you 
 carry nothing of great value and laugh at robbers ? " 
 
 " Our spoil would make a robber a poor meal, sir, 
 but our master is in a different plight." 
 
 " Ah ! He carries treasure ? " 
 
 " Not in money, sir," answered one. The other 
 nudged him, as though to bid him hold his tongue. 
 
 " Come, fill your glasses," I cried, and they obeyed 
 very readily. 
 
 " Well, men have met their death between here and
 
 136 Simon Dale* 
 
 London often enough before now," I pursued, medi- 
 tatively, twisting my glass of wine in my ringers. 
 " But with you for his guard, M. de Fontelles should 
 be safe enough." 
 
 " We're charged to guard him with our lives and 
 not leave him till he comes to the Ambassador's 
 house." 
 
 " But these rogues hunt sometimes in threes and 
 fours," said I. " You might well lose one of your 
 number." 
 
 "We're cheap, sir," laughed one. "The King of 
 France has many of us." 
 
 " But if your master were the one ? " 
 
 " Even then provision is made." 
 
 "What? Could you carry his message for if his 
 treasure isn't money, I must set it down as tidings 
 to the Ambassador? " 
 
 They looked at one another rather doubtfully. But 
 I was not behindhand in filling their glasses. 
 
 " Still we should go on, even without Monsieur" 
 said one. 
 
 " But to what end ? " I cried, in feigned derision. 
 
 " Why, we too have a message." 
 
 " Indeed. Can you carry the King's message ? " 
 
 " None better, sir," said the shorter of the pair, 
 with a shrewd twinkle in his eye. " For we don't 
 understand it." 
 
 " Is it difficult then?" 
 
 " Nay, it's so simple as to seem without meaning." 
 
 "What, so simple but your bottle is empty! 
 Come, another?" 
 
 " Indeed no, Monsieur." 
 
 "A last bottle between us! I'll not be denied." 
 And I called for a fourth. 
 
 When we were well started on the drinking of it, I 
 asked carelessly, 
 
 " And what's your message ? "
 
 Jc Viens, Tu Viens, II Vient. 137 
 
 But neither the wine nor the negligence of my ques- 
 tion had quite lulled their caution to sleep. They 
 shook their heads, and laughed, saying, 
 
 " We're forbidden to tell that." 
 
 " Yet, if it be so simple as to have no meaning, 
 what harm in telling it ? " 
 
 " But orders are orders, and we're soldiers," an- 
 swered the shrewd short fellow. 
 
 The idea had been working in my brain, growing 
 stronger and stronger till it reached conviction. I 
 determined now to put it to the proof. 
 
 "Tut," said I. "You make a pretty secret of it, 
 and I don't blame you. But I can guess your riddle. 
 Listen. If anything befell M. de Fontelles, which 
 God forbid " 
 
 "Amen, amen," they murmured, with a chuckle. 
 
 You two, or if fate left but one, that one, would 
 ride on at his best speed to London, and there seek 
 out the Ambassador of the Most Christian King. 
 Isn't it so?" 
 
 " So much, sir, you might guess from what we've 
 said." 
 
 " Aye, aye, I claim no powers of divination. Yet 
 I'll guess a little more. On being admitted to the 
 presence of the Ambassador, he would relate the sad 
 fate of his master, and would then deliver his message, 
 and that message would be " I drew my chair for- 
 ward between them and laid a finger on the arm of 
 each. "That message," said I, " would be just like 
 this and indeed it's very simple, and seems devoid 
 of all rational meaning. " Je viens." They started. 
 " Tu viens.' 1 They gaped. " II vient" I cried trium- 
 phantly, and their chairs shot back as they sprang to 
 their feet, astonishment vivid on their faces. For me, 
 I sat there laughing in sheer delight at the excellence 
 of my aim and the shrewdness of my penetration. 
 
 What they would have said, I do not know. The
 
 138 Simon Dale, 
 
 door was flung open and M. de Fontelles appeared. 
 He bowed coldly to me and vented on his servants 
 the anger from which he was not yet free, calling 
 them drunken knaves and bidding them see to their 
 horses and lie down in the stables, for he must be on 
 his way by daybreak. With covert glances at me 
 which implored silence and received the answer of a 
 reassuring nod, they slunk away. I bowed to M. de 
 Fontelles with a merry smile ; I could not conceal my 
 amusement and did not care how it might puzzle him. 
 I strode out of the kitchen and made my way up the 
 stairs. I had to pass the Duke's apartment. The 
 light still burned there, and he and Carford were sit- 
 ting at the table. I put my head in. 
 
 " If your Grace has no need of me, I'll seek my 
 bed," said I, mustering a yawn. 
 
 "No need at all," he answered. "Good-night to 
 you, Simon." But then he added, "You'll keep your 
 promise to me ? " 
 
 " Your Grace may depend on me." 
 
 " Though in truth, I may tell you that the whole 
 affair is nothing ; it's no more than a matter of gallan- 
 tryeh, Carford?" 
 
 " No more," said my Lord Carford. 
 
 " But such matters are best not talked of." 
 
 I bowed as he dismissed me, and pursued my way 
 to my room. A matter of gallantry might, it seemed, 
 be of moment to the messengers of the King of 
 France. I did not know what to make of the mystery, 
 but I knew there was a mystery. 
 
 " And it turns," said I to myself, " on those little 
 words " // vient." Who is he ? Where comes he ? 
 And to what end? Perhaps I shall learn these things 
 at Dover." 
 
 There is this to be said. A man's heart aches less 
 when his head is full. On that night I did not sigh 
 above half my usual measure.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The Gentleman from Calais* 
 
 GOOD fortune and bad had combined to make me 
 somewhat more of a figure in the eyes of the Court 
 than was warranted by my abilities or my station. 
 The friend of Mistress Gwyn and the favourite of the 
 Duke of Monmouth (for this latter title his Grace's 
 signal kindness soon extorted from the amused and 
 the envious) was a man whom great folk recognised 
 and to whom small folk paid civility. Lord Carford 
 had become again all smiles and courtesy ; Darrell, 
 who arrived in the Secretary's train, compensated in 
 cordiality for what he lacked in confidence ; my lord 
 Arlington himself presented me in most flattering 
 terms to the French King's envoy, M. Colbert de 
 Croissy, who, in his turn, greeted me with a warmth 
 and regarded me with a curiosity that produced equal 
 gratification and bewilderment in my mind. Finally 
 the Duke of Monmouth insisted on having me with 
 him in the Castle, though the greater part of the gen- 
 tlemen attached to the Royal and noble persons were 
 sent to lodge in the town for want of accommodation 
 within the walls. My private distress, from which I 
 recovered but slowly, or, to speak more properly, sup- 
 pressed with difficulty, served to prevent me from be- 
 coming puffed up with the conceit which this success 
 might well have inspired. 
 
 The first part of Betty Nasroth's prophecy now 
 stood fulfilled, aye, as I trusted, utterly finished 'and
 
 140 Simon Dale* 
 
 accomplished ; the rest tarried. I had guessed that 
 there was a secret, what it was remained unknown to 
 me and, as I soon suspected, to people more important. 
 The interval before the arrival of the Duchess of Or- 
 leans was occupied in many councils and conferences ; 
 at most of them the Duke of Monmouth was present, 
 and he told me no more than all the Court conjectured 
 when he said that Madame d'Orleans came with a 
 project for a new French Alliance and a fresh war 
 with the Dutch. But there were conferences at which 
 he was not present, nor the Duke of Buckingham, but 
 only the King, his brother (so soon as his Royal High- 
 ness joined us from London), the French envoy, and 
 Clifford and Arlington. Of what passed at these my 
 master knew nothing, though he feigned knowledge; 
 he would be restless, when I, having used my eyes, 
 told him that the King had been with M. Colbert de 
 Croissy for two hours, and that the Duke of York had 
 walked on the wall above an hour in earnest conversa- 
 tion with the Treasurer. He felt himself ignored and 
 poured out his indignation unreservedly to Carford. 
 Carford would frown and throw his eyes towards me, 
 as though to ask if I were to hear these things, but 
 the Duke refused his suggestion. Nay, once he said 
 in jest, 
 
 " What I say is as safe with him as with you, my 
 lord, or safer." 
 
 I wondered to see Carford indignant. 
 
 " Why do you say safer, sir ? " he asked haughtily, 
 while the colour on his cheeks was heightened. " Is 
 any man's honour more to be trusted than mine?" 
 
 " Ah, man, I meant nothing against your honour, 
 but Simon here has a discretion that heaven does not 
 give to every one." 
 
 Now when I see a man so sensitive to suspicion as 
 to find it in every careless word, I am set thinking 
 whether he may not have some cause to fear suspi-
 
 The Gentleman from Calais* I4 1 
 
 cion. Honesty expects no accusation. Carford's 
 readiness to repel a charge not brought caught my 
 notice, and made me ponder more on certain other 
 conferences to which also his Grace my patron was 
 a stranger. More than once had 1 found Arlington and 
 Carford together, with M. Colbert in their company, 
 and on the last occasion of such an encounter Car- 
 ford had requested me not to mention his whereabouts 
 to the Duke, advancing the trivial pretext that he 
 should have been engaged on his Grace's business. His 
 Grace was not our schoolmaster. But I was deceived, 
 most amiably deceived, and held my tongue as he 
 prayed. Yet I watched him close, and soon, had a 
 man told me that the Duke of York thought it well 
 to maintain a friend of his own in his nephew's confi- 
 dence, I would have hazarded that friend's name 
 without fear of mistake. 
 
 So far the affair was little to me, but when Mistress 
 Barbara came from London the day before Madame 
 was to arrive, hardly an hour passed before I per- 
 ceived that she also, although she knew it not, had 
 her part to play. I cannot tell what reward they of- 
 fered Carford for successful service ; if a man who 
 sells himself at a high price be in any way less a vil- 
 lainthan he who takes a penny, I trust that the price 
 was high ; for in pursuance of the effort to obtain 
 Monmouth's confidence and an ascendency over him, 
 Carford made use of the lady whom he had courted, 
 and as I believed still courted, for his own wife. He 
 threw her in Monmouth's way by tricks too subtle for 
 her to detect, but plain to an attentive observer. I 
 knew from her father that lately he had again begged 
 her hand, and that she had listened with more show 
 of favour. Yet he was the Duke's very humble ser- 
 vant in all the plans which that headstrong young 
 man now laid against the lady's peace and honour. 
 Is there need to state the scheme more plainly ? In
 
 i4 2 Simon Dale* 
 
 those days a man might rise high and learn great se- 
 crets, if he knew when to shut his eyes and how to 
 knock loud before he entered the room. 
 
 I should have warned her. It is true, but the mis- 
 chief lay in the fact that by no means could I induce 
 her to exchange a word with me. She was harder by 
 far to me than she had shown herself in London. 
 Perhaps she had heard how I had gone to Chelsea ; 
 but whether for good reason or bad, my crime now 
 seemed beyond pardon. Stay; perhaps my condition 
 was below her notice ; or sin and condition so worked 
 together that she would have nothing of me, and I 
 could do nothing but look on with outward calm 
 and hidden sourness while the Duke plied her with 
 flatteries that soon grew to passionate avowals, and 
 Carford paid deferential suit when his superior was 
 not in the way. She triumphed in her success as 
 girls will, blind to its perils as girls are ; and Mon- 
 mouth made no secret of his hopes of success, as he 
 sat between Carford's stolid face and my downcast 
 eyes. 
 
 " She's the loveliest creature in the world," he would 
 cry. "Come, drink a toast to her!" I drank si- 
 lently, while Carford led him on to unrestrained boasts 
 and artfully fanned his passion. 
 
 At last it was the evening of the day before Ma- 
 dame was to come I met her where she could not 
 avoid me, by the Constable's Tower, and alone. I 
 took my courage in my hands and faced her, warning 
 her of her peril in what delicate words I could find. 
 Alas, I made nothing of it. A scornful jest at me 
 and my righteousness (of which, said she, all London 
 had been talking a little while back) was the first shot 
 from her battery. The mention of the Duke's name 
 brought a blush and a mischievous smile, as she an- 
 swered, 
 
 "Shouldn't I make a fine Duchess, Mr. Dale? "
 
 The Gentleman from Calais* 143 
 
 " Aye, if he made you one," said I, with gloomy 
 bluntness. 
 
 "You insult me, sir," she cried, and the flush on 
 her face deepened. 
 
 " Then I do in few words what his Grace does in 
 many," I retorted. 
 
 I went about it like a dolt, I do not doubt. For 
 she flew out on me, demanding in what esteem I held 
 her, and in what her birth fell short of Anne Hyde's 
 " who is now Duchess of York, and in whose service 
 I have the honour to be." 
 
 " Is that your pattern ? " I asked. " Will the King 
 interpose for you as he did for the daughter of Lord 
 Clarendon? " 
 
 She tossed her head, answering, 
 
 "Perhaps so much interference will not be needed." 
 
 " And does my Lord Carford share these plans of 
 yours?" I asked, with a sneer. 
 
 The question touched her ; she flushed again, but 
 gave way not an inch. 
 
 " Lord Carford has done me much honour, as you 
 know," said she, "but he wouldn't stand in my way 
 here." 
 
 " Indeed he doesn't ! " I cried. " Nor in his 
 Grace's ! " 
 
 " Have you done, sir? " said she, most scornfully. 
 
 " I have done, madame," said I, and on she swept. 
 
 "Yet you shall come to no harm," I added to my- 
 self, as I watched her proud free steps carry her away. 
 She also, it seemed, had her dream ; I hoped that no 
 more than hurt pride and a heart for the moment sore 
 would come of it. Yet if the flatteries of princes 
 pleased, she was to be better pleased soon, and the 
 Duke of Monmouth seem scarcely higher to her than 
 Simon Dale. 
 
 Then came Madame in the morning from Dunkirk, 
 escorted by the Vice-Admiral, and met above a mile
 
 144 Simon Dale* 
 
 from the coast by the King in his barge ; the Duke of 
 York, Prince Rupert, and my Duke (on whom I at- 
 tended) accompanying his Majesty. Madame seemed 
 scarcely as beautiful as I had heard, although of a very 
 high air and most admirable carriage and address, 
 and my eyes, prone, I must confess, to seek the fair- 
 est face, wandered from hers to a lady who stood near, 
 gifted with a delicate and alluring, yet childish beauty, 
 who gazed on the gay scene with innocent interest 
 and a fresh enjoyment. Madame, having embraced 
 her kinsmen, presented the lady to his Majesty by the 
 name of Mademoiselle Louise Renee de Perrencourt 
 de Qu6rouaille (the name was much shortened by our 
 common folk in later days) and the King kissed her 
 hand, saying that he was rejoiced to see her as in- 
 deed he seemed to be, if a man might judge by the 
 time that he spent in looking at her and the careless- 
 ness with which he greeted the others in attendance 
 on Madame. 
 
 "And these are all who come with you, sister?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She answered him clearly, almost loudly, 
 
 " Except a gentleman who is to join me from Calais 
 to-morrow, with messages from the King." 
 
 I heard no more, being forced to move away and 
 leave the royal group alone. I had closely examined 
 all who came. For in the presence of Madame I read 
 Je viens, in our King's, Tu viens ; but I saw none whose 
 coming would make the tidings // vicnt worthy of a 
 special messenger to London. But there was a gen- 
 tleman to arrive from Calais. I had enough curiosity 
 to ask M. le Comte d'Albon, who (with his wife) ac- 
 companied Madame and stood by me on deck as we 
 returned to land, who this gentleman might be. 
 
 " He is called M. de Perrencourt," the Count replied, 
 " and is related remotely to the lady whom you saw 
 with Madame."
 
 The Gentleman from Calais. 145 
 
 I was disappointed, or rather checked. Was M. de 
 Perrencourt so important that they wrote // vient 
 about him and sent the tidings to London ? 
 
 After some time, when we were already coming near 
 to shore, I observed Madame leave the King and go 
 walking to and fro on the deck in company with Mon- 
 mouth. He was very merry and she was very gra- 
 cious ; I amused myself with watching so handsome 
 and well-matched a pair. I did not wonder that my 
 Duke was in a mighty good temper, for, even had she 
 been no Princess, her company was such as would 
 please a man's pride and content his fancy. So I 
 leant against the mast, thinking it a pity that they 
 troubled their pretty heads with Dutch wars and the 
 like tiresome matters, and were not content to ornament 
 the world, leaving its rule to others. But presently 
 I saw the Duke point towards me, and Madame's glance 
 follow his finger ; he talked to her again and both 
 laughed. Then, just as we came by the landing-stage, 
 she laid her hand on his arm, as though in command. 
 He laughed again, shrugging his shoulders, then raised 
 his hand and beckoned to me. Now I, while watching, 
 had been most diligent in seeming not to watch, and 
 it needed a second and unmistakable signal from his 
 Grace, before I hastened up, hat in hand. Madame 
 was laughing, and, as I came, I heard her say, " Yes, 
 but I will speak to him." The Duke, with another 
 shrug, bade me come near, and in due form presented 
 me. She gave me her hand to kiss, saying with a smile 
 that showed her white teeth, 
 
 " Sir, I asked to be shown the most honest man in 
 Dover, and my cousin Monmouth has brought you to 
 me." 
 
 I perceived that Monmouth, seeking how to enter- 
 tain her, had not scrupled to press me into his service. 
 This I could not resent, and since I saw that she was 
 not too dull to be answered in the spirit of her address, 
 I made her a low bow and said,
 
 146 Simon Dale* 
 
 " His Grace, Madame, conceived you to mean in 
 Dover Castle. The townsmen, I believe, are very 
 honest." 
 
 "And you, though the most honest in the Castle, 
 are not very honest ? " 
 
 " I take what I find, Madame," I answered. 
 
 " So M. Colbert tells me," she said, with a swift 
 glance at me. "Yet it's not always worth taking." 
 
 " I keep it, in case it should become so," I an- 
 swered, for I guessed that Colbert had told her of my 
 encounter with M. de Fontelles ; if that were so, she 
 might have a curiosity to see me without the added 
 inducement of Monmouth's malicious stories. 
 
 " Not if it be a secret! No man keeps that," she 
 cried. 
 
 " He may, if he be not in love, Madame." 
 
 "But are you that monster, Mr. Dale?" said she. 
 " Shame on the ladies of my native land ! Yet I'm 
 glad ! For, if you're not in love, you'll be more ready 
 to serve me, perhaps." 
 
 " Mr. Dale, Madame, is not incapable of falling in 
 love," said Monmouth, with a bow. " Don't try his 
 virtue too much." 
 
 " He shall fall in love then with Louise," she cried. 
 
 Monmouth made a grimace and the Duchess sud- 
 denly fell to laughing, as she glanced over her shoulder 
 towards the King, who was busily engaged in conver- 
 sation with Mile, de Qurouaille. 
 
 " Indeed, no ! " I exclaimed, with a fervour that I 
 had not intended. No more of that part of Betty 
 Nasroth's prophecy for me, and the King's attentions 
 were already particular. " But if I can serve your 
 Royal Highness, I am body and soul at your service." 
 
 " Body and soul? " said she. "Ah, you mean sav- 
 ing what is it? Haven't you reservations?" 
 
 " His Grace has spared me nothing," said I, with a 
 reproachful glance at Monmouth.
 
 The Gentleman from Calais. 147 
 
 " The more told of you the better you're liked, 
 Simon," said he, kindly. "See, Madame, we're at 
 the landing and there's a crowd of loyal folk to greet 
 you." 
 
 " I know the loyalty of the English well," said she, 
 in a low voice and with a curling lip. " They have 
 their reservations like Mr. Dale. Ah, you're speaking, 
 Mr. Dale?" 
 
 " To myself, Madame," I answered, bowing pro- 
 foundly. She laughed, shaking her head at me, and 
 passed on. I was glad she did not press me, for what 
 I had said was, " Thank God," and I might likely 
 enough have told a lie if she had put me to the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 That night the King entertained his sister at a 
 great banquet in the hall of the Castle, where there 
 was much drinking of toasts, and much talk of the 
 love that the King of France had for the King of 
 England, and our King for the other King, and we 
 for the French (whereas we hated them) and they for 
 us (although they wasted no kindness on us); but at 
 least every man got as much wine as he wanted, and 
 many of them more than they had fair occasion for; 
 and among these last I must count the Duke of Mon- 
 mouth. For after the rest had risen from table he 
 sat there still, calling Carford to join him, and even 
 bidding me sit down by his side. Carford seemed in 
 no haste to get him away, although very anxious to 
 relieve me of my post behind his chair, but at last, 
 by dint of upbraiding them both, I prevailed on Car- 
 ford to offer his arm and the Duke to accept it, while 
 I supported him on the other side. Thus we set out 
 for his Grace's quarters, making a spectacle sad 
 enough to a moralist, but too ordinary at Court for 
 any remark to be excited by it. Carford insisted that 
 he could take the Duke alone ; I would not budge. 
 My lord grew offensive, hinting of busybodies who
 
 148 Simon Dale. 
 
 came between the Duke and his friends. Pushed 
 hard, I asked the Duke himself if I should leave him. 
 He bade me stay, swearing that I was an honest fel- 
 low and no Papist, as were some he knew. I saw 
 Carford start ; his Grace saw nothing save the en- 
 trance of his chamber, and that not over-plainly. But 
 we got him in, and into a seat, and the door shut. 
 Then he called for more wine, and Carford at once 
 brought it to him and pledged him once and again, 
 Monmouth drinking deep. 
 
 " He's had more than he can carry already," I 
 whispered. Carford turned straight to the Duke, cry- 
 ing, " Mr. Dale here says that your Grace is drunk." 
 He made nothing by the move, for the Duke answered 
 good humouredly, 
 
 " Truly I am drunk, but in the legs only, my good 
 
 Simon. My head is clear, clear as daylight, or the 
 
 He looked round cunningly, and caught each 
 
 of us by the arm. "We're good Protestants here?" 
 
 he asked with a would-be shrewd, wine-muddled glance. 
 
 " Sound and true, your Grace," said Carford. Then 
 he whispered to me, " Indeed, I think he's ill. Pray 
 run for the King's physician, Mr. Dale." 
 
 " Nay, he'd do well enough, if he were alone with 
 me. If you desire the physician's presence, my lord, 
 he's easy to find." 
 
 I cared not a jot for Carford's anger, and was deter- 
 mined not to give ground. But we had no more time 
 for quarrelling. 
 
 " I am as loyal as loyal to my father as any man 
 in the kingdom," said the Duke, in maudlin confi- 
 dence. " But you know what's afoot ? " 
 
 "A new war with the Dutch, I'm told, sir," said I. 
 
 "A fig for the Dutch! Hush, we must speak 
 low, there may be Papists about. There are some in 
 the Castle, Carford. Hush, hush ! Some say my 
 uncle's one, some say the Secretary's one. Gentle-
 
 The Gentleman from Calais. 149 
 
 men, I I say no more. Traitors have said that my 
 father is 
 
 Carford interrupted him. 
 
 " Don't trouble your mind with these slanders, sir," 
 he urged. 
 
 " I won't believe it. I'll stand by my father. But 
 if the Duke of York But I'll say no more." His 
 head fell on his breast. But in a moment he sprang 
 to his feet, crying, " But I'm a Protestant. Yes, and 
 I'm the King's son." He caught Carford by the arm, 
 whispering, " Not a word of it. I'm ready. We know 
 what's afoot. We're loyal to the King; we must save 
 him. But if we can't if we can't, isn't there one who 
 who ?" 
 
 He lost his tongue for an instant. We stood look- 
 ing at him, till he spoke again. "One who would 
 be a Protestant King?" 
 
 He spoke the last words loud and fiercely ; it was 
 the final effort, and he sank back in his chair in a 
 stupor. Carford gave a hasty glance at his face. 
 
 "I'll go for the physician," he cried. "His Grace 
 may need blood-letting." 
 
 I stepped between him and the door as he advanced. 
 
 " His Grace needs nothing," said I, " except the 
 discretion of his friends. We've heard foolish words 
 that we should not have heard to-night, my lord." 
 
 " I am sure they're safe with you," he answered. 
 
 " And with you ? " I retorted, quickly. 
 
 He drew himself up haughtily. 
 
 " Stand aside, sir, and let me pass." 
 
 " Where are you going? " 
 
 " To fetch the physician. I'll answer none of your 
 questions." 
 
 I could not stop him without an open brawl, and 
 that I would not encounter, for it could lead only to 
 my own expulsion. Yet I was sure that he would go 
 straight to Arlington and that every word the Duke
 
 15 Simon Dale* 
 
 had spoken would be carried to York and perhaps to 
 the King before next morning. The King would be 
 informed, if it were thought possible to prejudice him 
 against his son; York at least would be warned of the 
 mad scheme which was in the young Duke's head. I 
 drew aside and with a surly bow let Carford pass. He 
 returned my salutation with an equal economy of 
 politeness, and left me alone with Monmouth, who had 
 now sunk into a heavy and uneasy sleep. I roused 
 him and got him to bed, glad to think that his unwary 
 tongue would be silent for a few hours at least. Yet 
 what he had said brought me nearer to the secret and 
 the mystery. There was indeed more afoot than the 
 war with the Dutch. There was, if I mistook not, a 
 matter that touched the religion of the King. Mon- 
 mouth, whose wits were sharp enough, had gained 
 scent of it ; the wits went out as the wine went in, 
 and he blurted out what he suspected, robbing his 
 knowledge of all value by betraying its possession. 
 Our best knowledge lies in what we are not known to 
 know. 
 
 I repaired, thoughtful and disturbed, to my own 
 small chamber, next the Duke's ; but the night was 
 fine and I had no mind for sleep. I turned back 
 again and made my way on to the wall, where it faces 
 towards the sea. The wind was blowing fresh and the 
 sound of the waves filled my ears. No doubt the 
 same sound hid the noise of my feet, for when I came 
 to the wall, I passed unheeded by three persons who 
 stood in a group together. I knew all and made haste 
 to pass by ; the man was the King himself, the lady 
 on his right was Mistress Barbara ; in the third I 
 recognised Madame's lady, Louise de Qurouaille. I 
 proceeded some distance further till I was at the end 
 of the wall nearest the sea. There I took my stand, 
 looking not at the sea but covertly at the little group. 
 Presently two of them moved away ; the third curt-
 
 The Gentleman from Calais, 151 
 
 seyed low but did not accompany them. When they 
 were gone, she turned and leant on the parapet of the 
 wall with clasped hands. Drawn by some impulse I 
 moved towards her. She was unconscious of my 
 approach until I came quite near to her; then she 
 turned on me a face stained with tears and pale with 
 agitation and alarm. I stood before her, speechless, 
 and she found no words in which to address me. I 
 was too proud to force my company on her and made 
 as though to pass on with a bow"; but her face arrested 
 me. 
 
 "What ails you, Mistress Barbara?" I cried, im- 
 petuously. She smoothed her face to composure as 
 she answered me, 
 
 " Nothing, sir." Then she added, carelessly, " Un- 
 less it be that sometimes the King's conversation is 
 too free for my liking." 
 
 " When you want me, I'm here," I said, answering 
 not her words but the frightened look that there was 
 in her eyes. 
 
 For an instant I seemed to see in her an impulse to 
 trust me and to lay bare what troubled her. The 
 feeling passed ; her face regained its natural hue and 
 she said petulantly, 
 
 " Why, yes, it seems fated that you should always 
 be there, Simon ; yet Betty Nasroth said nothing of 
 it." 
 
 " It may be well for you that I'm here," I answered 
 hotly ; for her scorn stirred me to say what I should 
 have left unsaid. 
 
 I do not know how she would have answered, for at 
 the moment we heard a shout from the watchman who 
 stood looking over the sea. He hailed a boat that 
 came prancing over the waves ; a light answered his 
 signal. Who came to the Castle ? Barbara's eyes 
 and mine sought the ship ; we did not know the 
 stranger, but he was expected ; for a minute later
 
 152 Simon Dale. 
 
 Darrell ran quickly by us with an eager look on his 
 face; with him was the Count d'Albon who had come 
 with Madame, and Depuy the Duke of York's servant. 
 They went by at the top of their speed and in visible 
 excitement. Barbara forgot her anger and haughti- 
 ness in fresh, girlish interest. 
 
 " Who can it be ? " she cried, coming so near to me 
 that her sleeve touched mine, and leaning over the 
 wall towards where the ship's black hull was to be seen 
 far below in the moonlight by the jetty. 
 
 " Doubtless it's the gentleman whom Madame ex- 
 pects," said I. 
 
 Many minutes passed, but through them Barbara 
 and I stood silent side by side. Then the party came 
 back through the gate, which had been opened for 
 them. Depuy walked first, carrying a small trunk; 
 two or three servants followed with more luggage ; 
 then came Darrell in company with a short man who 
 walked with a bold and confident air. The rest passed 
 us, and the last pair approached. Now Darrell saw 
 Mistress Barbara and doffed his hat to her. The new- 
 comer did the like and more ; he halted immediately 
 opposite to us and looked curiously at her, sparing a 
 curious glance for me. I bowed ; she waited unmoved 
 until the gentleman said to Darrell, 
 
 " Pray present me." 
 
 " This, madame," said Darrell, in whose voice there 
 was a ring of excitement and tremulous agitation, " is 
 M. de Perrencourt, who has the honour of serving 
 her Royal Highness the Duchess. This lady, sir, is 
 Mistress Barbara Quinton, maid of honour to the 
 Duchess of York and now in attendance on Madame." 
 
 Barbara made a curtsey, M. de Perrencourt bowed. 
 His eyes were fixed on her face ; he studied her openly 
 and fearlessly, yet the regard was difficult to resent, 
 it was so calm, assured and dignified. It seemed be- 
 yond challenge, if not beyond reproach. I stood by
 
 The Gentleman from Calais. 153 
 
 in silence, angry at a scrutiny so prolonged, but with- 
 out title to interfere. 
 
 " I trust, madame, that we shall be better ac- 
 quainted," he said at last, ^and with a lingering look 
 at her face passed on. I turned to her ; she was gaz- 
 ing after him with eager eyes. My presence seemed 
 forgotten ; I would not remind her of it ; I turned 
 away in silence, and hastened after Darrell and his 
 companion. The curve of the wall hid them from my 
 sight, but I quickened my pace ; I gained on them, 
 for now I heard their steps ahead ; I ran round the 
 next corner, for I was ablaze with curiosity to see 
 more of this man, who came at so strange an hour 
 and yet was expected; who bore himself so loftily, 
 and yet was but a gentleman-in-waiting as I was. 
 Round the next corner I should come in sight of him. 
 Round I went, and I came plump into the arms of my 
 good friend Darrell, who stood there, squarely across 
 the path ! 
 
 " Whither away, Simon ? " said he, coldly. 
 
 I halted, stood still, looked him in the face. He 
 met my gaze with a calm, self-controlled smile. 
 
 " Why," said I, " I'm on my way to bed, Darrell. 
 Let me pass, I beg you." 
 
 " A moment later will serve," said he. 
 
 " Not a moment," I replied testily and caught him 
 by the arm c He was stiff as a rock, but I put out my 
 strength, and in another instant should have thrown 
 him aside. But he cried in a loud angry voice, 
 
 " By the King's orders, no man is to pass this way." 
 
 Amazed, I fell back. But over his head, some 
 twenty yards from us, I saw two men embracing one 
 another warmly. Nobody else was near; Darrell's 
 eyes were fixed on me, and his hand detained me in 
 an eager grasp. But I looked hard at the pair there 
 ahead of me ; there was a cloud over the moon now, 
 in a second it passed. The next moment the two
 
 154 Simon Dale* 
 
 had turned their backs and were walking off together. 
 Darrell, seeing my fixed gaze, turned also. His face 
 was pale, as if with excitement, but he spoke in cool 
 level tones. 
 
 " It's only M. Colbert greeting M. de Perrencourt," 
 said he. 
 
 "Ah, of course!" I cried, turning to him with a 
 smile. "But where did M. Colbert get that Star?" 
 For the glitter of the decoration had caught my eye, 
 as it sparkled in the moonlight. 
 
 There was a pause before Darrell answered. Then 
 he said, 
 
 " The King gave him his own Star to-night, in 
 compliment to Madame." 
 
 And in truth M. Colbert wore that Star when he 
 walked abroad next morning, and professed much 
 gratitude for it to the King. I have wondered since 
 whether he should not have thanked a humbler man. 
 Had I not seen the Star on the breast of the gentle- 
 man who embraced M. de Perrencourt, should I have 
 seen it on the breast of M. Colbert de Croissy? In 
 truth I doubt it.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke* 
 
 CERTAINLY he had some strange ways, this M. de 
 Perrencourt. It was not enough for him to arrive by 
 night, nor to have his meeting with M. Colbert (whose 
 Star Darrell made me observe most particularly next 
 morning) guarded from intruding eyes by the King's 
 own order. He showed a predilection for darkness and 
 was visible in the daytime only in Madame's apart- 
 ment, or when she went to visit the King. The other 
 French gentlemen and ladies manifested much curi- 
 osity concerning the town and neighbourhood, and 
 with Madame and the Duke of Monmouth at their 
 head took part in many pleasant excursions. In a 
 day or two the Queen also and the Duchess of York 
 came from London, and the doings grew more gay 
 and merry. But M. de Perrencourt was not to be 
 tempted ; no pastimes, no jaunts allured him ; he did 
 not put his foot outside the walls of the Castle, and 
 was little seen inside it. I myself did not set eyes 
 on him for two days after my first sight of him ; but 
 after that I beheld him fairly often, and the more I 
 saw him the more I wondered. Of a truth his retir- 
 ing behaviour was dictated by no want of assuVance 
 nor by undue modesty ; he was not abashed in the 
 presence of the great and bore himself as composedly 
 before the King as in the presence of a lackey. It 
 was plain, too, that he enjoyed Madame's confidence in 
 no common degree, for when affairs of State were dis-
 
 1 56 Simon Dale* 
 
 cussed and all withdrew saving Madame, her brothers 
 and the Secretary (even the Duke of Monmouth not 
 being admitted), the last we saw as we made our bows 
 and backed out of the doorway would be M. de Per- 
 rencourt standing in an easy and unconstrained atti- 
 tude behind Madame's chair, and manifesting no over- 
 powering sense of the signal honour paid to him by 
 the permission to remain. As may be supposed, a 
 theory sprang up to account for the curious regard 
 this gentleman commanded ; it was put about (some 
 said that Lord Arlington himself gave his authority 
 for the report) that M. de Perrencourt was legal 
 guardian to his cousin Mile, de Querouaille, and that 
 the King had discovered special reasons for concil- 
 iating the gentleman by every means, and took as 
 much pains to please him as to gain favour with the 
 lady herself. Here was a good reason for M. de 
 Perrencourt's distinguished treatment and no less 
 for the composure and calm with which M. de Per- 
 rencourt accepted it. To my mind, however, the 
 manner of M. de Perrencourt's arrival and the incident 
 of M. Colbert's Star found scarcely a sufficient ex- 
 planation in this ingenious conjecture; yet the story, 
 thus circulated, was generally accepted and served 
 its office of satisfying curiosity and blunting question 
 well enough. 
 
 Again (for my curiosity would not be satisfied, nor 
 the edge of my questioning be turned) what had the 
 Duke of Monmouth to gain from M. de Perrencourt? 
 Something it seemed, or his conduct was most myste- 
 rious. He cared nothing for Mile, de Qureouaille and 
 I could not suppose that the mere desire to please his 
 father would have weighed with him so strongly as to 
 make him to all appearance the humble servant of this 
 French gentleman. The thing was brought home most 
 forcibly to my mind on the third evening after M. de 
 Perrencourt's arrival. A private conference was held
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 157 
 
 and lasted some hours ; outside the closed doors we 
 all paced to and fro, hearing nothing, save now and 
 then Madame's clear voice, raised, as it seemed, in ex- 
 hortation or persuasion. The Duke, who was glad 
 enough to escape the tedium of State affairs but at 
 the same time visibly annoyed at his exclusion, saun- 
 tered listlessly up and down, speaking to nobody. 
 Perceiving that he did not desire my company I with- 
 drew to a distance, and, having seated myself in a 
 retired corner, was soon lost in consideration of my 
 own fortunes past and to come. The hour grew late ; 
 the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, having offered 
 and accepted compliments and gallantries till inven- 
 tion and complaisance alike were exhausted, dropped 
 off one by one, in search of supper, wine or rest. I 
 sat on in my corner. Nothing was to be heard save 
 the occasional voices of the two musketeers on guard 
 on the steps leading from the second story of the keep 
 to the State apartments. I knew that I must move 
 soon, for at night the gate on the stairs was shut. It 
 was another of the peculiar facts about M. de Perren- 
 court that he alone of the gentlemen-in-waiting had 
 been lodged within the precincts of the royal quarters, 
 occupying an apartment next to the Duke of York, 
 who had his sister Madame for his neighbour on the 
 other side. The prolonged conference was taking 
 place in the King's Cabinet, further along the passage. 
 
 Suddenly I heard steps on the stairs, the word of 
 the night was asked, and Monmouth's voice made 
 answer 'Saint Denis'; for just now everything was 
 French in compliment to Madame. The steps con- 
 tinued to ascend ; the light in the corridor was very 
 dim, but a moment later I perceived Monmouth and 
 Carford. Carford's arm was through his Grace's, and 
 he seemed to be endeavouring to restrain him. Mon- 
 mouth shook him off with a laugh and an oath. 
 
 " I'm not going to listen," he cried. " Why should
 
 158 Simon Dale. 
 
 I listen ? Do I want to hear the King praying to the 
 Virgin?" 
 
 " Silence, for God's sake, silence, your Grace ! " im- 
 plored Carford. 
 
 " That's what he does, isn't it ? He and the Queen's 
 Chaplain and the " 
 
 " Pray, sir ! " 
 
 "And our good M. de Perrencourt, then?" He 
 burst into a bitter laugh as he mentioned the gentle- 
 man's name. 
 
 I had heard more than was meant for my ears, and 
 what was enough (if I may use a distinction drawn by 
 my old friend the Vicar) for my understanding. I 
 was in doubt whether to declare my presence or not. 
 Had Mon mouth been alone, I would have shown my- 
 self directly, but I did not wish Carford to be aware 
 that I had overheard so much. I sat still a moment 
 longer in hesitation ; then I uttered a long yawn, 
 groaned, stretched myself, rose to my feet, and gave a 
 sudden and very obvious start, as I let my eyes tall on 
 the Duke. 
 
 "Why, Simon," he cried, "what brings you here?" 
 
 " I thought your Grace was in the King's Cabinet," 
 I answered. 
 
 " But you knew that I left them some hours since." 
 
 " Yes, but having lost sight of your Grace, I sup- 
 posed that you'd returned, and while waiting for you 
 I fell asleep." 
 
 My explanation abundantly satisfied the Duke ; 
 Carford maintained a wary silence. 
 
 " We're after other game than conferences to-night," 
 said Monmouth, laughing again. "Go down to the 
 hall and wait there for me, Simon. My lord and I 
 are going to pay a visit to the ladies of Madame and 
 the Duchess of York." 
 
 I saw that he was merry with wine ; Carford had 
 been drinking too, but he grew only more glum and
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke* 159 
 
 malicious with his liquor. Neither their state nor the 
 hour seemed fitted for the visit the Duke spoke of, 
 but I was helpless, and with a bow took my way down 
 the stairs to the hall below, where I sat down on the 
 steps that led up to one of the loop-holes. A great 
 chair, standing by the wall, served to hide me from 
 observation. For a few moments nothing occurred. 
 Then I heard a loud burst of laughter from above. 
 Feet came running down the steps into the hall, and 
 a girl in a white dress darted across the floor. I 
 heard her laugh and knew that she was Barbara Ouin- 
 ton. An instant later came Monmouth, hot on her 
 heels, and imploring her in extravagant words not to 
 be so cruel and heartless as to fly from him. But 
 where was Carford ? I could only suppose that my 
 lord had the discretion to stay behind when the Duke 
 of Monmouth desired to speak with the lady whom 
 my lord sought for his wife. 
 
 In my humble judgment a very fine, large, and 
 subtle volume might be composed on the canons of 
 eavesdropping when a man may listen, when he may 
 not, and for how long he may, to what end, for what 
 motives, in what causes and on what provocations. 
 It may be that the Roman Divines who, as I under- 
 stand, are greatly adept in the science of casuistry, 
 have accomplished already the task I indicate. I 
 know not ; at least I have nowhere encountered the 
 result of their labours. But now I sat still behind 
 the great chair and listened without doubt or hesita- 
 tion. Yet how long I could have controlled myself I 
 know not, for his Grace made light of scruples that 
 night and set bounds at naught. At first Mistress 
 Barbara was merry with him, fencing and parrying in 
 confidence that he would use no roughness nor an un- 
 due vehemence. But on he went, and presently a 
 note of alarm sounded in her voice, as she prayed him 
 to suffer her to depart and return to the Duchess, 
 who must have need of her.
 
 1 60 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Nay, I won't let you go, sweet mistress. Rather, 
 I can't let you go." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I must go," she said. " Come, I will 
 call my Lord Carford, to aid me in persuading your 
 Grace." 
 
 He laughed at the suggestion that a call for Car- 
 ford would hinder him. 
 
 " He won't come," he said, " and if he came, he 
 would be my ally, not yours." 
 
 She answered now haughtily and coldly, 
 
 "Sir, Lord Carford is a suitor for my hand. It is in 
 your Grace's knowledge that he is.'' 
 
 " But he thinks a hand none the worse because I've 
 kissed it," retorted Monmouth. " You don't know 
 how amiable a husband you're to have. Mistress Bar- 
 bara." 
 
 I was on my feet now, and, peering round the chair 
 which hid me from them, I could see her standing 
 against the wall, with Monmouth opposite to her. 
 He offered to seize her hand, but she drew it away 
 sharply. With a laugh he stepped nearer to her. A 
 slight sound caught my ear, and, turning my head, I 
 saw Carford on the lowest step of the stairs ; he was 
 looking at the pair and a moment later stepped back- 
 wards, till he was almost hidden from my sight, 
 though I could still make out the shape of his figure. 
 A ciy of triumph from Monmouth echoed low but in- 
 tense through the hall ; he had caught the elusive 
 hand and was kissing it passionately. Barbara stood 
 still and stiff. The Duke, keeping her hand still in 
 his, said mockingly, 
 
 " You pretty fool, would you refuse fortune? Hark, 
 madame, I am a king's son." 
 
 I saw no movement in her, but the light was dim. 
 He went on, lowering his voice a little, yet not much. 
 
 " And I may be a king ; stranger things have come 
 to pass. Wouldn't you like to be a queen?" He
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 161 
 
 laughed as he put the question ; he lacked the care or 
 the cunning to make even a show of honesty. 
 
 " Let me go," I heard her whisper in a strained, 
 timid voice. 
 
 " Well, for to-night you shall go, sweetheart, but 
 not without a kiss, I swear." 
 
 She was frightened now and sought to propitiate 
 him, saying gently and with attempted lightness, 
 
 " Your Grace has my hand prisoner. You can work 
 your will on it." 
 
 " Your hand ! I mean your lips this time," he cried, 
 in audacious insolence. He came nearer to her, his 
 arm crept round her waist. I had endured what I 
 could, yes, and as long as I could ; for I was persuaded 
 that I could serve her better by leaving her unaided 
 for the moment. But my limit was reached ; I stepped 
 out from behind the chair. But in an instant I was 
 back again. Monmouth had paused ; in one hand he 
 held Barbara's hand, the other rested on her girdle, 
 but he turned his head and looked at the stairs. 
 Voices had come from there ; he had heard them as I 
 had, as Barbara had. 
 
 " You can't pass out," had come in a blustering 
 tone from Carford. 
 
 " Stand aside, sir," was the answer, in a calm, impera- 
 tive voice. 
 
 Carford hesitated for a single instant, then he seemed 
 to shrink away, making himself small and leaving free 
 passage for a man who came down the steps and 
 walked confidently and briskly across the hall towards 
 where the Duke stood with Barbara. 
 
 Above us, at the top of the stairs, there were the 
 sound of voices and the tread of feet. The conference 
 was broken up and the parties to it were talking in the 
 passage on their way to regain their own apartments. 
 I paid no heed to them ; my eyes were fixed on the 
 intruder who came so boldly and unabashed up to the
 
 1 62 Simon Dale* 
 
 Duke. I knew him now ; he was M. de Perrencourt, 
 Madame's gentleman. 
 
 Without wavering or pausing, straight he walked. 
 Monmouth seemed turned to stone ; I could see his 
 face set and rigid, although light failed me to catch 
 that look in the eyes by which you may best know a 
 man's mood. Not a sound nor a motion came from 
 Carford. Barbara herself was stiff and still, her regard 
 bent on M. de Perrencourt. He stood now directly 
 over against her and Monmouth ; it seemed long 
 before he spoke. Indeed I had looked for Mon- 
 mouth's voice first, for an oath of vexation at the in- 
 terruption, for a curse on the intruder and a haughty 
 order to him to be gone and not interfere with what 
 concerned his betters. No such word, nor any words, 
 issued from the mouth of the Duke. And still M. de 
 Perrencourt was silent. Carford stole covertly from 
 the steps nearer to the group until, gliding across the 
 hall, he was almost at the Frenchman's elbow. Still 
 M. de Perrencourt was silent. 
 
 Slowly and reluctantly, as though in deference to 
 an order that he loathed but dared not disobey, Mon- 
 mouth drew his arm away ; he loosed Barbara's hand, 
 she drew back, leaning against the wall ; the Duke 
 stood with his arms by his side, looking at the man 
 who interrupted his sport and seemed to have power 
 to control his will. Then at last in crisp, curt, un- 
 gracious tones, M. de Perrencourt spoke. 
 
 " I thank you, Monsieur le Due," said he. " I was 
 sure that you would perceive your error soon. This is 
 not the lady you supposed, this is Mistress Quinton. 
 I desire to speak with her, pray give me leave." 
 
 The King would not have spoken in this style to 
 his pampered son, and the Duke of York himself 
 dared not have done it. But no touch of uneasiness 
 or self-distrust appeared in M. de Perrencourt's 
 smooth, cutting speech. Truly he was high in
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 163 
 
 Madame's confidence and likely enough a great man 
 in his o\vn country, but, on my life, I looked to see 
 the hot-tempered Duke strike him across the face. 
 Even I, who had been about to interfere myself, by 
 some odd momentary turn of feeling, resented the in- 
 solence with which Monmouth was assailed. Would 
 he not resent it much more for himself ? No. For 
 an instant I heard his quick breathing, the breathing 
 of a man who fights anger, holding it under with 
 great labour and struggling. Then he spoke ; in his 
 voice also there was passion hard held. 
 
 " Here, sir, and everywhere," he said, " you have 
 only to command to be obeyed." Slowly he bent his 
 head low, the gesture matching the humility of his 
 words while it emphasised their unwillingness. 
 
 The strange submission won no praise. M. de Per- 
 rencourt did not accord the speech so much courtesy 
 as lay in an answer. His silent slight bow was all his 
 acknowledgment ; he stood there waiting for his com- 
 mand to be obeyed. 
 
 Monmouth turned once towards Barbara, but his 
 eyes came back to M. de Perrencourt. Carford ad- 
 vanced to him and offered his arm. The Duke laid 
 his hand on his friend's shoulder. For a moment 
 they stood still thus, then both bowed low to M. de 
 Perrencourt, who answered with another of his slight 
 inclinations of the head. They turned and walked 
 out of the hall, the Duke seeming almost to stagger 
 and to lean on Carford, as though he sought to steady 
 his steps. As they went they passed within two yards 
 of me, and I saw Monmouth's face pale with rage. 
 With a long indrawing of my breath I drew back into 
 the shadow of my shelter. They passed, the hall was 
 empty save for myself and the two who stood there by 
 the wall. 
 
 I had no thought now of justifying my part of 
 eavesdropper. Scruples were drowned in excitement ;
 
 1 64 Simon Dale. 
 
 keen interest bound me to my place with chains of 
 iron. My brain was full of previous suspicion thrice 
 magnified ; all that was mysterious in this man came 
 back to me; the message I had surprised at Canter- 
 bury rang echoing through my head again and again. 
 Yet I bent myself to the task of listening, resolute to 
 catch every word. Alas, my efforts were in vain ! 
 M. de Perrencourt was of different clay from his Grace 
 the Duke. He was indeed speaking now, but so low 
 and warily that no more than a gentle murmur reached 
 my ears. Nor did his gestures aid; they were as far 
 from Monmouth's jovial violence as his tones from 
 the Duke's reckless exclaiming. He was urgent but 
 courteous, most insistent yet most deferential. Mon- 
 mouth claimed and challenged, M. de Perrencourt 
 seemed to beseech and woo. Yet he asked as though 
 none could refuse, and his prayer presumed a favour- 
 able answer. Barbara listened in quiet ; I could not 
 tell whether fear alone bound her, or whether the soft 
 courtly voice bred fascination also. I was half-mad 
 that I could not hear, and had much ado not to rush 
 out, unprovoked, and defy the man before whom my 
 master had bowed almost to the ground, beaten and 
 dismayed. 
 
 At last she spoke a few hurried, imploring words. 
 
 "No, no," she panted. " No ; pray leave me. No." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt answered gently and beseech- 
 ingly, 
 
 " Nay, say ' not yet,' madame." 
 
 They were silent again, he seeming to regard her 
 intently. Suddenly she covered her face with her 
 hands ; yet, dropping her hands almost immedi- 
 ately, she set her eyes on his. I saw him shake his 
 head. 
 
 " For to-night then, good-night, fairest lady," said 
 he. He took her hand and kissed it lightly, bowing 
 very low and respectfully, she looking down at him as
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 165 
 
 he stooped. Then he drew away from her, bowing 
 again and repeating again, 
 
 " For to-night, good-night." 
 
 With this he turned towards the stairs, crossing the 
 hall with the same brisk, confident tread that had 
 marked his entry. He left her, but it looked as 
 though she were indulged, not he defeated. At the 
 lowest step he paused, turned, bowed low again. This 
 time she answered with a deep and sweeping curtsey. 
 Then he was gone, and she was leaning by the wall 
 again, her face buried in her hands. I heard her sob, 
 and her broken words reached me, 
 
 " What shall I do ? Oh, what shall I do ? " 
 
 At once I stepped out from the hiding-place that 
 had shown me such strange things, and, crossing to 
 her, hat in hand, answered her sad, desolate question. 
 
 ' Why, trust in your friends, Mistress Barbara," 
 said I, cheerily. " What else can any lady do ? " 
 
 " Simon ! " she cried eagerly, and, as I thought, 
 gladly ; for her hand flew out to mine. " You here ? " 
 
 " And at your service always," said I. 
 
 " But have you been here ? Where did you come 
 from ? " 
 
 " Why, from across the hall, behind the chair there," 
 I answered. " I've been there a long while back. 
 His Grace told me to wait in the hall and in the hall I 
 waited, though the Duke, having other things to think 
 .of, forgot both his order and his servant." 
 
 " Then you heard ? " she asked, in a whisper. 
 
 " All, I think, that the Duke said. Lord Carford 
 said nothing. I was about to interrupt his Grace 
 when the task was better performed for me. I think, 
 madame, you owe some thanks to M. de Perren- 
 court." 
 
 " You heard what he said ? " 
 
 " The last few words only," I answered, regret- 
 fully.
 
 1 66 Simon Dale. 
 
 She looked at me for an instant, and then said, with 
 a dreary little smile, 
 
 " I'm to be grateful to M. de Perrencourt? " 
 
 " I know no other man who could or would have 
 rid you of the Duke so finely. Besides, he appeared 
 to treat you with much courtesy." 
 
 " Courtesy, yes ! " she cried, but seemed to check 
 herself. She was still in great agitation, and a mo- 
 ment later she covered her face and I heard her sob 
 again. 
 
 "Come, take heart," said I. "The Duke's a great 
 man, of course, but no harm shall come to you, Mis- 
 tress Barbara. Your father bade me have my services 
 in readiness for you, and although I didn't need his 
 order as a spur, I may pray leave to use it as an ex- 
 cuse for thrusting myself on you." 
 
 " Indeed, I I'm glad to see you, Simon. But what 
 shall I do? Ah, Heaven, why did I ever come to this 
 place ? " 
 
 "That can be mended by leaving it, madame." 
 
 "But how? How can I leave it?" she asked, 
 despairingly. 
 
 " The Duchess will grant you leave." 
 
 " Without the King's consent ? " 
 
 "But won't the King consent? Madame will ask 
 for you ; she's kind." 
 
 " Madame won't ask for me ; nobody will ask for 
 me." 
 
 " Then if leave be impossible, we must go without 
 leave, if you speak the word." 
 
 " Ah, you don't know," she said, sadly. Then she 
 caught my hand again and whispered hurriedly and 
 fearfully: " I'm afraid, Simon. I I fear him. What 
 can I do? How can I resist? They can do what 
 they will with me, what can I do ? If I weep, they 
 laugh ; if I try to laugh, they take it for consent. 
 What can I do ? "
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 167 
 
 There is nothing that so binds a man to a woman as 
 to feel her hand seeking his in weakness and appeal. 
 I had thought that one day so Barbara's might seek 
 mine and I should exult in it; nay, might even let her 
 perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamt of was 
 come, but where was my exultation ? There was a 
 choking in my throat and I swallowed twice before I 
 contrived to answer, 
 
 " What can w^do? you mean, Mistress Barbara." 
 
 " Alas, alas," she cried, between tears and laughter, 
 " what can we even we do, Simon ? " 
 
 I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old 
 days before my apostasy and great offence. I was 
 glad of it, for if I was to be of service to her we must 
 be friends. Suddenly she said, 
 
 "You know what it means I can't tell you; you 
 know?'' 
 
 "Aye, I know," said I, "none better. But the 
 Duke sha'n't have his way." 
 
 "The Duke? If it were only the Duke Ah !" 
 She stopped, a new alarm in her eyes. She searched 
 my face eagerly. Of deliberate purpose I set it to an 
 immutable stolidity. 
 
 " Already he's very docile," said I. " See how M. 
 de Perrencourt turned and twisted him, and sent him 
 off crestfallen." 
 
 She laid her hand on my arm. 
 
 " If I might tell you," she said, " a thing that few 
 know here ; none but the King and his near kindred 
 and one or two more." 
 
 " But how came you to know of it ? " I inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " I I also came to know it," she murmured. 
 
 " There are many ways of coming to know a thing," 
 said I. " One is by being told ; another, madame, is 
 by finding out. Certainly it was amazing how M. de 
 Perrencourt dealt with his Grace ; aye, and with my
 
 1 68 Simon Dale* 
 
 Lord Carford, who shrank out of his path as though he 
 had been a king." I let my tones give the last 
 word full effect. 
 
 "Simon," she whispered, in eagerness mingled with 
 alarm. " Simon, what are you saying ? Silence, for 
 your life ! " 
 
 " My life, madame, is rooted too deep for a syllable 
 to tear it up. I said only ' as though he had been a 
 king.' Tell me why M. Colbert wears the King's Star. 
 Was it because somebody saw a gentleman wearing 
 the King's Star embrace and kiss M. de Perrencourt 
 the night that he arrived ? " 
 
 " It was you ?" 
 
 " It was I, madame. Tell me on whose account 
 three messengers went to London, carrying the words 
 ' // vient' " 
 
 She was hanging to my arm now, full of eagerness. 
 
 " And tell me now what M. de Perrencourt said to 
 you. A plague on him, he spoke so low that I 
 couldn't hear ! " 
 
 A blush swept over her face ; her eyes, losing the 
 fire of excitement, dropped in confusion to the 
 ground. 
 
 " I can't tell you," she murmured. 
 
 "Yet I know," said I. "And if you'll trust me, 
 madame " 
 
 "Ah, Simon, you know I trust you." 
 
 "Yet you were angry with me." 
 
 " Not angry I had no right I mean I had no 
 cause to be angry. I I was grieved." 
 
 "You need be grieved no longer, madame." 
 
 " Poor Simon ! " said she, very gently. I felt the 
 lightest pressure on my hand, the touch of two slim 
 fingers, speaking of sympathy and comradeship. 
 
 " By God, I'll bring you safe out of it ! " I cried. 
 
 " But how, how? Simon, I fear that he has " 
 
 "The Duke?"
 
 The Deference of His Grace the Duke. 169 
 
 " No, the the other M. de Perrencourt ; he has 
 set his heart on on what he told me." 
 
 " A man may set his heart on a thing and yet not 
 win it," said I, grimly. 
 
 " Yes, a man yes, Simon, I know ; a man may " 
 
 " Aye, and even a 
 
 " Hush, hush ! If you were overheard your life 
 wouldn't be safe if you were overheard." 
 
 " What do I, care ? " 
 
 " But I care ! " she cried, and added very hastily, 
 "I'm selfish. I care, because I want your help." 
 
 " You shall have it. Against the Duke of Mon- 
 mouth, and against the " 
 
 " Ah, be careful." 
 
 I would not be careful. My blood was up. My 
 voice was loud and bold as I gave to M. de Perren- 
 court the name that was his, the name by which the 
 frightened lord and the coward Duke knew him, the 
 name that gave him entrance to those inmost secret 
 conferences, and yet kept him himself hidden and 
 half a prisoner in the Castle. The secret was no se- 
 cret to me now. 
 
 "Against the Duke of Monmouth," said I, sturdily, 
 "and also, if need be, against the King of France." 
 
 Barbara caught at my arm in alarm. I laughed, till 
 I saw her finger point warily over my shoulder. With 
 a start I turned and saw a man coming down the 
 steps. In the dim light the bright Star gleamed on 
 his breast. He was M. Colbert de Croissy. He stood 
 on the lowest step, peering at us through the gloom. 
 
 " Who speaks of the King of France here?" he said, 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " I, Simon Dale, gentleman in waiting to the Duke 
 of Monmouth, at your Excellency's service," I an- 
 swered, stepping towards him and making my bow. 
 
 "What have you to say of my master?" he de- 
 manded.
 
 170 Simon Dale* 
 
 For a moment I was at a loss ; for although my 
 heart was full of things that I should have taken much 
 pleasure in saying concerning his Majesty, they were 
 none of them acceptable to the ears of his Majesty's 
 Envoy. I stood, looking at Colbert, and my eyes fell 
 on the Star that he wore. I knew that I committed 
 an imprudence, but for the life of me I could not with- 
 stand the temptation. I made another bow, and, 
 smiling easily, answered M. Colbert. 
 
 " I was remarking, sir," said I, " that the compliment 
 paid to you by the King of England in bestowing on 
 you the Star from his Majesty's own breast, could not 
 fail to cause much gratification to the King of France." 
 
 He looked me hard in the eyes, yet his eyes fell to 
 the ground before mine. I warrant he took nothing 
 by his searching glance and did well to give up the 
 conflict. Without a word and with a stiff little bow, 
 he passed on his way to the hall. The moment he 
 was gone, Barbara was by me. Her face was alight 
 with merriment. 
 
 " Oh, Simon, Simon ! " she whispered, reprovingly. 
 " But I love you for it ! " And she was gone up the 
 stairs like a flitting moonbeam. 
 
 Upon this I, having my head full and to spare of 
 many matters, and my heart beating quick with more 
 than one emotion, thought my bed the best and safest 
 place for me, and repaired to it without delay. 
 
 " But I'll have some conversation with M.de Perren- 
 court to-morrow," said I, as I turned on my pillow and 
 sought to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 
 
 THE next morning my exaltation had gone. I 
 woke a prey to despondency and sickness of soul. 
 Not only did difficulty loom large and failure seem in- 
 evitable, but a disgust for all that surrounded me 
 seized on my mind, displacing the zest of adventure 
 and the excitement of enterprise. But let me not set 
 my virtue too high. It is better to be plain. Old 
 maxims of morality and a standard of right acknowl- 
 edged by all but observed by none have little power 
 over a young man's hot blood ; to be stirred to indig- 
 nation, he must see the wrong threaten one he re- 
 spects, touch one he loves, or menace his own honour 
 and pride. I had supported the scandals of this Court, 
 of which I made a humble part, with shrugs, smiles, 
 and acid jests ; I had felt no dislike for the chief 
 actors and no horror at the things they did or at- 
 tempted ; nay, for one of them, who might seem to 
 sum up in her own person the worst of all that was to 
 be urged against King and Court, I had cherished a 
 desperate love that bred even in death an obstinate 
 and longing memory. Now a change had come over 
 me ; I seemed to see no longer through my own care- 
 less eyes but with the shamed and terrified vision of 
 the girl who, cast into this furnace, caught at my hand 
 as offering her the sole chance to pass unscathed 
 through the fire. They were using her in their 
 schemes ; she was to be sacrificed. First she had been 
 chosen as the lure with which to draw forth Mon-
 
 172 Simon Dale* 
 
 mouth's ambitions from their lair and reveal them to 
 the spying eyes of York and his tool Carford ; if that 
 plan were changed now, she would be no better for 
 the change. The King would and could refuse this 
 M. de Perrencourt (I laughed bitterly as I muttered 
 his name) nothing, however great ; without a thought 
 he would fling the girl to him, if the all-powerful 
 finger were raised to ask for her. Charles would think 
 himself well paid by his brother king's complaisance 
 towards his own inclination. Doubtless there were 
 great bargains of policy a-making here in the Castle, 
 and the nature of them I made shift to guess. What 
 was it to throw in a trifle on either side, barter Bar- 
 bara Quinton against the French lady, and content 
 two princes at a price so low as the dishonour of two 
 ladies ? That was the game ; otherwise whence came 
 M. de Perrencourt's court and Monmouth's deference? 
 The King saw eye to eye with M. de Perrencourt, and 
 the King's son did not venture to thwart him. What 
 matter that men spoke of other loves which the 
 French King had ? The gallants of Paris might think 
 us in England rude and ignorant, but at least we had 
 learnt that a large heart was a prerogative of royalty 
 which even the Parliament dared not question. With 
 a new loathing I loathed it all, for it seemed now to 
 lay aside its trappings of pomp and brilliancy, of jest 
 and wit, and display itself before me in ugly naked- 
 ness, all unashamed. In sudden frenzy I sat up in my 
 bed, crying, " Heaven will find a way ! " For surely 
 heaven could find one, where the devil found so 
 many ! Ah, righteous Avert thou, Simon Dale, so 
 soon as unrighteousness hurt thee ! But Phineas Tate 
 might have preached until the end of time. 
 
 Earlier than usual by an hour Jonah Wall came up 
 from the town, where he was lodged, but he found me 
 up and dressed, eager to act, ready for what might 
 chance. I had seen little of the fellow lately, calling
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 1 73 
 
 on him for necessary services only and ridding myself 
 of his sombre company as quickly as I could. Yet I 
 looked on him to-day with more consideration ; his 
 was a repulsive form of righteousness, grim and 
 gloomy, but it was righteousness, or seemed such to 
 me against the background of iniquity which threw 
 it up in strong relief. I spoke to him kindly, but, 
 taking no heed of my advances, he came straight up 
 to me and said brusquely, "The woman who came to 
 your lodging in London is here in Dover. She bids 
 you be silent and come quickly. I can lead you." 
 
 I started and stared at him. I had set " Finis " to 
 that chapter ; was fate minded to overrule me and 
 write more ? Strange also that Jonah Wall should 
 play Mercury ! 
 
 "She here in Dover? For what?" I asked, as 
 calmly as I could. 
 
 " I don't doubt for sin," he answered, uncompromis- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Yet you can lead me to her house ? " said I, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I can," said he, in sour disregard of my hinted 
 banter. 
 
 " I won't go," I declared. 
 
 " The matter concerns you, she said, and might 
 concern another." 
 
 It was early, the Court would not be moving for 
 two hours yet. I could go and come, and thereby 
 lose no opportunity. Curiosity led me on and with it 
 the attraction which still draws us to those we have 
 loved, though the love be gone and more pain than 
 pleasure wait on our visiting. In ten minutes I was 
 following Jonah down the cliff and plunged thence 
 into a narrow street that ran curling and curving to- 
 wards the sea. Jonah held on quickly and without 
 hesitation, until we reached a confined alley and came 
 to a halt before a mean house.
 
 174 Simon Dale* 
 
 " She's here," said Jonah, pointing to the door and 
 twisting his face as though he were swallowing some- 
 thing nauseous. 
 
 I could not doubt of her presence, for I heard her 
 voice singing gaily from within. My heart beat 
 quick and I had above half a mind not to enter. But 
 she had seen us and herself flung the door open wide. 
 She lodged on the ground floor, and in obedience to 
 her beckoning finger I entered a small room. Lodg- 
 ing was. hard to be had in Dover now and the apart- 
 ment served her (as the bed, carelessly covered with 
 a curtain, showed) for sleeping and living. I did not 
 notice what became of Jonah, but sat down, puzzled 
 and awkward, in a crazy chair. 
 
 "What brings you here?" I blurted out, fixing 
 my eyes on her, as she stood opposite to me, smiling 
 and swaying to and fro a little, with her hands on her 
 hips. 
 
 " Even what brings you. My business," she an- 
 swered. " If you ask more, the King's invitation. 
 Does that grieve you, Simon?" 
 
 " No, madame," said I. 
 
 " A little, still a little, Simon ? Be consoled ! The 
 King invited me, but he hasn't come to see me. There 
 lies my business. Why hasn't he come to see me ? 
 I hear certain things, but my eyes, though they are 
 counted good if not large, can't pierce the walls of the 
 Castle yonder, and my poor feet aren't fit to pass its 
 threshold." 
 
 " You needn't grieve for that," said I, sullenly. 
 
 "Yet some things I know. As that a French lady 
 is there. Of what appearance is she, Simon ? " 
 
 " She is very pretty, so far as I've looked at her." 
 
 "Ah, and you've a discriminating glance, haven't 
 you? Will she stay long ?" 
 
 "They say Madame will be here for ten or fourteen 
 days yet."
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. i?5 
 
 " And the French lady goes when Madame goes ? " 
 
 " I don't know as to that." 
 
 " Why, nor I neither." She paused an instant. 
 " You don't love Lord Carford ? " Her question came 
 abruptly and unlooked for. 
 
 " I don't know your meaning." What concern had 
 Carford with the French lady ? 
 
 " I think you are in the way to learn it. Love 
 makes men quick, doesn't it ? Yes, since you ask 
 (your eyes asked), why, I'll confess that I'm a little 
 sorry that you fall in love again. But that by the 
 way. Simon, neither do I love this French lady." 
 
 Had it not been for that morning's mood of mine, 
 she would have won on me again and all my resolu- 
 tions gone for naught. But she, not knowing the 
 working of my mind, took no pains to hide or to 
 soften what repelled me in her. I had seen it before 
 and yet loved ; to her it would seem strange that be- 
 cause a man saw, he should not love. I found myself 
 sorry for her with a new and pitiful grief, but passion 
 did not rise in me. And concerning my pity I held 
 my tongue ; she would have only wonder and mockery 
 for it. But I think that she was vexed to see me so 
 unmoved ; it irks a woman to lose a man, however little 
 she may have prized him when he was her own. Nor 
 do I mean to say that we are different from their sex 
 in that ; it is, I take it, nature in woman and man alike. 
 
 " At least we're friends, Simon," she said, with a 
 laugh. "And at least we're Protestants." She 
 laughed again. I looked up with a questioning 
 glance. " And at least we both hate the French," she 
 continued. 
 
 " It's true ; I have no love for them. What then ? 
 What can we do? " 
 
 She looked round cautiously, and, coming a little 
 nearer to me, whispered, 
 
 " Late last night I had a visitor, one who doesn't
 
 176 Simon Dale. 
 
 love me greatly. What does that matter? We row 
 now in the same boat. I speak of the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham." 
 
 " He is reconciled to my Lord Arlington by Ma- 
 dame's good offices," said I. For so the story ran in 
 the Castle. 
 
 " Why, yes, he's reconciled to Arlington as the dog 
 to the cat when their master is by. Now there's a 
 thing that the Duke suspects ; and there's another 
 thing that he knows. He suspects that this treaty 
 touches more than war with the Dutch ; though that 
 I hate, for war swallows the King's money like a well." 
 
 " Some passes the mouth of the well, if report speaks 
 true," I observed. 
 
 " Peace, peace ! Simon, the treaty touches more." 
 
 "A man need not be duke nor minister to suspect 
 that," said I. 
 
 "Ah, you suspect? The King's religion?" she 
 whispered. 
 
 I nodded ; the secret was no surprise to me, though 
 I had not known whether Buckingham were in it. 
 
 "And what does the Duke of Buckingham know? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Why, that the King sometimes listens to a wo- 
 man's counsel," said she, nodding her head and smil- 
 ing very wisely. 
 
 " Prodigious sagacity ! " I cried. " You told him 
 that, may be? " 
 
 " Indeed he had learnt it before my day, Master 
 Simon. Therefore, should the King turn Catholic, he 
 will be a better Catholic for the society of a Catholic 
 lady. Now this Madame how do you name her?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Que>ouaille? " 
 
 "Aye. She is a most devout Catholic. Indeed her 
 devotion to her religion knows no bounds. It's like 
 mine to the King. Don't frown, Simon. Loyalty is 
 a virtue."
 
 The Meed of Curiosity, 177 
 
 " And piety also, by the same rule and in the same 
 unstinted measure?" I asked, bitterly. 
 
 " Beyond doubt, sir. But the French King has sent 
 word from Calais " 
 
 " Oh, from Calais ! The Duke revealed that to 
 you ? " I asked, with a smile I could not smother. 
 There was a limit then to the Duke's confidence in his 
 ally; for the Duke had been at Paris and could be no 
 stranger to M. de Perrencourt. 
 
 " Yes, he told me all. The King of France has sent 
 word from Calais, where he awaits the signing of the 
 treaty, that the loss of this Madame Querouaille would 
 rob his Court of beauty and he cannot be so bereft. 
 And Madame, the Duke says, swears she can't be 
 robbed of her fairest Maid of Honour ('tis a good 
 name that, on my life) and left desolate. But Madame 
 has seen one who might make up the loss, and the 
 King of France, having studied the lady's picture, 
 thinks the same. In fine, Simon, our King feels that 
 he can't be a good Catholic without the counsels of 
 Madame Querouaille, and the French King feels that 
 he must by all means convert and save so fair a lady 
 as is the name on your tongue, nay, is it in your 
 heart, Simon?" 
 
 " I know whom you mean," I answered, for her rev- 
 elation came to no more than what I had scented out 
 for myself. " But what says Buckingham to this ? " 
 
 " Why, that the King mustn't have his way, lest he 
 should thereby be confirmed in his Popish inclinations. 
 The Duke is Protestant, as you are and as I am, so 
 please you." 
 
 " Can he hinder it ? " 
 
 "Aye, if he can hinder the French King from hav- 
 ing his way. And for this purpose his Grace has need 
 of certain things." 
 
 " Do you cany a message from him to me? " 
 
 " I did but say that I knew a gentleman who might
 
 178 Simon Dale. 
 
 supply his needs. They are four : a heart, a head, 
 a hand, and perhaps a sword." 
 
 " All men have them, then." 
 
 " Jhe first true, the second long, the third strong, 
 and the fourth ready." 
 
 " I fear then that I haven't all of them." 
 
 "And for reward " 
 
 " I know. His life, if he can come off with it." 
 
 Nell burst out laughing. 
 
 " He didn't say that, but it may well reckon up to 
 much that figure," she admitted. " You'll think of it, 
 Simon?" 
 
 "Think of it? I! Not I!" 
 
 "You won't?" 
 
 " Or I mightn't attempt it." 
 
 "Ah! You will attempt it?" 
 
 " Of a certainty." 
 
 "You're very ready. Is it all honesty?" 
 
 " Is ever anything all honesty, madame saving 
 your devotion to the King? " 
 
 " And the French lady's to her religion ? " laughed 
 Nell. " On my soul I think the picture that the 
 King of France saw was a fair one. Have you looked 
 on it, Simon ? " 
 
 " On my life I don't love her." 
 
 " On my life you will." 
 
 " You seek to stop me by that prophecy? " 
 
 " I don't care whom you love," said she. Then her 
 face broke into smiles. " What liars women are ! " 
 she cried. " Yes, I do care ; not enough to grow 
 wrinkled, but enough to wish I hadn't grown half a 
 lady and could " 
 
 "You stop ?" 
 
 " Could could could slap your face, Simon." 
 
 " It would be a light infliction after breaking a 
 man's heart," said I, turning my cheek to her and 
 beckoning with my hand.
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 179 
 
 " You should have a revenge on my face ; not in 
 kind, but in kindness. I can't strike a man who won't 
 hit back." She laughed at me with all her old entic- 
 ing gaiety. 
 
 I had almost sealed the bargain ; she was so roguish 
 and so pretty. Had we met first then, it is very 
 likely she would have made the offer and very cer- 
 tain that I should have taken it. -But there had been 
 other days ; I sighed. 
 
 " I loved you too well once to kiss you now, mis- 
 tress," said I. 
 
 'You're mighty strange at times, Simon," said she, 
 sighing also, and lifting her brows. " Now I'd as 
 lief kiss a man I had loved as any other." 
 
 " Or slap his face ? " 
 
 " If I'd never cared to kiss, I'd never care for the 
 other either. You rise ? " 
 
 " Why, yes. I have my commission, haven't I ? " 
 
 " I give you this one also, and yet you keep it?" 
 
 "Is that slight not yet forgiven?" 
 
 " All is forgiven and all is forgotten nearly, Si- 
 mon." 
 
 At this instant and since man is human, woman 
 persistent, and courtesy imperative, I did not quarrel 
 with the interruption a sound came from the room 
 above, strange in a house where Nell lived (if she will 
 pardon so much candour) but oddly familiar to me. 
 I held up my hand and listened. Nell's rippling 
 laugh broke in. 
 
 " Plague on him ! " she cried. "Yes, he's here. Of 
 a truth he's resolute to convert me, and the fool 
 amuses me." 
 
 " Phineas Tate," I exclaimed, amazed ; for beyond 
 doubt his was the voice. I could tell his intonation 
 of a penitential psalm among a thousand. I had 
 heard it in no other key. 
 
 "You didn't know? Yet that other fool, your ser-
 
 180 Simon Dale. 
 
 vant, is always with him. They've been closeted to- 
 gether for two hours at a time." 
 
 " Psalm-singing?" 
 
 " Now and again. They're often quiet too." 
 
 " He preaches to you ? " 
 
 "Only a little; when we chance to meet at the 
 door he gives me a curse and promises a blessing; no 
 more." 
 
 " It's very little to come to Dover for." 
 
 " You would have come farther for less of my com- 
 pany once, sir." 
 
 It was true, but it did not solve my wonder at the 
 presence of Phineas Tate. What brought the fellow? 
 Had he too sniffed out something of what was afoot, 
 and come to fight for his religion, even as Louise de 
 Querouaille fought for hers, though in a most differ- 
 ent fashion? 
 
 I had reached the door of the room and was in the 
 passage. Nell came to the threshold and stood there 
 smiling. I had asked no more questions and made 
 no conditions ; I knew that Buckingham must not 
 show himself in the matter, and that all was left to 
 me, heart, head, hand, sword, and also that same re- 
 ward if I were so lucky as to come by it. I waited 
 for a moment, half expecting that Phineas, hearing 
 my voice, would show himself, but he did not appear. 
 Nell waved her hand to me ; I bowed and took my 
 leave, turning my steps back towards the Castle. The 
 Court would be awake, and whether on my own ac- 
 count or for my new commission's sake I must be 
 there. 
 
 I had not mounted far before I heard a puffing and 
 blowing behind. The sound proved to come from 
 Jonah Wall, who was toiling after me, laden with a 
 large basket. I had no eagerness for Jonah's society, 
 but rejoiced to see the basket ; for my private store 
 of food and wine had run low, and if a man is to find
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 181 
 
 out what he wants to know, it is well for him to have 
 a pasty and a bottle ready for those who can help 
 him. 
 
 " What have you there ? " I called, waiting for him 
 to overtake me. 
 
 He explained that he had been making purchases in 
 the town and I praised his zeal. Then I asked him 
 suddenly, 
 
 "And have you visited your friend, Mr. Tate ? " 
 
 As I live, the fellow went suddenly pale, and the 
 bottles clinked in his basket from the shaking of his 
 hand. Yet I spoke mildly enough. 
 
 " I I have seen him but once or twice, sir, since I 
 learnt that he was in the town. I thought you did 
 not wish me to see him." 
 
 " Nay, you can see him as much as you like as long 
 as I don't," I answered in a careless tone, but keeping 
 an attentive eye on Jonah. His perturbation seemed 
 strange. If Phineas' business were only the conver- 
 sion of Mistress Gwyn, what reason had Jonah Wall to 
 go white as Dover cliffs over it ? 
 
 We came to the Castle and I dismissed him. bid- 
 ding him stow his load safely in my quarters. Then 
 I repaired to the Duke of Monmouth's apartments, 
 wondering in what mood I should find him after last 
 night's rebuff. Little did he think that I had been a 
 witness of it. I entered his room ; he was sitting in 
 his chair, with him was Carford. The Duke's face 
 was as glum and his air as ill-tempered as I could 
 wish. Carford's manner was subdued, calm, and sym- 
 pathetic. They were talking earnestly as I entered, 
 but ceased their conversation at once. I offered my 
 services. 
 
 " I have no need of you this morning, Simon," 
 answered the Duke. " I'm engaged with Lord Car- 
 ford." 
 
 I retired. But of a truth that morning every one in
 
 1 82 Simon Dale. 
 
 the Castle was engaged with some one else. At every 
 turn I came on couples in anxious consultation. The 
 approach of an intruder brought immediate silence, 
 the barest civility delayed him, his departure was re- 
 ceived gladly and was signal for renewed consultation. 
 Well, the King sets the mode, and the King, I heard, 
 was closeted with Madame and the Duke of York. 
 
 But not with M. de Perrencourt. There was a hun- 
 dred feet of the wall, with a guard at one end and a 
 guard at the other, and mid-way between them a soli- 
 tary figure stood looking down on Dover town and 
 thence out to sea. In an instant I recognised him, 
 and a great desire came over me to speak to him. 
 He was the foremost man alive in that day, and I 
 longed to speak with him. To have known the great 
 is to have tasted the true flavour of your times. But 
 how to pass the sentries? Their presence meant that 
 M. de Perrencourt desired privacy. I stepped up to 
 one and offered to pass. He barred the way. 
 
 "But I'm in the service of his Grace the Duke of 
 Monmouth," I expostulated. 
 
 "If you were in the service of the devil himself you 
 couldn't pass here without the King's order," retorted 
 the fellow. 
 
 " Won't his head serve as well as his order ? " I 
 asked, slipping a crown into his hand. " Come, I've a 
 message from his Grace for the French gentleman. 
 Yes, it's private. Deuce take it, do fathers always 
 know of their sons' doings? " 
 
 " No, nor sons all their fathers' sometimes," he 
 chuckled. "Along with you quick, and run if you 
 hear me whistle ; it will mean my officer is coming." 
 
 I was alone in the sacred space with M. de Perren- 
 court. I assumed an easy air and sauntered along, 
 till I was within a few yards of him. Hearing my step 
 then, he looked round with a start and asked peremp- 
 torily,
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 183 
 
 "What's your desire, sir?" 
 
 By an avowal of himself, even by quoting the King's 
 order, he could banish me. But if his cue were con- 
 cealment and ignorance of the order, why, I might in- 
 dulge my curiosity.- 
 
 " Like your own, sir," I replied, courteously, " a 
 breath of fresh air and a sight of the sea." 
 
 He frowned a little, but I gave him no time to 
 speak. 
 
 " That fellow though," I pursued, " gave me to un- 
 derstand that none might pass; yet the King is not 
 here, is he ? " 
 
 " Then how did you pass, sir?" asked M. de Perren- 
 court, ignoring my last question. 
 
 " Why, with a lie, sir," I answered. " I said I had a 
 message for you from the Duke of Monmouth, and 
 the fool believed me. But we gentlemen in attend- 
 ance must stand by one another. You'll not betray 
 me ? Your word on it ? " 
 
 A slow smile broke across his face. 
 
 "No, I'll not betray you," said he. "You speak 
 French well, sir." 
 
 " So M. de Fontelles, whom I met at Canterbury, 
 told me. Do you chance to know him, sir?" 
 
 M. de Perrencourt did not start now; I should have 
 been disappointed if he had. 
 
 " Very well," he answered. " If you're his friend 
 you're mine." He held out his hand. 
 
 " I take it on false pretences," said I, with a laugh, 
 as I shook it. " For we came near to quarrelling, 
 M. de Fontelles and I." 
 
 "Ah, on what point?" 
 
 "A nothing, sir." 
 
 " Nay, but tell me." 
 
 " Indeed I will not, if you'll pardon me." 
 
 " Sir, I wish to know. I ins I beg." A stare 
 
 from-mehad stopped the 'insist ' when it was half-way
 
 184 Simon Dale. 
 
 through his lips. On my soul, he flushed ! I tell my 
 children sometimes how I made him flush ; the thing 
 was not done often. Yet his confusion was but mo- 
 mentary, and suddenly, I know not how, I in my turn 
 became abashed with the cold stare of his eyes, and 
 when he asked me my name, I answered baldly, with 
 never a bow and never a flourish, "Simon Dale." 
 
 " I have heard your name," said he, gravely. Then 
 he turned round and began looking at the sea again. 
 
 Now had he been wearing his own clothes (if I may 
 so say) this conduct would have been appropriate 
 enough ; it would have been a dismissal and I should 
 have passed on my way. But a man should be con- 
 sistent in his disguises, and from M. de Perrencourt, 
 gentleman in waiting, the behaviour was mighty un- 
 civil. Yet my revenge must be indirect. 
 
 " Is it true, sir," I asked, coming close to him, 
 " that the King of France is yonder at Calais ? So it's 
 said." 
 
 " I believe it to be true," answered M. de Perren- 
 court. 
 
 " I wish he had come over," I cried. " I should 
 love to see him, for they say that he's a very proper 
 man, although he's somewhat short." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt did not turn his head, but again 
 I saw his cheek flush. To speak of his low stature was, 
 I had heard Monmouth say, to commit the most dire 
 offence in King Louis' eyes. 
 
 " Now how tall is the King, sir ? " I asked. " Is he 
 as tall as you, sir?" 
 
 M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the 
 truth, I began to be a little uneasy ; there were cells 
 under the Castle and I had need to be at large for the 
 coming few days. 
 
 " For," said I, " they tell such lies concerning 
 princes." 
 
 Now he turned towards me, saying,
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 185 
 
 " There you're right, sir. The King of France is of 
 middle size, about my own height." 
 
 For the life of me I could not resist it. I said noth- 
 ing with my tongue, but for a moment I allowed my 
 eyes to say, " But then you're short, sir." He under- 
 stood, and for the third time he flushed. 
 
 " I thought as much," said I, and with a bow I 
 began to walk on. 
 
 But, as ill-luck would have it, I was not to come 
 clear off from my indiscretion. In a moment I should 
 have been out of sight. But as I started I saw a gen- 
 tleman pass the guard, who stood at the salute. It 
 was the King; escape was impossible. He walked 
 straight up to me, bowing carelessly in response to 
 M. de Perrencourt's deferential inclination of his per- 
 son. 
 
 "How came you here, Mr. Dale?" he asked, ab- 
 ruptly. " The guard tells me that he informed you 
 of my orders and that you insisted on passing." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt felt that his turn was come ; he 
 stood there smiling. I found nothing to say ; if I 
 repeated my fiction of a message, the French gentle- 
 man, justly enraged, would betray me. 
 
 " M. de Perrencourt seemed lonely, Sir," I answered 
 at last. 
 
 "A little loneliness hurts no man," said the King. 
 He took out his tablets and began to write. When he 
 was done, he gave me the message, adding " Read it." 
 I read, " Mr. Simon Dale will remain under arrest in 
 his own apartment for twenty-four hours, and will not 
 leave it except by the express command of the King." 
 I made a wry face. 
 
 " If the Duke of Monmouth wants me " I began. 
 
 " He'll have to do without you, Mr. Dale," inter- 
 rupted the King. " Come, M. de Perrencourt, will 
 you give me your arm ? " And off he went on the 
 French gentleman's arm, leaving me most utterly
 
 1 86 Simon Dale* 
 
 abashed and cursing the curiosity that had brought 
 me to this trouble. 
 
 "So much for the Duke of Buckingham's 'long 
 head,' " said I to myself ruefully, as I made my way 
 towards the Constable's Tower in which his Grace was 
 lodged, arid where I had my small quarters. 
 
 Indeed I might well feel a fool ; for the next twenty- 
 four hours, during which I was to be a prisoner, would 
 in all likelihood see the issue in which I was pledged 
 to bear a part. Now I could do nothing. Yet at 
 least I must send speedy word to the town that I was 
 no longer to be looked to for any help, and when I 
 reached my room I called loudly for Jonah Wall. It 
 was but the middle of the day, yet he was not to be 
 seen. I walked to the door and found, not Jonah, 
 but a guard on duty. 
 
 " What are you doing here?" 
 
 " Seeing that you stay here, sir," he answered, with 
 a grin. 
 
 Then the King was very anxious that I should 
 obey his orders, and had lost no time in ensuring my 
 obedience ; he was right to take his measures, for, 
 standing where I did, his orders would not have re- 
 strained me. I was glad that he had set a guard on 
 me in lieu of asking my parole. For much as I love 
 sin, I hate temptation. Yet where was Jonah Wall, 
 and how could I send my message? I flung myself 
 on the bed in deep despondency. A moment later 
 the door opened and Robert, Darrell's servant, entered. 
 
 " My master begs to know if you will sup with him 
 to-night, sir." 
 
 "Thank him kindly," said I, "but if you ask that 
 gentleman outside, Robert, he'll tell you that I must 
 sup at home by the King's desire. I'm under arrest, 
 Robert." 
 
 " My master will be grieved to hear it, sir, and the 
 more because he hoped that you would bring some
 
 The Meed of Curiosity. 187 
 
 wine with you, for he has none, and he has guests to 
 sup with him." 
 
 "Ah, an interested invitation! How did Mr. Dar- 
 rell know that I had wine?" 
 
 "Your servant Jonah spoke of it to me, sir, and 
 said that you would be glad to send my master some." 
 
 "Jonah is liberal! But I'm glad, and assure Mr. 
 Darrell of it. Where is my rascal? " 
 
 " I saw him leave the Castle about an hour ago ; 
 just after he spoke to me about the wine." 
 
 "Curse him! I wanted him. Well, take the 
 wine. There are six bottles that he got to-day." 
 
 " There is French wine here, sir, and Spanish. 
 May I take either?" 
 
 " Take the French in God's name. I don't want 
 that. I've had enough of France. Stay, though, I 
 believe Mr. Darrell likes the Spanish better." 
 
 "Yes, sir, but his guests will like the French." 
 
 " And who are these guests ? " 
 
 Robert swelled with pride. 
 
 " I thought Jonah would have told you, sir," said 
 he. " The King is to sup with my master." 
 
 "Then," said I, "I'm well excused. For no man 
 knows better than the King why I can't come." 
 
 The fellow took his bottles and went off grinning. 
 I, being left, fell again to cursing myself for a fool, 
 and in this occupation I passed the hours of the after- 
 noon.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The King's Cup, 
 
 AT least the Vicar would be pleased ! A whimsical 
 joy in the anticipation of his delight shot across my 
 gloomy meditations as the sunset rays threaded their 
 way through the narrow window of the chamber that 
 was my cell. The thought of him stayed with me, 
 amusing my idleness and entertaining my fancy. I 
 could imagine his wise contented nod, far from sur- 
 prise as the poles are apart, full of self-approval as an 
 egg of meat. For his vision had been clear, in htm 
 faith had never wavered. Of a truth the prophecy 
 which old Betty Nasroth spoke (foolishness though it 
 were) was through Fortune's freak two parts fulfilled. 
 What remained might rest unjustified to my great 
 content ; small comfort had I won from so much as 
 had come to pass. I had loved where the King loved 
 and my youth, though it raised its head again, still 
 reeled under the blow ; I knew what the King hid 
 aye, it might be more than one thing that he hid ; my 
 knowledge landed me where I lay now, in close con- 
 finement with a gaoler at my door. For my own 
 choice I would crave the Vicar's pardon, would com- 
 pound with destiny, and, taking the proportion of 
 fate's gifts already dealt to me in lieu of all, would go 
 in peace to humbler doings, beneath the dignity of 
 dark prophecy, but more fit to give a man quiet days 
 and comfort in his life. Indeed, as my Lord Quinton 
 had said long ago, there was strange wine in the King's
 
 The King's Cup. 189 
 
 cup, and I had no desire to drink of it. Yet who would 
 not have been moved by the strange working of events 
 which made the old woman's prophecy seem the true 
 reading of a future beyond guess or reasonable fore- 
 cast ? I jeered and snarled at myself, at Betty, at her 
 prophecy, at the Vicar's credulity. But the notion 
 would not be expelled ; two parts stood accomplished, 
 but the third remained. " Glamis thou art, and Caw- 
 dor, and shalt be what thou art promised ! " I forget 
 how it runs on, for it is long since I saw the play, 
 though I make bold to think that it is well enough 
 written. Alas, no good came of listening to witches 
 there, if my memory holds the story of the piece 
 rightly. 
 
 There is little profit, and less entertainment, in the 
 record of my angry desponding thoughts. Now I lay 
 like a log, again I ranged the cell as a beast his cage. 
 I cared not a stiver for Buckingham's schemes, I paid 
 small heed to Nell's jealousy. It was naught to me 
 who should be the King's next favourite and although 
 I, with all other honest men, hated a Popish King, the 
 fear of him would not have kept me from my sleep or 
 from my supper. Who eats his dinner the less though 
 a kingdom fall ? To take a young man's appetite 
 away and keep his eyes open o' nights needs a nearer 
 touch than that. But I had on me a horror of what 
 was being done in this place ; they sold a lady's hon- 
 our there, throwing it in for a make-weight in their 
 bargain. I would have dashed the scales from their 
 hands, but I was helpless. There is the truth, a man 
 need not be ashamed for having had a trifle of honesty 
 about him when he was young. And if my honesty 
 had the backing of something else that I myself knew 
 not yet, why, for honesty's good safety, God send it 
 such backing always ! Without some such aid, it is 
 too often brought to terms and sings small in the end. 
 
 The evening grew late and darkness had fallen. I
 
 i9 Simon Dale. 
 
 turned again to my supper and contrived to eat and to 
 drink a glass or two of wine. Suddenly I remembered 
 Jonah Wall and sent a curse after the negligent fellow, 
 wherever he might be, determining that next morning 
 he should take his choice between a drubbing and dis- 
 missal. Then I stretched myself again on the pallet, 
 resolute to see whether a man could will himself 
 asleep. But I had hardly closed my eyes when I 
 opened them again and started up, leaning on my 
 elbow. There was somebody in conversation with my 
 gaoler. The conference was brief. 
 
 " Here's the King's order," I heard, in a haughty, 
 careless tone. " Open the door, fellow, and be quick." 
 
 The door was flung open. I sprang to my feet with 
 a bow. The Duke of Buckingham stood before me, 
 surveying my person (in truth, my state was very di- 
 shevelled) and my quarters with supercilious amuse- 
 ment. There was one chair and I set it for him ; he 
 sat down, pulling off his lace-trimmed gloves. 
 
 "You are the gentleman I wanted?" he asked. 
 
 " I have reason to suppose so, your Grace," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Good," said he. "The Duke of Monmouth and I 
 have spoken to the King on your behalf." 
 
 I bowed grateful acknowledgments. 
 
 "You are free," he continued, to my joy. "You'll 
 leave the Castle in two hours," he added, to my con- 
 sternation. But he appeared to perceive neither effect 
 of his words. " Those are the King's orders," he 
 ended, composedly. 
 
 " But," I cried, " if I leave the Castle how can I 
 fulfil your Grace's desire?" 
 
 " I said those were the King's orders. I have some- 
 thing to add to them. Here, I have written it down, 
 that you may understand and not forget. Your lan- 
 tern there gives a poor light, but your eyes are young. 
 Read what is written, sir."
 
 The King's Cup. 191 
 
 I took the paper that he handed me and read : 
 
 " In two hours' time be at Canonsgate. The gate 
 will be open. Two serving-men will be there with two 
 horses. A lady will be conducted to the gate and de- 
 livered into your charge. You will ride with her as 
 speedily as possible to Deal. You will call her your 
 sister, if need arise to speak of her. Go to the hostelry 
 of the Merry Mariners in Deal, and there await a gen- 
 tleman, who will come in the morning and hand you 
 fifty guineas in gold. Deliver the lady to this gentle- 
 man, return immediately to London, and lie in safe 
 hiding till word reaches you from me." 
 
 I read and turned to him in amazement. 
 
 " Well," he asked, " isn't it plain enough ? " 
 
 "The lady I can guess,'! I answered, "but I pray 
 your Grace to tell me who is the gentleman." 
 
 " What need is there for you to know ? Do you 
 think that more than one will seek you at the Merry 
 Mariners Tavern, and pray your acceptance of fifty 
 guineas? " 
 
 " But I should like to know who this one is." 
 
 "You'll know when you see him." 
 
 " With respect to your Grace, this is not enough to 
 tell me." 
 
 "You can't be told more, sir." 
 
 " Then I won't go." 
 
 He frowned, and beat his gloves on his thigh impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "A gentleman, your Grace," said I, "must be 
 trusted, or he cannot serve." 
 
 He looked round the little cell and asked signifi- 
 cantly, 
 
 " Is your state such as to entitle you to make con- 
 ditions? " 
 
 " Only if your Grace has need of services which I 
 can give or refuse," I answered, bowing. 
 
 His irritation suddenly vanished, or seemed to van- 
 ish. He leant back in his chair and laughed.
 
 i9 2 Simon Dale. 
 
 " Yet all the time," said he, "you've guessed the 
 gentleman ! Isn't it so ? Come, Mr. Dale, we under- 
 stand one another. This service, if all goes well, is 
 simple. But if you're interrupted in leaving the Cas- 
 tle, you must use your sword. Well, if you use your 
 sword and don't prove victorious, you may be taken. 
 If you're taken it will be best for us all that you 
 shouldn't know the name of this gentleman, and best 
 for him and for me that I should not have mentioned 
 it." 
 
 The little doubt I had harboured was gone. Buck- 
 ingham and Monmouth were hand in hand. Buck- 
 ingham's object was political, Monmouth was to find 
 his reward in the prize that I was to rescue from the 
 clutches of M. de Perrencourt and hand over to him 
 at the hostelry in Deal. If success attended the at- 
 tempt I was to disappear; if it failed, my name and I 
 were to be the shield and bear the brunt. The re- 
 ward was fifty guineas, and perhaps a serviceable grat- 
 itude in the minds of two great men, provided I lived 
 to enjoy the fruit of it. 
 
 "You'll accept this task?" asked the Duke. 
 
 The task was to thwart M. de Perrencourt and grat- 
 ify the Duke of Monmouth. If I refused it, another 
 might accept and accomplish it; if such a champion 
 failed, M. de Perrencourt would triumph. If I ac- 
 cepted, I should accept in the fixed intention of play- 
 ing traitor to one of my employers. I might serve 
 Buckingham's turn, I should seek to thwart Mon- 
 mouth. 
 
 " Who pays me my fifty guineas ? " I asked. 
 
 "Faith, I," he answered, with a shrug. "Young 
 Monmouth is enough his father's son to have his 
 pockets always empty." 
 
 On this excuse I settled my point of casuistry in an 
 instant. 
 
 "Then I'll carry the lady away from the Castle," I 
 cried.
 
 The King's Cup. 193 
 
 He started, leant forward, and looked hard in my 
 face. "What do you mean? what do you know?" 
 he asked plainly enough, although silently. But I had 
 cried out with an appearance of zeal and innocence 
 that baffled his curiosity, and my guileless expression 
 gave his suspicions no food. Perhaps, too, he had no 
 wish to enquire. There was little love between him 
 and Monmouth, for he had been bitterly offended by 
 the honours and precedence assigned to the Duke ; 
 only a momentary coincidence of interest bound them 
 together in this scheme. If the part that concerned 
 Buckingham were accomplished, he would not break 
 his heart on account of the lady not being ready for 
 Monmouth at the hostelry of the Merry Mariners. 
 
 " I think, then, that we understand one another, 
 Mr. Dale ? " said he, rising. 
 
 " Well enough, your Grace," I answ r ered with a bow, 
 and I rapped on the door. The gaoler opened it. 
 
 " Mr. Dale is free to go where he will within the 
 Castle. You can return to your quarters," said Buck- 
 ingham. 
 
 The soldier marched off. Buckingham turned to 
 me. 
 
 " Good fortune in your enterprise," he said. " And 
 I give you joy on your liberty." 
 
 The words were not out of his mouth when a lieu- 
 tenant and two men appeared, approaching us at a 
 rapid walk, nay, almost at a run. They made directly 
 for us, the Duke and I both watching them. The 
 officer's sword was drawn in his hand, their daggers 
 were fixed in the muzzles of the soldiers' muskets. 
 
 " What's happened now ? " asked Buckingham, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 The answer was not long in coming. The lieuten- 
 ant halted before us, crying, 
 
 " In the King's name, I arrest you, sir." 
 
 " On my soul, you've a habit of being arrested, sir,"
 
 194 Simon Dale. 
 
 said the Duke, sharply. " What's the cause this 
 time?" 
 
 " I don't know," I answered, and I asked the offi- 
 cer, " On what account, sir? " 
 
 " The King's orders," he answered, curtly. "You 
 must come with me at once." At a sign from him his 
 men took their stand on either side of me. Verily 
 my liberty had been short ! " I must warn you that 
 we shall stand at nothing if you try to escape," said 
 the officer, sternly. 
 
 " I'm not a fool, sir," I answered. " Where are you 
 going to take me?" 
 
 " Where my orders direct." 
 
 " Come, come," interrupted Buckingham, impa- 
 tiently, "not so much mystery. You know me? 
 Well, this gentleman is my friend and I desire to 
 know where you take him." 
 
 " I crave your Grace's pardon, but I must not an- 
 swer." 
 
 "Then I'll follow you, and discover," cried the 
 Duke, angrily. 
 
 "At your Grace's peril," answered the officer, firmly. 
 " If you insist, I must leave one of my men to detain 
 you here. Mr. Dale must go alone with me." 
 
 Wrath and wonder were eloquent on the proud 
 Duke's face. In me this new misadventure bred a 
 species of resignation. I smiled at him, as I said, 
 
 " My business with your Grace must wait, it seems." 
 
 " Forward, sir," cried the officer impatiently, and I 
 was marched off at a round pace, Buckingham not at- 
 tempting to follow, but turning back in the direction 
 of the Duke of Monmouth's quarters. The confed- 
 erates must seek a new instrument now; if their pur- 
 pose were to thwart the King's wishes, they might 
 not find what they wanted again so easily. 
 
 I was conducted straight and quickly to the keep, 
 and passed up the steps that led to the corridor in
 
 The King's Cup. 19$ 
 
 which the King was lodged. They hurried me along, 
 and I had time to notice nothing until I came to a 
 door near the end of the building, on the western 
 side. Here I found Darrell, apparently on guard, for 
 his sword was drawn and a pistol in his left hand. 
 
 " Here, sir, is Mr. Dale," said my conductor. 
 
 "Good," answered Darrell, briefly. I saw that his 
 face was very pale, and he accorded me not the least 
 sign of recognition. " Is he armed ? " he asked. 
 
 " You see I have no weapons, Mr. Darrell," said I, 
 stiffly. 
 
 " Search him," commanded Darrell, ignoring me 
 utterly. 
 
 I grew hot and angry. The soldiers obeyed the 
 order. I fixed my eyes on Darrell, but he would not 
 meet my gaze; the point of his sword tapped the floor 
 on which it rested, for his hand was shaking like a leaf. 
 
 " There's no weapon on him," announced the officer. 
 
 " Very well. Leave him with me, sir, and retire 
 with your men to the foot of the steps. If you hear a 
 whistle, return as quickly as possible." 
 
 The officer bowed, turned about and departed, fol- 
 lowed by his men. Darrell, and I stood facing one 
 another for a moment. 
 
 " In hell's name what's the meaning of this, Dar- 
 rell ? " I cried. " Has Madame brought the Bastille 
 over with her and are you made Governor ? " 
 
 He answered not a word. Keeping his sword still 
 in readiness, he knocked with the muzzle of his pistol 
 on the door by him. After a moment it was opened, 
 and a head looked out. The face was Sir Thomas 
 Clifford's ; the door was flung wide, a gesture from 
 Darrell bade me enter. I stepped in, he followed, and 
 the door was instantly shut close behind us. 
 
 I shall not readily forget the view disclosed to me 
 by the flaring oil lamps hung in sconces to the ancient 
 smoky walls. I was in a narrow room, low and not
 
 196 Simon Dale* 
 
 large, scantly furnished with faded richness and hung 
 to half its height with mouldering tapestries. The 
 floor was bare, and uneven from time and use. In the 
 middle of the room was a long table of polished oak 
 wood ; in the centre of it sat the King, on his left was 
 the Duchess of Orleans and beyond her the Duke of 
 York ; on the King's right at the end of the table was 
 an empty chair; Clifford moved towards it now and 
 took his seat ; next to him was Arlington, then Col- 
 bert de Croissy, the Special Envoy of the French 
 King. Next to our King was another empty chair, an 
 arm-chair, like the King's ; empty it was, but M. de 
 Perrencourt leant easily over the back of it, with his 
 eyes fixed on me. On the table were materials for 
 writing, and a large sheet of paper faced the King or 
 M. de Perrencourt; it seemed just between them. 
 There was nothing else on the table except a bottle of 
 wine and two cups ; one was full to the brim, while 
 the liquor in the other fell short of the top of the glass 
 by a quarter of an inch. All present were silent ; 
 save M. de Perrencourt all seemed disturbed ; the 
 King's swarthy face appeared rather pale than swarthy, 
 and his hand rapped nervously on the table. All this 
 I saw, while Darrell stood rigidly by me, sword in 
 hand. 
 
 Madame was the first to speak ; her delicate subtle 
 face lit up with recognition. 
 
 "Why, I have spoken with this gentleman," she 
 said, in a low voice. 
 
 " And I also," said M. de Perrencourt, under his 
 breath. I think he hardly knew that he spoke, for 
 the words seemed the merest unconscious outcome of 
 his thoughts. 
 
 The King raised his hand, as though to impose 
 silence. Madame bowed in apologetic submission. 
 M. de Perrencourt took no heed of the gesture, al- 
 though he did not speak again. A moment later he
 
 The King's Cop. 197 
 
 laid his hand on Colbert's shoulder and whispered to 
 him. I thought I heard just a word, it was " Fon- 
 telles." Colbert looked up and nodded. M. de Per- 
 rencourt folded his arms on the back of the chair and 
 his face resumed its impassivity. 
 
 Another moment elapsed before the King spoke. 
 His voice was calm, but there seemed still to echo in 
 it a trace of some violent emotion newly passed ; a 
 slight smile curved his lips, but there was more malice 
 than mirth in it. 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said he, " the gentleman who stands 
 by you once beguiled an idle minute for me by telling 
 me of a certain strange prophecy made concerning 
 you which he had, he said, from your own lips, and in 
 which my name or at least some king's name and 
 yours were quaintly coupled. You know what I refer 
 to?" 
 
 I bowed low, wondering what in heaven's name he 
 could be at. It was, no doubt, high folly to love Mis- 
 tress Gwyn, but scarcely high treason. Besides, had 
 not I repented and forsworn her? Ah, but the second 
 member of the prophecy? I glanced eagerly at M. de 
 Perrencourt, eagerly at the paper before the King. 
 There were lines on the paper, but I could not read 
 them, and M. de Perrencourt's face was fully as baf- 
 fling. 
 
 " If I remember rightly," pursued the King, after 
 listening to a whispered sentence from his sister, " the 
 prediction foretold that you should drink of my cup. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 " It was so, Sir, although what your Majesty quotes 
 was the end, not the beginning of it." 
 
 For an instant a smile glimmered on the King's 
 face ; it was gone and he proceeded gravely, 
 
 " I am concerned only with that part of it. I love 
 prophecies and I love to see them fulfilled. You see 
 that cup there, the one that is not quite full. That
 
 198 Simon Dale. 
 
 cup of wine was poured out for me, the other for my 
 friend M. de Perrencourt. I pray you, drink of my 
 cup and let the prophecy stand fulfilled." 
 
 In honest truth I began to think that the King had 
 drunk other cups before and left them not so full. 
 Yet he looked sober enough, and the rest were grave 
 and mute. What masquerade was this, to bring me 
 under guard and threat of death to drink a cup of 
 wine? I would have drunk a dozen of my free will, 
 for the asking. 
 
 "Your Majesty desires me to drink that cup of 
 wine ? " I asked. 
 
 " If you please, sir, the cup that was poured out for 
 me." 
 
 " With all my heart," I cried, and, remembering my 
 manners, I added, "and with most dutiful thanks to 
 your Majesty for this signal honour." 
 
 A stir, hardly to be seen, yet certain, ran round the 
 table. Madame stretched out a hand towards the cup 
 as though with a sudden impulse to seize it ; the King 
 caught her hand and held it prisoner. M. de Perren- 
 court suddenly dragged his chair back, and, passing in 
 front of it, stood close over the table. Colbert looked 
 up at him, but his eyes were fixed on me, and the 
 Envoy went unnoticed. 
 
 " Then come and take it," said the King. 
 
 I advanced, after a low bow. Darrell, to my fresh 
 wonder, kept pace with me, and when I reached the 
 table, was still at my side. Before I could move his 
 sword might be through me or the ball from his pistol 
 in my brains. The strange scene began to intoxicate 
 me, its stirring suggestion mounting to my brain like 
 fumes of wine. I seized the cup and held it high in 
 my hand. I looked down in the King's face, and 
 thence to Madame's ; to her I bowed low and cried, 
 
 " By his Majesty's permission I will drain this cup 
 to the honour of the fairest and most illustrious Prin- 
 cess, Madame the Duchess of Orleans."
 
 The King's Cop. 199 
 
 The Duchess half rose from her seat, crying in a 
 loud whisper, " Not to me, no, no ! I can't have him 
 drink it to me." 
 
 The King still held her hand. 
 
 " Drink it to me, Mr. Dale," said he. 
 
 I bowed to him and put the cup to my lips. I was 
 in the act to drink it, when M. de Perrencourt spoke. 
 
 "A moment, sir," he said, calmly. "Have I the 
 King's permission to tell Mr. Dale a secret concerning 
 this wine? " 
 
 The Duke of York looked up with a frown, the King 
 turned to M. de Perrencourt as if in doubt, the French- 
 man met his glance and nodded. 
 
 " M. de Perrencourt is our guest," said the King. 
 " He must do as he will." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt, having thus obtained permission 
 (when was his will denied him ?), leant one hand on 
 the table, and, bending across towards me, said in slow, 
 calm, yet impressive tones, 
 
 " The King, sir, was wearied with business and 
 parched with talking ; of his goodness he detected in 
 me the same condition. So he bade my good friend 
 and his good subject Mr. Darrell furnish him with a 
 bottle of wine, and Mr. Darrell brought a bottle, say- 
 ing that the King's cellar was shut and the cellarman 
 in bed, but praying the King to honour him by drink- 
 ing his wine, which was good French wine, such as the 
 King loved and such as he hoped to put before his 
 Majesty at supper presently. Then his Majesty asked 
 whence it came, and Mr. Darrell answered that he was 
 indebted for it to his good friend Mr. Simon Dale, 
 who would be honoured by the King's drinking it." 
 
 " Why, it's my own wine then ! " I cried, smiling 
 now. 
 
 " He spoke the truth, did he?" pursued M. de Per- 
 rencourt, composedly. " It is your wine, sent by you 
 to Mr. Darrell ? "
 
 2OO Simon Dale* 
 
 " Even so, sir," I answered. " Mr. Darrell's wine 
 was out and I sent him some bottles of mine by his 
 servant." 
 
 "You knew for what he needed k?" 
 
 I had forgotten for the moment what Robert said, 
 and hesitated in my answer. M. de Perrencourt 
 looked intently at me. 
 
 " I think," said I, " that Robert told me Mr. Darrell 
 expected the King to sup with him." 
 
 " He told you that ? " he asked, sharply. 
 
 "Yes, I remember that," said I, now thoroughly 
 bewildered by the history and the catechism which 
 seemed necessary to an act so simple as drinking a 
 glass of my own wine. 
 
 M. de Perrencourt said nothing more, but his eyes 
 were still set on my face with a puzzled, searching 
 expression. His glance confused me and I looked 
 round the table. Often at such moments the merest 
 trifles catch our attention, and now for the first time 
 I observed that a little of the wine had been spilt on 
 the polished oak of the table ; where it had fallen the 
 bright surface seemed rusted to dull brown. I noticed 
 the change and wondered for an idle second how it 
 came that wine turned a polished table dull. The 
 thing was driven from my head the next moment by 
 a brief and harsh order from the King. 
 
 " Drink, sir, drink." 
 
 Strained with excitement, I started at the order, and 
 slopped some of the wine from the cup on my hand. 
 I felt a strange burning where it fell, but again the 
 King cried, " Drink, sir." 
 
 I hesitated no more. Recalling my wandering wits 
 and determining to play my part in the comedy, what- 
 ever it might mean, I bowed, cried, " God save your 
 Majesty," and raised the cup to my lips. As it 
 touched them, I saw Madame hide her eyes with her 
 hand and M. de Perrencourt lean further across the
 
 THK KINi; S Cl'P. PAGE 2OO.
 
 The King's Cup. 201 
 
 table, while a short quick gasp of breath came from 
 where Darrell stood by my side. 
 
 I knew how to take off a bumper of wine. No 
 sippings and swallowings forme! I laid my tongue 
 well down in the bottom of my mouth that the liquor 
 might have fair passage to my gullet and threw my 
 head back as you see a hen do (in thanks to heaven, 
 they say, though she drinks only water). Then 1 
 tilted the cup and my mouth was full of the wine. I 
 was conscious of a taste in it, a strange acrid taste. 
 Why, it was poor wine, turned sour; it should go 
 back to-morrow; that fool Jonah was a fool in all 
 things ; and I stood disgraced for offering this acrid 
 stuff to a friend. And he gave it to the King! It 
 was the cruellest chance. Why 
 
 Suddenly, when I had gulped down but one good 
 mouthful, I saw M. de Perrencourt lean right across 
 the table. Yet I saw him dimly, for my eyes seemed 
 to grow glazed and the room to spin round me, the 
 figures at the table taking strange shapes and weird 
 dim faces, and a singing sounding in my ears, as 
 though the sea roared there, and not on Dover Beach. 
 There was a woman's cry, and a man's arm shot out at 
 me. I felt a sharp blow on my wrist, the cup was 
 dashed from my hand on to the stone floor, breaking 
 into ten thousand pieces, while the wine made a 
 puddle at my feet. I stood there for an instant, struck 
 motionless, glaring into the face that was opposite to 
 mine. It wasM.de Perrencourt 's, no longer calm but 
 pale and twitching. This was the last thing I saw 
 clearly. The King and his companions were fused in 
 a shifting mass of trunks and faces, the walls raced 
 round, the singing of the sea roared and fretted in my 
 ears. I caught my hand to my brow and staggered ; 
 I could not stand, I heard a clatter as though of a 
 sword falling to the floor, arms were stretched out to 
 receive me and I sank into them, hearing a murmur 
 close by me, " Simon, Simon ! "
 
 202 Simon Dale* 
 
 Yet one thing more I heard, before my senses left 
 me, a loud, proud, imperious voice, the voice that 
 speaks to be obeyed, whose assertion brooks no con- 
 tradiction. It rang in my ears where nothing else 
 could reach them, and even then I knew whence it 
 came. The voice was the voice of M. de Perrencourt, 
 and it seemed that he spoke to the King of England. 
 
 " Brother," he cried, " by my faith in God, this gen- 
 tleman is innocent, and his life is on our heads, if he 
 lose it." 
 
 I heard no more. Stupor veiled me round in an im- 
 penetrable mist. The figures vanished, the tumultu- 
 ous singing ceased. A great silence encompassed me, 
 and all was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers* 
 
 SLOWLY the room and the scene came back to me, 
 disengaging themselves from the darkness which had 
 settled on my eyes, regaining distinctness and their 
 proper form. I was sitting in a chair and there were 
 wet bandages about my head. Those present before 
 were there still save M. de Perrencourt, whose place 
 at the table was vacant ; the large sheet of paper and 
 the materials for writing had vanished. There was a 
 fresh group at the end, next to Arlington ; here now 
 sat the Dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, carry, 
 ing on a low conversation with the Secretary. The 
 King lay back in his chair, frowning and regarding 
 with severe gaze a man who stood opposite to him, 
 almost where I had been when I drank of the King's 
 cup. There stood Darrell and the lieutenant of the 
 Guards who had arrested me, and between them, with 
 clothes torn and muddy, face scratched and stained 
 with blood, with panting breath and gleaming eyes, 
 firmly held by either arm, was Phineas Tate the Ran- 
 ter. They had sent and caught him then, while I lay 
 unconscious. But what led them to suspect him? 
 
 There was the voice of a man speaking from the 
 other side of this party of three. I could not see 
 him, for their bodies came between, but I recognised 
 the tones of Robert, Darrell's servant. It was he, 
 then, who had put them on Jonah's track, and, in fol- 
 lowing that, they must have come on Phineas.
 
 Simon Dale* 
 
 " We found the two together," he was saying, " this 
 man and Mr. Dale's servant who had brought the 
 wine from the town. Both were armed with pistols 
 and daggers, and seemed ready to meet an attack. In 
 the alley in front of the house that I have named " 
 
 "Yes, yes, enough of the house," interrupted the 
 King, impatiently. 
 
 "In the alley there were two horses ready. We 
 attacked the men at once, the lieutenant and I mak- 
 ing for this one here, the two with us trying to se- 
 cure Jonah Wall. This man struggled desperately, 
 but seemed ignorant of how to handle his weapons. 
 Yet he gave us trouble enough, and we had to use 
 him roughly. At last we had him, but then we found 
 that Jonah, who fought like a wild cat, had wounded 
 both the guards with his knife, and, although himself 
 wounded, had escaped by the stairs. Leaving this 
 man with the lieutenant I rushed down after him, but 
 one of the horses was gone, and I heard no sound of 
 hoofs. He had got a start of us and is well out of 
 Dover by now." 
 
 I was straining all my attention to listen, yet my 
 eyes fixed themselves on Phineas, whose head was 
 thrown back defiantly. Suddenly a voice came from 
 behind my chair. 
 
 " That man must be pursued," said M. de Perren- 
 court. " Who knows that there may not be accom- 
 plices in this devilish plot ? This man has planned to 
 poison the King, the servant was his confederate. I 
 say, may there not have been others in the wicked 
 scheme?" 
 
 "True, true," said the King, uneasily. "We must 
 lay this Jonah Wall by the heels. What's known of 
 him?" 
 
 Thinking the appeal was made to me, I strove to 
 rise. M. de Perrencourt's arm reached over the back 
 of my chair and kept me down. I heard Darrell take
 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers. 205 
 
 up the story and tell what he knew and it was as 
 much as I knew of Jonah Wall, and what he knew 
 of Phineas Tate also. 
 
 " It is a devilish plot," said the King, who was still 
 greatly shaken and perturbed. 
 
 Then Phineas spoke loudly, boldly, and with a voice 
 full of the rapturous fanaticism which drowned con- 
 science and usurped in him religion's place. 
 
 " Here," he cried, " are the plots, here are the devil- 
 ish plots ! What do you here ? Aye, what do you 
 plot here ? Is this man's life more than God's Truth ? 
 Is God's Word to be lost that the sins and debauchery 
 of this man may continue ? " 
 
 His long lean fore-finger pointed at the King. A 
 mute consternation fell for an instant on them all, 
 and none interrupted him. They had no answer ready 
 for his question ; men do not count on such questions 
 being asked at Court, the manners are too good there. 
 
 " Here are the plots ! I count myself blessed to 
 die in the effort to thwart them ! I have failed, but 
 others shall not fail ! God's Judgment is sure. What 
 do you here, Charles Stuart? " 
 
 M. de Perrencourt walked suddenly and briskly 
 round to where the King sat and whispered in his ear. 
 The King nodded and said, 
 
 " I think this fellow is mad, but it's a dangerous 
 madness." 
 
 Phineas did not heed him, but cried aloud, 
 
 " And you here are you all with him ? Are you all 
 apostates from God ? Are you all given over to the 
 superstitions of Rome? Are you all here to barter 
 God's word and " 
 
 The King sprang to his feet. 
 
 " I won't listen," he cried. " Stop his cursed mouth ! 
 I won't listen ! " He looked round with fear and 
 alarm in his eyes. I perceived his gaze turned towards 
 his son and Buckingham. Following it, I saw their
 
 206 Simon Dale. 
 
 faces alight with eagerness, excitement and curiosity. 
 Arlington looked down at the table, Clifford leant his 
 head on his hand, at the other end the Duke of York 
 had sprung up like his brother and was glaring angrily 
 at the bold prisoner. Darrell did not wait to be bidden 
 twice, but whipped a silk handkerchief from his pocket. 
 
 "Here and now the deed is being done!" cried 
 Phineas. " Here and now " He could say no more, 
 in spite of his desperate struggles he was gagged and 
 stood silent, his eyes still burning with the message 
 which his lips were not suffered to utter. The King 
 sank back in his seat, and cast a furtive glance round 
 the table. Then he sighed as though in relief and 
 wiped his brow. Monmouth's voice came clear, care- 
 less, confident. 
 
 " What's this madness?" he asked. "Who here is 
 bartering God's Word ? And for what, pray ? " 
 
 No answer was given to him ; he glanced in insolent 
 amusement at Arlington and Clifford, then in insolent 
 defiance at the Duke of York. 
 
 " Is not the religion of the country safe with the 
 King ? " he asked, bowing to his father. 
 
 " So safe, James, that it does not need you to cham- 
 pion it," said the King dryly ; yet his voice trembled 
 a little. Phineas raised that lean fore-finger at him 
 again and pointed. " Tie the fellow's arms to his 
 side," the King commanded in hasty irritation ; he 
 sighed again when the finger could no longer point at 
 him and his eyes again furtively sought Monmouth's 
 face. The young Duke leant back with a scornful 
 smile, and the consciousness of the King's regard did 
 not lead him to school his face to any more seemly ex- 
 pression. My wits had come back now, although my 
 head ached fiercely and my body was full of acute 
 pain ; but I watched all that passed and I knew that, 
 come what might, they would not let Phineas speak. 
 Yet Phineas could know nothing. Nay, but the
 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers. 207 
 
 shafts of madness, often wide, may once hit the mark. 
 The paper that had lain between the King and M. de 
 Perrencourt was hidden. 
 
 Again the French gentleman bent and whispered 
 in the King's ear. He spoke long this time and all 
 kept silence while he spoke, Phineas because he must, 
 the lieutenant with surprised eyes, the rest in that 
 seeming indifference which, as I now knew, masked 
 their real deference. At last the King looked up, 
 nodded, and smiled. His air grew calmer and more 
 assured, and the trembling was gone from his voice as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," said he, " while we talk, this 
 ruffian who has escaped us makes good pace from Do- 
 ver. Let the Duke of Monmouth and the Duke of 
 Buckingham each take a dozen men and scour the 
 country for him. I shall be greatly in the debt of 
 either who brings him to me." 
 
 The two Dukes started. The service which the 
 King demanded of them entailed an absence of several 
 hours from the Castle. It might be that they, or one 
 of them, would learn something from Jonah Wall, but 
 it was far more likely that they would not find him, or 
 that he would not suffer himself to be taken alive. 
 Why were they sent and not a couple of the officers 
 on duty ? But if the King's object were to secure their 
 absence, the scheme was well laid. I thought now 
 that I could guess what M. de Perrencourt had said in 
 that whispered conference. Buckingham had the dis- 
 cretion to recognise when the game went against him. 
 He rose at once with a bow, declaring that he hastened 
 to obey the King's command, and would bring the fel- 
 low in, dead or alive. Monmouth had less self-control. 
 He rose indeed, but reluctantly and with a sullen 
 frown on his handsome face. 
 
 " It's poor work looking for a single man over the 
 countryside," he grumbled.
 
 ao8 Simon Dale. 
 
 " Your devotion to me will inspire and guide you, 
 James," observed the King. A chance of mocking an- 
 other made him himself again as no other cure could. 
 "Come, lose no time." Then the King added, "Take 
 this fellow away and lock him up. Mr. Darrell, see 
 that you guard him well and let nobody come near 
 him." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt whispered. 
 
 "Above all, let him speak to nobody. He must tell 
 what he knows only at the right time," added the 
 King. 
 
 "When will that be?" asked Monmouth audibly, 
 yet so low that the King could feign not to hear and 
 smiled pleasantly at his son. But still the Duke lin- 
 gered, although Buckingham was gone and Phineas 
 Tate had been led out between his custodians. His 
 eyes sought mine and I read an appeal in them. That 
 he desired to take me with him in pursuit of Jonah 
 Wall, I did not think; but he desired above all things 
 to get me out of that room, to have speech with me, 
 to know that I was free to work out the scheme which 
 Buckingham had disclosed to me. Nay, it was not 
 unlikely that his search for Jonah Wall would lead him 
 to the hostelry of the Merry Mariners at Deal. And 
 for my plan too, which differed so little yet so much 
 from his, for that also I must be free. I rose to my 
 feet, delighted to find that I could stand well and that 
 my pains grew no more severe with movement. 
 
 " I am at your Grace's orders," said I. " May I 
 ride with you, sir?" 
 
 The King looked at me doubtfully. 
 
 " I should be glad of your company," said the 
 Duke, " if your health allows." 
 
 " Most fully, sir," I answered, and turning to the 
 King I begged his leave to depart. And that leave I 
 should, as I think, have obtained, but for the fact that 
 once again M. de Perrencourt whispered to the King.
 
 M de Perrencourt Whispers. 209 
 
 The King rose from his seat, took M. de Perrencourt's 
 arm and walked with him to where his Grace stood. 
 I watched them, till a little stifled laugh caught my 
 attention. Madame's face was merry, and hers the 
 laugh. She saw my look on her and laughed again, 
 raising her finger to her lips in a swift stealthy motion. 
 She glanced round apprehensively, but her action had 
 passed unnoticed ; the Duke of York seemed sunk in 
 a dull apathy, Clifford and Arlington were busy in 
 conversation. What did she mean? Did she confess 
 that I held their secret and impose silence on me by a 
 more than royal command, by the behest of bright 
 eyes and red lips which dared me to betray their 
 confidence? On the moment's impulse I bowed as- 
 sent ; Madame nodded merrily and waved a kiss with 
 her dainty hand; no word passed, but I felt that I, 
 being a gentleman, could tell no man alive what I sus- 
 pected aye, what I knew, concerning M. de Perren- 
 court. Thus lightly are pledges given when ladies 
 ask them. 
 
 The Duke of Monmouth started back with a sudden 
 angry motion. The King smiled at him : M. de Per- 
 rencourt laid a hand, decked with rich rings, on his 
 lace cuff. Madame rose, laughing still, and joined the 
 three. I cannot tell what passed alas, that the mat- 
 ters of highest interest are always elusive ! but a 
 moment later Monmouth fell back with as sour a look 
 as I have ever seen on a man's face, bowed slightly 
 and not over-courteously, faced round and strode 
 through the doorway, opening the door for himself. 
 I heard Madame's gay laugh, again the King spoke, 
 Madame cried " Fie," and hid her face with her hand. 
 M. de Perrencourt advanced towards me ; the King 
 caught his arm. " Pooh, he knows already," muttered 
 M. de Perrencourt, half under his breath, but he gave 
 way, and the King came to me first. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " the Duke of Monmouth has had
 
 210 Simon Dale. 
 
 the dutiful kindness to release his claim on your 
 present services and to set you free to serve me." 
 
 I bowed very low, answering, 
 
 " His Grace is bountiful of kindness to me and has 
 given the greatest proof of it in enabling me to serve 
 your Majesty." 
 
 *' My pleasure is," pursued the King, " that you 
 attach yourself to my friend M. de Perrencourt here, 
 and accompany him and hold yourself at his disposal 
 until further commands from me reach you." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt stepped forward and addressed 
 me. 
 
 " In two hours' time, sir," said he, " I beg you to be 
 ready to accompany me. A ship lies yonder at the 
 pier, waiting to carry his Excellency, M. Colbert de 
 Croissy, and myself to Calais to-night on business of 
 moment. Since the King gives you to me, I pray 
 your company." 
 
 "Till then, Mr. Dale, adieu," said the King. " Not 
 a word of what has passed here to-night to any man 
 or any woman. Be in readiness. You know enough, 
 I think, to tell you that you receive a great honour in 
 M. de Perrencourt's request. Your discretion will 
 show your worthiness. Kiss Madame's hand and 
 leave us." 
 
 They both smiled at me and I stood half bewildered. 
 " Go," said M. de Perrencourt with a laugh, clapping 
 me on the shoulder. The two turned away. Madame 
 held out her hand towards me, I bent and kissed it. 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said she, "you have all the virtues." 
 
 "Alas, Madame, I fear you don't mean to com- 
 mend me." 
 
 " Yes, for a rarity, at least. But you have one vice." 
 
 " It shall be mended, if your Royal Highness will 
 tell its name." 
 
 " Nay, I shall increase it by naming it. But here it 
 is; your eyes are too wide open, Mr. Dale."
 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers. 2 1 1 
 
 " My mother, Madame, used to accuse me of a trick 
 of keeping them half shut." 
 
 " Your mother had not seen you at Court, sir." 
 
 " True, Madame, nor had my eyes beheld your 
 Royal Highness." 
 
 She laughed, pleased with a compliment which was 
 well in the mode then, though my sons may ridicule 
 it, but as she turned away, she added, 
 
 " I shall not be with you to-night, and M. de Per- 
 rencourt hates a staring eye." 
 
 I was warned and I was grateful. But there I 
 stopped. Since Heaven had given me my eyes, noth- 
 ing on earth could prevent them opening when matter 
 worth the looking was presented. And perhaps they 
 might be open, and yet seem shut to M. de Perren- 
 court. With a final salute to the exalted company I 
 went out ; as I went they resumed their places at the 
 table, M. de Perrencourt saying, " Come, let us finish. 
 I must be away before dawn." 
 
 I returned to my quarters in no small turmoil ; yet 
 my head, though it still ached sorely from the effect 
 of tasting that draught so fortunately dashed from my 
 hand, was clear enough, and 1 could put together all 
 the pieces of the puzzle save one. But that one 
 chanced to be of some moment to me, for it was my- 
 self. The business with the King which had brought 
 M. de Perrencourt so stealthily to Dover was finished, 
 or was even now being accomplished ; his presence 
 and authority had reinforced Madame's persuasions and 
 the treaty was made. But in these high affairs I had 
 no place. If I would find my work I must look else- 
 where to the struggle that had arisen between M. de 
 Perrencourt and his Grace the Duke of Monmouth, in 
 which the stakes were not wars or religions, and the 
 quarrel of simpler nature. In that fight Louis (for I 
 did not trouble to maintain his disguise in my thoughts) 
 had won, as he was certain to win, if he put forth his
 
 an Simon Dale, 
 
 strength. My heart was sore for Mistress Barbara, 
 I knew that she was to be the spoil of the French 
 King's victory, and that the loss to the beauty of his 
 Court caused by the departure of Mile, de Qu6rouaille 
 was to find compensation. But still where was my 
 part ? I saw only one thing, that Louis had taken a 
 liking for me, and might well choose me as his instru- 
 ment, if an instrument were needed. But for what 
 and where it was needed I could not conceive; since 
 all France was under his feet and a thousand men 
 would spring up to do his bidding at a word aye, let 
 the bidding be what it might and the task as disgrace- 
 ful as you will. What were the qualities in me or in my 
 condition that dictated his choice baffled conjecture. 
 
 Suddenly came a low knock on the door. I opened 
 it and a man slipped in quickly and covertly. To my 
 amazement I saw Carford. He had kept much out of 
 sight lately; I supposed that he had discovered all he 
 wanted from Monmouth's ready confidence, and had 
 carried his ill-won gains to his paymaster. But, sup- 
 posing that he would keep up the comedy, I said 
 stiffly, 
 
 "You come to me from the Duke of Monmouth, 
 my lord ? " 
 
 He was in no mood for pretence to-night. He was 
 in a state of great excitement, and, brushing aside all 
 reserve, made at once for the point. 
 
 " I am come," said he, " to speak a word with you. 
 In an hour you're to sail for France ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I. " Those are the King's orders." 
 
 " But in an hour you could be so far from here that 
 he with whom you go could not wait for your return." 
 
 " Well, my lord ? " 
 
 " To be brief, what's your price to fly and not to 
 sail ? " 
 
 We were standing, facing one another. I answered 
 him slowly, trying to catch his purpose.
 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers. 2 13 
 
 "Why are you willing to pay me a price?" said I. 
 " For it's you who pays? " 
 
 " Yes, I pay. Come, man, you know why you go 
 and who goes with you ? " 
 
 " M. de Perrencourt and M. Colbert go," said I. 
 " Why I go, I don't know." 
 
 " Nor who else goes ? " he asked, looking in my 
 eyes. I paused for a moment and then answered, 
 
 " Yes, she goes." 
 
 "And you know for what purpose?" 
 
 " I can guess the purpose." 
 
 " Well, I want to go in your place. I have done 
 with that fool Monmouth, and the French King 
 would suit me well for a master." 
 
 " Then ask him to take you also." 
 
 " He will not ; he'll rather take you." 
 
 "Then I'll go," said I. 
 
 He drew a step nearer to me. I watched him 
 closely, for, on my life, I did not know in what mood 
 he was, and his honour was ill to lean on as a waving 
 reed. 
 
 " What will you gain by going? " he asked. " And 
 if you fly, he will take me. Somebody he must 
 take." 
 
 " Is not M. Colbert enough ? " 
 
 He looked at me suspiciously, as though he thought 
 that I assumed ignorance. 
 
 "You know very well that Colbert wouldn't serve 
 his purpose." 
 
 " By my faith," I cried, " I don't know what his 
 purpose is." 
 
 " You swear it ? " he asked, in distrust and amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Most willingly," I answered. " It is simple truth." 
 
 He gazed at me still as though but half convinced. 
 
 " Then what's your purpose in going ? " he asked. 
 
 " I obey my orders. Yet I have a purpose, and
 
 214 Simon Dale. 
 
 one I had rather trust with myself than with you, my 
 lord." 
 
 " Pray, sir, what is it ? " 
 
 " To serve and guard the lady who goes also." 
 
 After a moment of seeming surprise, he broke into 
 a sneering laugh. 
 
 "You go to guard her? " he said. 
 
 " Her and her honour," I answered, steadily. " And 
 I do not desire to resign that task into your hands, 
 my lord." 
 
 "What will you do? How will you serve her?" 
 he asked. 
 
 A sudden suspicion of him seized me. His manner 
 had changed to a forced urbanity ; when he was civil 
 he was treacherous 
 
 " That's my secret, my lord," I answered. " I have 
 preparations to make. I pray you, give me leave." 
 I opened the door and held it for him. 
 
 His rage had mastered him ; he grew red and the 
 veins swelled on his forehead. 
 
 " By heaven, you sha'n't go ! " he cried, and clapped 
 his hand to his sword. 
 
 " Who says that Mr. Dale shall not go ? " 
 
 A man stood in the doorway, plainly attired, wear- 
 ing boots, and a cloak that half hid his face. Yet I 
 knew him and Carford knew him. Carford shrank 
 back, I bowed, and we both bared our heads. M. de 
 Perrencourt advanced into the room, fixing his eyes 
 on Carford. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " when I decline a gentleman's 
 services I am not to be forced into accepting them, 
 and when I say a gentleman shall go with me, he goes. 
 Have you a quarrel with me on that account ? " 
 
 Carford found no words in which to answer him, 
 but his eyes told that he would have given the world 
 to draw his sword against M. de Perrencourt, or indeed 
 against the pair of us. A gesture of the newcomer's
 
 M. de Perrencourt Whispers. a 1 5 
 
 arm motioned him to the door. But he had one sen- 
 tence more to hear before he was suffered to slink 
 away. 
 
 " Kings, my lord," said M. de Perrencourt, " may be 
 compelled to set spies about the persons of others. 
 They do not need them about their own." 
 
 Carford turned suddenly white and his teeth set. I 
 thought that he would fly at the man who rebuked 
 him so scornfully, but such an outbreak meant death ; 
 he controlled himself. He passed out and Louis, with 
 a careless laugh, seated himself on my bed. I stood 
 respectfully opposite to him. 
 
 " Make your preparations," said he. " In half-an- 
 hour's time we depart." 
 
 I obeyed him, setting about the task of filling my 
 saddle-bags with my few possessions. He watched me 
 in silence for awhile. At last he spoke. 
 
 " I have chosen you to go with me," he said, " be- 
 cause although you know a thing, you don't speak of 
 it, and although you see a thing, you can appear 
 blind." 
 
 I remembered that Madame thought my blindness 
 deficient, but I received the compliment in silence. 
 
 "These great qualities," he pursued, "make a man's 
 fortune. You shall come with me to Paris." 
 
 " To Paris, sir? " 
 
 "Yes. I'll find work for you there, and those who 
 do my work lack neither reward nor honour. Come, 
 sir, am I not as good a King to serve as another." 
 
 " Your Majesty is the greatest Prince in Christen- 
 dom," said I. For such indeed all the world held him. 
 
 " Yet even the greatest Prince in Christendom fears 
 some things," said he, smiling. 
 
 "Surely nothing, sir." 
 
 " Why, yes. A woman's tongue, a woman's tears, a 
 woman's rage, a woman's jealousy ; I say, Mr. Dale, a 
 woman's jealousy."
 
 2 1 6 Simon Dale* 
 
 It was well that my preparations were done, or they 
 had never been done. I was staring at him now with 
 my hands dropped to my side. 
 
 " I am married," he pursued. " That is little." 
 And he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Little enough at Courts, in all conscience," 
 thought I ; perhaps my face betrayed something of 
 the thought, for King Louis smiled. 
 
 " But I am more than a husband," he pursued. "" I 
 am a lover, Mr. Dale." 
 
 Not knowing what comment to make on this, I 
 made none. I had heard the talk about his infatua- 
 tion, but it was not for me to mention the lady's 
 name. Nor did the King name her. He rose and 
 approached me, looking full in my face. 
 
 " You are neither a husband nor a lover? " he asked. 
 
 " Neither, sir." 
 
 " You know Mistress Quinton ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 He was close to me now, and he whispered to me, as 
 he had whispered to the King in the Council Chamber. 
 
 " With my favour and such a lady for his wife, a 
 gentleman might climb high." 
 
 I heard the words and I could not repress a start. 
 At last the puzzle was pieced, and my part plain. I 
 knew now the work I was to do, the price of the 
 reward I was to gain. Had he said it a month before, 
 when I was not yet trained to self-control and con- 
 cealment, king as he was, I would have drawn my 
 sword on him. For good or evil, dissimulation is soon 
 learnt. With a great effort I repressed my agitation, 
 and hid my disgust. King Louis smiled at me, deem- 
 ing what he had suggested no insult. 
 
 " Your wedding shall take place at Calais," he said ; 
 and I (I wonder now to think of it) bowed and smiled. 
 
 " Be ready in a quarter-of-an-hour," said he, and 
 left me with a gracious smile.
 
 M de Perrencourt Whispers, a 17 
 
 I stood there where I was for the best part of the 
 time still left to me. I saw why Carford desired the 
 mission on which I went ; why Madame bade me prac- 
 tise the closing of my eyes ; how my fortune was to 
 come from the hand of King Louis. An English gen- 
 tleman and his wife would travel back with the King ; 
 the King would give his favour to both ; and the lady 
 was Barbara Quinton. 
 
 I turned at last and made my final preparation. It 
 was simple ; I loaded my pistol and hid it about me, 
 and I buckled on my sword, seeing that it moved 
 easily in the sheath. By fortune's will, I had to 
 redeem the pledge which I had given to my lord ; his 
 daughter's honour now knew no safety but in my arm 
 and wits. Alas, how slender the chance was, and how 
 great the odds ! 
 
 Then a sudden fear came upon me. I had lived of 
 late in a Court where honour seemed dead, and wo- 
 men, no less than men, gave everything for wealth or 
 place. I had seen nothing of her, no word had come 
 from her to me. She had scorned Monmouth, but 
 might she not be won to smile on M. de Perrencourt? 
 I drove the thought from me, but it came again and 
 again, shaming me and yet fastening on me. She 
 went with M. de Perrencourt ; did she go willingly? 
 
 With that thought beating in my brain I stepped 
 forth to my adventure.
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 
 
 As I walked briskly from my quarters down to the 
 sea, M. de Perrencourt's last whisper, " With my fa- 
 vour and such a lady for his wife a gentleman might 
 climb high," echoed in my ears so loudly and insist- 
 ently as to smother all thought of what had passed in 
 the Council Chamber and to make of no moment for 
 me the plots and plans alike of Kings, Catholics and 
 Ranters. That night I cared little though the King 
 had signed away the liberties of our religion and his 
 realm ; I spared no more than a passing wonder for 
 the attempt to which conscience run mad had urged 
 Phineas Tate, and in which he in his turn had involved 
 my simpleton of a servant. Let them all plot and 
 plan : the issue lay in God's hand, above my knowl- 
 edge and beyond my power. My task was enough 
 and more than enough for my weakness ; to it I turned, 
 with no fixed design and no lively hope, with a prayer 
 for success only and a resolve not to be King Louis' 
 catspaw. A month ago I might have marvelled that he 
 offered such a part to any gentleman : the illusions of 
 youth and ignorance were melting fast ; now I was 
 left to ask why he had selected one so humble for a 
 place that great men held in those days with open 
 profit and without open shame ; aye, and have held 
 since. For although I have lived to call myself a 
 Whig, I do not hold that the devil left England for 
 good and all with the House of Stuart.
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 219 
 
 We were on the quay now, and the little ship lay 
 ready for us. A very light breeze blew off the land, 
 enough to carry us over if it held, but promising a 
 long passage ; the weather was damp and misty. M. 
 Colbert had shrugged his shoulders over the prospect 
 of a fog ; his master would hear of no delay, and the 
 King had sent for Thomas Lie, a famous pilot of the 
 Cinque Ports, to go with us till the French coast 
 should be sighted. The two kings were walking up 
 and down together in eager and engrossed conversa- 
 tion. Looking about, I perceived the figures of tv. o 
 women standing near the edge of the water. I saw 
 Colbert approach them and enter into conversation ; 
 soon he came to me and with the smoothest of smiles 
 bade me charge myself with the care of Mistress 
 Quinton. 
 
 " Madame," said he, " has sent a discreet and trust- 
 worthy waiting-woman with her, but a lady needs a 
 squire, and we are still hampered by business." With 
 which he went off to join his master, bestowing an- 
 other significant smile on me. 
 
 I lost no time in approaching Barbara. The woman 
 with her was stout and short, having a broad hard face ; 
 she stood by her charge square and sturdy as a sol- 
 dier on guard. Barbara acknowledged my salutation 
 stiffly ; she was pale and seemed anxious, but in no 
 great distress or horror. But did she know what was 
 planned for her or the part I was to play ? The first 
 words she spoke showed me that she knew nothing, 
 for when I began to feel my way, saying, " The wind 
 is fair for us," she started, crying, "For us? Why, 
 are you coming with us ? " 
 
 I glanced at the waiting-woman who stood stolidly 
 by. 
 
 " She understands no English," said Barbara, catch- 
 ing my meaning. " You can speak freely. Why are 
 you coming?"
 
 320 Simon Dale. 
 
 " Nay, but why are you going? " 
 
 She answered me with a touch of defiance in her 
 voice. 
 
 " The Duchess of York is to return with Madame 
 on a visit to the French Court, and I go to prepare 
 for her coming." 
 
 So this was the story by which they were inducing 
 her to trust herself in their hands. Doubtless they 
 might have forced her, but deceit furnished a better 
 way. Yet agitation had mingled with defiance in her 
 voice. In an instant she went on, 
 
 "You are coming, in truth are you? Don't jest 
 with me." 
 
 " Indeed I'm coming, madame. I hope my com- 
 pany is to your liking? " 
 
 " But why, why ? " 
 
 " M. de Perrencourt has one answer to that ques- 
 tion and I another." 
 
 Her eyes questioned me, but she did not put her 
 question into words. With a little shiver she said, 
 
 " I am glad to be quit of this place." 
 
 " You're right in that," I answered, gravely. 
 
 Her cheek flushed and her eyes fell to the ground. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured. 
 
 " But Dover Castle is not the only place where dan- 
 ger lies," said I. 
 
 " Madame has sworn " she began, impetuously. 
 
 "And M. de Perrencourt?" I interrupted. 
 
 " He he gave his word to his sister," she said, in 
 a very low voice. Then she stretched her hand out 
 towards me, whispering, " Simon, Simon ! " 
 
 I interpreted the appeal, although it was but an 
 inarticulate cry, witnessing to a fear of dangers un- 
 known. The woman had edged a little away, but still 
 kept a careful watch. I paid no heed to her. I must 
 give my warning. 
 
 " My services are always at your disposal, Mistress
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders* 221 
 
 Barbara," said I, "even without the right to them 
 that M. de Perrencourt purposes to give you." 
 
 " I don't understand. How can he ? Why, you 
 wouldn't enter my service?" 
 
 She laughed a little as she made this suggestion, but 
 there was an eagerness in her voice ; my heart an- 
 swered to it, for I saw that she found comfort in the 
 thought of my company. 
 
 " M. de Perrencourt," said I, " purposes that I 
 should enter your service, and his also." 
 
 "Mine and his?" she murmured, puzzled and 
 alarmed. 
 
 I did not know how to tell her, I was ashamed. 
 But the last moments fled and she must know before 
 we were at sea. 
 
 " Yonder, where we're going," I said, " the word of 
 M. de Perrencourt is law and his pleasure right." 
 
 She took alarm and her voice trembled. 
 
 " He has promised Madame told me," she stam- 
 mered. " Ah, Simon, must I go ? Yet I should be 
 worse here." 
 
 " You must go. What can we do here ? I go will- 
 ingly." 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " To serve you, if it be in my power. Will you 
 listen?" 
 
 "Quick, quick. Tell me!" 
 
 " Of all that he swore, he will observe nothing. 
 Hush, don't cry out. Nothing." 
 
 I feared that she would fall, for she reeled where 
 she stood. I dared not support her 
 
 " If he asks a strange thing, agree to it. It's the 
 only way." 
 
 " What ? What will he ask ? " 
 
 " He will propose a husband to you." 
 
 She tore at the lace wrapping about her throat as 
 though it were choking her ; her eyes were fixed on
 
 323 Simon Dale. 
 
 mine. I answered her gaze with a steady regard, and 
 her cheek grew red with a hot blush. 
 
 " His motive you may guess," said I. " There is 
 convenience in a husband." 
 
 I had put it at last plainly enough, and when I had 
 said it I averted my eyes from hers. 
 
 " I won't go," I heard her gasp. "I'll throw myself 
 at the King's feet." 
 
 " He'll make a clever jest on you," said I, bitterly. 
 
 " I'll implore M. de Perrencourt " 
 
 " His answer will be polite." 
 
 For a while there was silence. Then she spoke 
 again in a low whisper ; her voice now sounded hard 
 and cold, and she stood rigid. 
 
 "Who is the man?" she asked. Then she broke 
 into a sudden passion, and, forgetting caution, seized 
 me by the arm, whispering, " Have you your sword ? " 
 
 " Aye, it is here." 
 
 " Will you use it for me ? " 
 
 "At your bidding." 
 
 " Then use it on the body of the man." 
 
 " I'm the man," said I. 
 
 "You, Simon ! " 
 
 Now what a poor thing is this writing, and how 
 small a fragment of truth can it hold ! " You, 
 Simon ! " The words are nothing, but they came from 
 her lips full-charged with wonder, most incredulous, 
 yet coloured with sudden hope of deliverance. She 
 doubted, yet she caught at the strange chance. Nay, 
 there was more still, but what I could not tell ; for 
 her eyes lit up with a sudden sparkle, which shone a 
 brief moment and then was screened by drooping lids. 
 
 "That is why I go," said I. "With M. de Pen-en- 
 court's favour and such a lady for my wife I might 
 climb high. So whispered M. de Perrencourt himself." 
 
 " You ! " she murmured again ; and again her cheek 
 was red.
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 223 
 
 " We must not reach Calais, if we can escape by the 
 way. Be near me always on the ship, fortune may 
 give us a chance. And if we come to Calais, be near 
 me while you can." 
 
 " But if we can't escape ? " 
 
 I was puzzled by her. It must be that she found 
 in my company new hope of escape. Hence came 
 the light in her eyes, and the agitation which seemed 
 to show excitement rather than fear. But I had no 
 answer to her question, " If we can't escape ? " 
 
 Had I been ready with fifty answers, time would 
 have failed for one. M. Colbert called to me. The 
 King was embracing his guest for the last time ; the 
 sails were spread ; Thomas Lie was at the helm. I 
 hastened to obey M. Colbert's summons. He pointed 
 to the King ; going forward, I knelt and kissed the 
 hand extended to me. Then I rose and stood for a 
 moment, in case it should be the King's pleasure to 
 address me. M. de Perrencourt was by his side. 
 
 The King's face wore a smile and the smile broad- 
 ened as he spoke to me. 
 
 " You're a wilful man, Mr. Dale," said he, " but 
 fortune is more wilful still. You would not woo her, 
 therefore woman-like she loves you. You were stub- 
 born, but she is resolute to overcome your stubborn- 
 ness. But don't try her too far. She stands waiting 
 for you, open-armed. Isn't it so, my brother?" 
 
 "Your Majesty speaks no more than truth," an- 
 swered M. de Perrencourt. 
 
 " Will you accept her embraces ? " asked the King. 
 
 I bowed very low and raised my head with a cheer- 
 ful and gay smile. 
 
 " Most willingly," I answered. 
 
 " And what of reservations, Mr. Dale ? " 
 
 " May it please your Majesty, they do not hold 
 across the water." 
 
 " Good. My brother is more fortunate than I. 
 God be with you, Mr. Dale."
 
 224 Simon Dale* 
 
 At that I smiled again. And the King smiled. 
 My errand was a strange one to earn a benediction. 
 " Be off with you," he said, with an impatient laugh. 
 " A man must pick his words in talking with you." 
 A gesture of his hand dismissed me. I went on board 
 and watched him standing on the quay as Thomas 
 Lie steered us out of harbour and laid us so as to 
 catch the wind. As we moved the King turned and 
 began to mount the hill. 
 
 We moved, but slowly. For an hour we made way. 
 All this while I was alone on deck, except for the crew 
 and Thomas Lie. The rest had gone below; I had 
 offered to follow, but a gesture from M. Colbert sent 
 me back. The sense of helplessness was on me, over- 
 whelming and bitter. When the time came for my 
 part I should be sent for, until then none had need of 
 me. I could guess well enough what was passing 
 below, and I found no comfort in the knowledge of it. 
 Up and down I walked quickly, as a man torn and 
 tormented with thoughts that his steps, "however 
 hasty, cannot outstrip. The crew stared at me, the 
 pilot himself spared a glance of amused wonder at the 
 man who strode to and fro so restlessly. Once I 
 paused at the stern of the ship, where Lie's boat, 
 towed behind us, cut through the water as a diamond 
 cuts a pane of glass. For an instant I thought of 
 leaping in and making a bid for liberty alone. The 
 strange tone in which "You, Simon!" had struck 
 home to my heart forbade me. But I was sick with 
 the world, and turned from the boat to gaze over the 
 sea. There is a power in the quiet water by night ; 
 it draws a man with a promise of peace in the soft lap 
 of forgetfulness. So strong is the allurement that, 
 though I count myself sane and of sound mind, I do 
 not love to look too long on the bosom of deep waters 
 when the night is full ; for the doubt comes then 
 whether to live is sanity and not rather to die and
 
 M. de Peirencourt Wonders. 225 
 
 have an end of the tossing of life and the unresting 
 dissatisfaction of our state. That night the impulse 
 came on me mightily, and I fought it, forcing myself 
 to look, refusing the weakness of flight from the se- 
 ductive siren. For I was fenced round with troubles 
 and of a sore heart ; there lay the open country and a 
 heart at peace. 
 
 Suddenly I gave a low exclamation; the water 
 which had fled from us as we moved, seeming glad to 
 pass us by and rush again on its race undisturbed, 
 stood still. From the swill came quiet, out of the 
 shimmer a mirror disentangled itself and lay there on 
 the sea, smooth and bright. But it grew dull in an 
 instant ; I heard the sails flap, but saw them no more. 
 A dense white vapour settled on us, the length of my 
 arm bounded my sight, all movement ceased and we 
 lay on the water, inert and idle. I leant beside the 
 gunwale, feeling the fog moist on my face, seeing in 
 its baffling folds a type of the toils that bound and 
 fettered me. Now voices rose round me and again 
 fell ; the crew questioned, the Captain urged, I heard 
 Colbert's voice, as he hurried on deck. The sufficient 
 answer was all around us ; where the mist was there 
 could be no wind ; in grumbling the voices died away. 
 
 The rest of what passed seems even now a strange 
 dream that I can hardly follow, whose issue alone I 
 know, which I can recover only dimly and vaguely in 
 my memory. I was there in the stern, leaning over, 
 listening to the soft sound of the sea as Thomas Lie's 
 boat rolled lazily from side to side and the water mur- 
 mured gently under the gentle stroke. Then came 
 voices again just by my shoulder. I did not move. 
 I knew the tones that spoke, the persuasive, command- 
 ing tones, hard to resist, apt to compel. Slowly I 
 turned myself round ; the speakers must be within 
 eight or ten feet of me, but I could not see them. 
 Still they came nearer. Then I heard the sound of a
 
 226 Simon Dale* 
 
 sob, and at it sprang to rigidity, poised on ready feet, 
 with my hand on the hilt of my sword. 
 
 "You're weary now," said the smooth strong voice. 
 " We will talk again in the morning. From my heart 
 I grieve to have distressed you. Come, we'll find the 
 gentleman whom you desire to speak with and I'll 
 trouble you no more. Indeed I count myself fortu- 
 nate in having asked my good brother for one whose 
 company is agreeable to you. For your sake, your 
 friend shall be mine. Come, I'll take you to him, 
 and then leave you." 
 
 Barbara's sobs ceased ; I did not wonder that his 
 persuasions won her to repose and almost to trust. It 
 seemed that the mist grew a little less thick ; I saw 
 their figures. Knowing that at the same moment I 
 must myself be seen, I spoke on the instant. 
 
 " I am here, at Mistress Quinton's service." 
 
 M. de Perrencourt (to call him still by his chosen 
 name) came forward and groped his way to my arm, 
 whispering in French, 
 
 " All is easy. Be gentle with her. Why, she turns 
 to you of her own accord ! All will go smoothly." 
 
 " You may be sure of it, sir," I said. " Will you 
 leave her with me?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. " I can trust you, can't I? " 
 
 " I may be trusted to death," I answered, smiling 
 behind the mist's kind screen. 
 
 Barbara was by his side now ; with a bow he drew 
 back. I traced him as he went towards where Lie 
 stood, and I heard a murmur of voices as he and the 
 helmsman spoke to one another. Then I heard no 
 more and lost sight of him in the thick close darkness. 
 I put out my hand and felt for Barbara's, it came 
 straight to mine. 
 
 " You you'll stay with me ? " she murmured. " I'm 
 frightened, Simon." 
 
 As she spoke, I felt on my cheek the cold breath of
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 227 
 
 the wind. Turning my full face, I felt it more. The 
 breeze was rising the sails flapped again, Thomas Lie's 
 boat buffeted the waves with a quicker beat. When 
 I looked towards her, I saw her face, framed in mist, 
 pale and wet with tears, beseeching me. There at 
 that moment, born in danger and nursed by her help- 
 lessness, there came to me a new feeling, that was 
 yet an old one ; now I knew that I would not leave 
 her. Nay, for an instant I was tempted to aban- 
 don all effort and drift on to the French shore, look- 
 ing there to play my own game, despite of her and 
 despite of King Louis himself. But the risk was too 
 desperate. 
 
 " No, I won't leave you," I said, in low tones that 
 trembled under the fresh burden which they bore. 
 
 But yes, the wind rose, the mist began to lift, the 
 water was running lazily from under our keel, the little 
 boat bobbed and danced to a leisurely tune. 
 
 " The wind serves," cried Thomas Lie. " We shall 
 make land in two hours, if it hold as it blows now." 
 
 The plan was in my head. It was such an impulse 
 as coming to a man seems revelation and forbids all 
 questioning of its authority. I held Barbara still by 
 the hand and drew her to me. There, leaning over 
 the gunwale, we saw Thomas Lie's boat moving after 
 us. His sculls lay ready. I looked in her eyes and 
 was answered with wonder, perplexity, and dawning 
 intelligence. 
 
 " I daren't let him carry you to Calais," I whispered. 
 " We should be helpless there." 
 
 " But you it's you." 
 
 " As his tool and his fool," I muttered. Low as I 
 spoke, she heard me, and asked despairingly, 
 
 " What then, Simon ? What can we do ? " 
 
 "If I go there, will you jump into my arms? The 
 distance isn't far." 
 
 " Into the boat ! Into your arms in the boat ? "
 
 228 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Yes. I can hold you. There's a chance if we go 
 now, now before the mist lifts more." 
 
 "If we're seen ? " 
 
 " We're no worse off." 
 
 " Yes, I'll jump, Simon." 
 
 We were moving now briskly enough, though the 
 wind came in fitful gusts and with no steady blast, 
 and the mist now lifted, now again swathed us in close 
 folds. I gripped Barbara's hand, whispering, " Be 
 ready," and, throwing one leg over the side, followed 
 with the other and dropped gently into Thomas Lie's 
 boat. It swayed under me, but it was broad in the 
 beam and rode high in the water; no harm happened. 
 Then I stood square in the bows and whispered 
 " Now ! " For the beating of my heart I scarcely 
 heard my own voice, but I spoke louder than I knew. 
 At the same instant that Barbara sprang into my arms 
 there was a rush of feet across the deck, an oath rang 
 loud in French, and another figure appeared on the 
 gunwale, with one leg thrown over. Barbara was in 
 my arms. I felt her trembling body cling to mine, 
 but I disengaged her grasp quickly and roughly for 
 gentleness asks time and time had we none and laid 
 her down in the boat. Then I turned to the figure 
 above me. A momentary glance showed me the face 
 of King Louis. I paid no more heed, but drew my 
 knife and flung myself on the rope that bound the 
 boat to the ship. 
 
 Then the breeze dropped, and the fog fell thick and 
 enveloping. My knife was on the rope and I severed 
 the strands with desperate strength. One by one I 
 felt them go. As the last went I raised my head. 
 From the ship above me flashed the fire of a pistol and 
 a ball whistled by my ear. Wild with excitement, I 
 laughed derisively. The last strand was gone, slowly 
 the ship forged ahead ; but then the man on the gun- 
 wale gathered himself together and sprang across the
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 229 
 
 water between us. He came full on the top of me, 
 and we fell together on the floor of the boat. By the 
 narrowest chance we escaped foundering, but the 
 sturdy boat proved true. I clutched my assailant with 
 all my strength, pinning him arm to arm, breast to 
 breast, shoulder to shoulder. His breath was hot on 
 my face. I gasped " Row, row." From the ship 
 came a sudden alarmed cry, " The boat, the boat ! " 
 But already the ship grew dim and indistinct. 
 
 " Row, row," I muttered ; then I heard the sculls 
 set in their tholes and with a slow faltering stroke the 
 boat was guided away from the ship, moving nearly 
 at a right angle to it. I put out all my strength. I 
 was by far a bigger man than the King and I did not 
 spare him. I hugged him with a bear's hug and his 
 strength was squeezed out of him. Now I was on the 
 top and he below. I twisted his pistol from his hand 
 and flung it overboard. Tumultuous cries came from 
 the blurred mass that was the ship ; but the breeze 
 had fallen, the fog was thick, they had no other boat. 
 The King lay still. " Give me the sculls," I whis- 
 pered. Barbara yielded them ; her hands were cold 
 as death when they encountered mine. She scrambled 
 into the stern. I dragged the King back he was 
 like a log now till he lay with the middle of his 
 body under the seat on which I was ; his face looked 
 up from between my feet. Then I fell to rowing, 
 choosing no course except that our way should be 
 from the ship, and ready, at any movement of the 
 still form below me, to drop my sculls and set my 
 pistol at his head. Yet till that need came I bent 
 lustily to my work, and when I looked over the sea 
 the ship was not to be seen, but all round hung the 
 white vapour, the friendly accomplice of my enter- 
 prise. 
 
 That leap of his was a gallant thing. He knew that 
 I was his master in strength and that I stood where
 
 23 Simon Dale. 
 
 no motive of prudence could reach and no fear restrain 
 me. If I were caught, the grave or a French prison 
 would be my fate ; to get clear off, he might suppose 
 that I should count even the most august life in 
 Christendom well taken. Yet he had leaped, and be- 
 fore heaven I feared that I had killed him. If it were 
 so, I must set Barbara in safety, and then follow him 
 where he was gone ; there would be no place for me 
 among living men, and I had better choose my own 
 end than be hunted to death like a mad dog. These 
 thoughts spun through my brain, as my arms drove 
 the blades into the water, on an aimless course 
 through the mist, till the mass of the ship utterly 
 disappeared and we three were alone on the sea. 
 Then the fear overcame me ; I rested on my oars, 
 and, leaning over to where Barbara sat in the stern, 
 I shaped with awe-struck lips the question, " Is he 
 dead ? My God, is he dead ? " 
 
 She sat there, herself, as it seemed, half-dead. But 
 at my words she shivered and with an effort mastered 
 her relaxed limbs. Slowly she dropped on her knees 
 by the King and raised his head in her arms. She 
 felt in her bosom and drew out a flask of salts, which 
 she set to his nostrils. I watched his face ; the mus- 
 cles of it contracted into a grimace, then were 
 smoothed again to calmness ; he opened his eyes. 
 "Thank God," I muttered to myself; and the peril to 
 him being gone by, I remembered our danger, and 
 taking out my pistol, looked to it, and sat dangling it 
 in my hand. 
 
 Barbara, still supporting the King's head, looked up 
 at me. 
 
 " What will become of us ? " she asked. 
 
 "At least we sha'n't be married in Calais," I an- 
 swered, with a grim smile. 
 
 " No," she murmured, and ben* again over the 
 King.
 
 M. de Perrencourt Wonders. 231 
 
 Xo\v his eyes were wide-opened, and I fixed mine 
 on them. I saw the return of consciousness and in- 
 telligence ; the quick glance that fell on me, on the 
 oars, on the pistol in my hand, witnessed to it. Then 
 he raised himself on his elbow, Barbara drawing 
 quickly away, and so rested an instant, regarding me 
 still. He drew himself up into a sitting posture, and 
 seemed as though he would rise to his feet. I raised 
 the pistol and pointed it at him. 
 
 " No higher, if you please," said I. " It's a mat- 
 ter of danger to walk about in so small a boat, and 
 you came near to upsetting us before." 
 
 He turned his head and saw Barbara, then gazed 
 round on the sea. No sail was to be seen and the fog 
 still screened the boat in impenetrable solitude. The 
 sight brought to his mind a conviction of what his 
 plight was. Yet no dismay nor fear showed in his 
 face. He sat there, regarding me with an earnest 
 curiosity ; at last he spoke. 
 
 " You were deluding me all the time ? " he asked. 
 
 " Even so," said I, with an inclination of my head. 
 
 "You did not mean to take my offer?" 
 
 " Since I am a gentleman, I did not." 
 
 " I also am accounted a gentleman, sir." 
 
 " Nay, I took you for a prince," said I. 
 
 He made me no answer, but, looking round him 
 again, observed, 
 
 " The ship must be near. But for this cursed fog 
 she would be in sight." 
 
 " It's well for us she isn't," I said. 
 
 "Why, sir?" he asked, brusquely. 
 
 " If she were, there's the pistol for the lady, and this 
 sword here for you and me," said I, coolly. For a 
 man may contrive to speak coolly, though his bearing 
 be a lie and his heart beat quick. 
 
 " You daren't," he cried, in amazement. 
 
 " I should be unwilling," I conceded.
 
 232 Simon Dale* 
 
 For an instant there was silence. Then came Bar- 
 bara's voice, soft and fearful, 
 
 " Simon, the fog lifts." 
 
 It was true. The breeze blew and the fog lifted. 
 Louis' eyes sparkled. All three of us, by one impulse,, 
 looked round on the sea. The fresh wind struck my 
 cheek and the enveloping folds curled lazily away. 
 Barbara held up her hand and pointed. Away on the 
 right, dimly visible, just detached from the remaining 
 clouds of mist, was a dark object, sitting high on the 
 water. A ship it was, in all likelihood the King's ship. 
 We should be sighted soon. My eyes met the King's, 
 and his were exultant and joyful ; he did not yet be- 
 lieve that I would do what I had said, and he thought 
 that the trap closed in on us again. For still the mist 
 rose and in a few moments they on the ship must see 
 us. 
 
 "You shall pay for your trick," he said, between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " It is very likely," said I. " But I think that the 
 debt will be paid to your Majesty's successor." 
 
 Still he did not believe. I burst into a laugh of 
 grim amusement. These great folk find it hard to un- 
 derstand how sometimes their greatness is nothing, 
 and the thing is man to man ; but now and then for- 
 tune takes a whim and teaches them the lesson for her 
 sport. 
 
 " But since you are a king," said I, " you shall have 
 your privilege. You shall pass out before the lady. 
 See, the ship is very plain now. Soon we shall be 
 plain to the ship. Come, sir, you go first." 
 
 He looked at me now, puzzled and alarmed. 
 
 " I am unarmed," he said. 
 
 " It is no fight," I answered. Then I turned to Bar- 
 bara. " Go and sit in the stern," I said, " and cover 
 your face with your hands." 
 
 " Simon, Simon," she moaned, but she obeyed me,
 
 [ 
 
 
 
 "HOW WII.I. Ynr I>IK. SIR?" PAGE 233.
 
 M de Perrencourt Wonders. 233 
 
 and threw herself down, burying her face in her 
 hands. I turned to the King. 
 
 " How will you die, Sir," said I quietly, and, as I be- 
 lieve, in a civil manner. 
 
 A sudden shout rang in my ears. I would not look 
 away from him, lest he should spring on me or fling 
 himself from the boat. But I knew whence the shout 
 came, for it was charged with joy and the relief of un- 
 bearable anxiety. The ship was the King's ship and 
 his servants had seen their master. Yet they would 
 not dare to fire without his orders, and with the risk 
 of killing him ; therefore, I was easy concerning mus- 
 ket shot. But we must not come near enough for a 
 voice to be heard from us, and a pistol to carry to us. 
 
 " How will you die ? " I asked, again. His eyes 
 questioned me. I added, " As God lives I will." And 
 I smiled at him.
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 What Befell My Last Guinea, 
 
 THERE is this in great station, that it imparts to a 
 man a bearing sedate in good times and debonnaire in 
 evil. A king may be unkinged, as befell him whom in 
 my youth we called the Royal Martyr, but he need 
 not be unmanned. He has tasted of what men count 
 the best, and having found even in it much bitterness, 
 turns to greet fortune's new caprice smiling or un- 
 moved. Thus it falls out that though princes live no 
 better lives than common men, yet for the most part 
 they die more noble deaths ; their sunset paints all 
 their sky, and we remember not how they bore their 
 glorious burden but with what grace they laid it 
 down. Much is forgiven to him who dies becomingly, 
 and on earth as in heaven there is pardon for the part- 
 ing soul. Are we to reject what we are taught that 
 God receives ? I have need enough of forgiveness to 
 espouse the softer argument. 
 
 Now King Louis, surnamed the Great, having more 
 matters in his head than the scheme I thought to 
 baffle, and (to say truth) more ladies in his heart 
 than Barbara Quinton, was not minded to die for the 
 one or the other. But had you been there (which 
 heaven for your sake forbid, I have passed many a 
 pleasanter night) you would have sworn that death or 
 life weighed not a straw in the balance with him, and 
 that he had no thought save of the destiny God had 
 marked for him and the realm that called him master.
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. 235 
 
 So lofty and serene he was, when he perceived my 
 resolution and saw my pistol at his head. On my 
 faith, the victory was mine, but he robbed me of my 
 triumph, and he, submitting, seemed to put terms on 
 me who held him at my mercy. It is all a trick no 
 doubt ; they get it in childhood, as (I mean no harm 
 by my comparisons) the beggar's child learns to whine 
 or the thief's to pick. Yet it is pretty. I wish I had it ! 
 
 " In truth," said he, with a smile that had not a trace 
 of wryness, " I have chosen my means ill for this one 
 time, though they say that I choose well. Well, God 
 rules the world ! " 
 
 " By deputy, Sir," said I. 
 
 "And deputies don't do His will always? Come, 
 Mr. Dale, for this hour you hold the post and fill it 
 well. Wear this for my sake ; " and he handed across 
 to me a dagger with a handle richly wrought and 
 studded with precious stones. 
 
 I bowed low ; yet I kept my finger on the trigger. 
 
 " Man, I give you my word, though not in words," 
 said he, and I, rebuked, set my weapon back in its 
 place. " Alas, for a sad moment ! " he cried. " I 
 must bid farewell to Mistress Barbara. Yet (this he 
 added, turning to her) life is long, madame, and has in 
 it many changes. I pray you may never need friends, 
 but should you, there is one ready so long as Louis is 
 King of France. Call on him by the token of his 
 ring and count him your humble servant." With this 
 he stripped his finger of a fine brilliant, and sinking 
 on his knee in the boat, took her hand very delicately, 
 and, having set the ring on her finger, kissed her hand, 
 sighed lightly yet gallantly, and rose with his eyes set 
 on the ship. 
 
 " Row me to her," he commanded me, shortly but 
 not uncivilly; and I, who held his life in my hands, sat 
 down obediently and bent to my oars. In faith, I 
 wish I had that air, it's worth a fortune to a man !
 
 236 Simon Dale* 
 
 Soon we came to the side of the ship. Over it 
 looked the face of Colbert, amazed that I had stolen 
 his king, and the face of Thomas Lie, indignant that 
 I had made free with his boat ; by them were two or 
 three of the crew agape with wonder. King Louis 
 paid no respect to their feelings and stayed their ex- 
 clamations with a gesture of his hand. He turned to 
 me, saying in low tones and with a smile, 
 
 "You must make your own terms with my brother, 
 sir. It has been hard fighting between us, and I am 
 in no mood for generosity." 
 
 I did not know what to answer him, but I stam- 
 mered, 
 
 " I ask nothing, but that your Majesty should re- 
 member me as an honest man." 
 
 "And a brave gentleman," he added gravely, with a 
 slight inclination of his head. Then he turned to Bar- 
 bara and took her hand again, bowing low, and saying, 
 " Madame, I had meant you much good in my heart, 
 and my state forced me to mean you some evil. I 
 pray you remember the one and forget the other." 
 He kissed her hand again with a fine grace. It was a 
 fair sounding apology for a thing beyond defence. 
 I admired while I smiled. 
 
 But Barbara did not smile. She looked up in his 
 face, then dropped on her knees in the boat and 
 caught his hand, kissing it twice and trying to speak to 
 him. He stood looking down on her; then he said 
 softly, "Yet I have forgiven your friend," and gently 
 drew his hand away. I stood up, baring my head. 
 He faced round on me and said abruptly, " This affair 
 is between you and me, sir." 
 
 "I am obedient to a command I did not need," 
 said I. 
 
 "Your pardon. Cover your head. I do not value 
 outward signs of respect where the will is wanting. 
 Fare you well."
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. 237 
 
 At a sign from him Colbert stretched out a hand. 
 Not a question, not a word, scarcely now a show of 
 wonder came from any, save honest Lie, whose eyes 
 stood out of his head and whose tongue was still only 
 because it could not speak. The King leapt lightly 
 on the deck of his ship. 
 
 " You'll be paid for the boat," I heard him say to 
 Lie. " Make all sail for Calais." 
 
 None spoke to him, none questioned him. He saw 
 no need for explanation and accorded no enlighten- 
 ment. I marvelled that fear or respect for any man 
 could so bind their tongues. The King waved them 
 away ; Lie alone hesitated, but Colbert caught him by 
 the arm and drew him off to the helm. The course 
 was given and the ship forged ahead. The King stood 
 in the stern. Now he raised his hat from his head 
 and bowed low to Mistress Barbara. I turned to see 
 how she took the salutation ; but her face was down- 
 cast, resting on her hands. I stood and lifted my hat ; 
 then I sat down to the oars. I saw King Louis' set 
 courtly smile, and as our ways parted asunder, his to 
 France where he ruled, mine to England where I 
 prayed nothing but a hiding-place, we sent into one 
 another's eyes a long look, as of men who have meas- 
 ured strength, and part each in his own pride, each in 
 respect for the powers of his enemy. In truth it was 
 something to have played a winning hand with the 
 Most Christian King. With regret I watched him go ; 
 though I could not serve him in his affairs of love, I 
 would gladly have fought for him in his wars. 
 
 We were alone now on the sea; dawn was breaking 
 and the sky cleared till the cliffs were dimly visible 
 behind us. I pulled the boat round, and set her head 
 for home. Barbara sat in the stern, pale and still, ex- 
 hausted by the efforts and emotion of the night. The 
 great peril and her great salvation left her numb 
 rather than thankful ; and in truth, if she looked into
 
 238 Simon Dale* 
 
 the future, her joy must be dashed with sore appre- 
 hension. M. de Perrencourt was gone, the Duke of 
 Monmouth remained ; till she could reach her father 
 I was her only help, and I dared not show my face in 
 Dover. But these thoughts were for myself, not for 
 her, and, seeking to cheer her, I leant forward and 
 said, 
 
 " Courage, Mistress Barbara." And I added again, 
 " At least we sha'n't be married, you and I, in Calais." 
 
 She started a little, flushed a little, and answered 
 gravely, 
 
 " We owe Heaven thanks for a great escape, 
 Simon." 
 
 It was true, and the knowledge of its truth had 
 nerved us to the attempt so marvellously crowned 
 with success. Great was the escape from such a mar- 
 riage, made for such purposes as King Louis had 
 planned. Yet some feeling shot through me and I 
 gave it voice in saying, 
 
 " Nay, but we might have escaped after the marriage 
 also." 
 
 Barbara made no reply ; for it was none to say, 
 " The cliffs grow very plain." 
 
 "But that wouldn't have served our turn," I added, 
 with a laugh. " You would have come out of the bus- 
 iness saddled with a sore encumbrance." 
 
 "Shall you go to Dover?" asked Barbara, seeming 
 to pay no heed to all that I had been saying. 
 
 " Where God pleases," I answered, rather peevishly. 
 " Her head's to the land, and I'll row straight to land ! 
 The land is safer than the sea." 
 
 " No place is safe." 
 
 " None," I answered. But then, repenting of my 
 surliness, I added, " And none so perilous that you 
 need fear, Mistress Barbara." 
 
 " I don't fear while you're with me, Simon," said 
 she. "You won't leave me till we find my father?"
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. 239 
 
 " Surely not," said I. " Is it your pleasure to seek 
 him ?" 
 
 " As speedily as we can," she murmured. " He's in 
 London. Even the King won't dare to touch me 
 when I'm with him." 
 
 " To London then ! " I said. " Can you make out 
 the coast?" 
 
 "There's a little bay just ahead where the cliff 
 breaks ; and I see Dover Castle away on my left 
 hand." 
 
 " We'll make for the bay," said I, " and then seek 
 means to get to London." 
 
 Even as I spoke a sudden thought struck me. I 
 laid down my oars and sought my purse. Barbara 
 was not looking at me but gazed in a dreamy fashion 
 towards where the Castle rose on its cliff. I opened 
 the purse ; it held a single guinea ; the rest of my 
 store lay with my saddle-bags in the French King's 
 ship ; my head had been too full to think of them. 
 There is none of life's small matters that so irks a man 
 as to confess that he has no money for necessary 
 charges, and it is most sore when a lady looks to him 
 for hers. I, who have praised myself for forgetting 
 how to blush, went red as a cock's comb and felt fit to 
 cry with mortification. A guinea would feed us on 
 the road to London if we fared plainly ; but Barbara 
 could not go on her feet. 
 
 Her eyes must have come back to my sullen, down- 
 cast face, for in a moment she cried, " What's the 
 matter, Simon ? " 
 
 Perhaps she carried money. Well then, I must ask 
 for it. I held out my guinea in my hand. 
 
 " It's all I have," said I. " King Louis has the 
 rest." 
 
 She gave a little cry of dismay. " I hadn't thought 
 of money," she cried. 
 
 " I must beg of you."
 
 240 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Ah, but, Simon, I have none. I gave my purse to 
 the waiting-woman to carry, so that mine also is in 
 the French King's ship." 
 
 Here was humiliation ! Our fine schemes stood 
 blocked for the want of so vulgar a thing as money; 
 such fate waits often on fine schemes, but surely never 
 more perversely. Yet I know not why, I was glad 
 that she had none. I was a guinea the better of her; 
 the amount was not large, but it served to keep me 
 still her Providence, and that, I fear, is what man in 
 his vanity loves to be in woman's eyes ; he struts and 
 plumes himself in the pride of it. I had a guinea, and 
 Barbara had nothing. I had sooner it were so, than 
 that she had a hundred. 
 
 But to her came no such subtle consolation. To 
 lack money was a new horror, untried, undreamt of; 
 the thing had come to her all her days in such meas- 
 ure as she needed it, its want had never thwarted her 
 desires, or confined her purpose. To lack the price 
 of post-horses seemed to her as strange as to go fast- 
 ing for want of bread. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " she cried, in a dismay greater 
 than all the perils of the night had summoned to 
 her heart. 
 
 We had about us wealth enough ; Louis' dagger 
 was in my belt, his ring on her finger. Yet of what 
 value were they, since there was nobody to buy them? 
 To offer such wares in return for a carriage would 
 seem strange and draw suspicion. I doubted whether 
 even in Dover I should find a Jew with whom to 
 pledge my dagger, and to Dover in broad day I dared 
 not go. 
 
 I took up my oars and set again to rowing. The 
 shore was but a mile or two away. The sun shone 
 now and the light was full, the little bay seemed to 
 smile at me as I turned my head ; but all smiles are 
 short for a man who has but a guinea in his purse.
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea* 241 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked Barbara, again. " Is 
 there nobody to whom you can go, Simon?" 
 
 There seemed nobody. Buckingham I dared not 
 trust, he was in Monmouth's interest ; Darrell had 
 called himself my friend but he was the servant of 
 Lord Arlington, and my lord the Secretary was not a 
 man to trust. My messenger would guide my enemies 
 and my charge be put in danger. 
 
 "Is there nobody, Simon? " she implored. 
 
 There was one, one who would aid me with merry 
 willingness, and, had she means at the moment, with 
 lavish hand. The thought had sprung to my mind as 
 Barbara spoke. If I could come safely and secretly to 
 a certain house in a certain alley in the town of Dover, 
 I could have money, for the sake of old acquaintance 
 and what had once been something more, between 
 her and me. But would Barbara take largesse from 
 that hand ? I am a coward with women ; ignorance is 
 fear's mother and, on my life, I do not know how they 
 will take this thing or that, with scorn or tears or 
 shame or what, or again with some surprising turn of 
 softness and (if I may make bold to say it), a pliability 
 of mind to which few of us men lay claim and none 
 give honour. But the last mood was not Barbara's, 
 and, as I looked at her, I dared not tell her where lay 
 my'only hope of help in Dover. I put my wits to work 
 how I could win the aid for her, and keep the hand a 
 secret. Such deception would sit lightly on my con- 
 science. 
 
 " I am thinking," I replied to her, " whether there 
 is any one, and how I might reach him, if there is." 
 
 " Surely there's some one who would serve you and 
 whom you could trust ? " she urged. 
 
 " Would you trust any one whom I trust ? " I asked. 
 
 " In truth, yes." 
 
 " And would you take the service if I would ? " 
 
 " Am I so rich that I can choose ? " she said, pite- 
 ously.
 
 242 Simon Dale* 
 
 " I have your promise to it ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered with no hesitation, nay, with a 
 readiness that made me ashamed of my stratagem. 
 Yet, as Barbara said, beggars cannot be choosers even 
 in their stratagems, and, if need were, I must hold her 
 to her word. 
 
 Now we were at the land and the keel of our boat 
 grated on the shingle. We disembarked under the 
 shadow of the cliffs at the eastern end of the bay ; all 
 was solitude, save for a little house standing some way 
 back from the sea, half way up the cliff, on a level 
 platform cut in the face of the rock. It seemed a 
 fisherman's cottage ; thence might come breakfast, 
 and for so much our guinea would hold good. There 
 was a recess in the cliffs and here I bade Barbara sit 
 and rest herself, sheltered from view on either side, 
 while I went forward to try my luck at the cottage. 
 She seemed reluctant to be left but obeyed me, stand- 
 ing and watching while I took my way, which I chose 
 cautiously, keeping myself as much within the shadow 
 as might be. I had sooner not have ventured this 
 much exposure, but it is ill to face starvation for 
 safety's sake. 
 
 The cottage lay about a hundred yards off and soon 
 I approached it. It was hard on six o'clock now and I 
 looked to find the inmates up and stirring. I won- 
 dered also whether Monmouth were gone to await 
 Barbara and myself at the Merry Mariners in Deal ; 
 alas, we were too near the trysting-place ! Or had he 
 heard by now that the bird was flown from his lure 
 and caged by that M. de Perrencourt who had treated 
 him so cavalierly ? I could not tell. Here was the 
 cottage ; but I stood still suddenly, amazed and cau- 
 tious. For there, in the peaceful morning, in the 
 sun's kindly light, there lay across the threshold the 
 body of a man ; his eyes, wide-opened, stared at the 
 sky but seemed to see nothing of what they gazed at,
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. H3 
 
 his brown coat was stained to a dark rusty hue on the 
 breast, where a gash in the stuff showed the passage 
 of a sword. His hand clasped a long knife and his 
 face was known to me. I had seen it daily at my up- 
 rising and lying-down. The body was that of Jonah 
 Wall, in the flesh my servant, in spirit the slave of 
 Phineas Tate, whose teaching had brought him to 
 this pass. 
 
 The sight bred in me swift horror and enduring 
 caution. The two Dukes had been dispatched, sorely 
 against their will, in chase of this man. Was it to 
 their hands that he had yielded up his life and by 
 their doing that he lay like carrion? It might well 
 be that he had sought refuge in this cottage, and 
 having found there death, not comfort, had been flung 
 forth a corpse. I pitied him ; although he had been 
 party to a plot which had well-nigh caused my own 
 death and taken no account of my honour, yet I was 
 sorry for him. He had been about me ; I grieved 
 for him as for the cat on my hearth. Well, now in 
 death he warned me ; it was some recompense. I 
 lifted my hat as I stole by him and slunk round to the 
 side of the house. There was a window there, or 
 rather a window-frame, for glass was there none ; it 
 stood some six feet from the ground and I crouched 
 beneath it, for I now heard voices in the cottage. 
 
 " I wish the rascal hadn't fought," said one voice. 
 " But he flew at me like a tiger, and I had much ado 
 to stop him. I was compelled to run him through." 
 
 "Yet he might have served me alive," said another. 
 
 "Your Grace is right. For although we hate these 
 foul schemes, the men had the root of the matter in 
 them." 
 
 " They were no Papists at least," said the second 
 voice. 
 
 "But the King will be pleased." 
 
 " Oh, a curse on the King, although he's what he is
 
 244 Simon Dale. 
 
 to me I Haven't you heard ? When I returned to 
 the Castle from my search on the other side of the 
 town, seeking you or Buckingham by the way, where 
 is he?" 
 
 " Back in his bed, I warrant, sir." 
 
 " The lazy dog ! Well, then they told me she was 
 gone with Louis. I rode on to tell you, for, said I, 
 the King may hunt his conspirators himself now. But 
 who went with them?" 
 
 " Your Grace will wonder if I say that Simon Dale 
 was the man?" 
 
 " The scoundrel ! It was he ! He has deluded us 
 most handsomely. He was in Louis' pay, and Louis 
 has a use for him ! I'll slit the knave's throat if I get 
 at him." 
 
 " I pray your Grace's leave to be the first man at 
 him." 
 
 " In truth, I'm much obliged to you, my Lord Car- 
 ford," said I to myself, under the window. 
 
 " There's no use in going to Deal," cried Mon- 
 mouth. " Oh, I wish I had the fellow here ! She's 
 gone, Carford, God's curse on it, she's gone ! The 
 prettiest wench at Court ! Louis has captured her. 
 'Fore heaven, if only I were a king!" 
 
 " Heaven has its own times, sir," said Carford, in- 
 sidiously. But the Duke, suffering from disappointed 
 desire, was not to be led to affairs of State. 
 
 " She's gone," he exclaimed, again. " By God, 
 sooner than lose her, I'd have married her." 
 
 This speech made me start. She was near him ; 
 what if she had been as near him as I and had heard 
 those words? A pang shot through me, and, of its 
 own accord, my hand moved to my sword-hilt. 
 
 " She is beneath your Grace's station. The spouse 
 of your Grace may one day be Carford inter- 
 rupted himself with a laugh, and added, " what God 
 wills."
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. 245 
 
 " So may Anne Hyde," exclaimed the Duke. " But 
 I forget. You yourself had marked her." 
 
 " I am your Grace's humble servant always," an- 
 swered Carford, smoothly. 
 
 Monmouth laughed. Carford had his pay, no doubt, 
 and I trust it was large ; for he heard quietly a laugh 
 that called him what King Louis had graciously pro- 
 posed to make of me. I am glad when men who live 
 by dirty ways are made to eat dirt. 
 
 "And my father," said the Duke, "is happy. She 
 is gone, Querouaille stays; why, he's so enamoured 
 that he has charged Nell to return to London to-day, 
 or at the latest by to-morrow, lest the French lady's 
 virtue should be offended." 
 
 At this both laughed, Monmouth at his father, Car- 
 ford at his king. 
 
 " What's that? " cried the Duke, an instant later. 
 
 Now what disturbed him was no other than a most 
 imprudent exclamation wrung from me by what I 
 heard ; it must have reached them faintly, yet it was 
 enough. I heard their swords rattle and their spurs 
 jingle as they sprang to their feet. I slipped hastily 
 behind the cottage. But by good luck at this instant 
 came other steps. As the Duke and Carford ran to 
 the door, the owner of the cottage (as I judged him to 
 be) walked up, and Carford cried, 
 
 "Ah, the fisherman! Come, sir, we'll make him 
 show us the nearest way. Have you fed the horses, 
 fellow?" 
 
 " They have been fed, my lord, and are ready," was 
 the answer. 
 
 I did not hear more speech, but only (to my relief) 
 the tramp of feet as the three went off together. I 
 stole cautiously out and watched them heading for 
 the top of the cliff. Jonah Wall lay still where he 
 was, and when the retreating party were out of sight, 
 I did not hesitate to search his body for money. I
 
 246 Simon Dale* 
 
 had supplied his purse, but now his purse was emptier 
 than mine. Then I stepped into the cottage, seeking 
 not money but food. Fortune was kinder here and 
 rewarded me with a pasty, half eaten, and a jug of ale. 
 By the side of these lay, left by the Duke in his 
 wonted profusion, a guinea. The Devil has whimsical 
 ways ; I protest that the temptation I suffered here 
 was among the strongest of my life ! I could repay the 
 fellow some day ; two guineas would be more than 
 twice as much as one' by far. Yet I left the pleasant 
 golden thing there, carrying off only the pasty and the 
 ale ; as for the jug a man must not stand on nice 
 scruples and Monmouth's guinea would more than pay 
 for all. 
 
 I made my way quickly back to Barbara with the 
 poor spoils of my expedition. I rounded the bluff of 
 cliff that protected her hiding-place. Again I stood 
 amazed, asking if fortune had more tricks in her bag 
 for me. The recess was empty! But a moment later 
 I was reassured ; a voice called to me, and I saw her 
 some thirty yards away, down on the sea-beach. I set 
 down pasty and jug and turned to watch. Then I 
 perceived what went on ; white feet were visible in the 
 shallow water, twinkling in and out as the tide rolled 
 out and back. 
 
 " I had best employ myself in making breakfast 
 read)'," said I, turning my back. But she called out 
 to me again, saying how delightful was the cool water. 
 So I looked, and saw her gay and merry. Her hat 
 was in her hand now, and her hair blew free in the 
 breeze. She had given herself up to the joy of the 
 moment. I rejoiced in a feeling which I could not 
 share ; the rebound from the strain of the night left 
 me sad and apprehensive. I sat down and rested my 
 head on my hands, waiting till she came back. When 
 she came, she would not take the food I offered her, 
 but stood a moment, looking at me with puzzled eyes, 
 before she seated herself near.
 
 "What Befell My Last Guinea. 247 
 
 " You're sad," she said, almost as though in accusa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Could I be otherwise, Mistress Barbara?" I asked. 
 "We're in some danger, and what's worse, we've 
 hardly a penny." 
 
 " But we've escaped the greatest peril," she reminded 
 me. 
 
 " True, for the moment." 
 
 " We you won't be married to-night," she laughed, 
 with rising colour, and turning away as though a tuft 
 of rank grass by her had caught her attention, and for 
 some hidden reason much deserved it. 
 
 " By God's help we've come out of that snare," 
 said I, gravely. 
 
 She said nothing for a moment or two ; then she 
 turned to me again, asking, 
 
 " If your friend furnishes money, can we reach 
 London in two days?" 
 
 " I'm sorry,' I answered, " but the journey will need 
 nearer three, unless we travel at the King's pace or 
 the Dake of Monmouth's." 
 
 " You needn't come all the way with me. Set me 
 safe on the road, and go where your business calls 
 you." 
 
 " For what crime is this punishment ? " I asked, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " No, I'm serious. I'm not seeking a compliment 
 from you. I see that you're sad. You have been 
 very kind to me, Simon. You risked life and liberty 
 to save me." 
 
 " Well, who could do less ? Besides, I had given 
 my promise to my lord, your father." 
 
 She made no reply, and I, desiring to warn her 
 against every danger, related what had passed at the 
 cottage, omitting only Monmouth's loud-mouthed 
 threats against myself. At last, moved by some im- 
 pulse of curiosity rather than anything higher, I re-
 
 248 Simon Dale. 
 
 peated how the Duke had said that, sooner than lose 
 her altogether, he would have married her, and how 
 my Lord Carford had been still his humble servant in 
 this project as in any other. She flushed again as she 
 heard me and plucked her tuft of grass. 
 
 " Indeed," I ended, " I believe his Grace spoke no 
 more than the truth ; I've never seen a man more in 
 love." 
 
 "And you know well what it is to be in love, don't 
 you?" 
 
 " Very well," I answered, calmly, although I 
 thought that the taunt might have been spared. 
 " Therefore it may well be that some day I shall kiss 
 the hand of her Grace the Duchess." 
 
 " You think I desire it? " she asked. 
 
 " I think that most ladies would." 
 
 " I don't desire it." She sprang up and stamped 
 her foot on the ground, crying again, "Simon, I do 
 not desire it. I wouldn't be his wife. You smile ! 
 You don't believe me?" 
 
 " No offer is refused until it's made," said I, and, 
 with a bow that asked permission, I took a draught of 
 the ale. 
 
 She looked at me in high anger, her cheek suffused 
 with underlying red, and her dark eyes sparkling. 
 
 " I wish you hadn't saved me," she said, in a fury. 
 
 " That we had gone forward to Calais ? " I asked, 
 maliciously. 
 
 " Sir, you're insolent." She flung the reproof at 
 me like a stone from a catapult. But then she re- 
 peated, " I wouldn't be his wife." 
 
 " Well then, you wouldn't," said I, setting down the 
 jug and rising. " How shall we pass the day? For 
 we mustn't go to Dover till nightfall." 
 
 " I must be all day here with you ? " she cried, in 
 visible consternation. 
 
 " You must be all day here, but you needn't be with
 
 What Befell My Last Guinea. 249 
 
 me. I'll go down to the beach ; I shall be within hail, 
 if need arises, and you can rest here alone." 
 
 " Thank you, Simon," she answered, with a most 
 sudden and wonderful meekness. 
 
 Without more I took my way to the sea-shore and 
 lay down on the sun-warmed shingle. Being very 
 weary and without sleep now for six-and-thirty hours, 
 I soon closed my eyes, keeping the pistol ready by 
 my side. I slept peacefully and without a dream ; the 
 sun was high in heaven, when, with a yawn and a 
 stretching of my limbs, I awoke. I heard, as I opened 
 my eyes, a little rustling as of somebody moving ; my 
 hand flew to the butt of my pistol. But when I 
 looked round, I saw Barbara only. She was sitting a 
 little \vay behind me, looking out over the sea. Feel- 
 ing my gaze she looked round. 
 
 " I grew afraid, left all alone," she said, in a timid 
 voice. 
 
 " Alas, I snored when I should have been on guard ! " 
 I exclaimed. 
 
 " You didn't snore," she cried. " I I mean not in 
 the last few moments. I had only just come near 
 you. I'm afraid I spoke unkindly to you." 
 
 " I hadn't given a thought to it," I hastened to 
 assure her. 
 
 "You were indifferent to what I said?" she cried. 
 
 I rose to my feet and made her a bow of mock cere- 
 mony. My rest had put me in heart again and I was 
 in a mood to be merry. 
 
 "Nay, madame," said I, "you know that I am your 
 devoted servant and that all I have in the world is 
 held at your disposal." 
 
 She looked sideways at me, then at the sea again. 
 
 " By heaven, it's true ! " I cried. " All I have is 
 yours. See!" I took out my precious guinea, and, 
 bending on my knee with uncovered head, presented 
 it to Mistress Barbara.
 
 25 Simon Dale* 
 
 She turned her eyes down to it and sat regarding it 
 for a moment. 
 
 " It's all I have, but it's yours," said I, most humbly. 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 " Most heartily." 
 
 She lifted it from my palm with ringer and thumb 
 very daintily, and before I knew what she was doing, 
 or could have moved to hinder her, if I had the mind, 
 she raised her arm over her head and with all her 
 strength flung the guinea into the sparkling waves. 
 
 " Heaven help us ! " I cried. 
 
 " It was mine. That's what I chose to do with it," 
 said Barbara,
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business* 
 
 " IN truth, madame," said I, "it's the wont of 
 your sex. As soon as a woman knows a thing to be 
 hers entirely, she'll fling it away." With this scrap 
 of love's lore and youth's philosophy, I turned my 
 back on my companion, and, having walked to where 
 the battered pasty lay beside the empty jug, sat down 
 in high dudgeon. Barbara's eyes were set on the spot 
 where the guinea had been swallowed by the waves, 
 and she took no heed of my remark nor of my going. 
 
 Say that my pleasantry was misplaced, say that she 
 was weary and strained beyond her power, say what 
 you will in excuse, I allow it all. Yet it was not 
 reason to fling my last guinea into the sea. A flash of 
 petulance is well enough and may become beauty as 
 summer lightning decks the sky, but fury is for terma- 
 gants, and nought but fury could fling my last guinea 
 to the waves. The offence, if offence there were, was 
 too small for so monstrous an outburst. Well, if she 
 would quarrel, I was ready ; I had no patience with 
 such tricks ; they weary a man of sense ; women serve 
 their turn ill by using them. Also I had done her 
 some small service. I would die sooner than call it to 
 her mind, but it would have been a grace in her to re- 
 member it. 
 
 The afternoon came, grew to its height and waned 
 as I lay, back to sea and face to cliff, thinking now of 
 all that had passed, now of what was before me, spar-
 
 25* Simon Dale* 
 
 ing a moment's fitful sorrow for the poor wretch who 
 lay dead there by the cottage door, but returning al- 
 ways in resentful mood to my lost guinea and Barbara's 
 sore lack of courtesy. If she needed me, I was ready, 
 but heaven forbid that I should face fresh rebuffs by 
 seeking her ! I would do my duty to her and redeem 
 my pledge. More could not now be looked for, nay, 
 by no possibility could be welcome ; to keep away 
 from her was to please her best. It was well, for in 
 that her mind jumped with mine. In two hours now 
 we could set out for Dover. 
 
 " Simon, I'm hungry." 
 
 The voice came from behind my shoulder, a yard or 
 two away, a voice very meek and piteous, eloquent of 
 an exhaustion and a weakness so great that, had they 
 been real, she must have fallen by me, not stood up- 
 right on her feet. Against such stratagems I would 
 be iron. I paid no heed but lay like a log. 
 
 " Simon, I'm very thirsty too." 
 
 Slowly I gathered myself up, and, standing, bowed. 
 
 "There's a fragment of the pasty," said I, "but the 
 jug is empty." 
 
 I did not look in her face and I knew she did not 
 look in mine. 
 
 " I can't eat without drinking," she murmured. 
 
 " I have nothing with which to buy liquor, and 
 there's nowhere to buy it." 
 
 " But water, Simon? Ah, but I mustn't trouble 
 you." 
 
 " I'll go to the cottage and seek some." 
 
 " But that's dangerous." 
 
 " You shall come to no hurt." 
 
 " But you ? " 
 
 " Indeed I need a draught for myself. I should 
 have gone after one in any case." 
 
 There was a pause, then Barbara said, 
 
 " I don't want it. My thirst has passed away."
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business, *53 
 
 " Will you take the pasty?" 
 
 " No, my hunger is gone too." 
 
 I bowed again. We stood in silence for a moment. 
 
 " I'll walk a little," said Barbara. 
 
 "At your pleasure," said I. "But pray don't go 
 far, there may be danger." 
 
 She turned away and retraced her steps to the 
 beach. The instant she was gone, I sprang up, seized 
 the jug, and ran at the best of my speed to the cottage. 
 Jonah Wall lay still across the entrance, no living 
 creature was in sight. I darted in and looked round 
 for water; a pitcher stood on the table, and I filled my 
 jug hastily. Then with a smile of sour triumph I 
 hurried back by the way I had come. She should 
 have no cause to complain of me. I had been wronged, 
 and was minded to hug my grievance, and keep the 
 merit of the difference all on my side. That motive 
 too commonly underlies a seeming patience of wrong. 
 I would not for the world enrich her with a just quar- 
 rel, therefore I brought her water, aye, although she 
 feigned not to desire it. There it was for her, let her 
 take it if she would ; or leave it if she would, and I 
 set the jug down by the pasty. She should not say 
 that I had refused to fetch her what she asked, al- 
 though she had, for her own good reasons, flung my 
 guinea into the sea. She would come soon, then 
 would be my hour. Yet I would spare her : a gentle- 
 man should show no exultation ; silence would serve 
 to point the moral. 
 
 But where was she? To say truth, I was impatient 
 for the play to begin, and anticipation grew flat with 
 waiting. I looked down to the shore but could not 
 see her. I rose and walked forward till the beach lay 
 open before me. Where was Barbara? 
 
 A sudden fear ran through me. Had any madness 
 seized the girl, some uncontrolled whim made her fly 
 from me? She could not be so foolish. But where
 
 2 S4 Simon Dale* 
 
 was she? On the moment of the question aery of 
 surprise rang from my lips. There ahead of me, not 
 on the shore, but on the sea was Barbara. The boat 
 was twelve or fifteen yards from the beach, Barbara's 
 face was towards me, and she was rowing out to sea ! 
 Forgetting pasty and jug, I bounded down. What 
 new folly was this ? To show herself in the boat was 
 to court capture. And why did she row out to sea? 
 In an instant I was on the margin of the water. I 
 called out to her, she took no heed ; the boat was 
 heavy, but putting her strength into the strokes she 
 drove it along. Again I called, and called unheeded. 
 Was this my triumph ? I saw a smile on her face. 
 Not she, but I, afforded the sport then. I would not 
 stand there, mocked for a fool by her eyes and her 
 smile. 
 
 " Come back," I cried. 
 
 The boat moved on. I was in the water to my 
 knees. " Come back," I cried. I heard a laugh from 
 the boat, a high nervous laugh ; but the boat moved 
 on. With an oath I cast my sword from me, throwing 
 it behind me on the beach, and plunged into the 
 water. Soon I was up to the neck, and I took to 
 swimming. Straight out to sea went the boat, not 
 fast, but relentlessly. In grim anger I swam with all 
 my strength. I could not gain on her. She had 
 ceased now even to look where my head bobbed 
 among the waves; her face was lifted towards the sky. 
 By heaven, did she in very truth mean to leave me? 
 I called once more. Now she answered. 
 
 " Go back," she said. " I'm going alone." 
 
 " By heaven, you aren't," I muttered with a gasp, 
 and set myself to a faster stroke. Bad to deal with 
 are women ! Must she fly from me and risk all be- 
 cause I had not smiled and grinned and run for what 
 she needed, like a well-trained monkey? Well, I 
 would catch her and bring her back.
 
 'COMK HACK.' I I KIKI>." PAliK 2.S4-
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business. 255 
 
 But catch her I could not. A poor oarsman may 
 beat a fair swimmer, and she had the start of me. 
 Steadily out to sea she rowed, and I toiled behind. 
 If her mood lasted and hurt pride lasts long in dis- 
 dainful ladies who are more wont to deal strokes than 
 to bear them my choice was plain. I must drown 
 there like a rat, or turn back a beaten cur. Alas for 
 my triumph ! If to have thought on it were sin, I 
 was now chastened. But Barbara rowed on. In very 
 truth, she meant to leave me, punishing herself if by 
 that she might sting me. What man would have 
 shown that folly or that flower of pride ? 
 
 Yet was I beaten? I do not love to be beaten, 
 above all when the game has seemed in my hands. I 
 had a card to play, and, between my pants, smiled 
 grimly as it came into my mind. I glanced over my 
 shoulder; I was hard on half-a-mile from shore. Wo- 
 men are compassionate ; quick on pride's heels there 
 comes remorse. I looked at the boat ; the interval 
 that parted me from it had not narrowed by an inch, 
 and its head was straight for the coast of France. I 
 raised my voice, crying, 
 
 " Stop, stop." 
 
 No answer came. The boat moved on. The slim 
 figure bent and rose again, the blades moved through 
 the water. Well then, the card should be played the 
 trick of a wily gamester, but my only resource. 
 
 " Help, help ! " I cried, and letting my legs fall and 
 raising my hands over my head, I inhaled a full breath 
 and sank like a stone, far out of sight beneath the 
 water. Here I abode as long as I could ; then, after 
 swimming some yards under the surface, I rose and 
 put my head out again, gasping hard and clearing my 
 matted hair from before my eyes. I could scarcely 
 stifle a cry. The boat's head was turned now, and 
 Barbara was rowing with furious speed towards where 
 I had sunk, her head turned over her shoulder and
 
 256 Simon Dale. 
 
 her eyes fixed on the spot. She passed by where I 
 was but did not see me. She reached the spot, and 
 dropped her oars. 
 
 " Help, help ! " I cried a second time, and stayed 
 long enough to let her see my head before I dived be- 
 low. But my stay was shorter now. Up again, I 
 looked for her. She was all but over me as she went 
 by ; she panted, she sobbed, and the oars but just 
 touched water. I swam five strokes and caught at 
 the gunwale of the boat. A great cry broke from 
 her. The oars fell from her hands. The boat was 
 broad and steady ; I flung my leg over and climbed in, 
 panting hard. In truth I was out of breath. Bar- 
 bara cried, " You're safe ! " and hid her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 We were mad both of us, beyond a doubt, she 
 sobbing there on the thwart, I panting and dripping 
 in the bows. Yet for a touch of such sweet madness 
 now, when all young nature was strung to a delicious 
 contest and the blood spun through the veins, full of 
 life ! Our boat lay motionless on the sea, and the 
 setting sun caught the undergrowth of red-brown hair 
 that shot through Barbara's dark locks. My own 
 state was, I must confess, less fair to look on. 
 
 I controlled my voice to a cold steadiness, as I 
 wrung the water from my clothes. 
 
 " This is a mighty silly business, Mistress Barbara," 
 said I. 
 
 I had angled for a new outburst of fury, my catch 
 was not what I looked for. Her hands were stretched 
 out towards me, and her face, pale and tearful, pleaded 
 with me. 
 
 " Simon, Simon, you were drowning ! Through my 
 my folly ! Oh, will you ever forgive me ? If if 
 you had come to hurt, I wouldn't have lived." 
 
 "Yet you were running away from me ! " 
 
 "I didn't dream that you'd follow. Indeed I didn't
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business* 257 
 
 think that you'd risk death." Then her eyes seemed 
 to fall on my dripping clothes. In an instant she 
 snatched up the cloak that lay by her and held it 
 towards me, crying, " Wrap yourself in it." 
 
 " Nay, keep your cloak," said I, " I shall be warm 
 enough with rowing. I pray you, madame, tell me the 
 meaning of this freak of yours." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing. I Oh, forgive me, Simon. 
 Ah, how I shuddered when I looked round on the 
 water and couldn't see you ! I vowed to God that if 
 you were saved " She stopped abruptly. 
 
 " My death would have been on your conscience ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Till my own death," she said. 
 
 "Then indeed," said I, " I'm very glad that I wasn't 
 drowned." 
 
 " It's enough that you were in peril of it," she mur- 
 mured, woefully. 
 
 " I pray heaven," said I, cheerfully, " that I may 
 never be in greater. Come, Mistress Barbara, sport 
 for sport, trick for trick, feint for feint. I think your 
 intention of leaving me was pretty much as real as 
 this peril of drowning from which I have escaped." 
 
 Her hands, which had still implored me, fell to her 
 side. An expression of wonder spread over her face. 
 
 " In truth I meant to leave you," she said. 
 
 " And why, madame ? " 
 
 " Because I burdened you." 
 
 " But you had consented to accept my aid." 
 
 " While you seemed to give it willingly. But I 
 had angered you in the matter of that " 
 
 " Aye, of that guinea. Well, it was my last." 
 
 " Yes, of the guinea. Although I was foolish, yet I 
 could not endure your " Again she hesitated. 
 
 " Pray let me hear?" said I. 
 
 " I would not stay where my company was suffered 
 rather than prized," said she.
 
 258 Simon Dale* 
 
 "So you were for trying fortune alone?" 
 
 " Better that than with an unwilling defender," said 
 she. 
 
 " Behold your injustice ! " I cried. " For, rather 
 than lose you, I have faced all, even drowning ! " And 
 I laughed. 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on my face, but she did not 
 speak. I believe she feared to ask me the question 
 that was in her dark eyes. But at last she murmured, 
 
 " Why do you speak of tricks? Simon, why do you 
 laugh ? " 
 
 " Why, since by a trick you left me indeed I can- 
 not believe it was no trick." 
 
 " I swear it was no trick! " 
 
 " I warrant it was. And thus by a trick I have con- 
 trived to thwart it." 
 
 "By a trick?" 
 
 " Most assuredly. Am I a man to drown with a 
 half-a-mile's swimming in smooth water?" Again I 
 laughed. 
 
 She leant forward and spoke in an agitated voice, 
 yet imperiously, 
 
 "Tell me the truth. Were you indeed in danger 
 and distress?" 
 
 " Not a whit," said I, composedly. " But you 
 wouldn't wait for me." 
 
 Slowly came her next question, 
 
 " It was a trick then?" 
 
 " And crowned with great success," said I. 
 
 "All a trick?" 
 
 " Throughout," I answered. 
 
 Her face grew set and rigid, and, if it might be, yet 
 paler than before. I waited for her to speak, but she 
 said nothing. She drew away the cloak that she had 
 offered me, and, wrapping it about her shoulders, with- 
 drew to the stern of the boat. I took her place and 
 laid hold of the oars.
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business. 259 
 
 " What's your pleasure now, madame? " I asked. 
 
 " What you will," she said, briefly. 
 
 I looked at her, she met my gaze with a steady re- 
 gard. I had expected scorn, but found grief and hurt. 
 Accused by the sight, I wrapped myself in a cold flip- 
 pancy. 
 
 " There is small choice," said I. " The beach is 
 there, and that we have found not pleasant. Calais is 
 yonder, where certainly we must not go. To Dover 
 then? Evening falls, and if we go gently it will be 
 dark before we reach the town." 
 
 " Where you will. I care not," said Barbara, and 
 she folded her cloak so about her face that I could see 
 little more of her than her eyes and her brows. Here 
 at length was my triumph, as sweet as such joys are; 
 malice is their fount, and they smack of its bitterness. 
 Had I followed my heart, I would have prayed her 
 pardon. A sore spirit had impelled her, my revenge 
 lacked justice. Yet I would not abase myself, being 
 now in my turn sore, and therefore obstinate. With 
 slow strokes I propelled the boat towards Dover town. 
 
 For half an hour I rowed ; dusk fell, and I saw the 
 lights of Dover. A gentler mood came on me. I 
 rested an instant, and, leaning forward, said to Bar- 
 bara, 
 
 "Yet I must thank you. Had I been in peril, you 
 would have saved me." 
 
 No answer came. 
 
 " I perceived that you were moved by my fancied 
 danger," I persisted. 
 
 Then she spoke clearly, calmly and coldly. 
 
 " I wouldn't have a dog drown under my eyes," said 
 she. "The spectacle is painful." 
 
 I performed such a bow as I could, sitting there, and 
 took up my oars again. I had made my advance ; if 
 such were the welcome, no more should come from 
 me. I rowed slowly on, then lay on my oars awhile,
 
 260 Simon Dale* 
 
 waiting for darkness to fall. The night came, misty 
 again and chill. I grew cold as I waited (my clothes 
 were but half dry) and would gladly have thumped 
 myself with my hands. But I should have seemed to 
 ask pity of the statue that sat there, enveloped in the 
 cloak, with closed eyes and pale unmoved face. Sud- 
 denly she spoke, 
 
 "Are you cold, sir?" 
 
 " Cold ? I am somewhat over-heated with rowing, 
 madame," I answered. " But I pray you, wrap your 
 cloak closer round you." 
 
 " I am very well, I thank you, sir." 
 
 Yet cold I was, and bitterly. Moreover I was hun- 
 gry and somewhat faint. Was Barbara hungry? I 
 dared not ask her lest she should find a fresh mockery 
 in the question. 
 
 When I ventured to beach the boat a little way out 
 of Dover, it was quite dark, being hard on ten o'clock. 
 I offered Barbara my hand to alight, but she passed it 
 by unnoticed. Leaving the boat to its fate, we 
 walked towards the town. 
 
 " Where are you taking me ? " asked Barbara. 
 
 " To the one person who can serve us," I answered. 
 " Veil your face, and it would be well that we 
 shouldn't speak loud." 
 
 " I have no desire to speak at all," said Barbara. 
 
 I would not tell her whither she went. Had we 
 been friends, to bring her there would have taxed my 
 persuasion to the full ; as our affairs stood, I knew she 
 would lie the night in the street before she would go. 
 But if I got her to the house, I could keep her. But 
 would she reach the house ? She walked very wearily, 
 faltering in her step, and stumbling over every loose 
 stone. I put out my arm to save her once, but she 
 drew away from it, as though I had meant to strike 
 her. 
 
 At last we "cam e>tcTlthe narrow alley ; making a sign
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business* 261 
 
 to Barbara, I turned down it. The house was in front 
 of me ; all was quiet, we had escaped detection. Why, 
 who should look for us ? We were at Calais with King 
 Louis, at Calais where we were to be married ! 
 
 Looking at the house, I found the upper windows 
 dark ; there had been the quarters of Phineas Tate, 
 and the King had found him others. But below there 
 was a light. 
 
 " Will it please you to wait an instant, while I go 
 forward and rouse my friend ?" I asked. " I shall see 
 then whether all is safe." 
 
 " I will wait here," answered Barbara, and she leant 
 against the wall of the alley, which fronted the house. 
 In much trepidation I went on and knocked with my 
 knuckles on the door. There was no other course, 
 yet I did not know how either of them would take my 
 action, the lady within or the lady without, she whom 
 I asked for succour or she in whose cause I sought it. 
 
 My entry was easy ; a man servant and a maid were 
 just within, and the house seemed astir. My request 
 for their mistress caused no surprise ; the girl opened 
 the door of the room. I knew the room and gave my 
 name. A cry of pleasure greeted it, and a moment 
 later Nell herself stood before me. 
 
 " From the Castle or Calais, from Deal or the 
 devil?" she cried. In truth, she had a knack of tell- 
 ing you all she knew in a sentence. 
 
 " Why, from half-way between Deal and the devil," 
 said I. " For I have left Monmouth on one side and 
 M. de Perrencourt on the other, and am come safe 
 through." 
 
 "A witty Simon ! But why in Dover again ?" 
 
 " For want of a friend, mistress. Am I come to 
 one? " 
 
 " With all my heart, Simon. What would you ? " 
 
 " Means to go to London." 
 
 " Now Heaven is kind ! I go there myself in a few
 
 262 Simon Dale* 
 
 hours. You stare. In truth, it's worth a stare. But 
 the King commands. How did you get rid of Louis? " 
 
 I told her briefly; she seemed barely to listen, but 
 looked at me with evident curiosity, and, as I think, 
 with some pleasure. 
 
 "A brave thing!" she cried. "Come, I'll carry 
 you to London. Nobody shall touch you while you're 
 hid under the hem of my petticoat. It will be like 
 old times, Simon." 
 
 " I have no money," said I. 
 
 " But I have plenty. For the less the King comes, 
 the more he sends. He's a gentleman in his apolo- 
 gies. Her sigh breathed more contentment than re- 
 pining. 
 
 " So you'll take me with you ? " 
 
 "To the world's end, Simon, and if you don't ask 
 that, at least to London." 
 
 " But I'm not alone," said I. 
 
 She looked at me for an instant. Then she began 
 to laugh. 
 
 "Whom have you with you? " she asked. 
 
 " The lady," said I. 
 
 She laughed still, but it seemed to me not very 
 heartily. 
 
 " I'm glad," she said, " that one man in England 
 thinks me a good Christian. By heaven, you do, 
 Simon, or you'd never ask me to aid your love." 
 
 "There's no love in the matter," I cried. "We're 
 at daggers drawn." 
 
 " Then certainly there's love in it," said Mistress 
 Nell, nodding her pretty head in a mighty sagacious 
 manner. " Does she know to whom you've brought 
 her?" 
 
 "Not yet," I answered, with a somewhat uneasy 
 smile. 
 
 " How will she take it ?" 
 
 " She has no other help," said I.
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business. 263 
 
 " Oh, Simon, what a smooth tongue is yours ! " 
 She paused, seeming to fall into a reverie. Then she 
 looked at me wickedly. 
 
 "You and your lady are ready to face the perils of 
 the road ? " 
 
 " Her peril is greater here, and mine as great." 
 
 " The King's pursuit, Monmouth's rage, soldiers, 
 officers, footpads ? " 
 
 " A fig for them all ! " 
 
 " Another peril ? " 
 
 " For her or for me ? " 
 
 " Why, for both, good Simon. Don't you under- 
 stand ? See then ! " She came near to me, smiling 
 most saucily and pursing her lips together as though 
 she meant to kiss me. 
 
 " If I were vowed to the lady, I should fear the 
 test," said I, " but I am free." 
 
 "Where is she?" asked Nell, letting my answer 
 pass with a pout. 
 
 " By your very door." 
 
 " Let's have her in," cried Nell, and straightway she 
 ran into the alley. 
 
 I followed, and came up with her just as she reached 
 Barbara. Barbara leant no more against the wall, but 
 lay huddled at the foot of it. Weariness and hunger 
 had overcome her; she was in a faint, her lips colour- 
 less and her eyes closed. Nell dropped beside her, 
 murmuring low, soft consolations. I stood by in 
 awkward helplessness. These matters were beyond 
 my learning. 
 
 "Lift her, and carry her in," Nell commanded, and, 
 stooping, I lifted her in my arms. The maid and the 
 man stared. Nell shut the door sharply on them. 
 
 " What have you done to her?" she cried to me, in 
 angry accusation. " You've let her go without food." 
 
 " We had none. She flung my last money into the 
 sea," I pleaded.
 
 264 Simon Dale* 
 
 " And why ? Oh, hold your peace and let us be ! " 
 
 To question and refuse an answer is woman's way; 
 should it be forbidden to Nell, who was woman from 
 crown to sole ? I shrugged my shoulders and drew 
 off to the far end of the room. For some moments I 
 heard nothing and remained very uneasy, not know- 
 ing whether it were allowed me to look or not, nor 
 what passed. Then I heard Barbara's voice. 
 
 " I thank you, I thank you much. But where am 
 I, and who are you ? Forgive me, but who are 
 you?" 
 
 " You're in Dover, and safe enough, madame," an- 
 swered Nell. " What does it matter, who I am ? 
 Will you drink a little of this to please me?" 
 
 " No ; but who are you ? I seem to know your face." 
 
 " Like enough. Many have seen it." 
 
 " But tell me who you are." 
 
 " Since you will know, Simon Dale must stand 
 sponsor for me. Here, Simon ! " 
 
 I rose in obedience to the summons. A thing that 
 a man does not feel of his own accord, a girl's eyes 
 will often make him feel. I took my stand by Nell 
 boldly enough, but Barbara's eyes were on mine and I 
 was full of fear. 
 
 "Tell her who I am, Simon," said Nell. 
 
 I looked at Nell. As I live, the fear that was in my 
 heart was in her eyes. Yet she had faced the world 
 and laughed to scorn all England's frowns. She un- 
 derstood my thought and coloured red. Since when 
 had Cydaria learnt to blush? Even at Hatchstead 
 my blush had been the target for her mockery ! "Tell 
 her," she repeated, angrily. 
 
 But Barbara knew. Turning to her I had seen the 
 knowledge take shape in her eyes and grow to revul- 
 sion and dismay. I could not tell what she would 
 say ; but now my fear was in noway for myself. She 
 seemed to watch Nell for awhile in a strange mingling
 
 Some Mighty Silly Business* 265 
 
 of horror and attraction. Then she rose, and, still 
 without a word, took her way on trembling feet to- 
 wards the door. To me she gave no glance and 
 seemed to pay no heed. We two looked for an instant, 
 then Nell darted forward. 
 
 "You mustn't go! " she cried. "Where would you 
 go? You've no other friend." 
 
 Barbara paused, took one step more, paused again. 
 
 " I sha'n't harm you," said Nell. Then she laughed. 
 "You needn't touch me, if you will have it so. But 
 I can help you. And I can help Simon ; he's not safe 
 in Dover." She had grown grave, but she ended with 
 another laugh, "You needn't touch me. My maid is 
 a good girl yes, it's true and she shall tend you." 
 
 " For pity's sake, Mistress Barbara " I began. 
 
 " Hush," said Nell, waving me back with a motion 
 of her hand. Barbara now stood still in the middle of 
 the room. She turned her eyes on me, and her whis- 
 per sounded clear through all the room. 
 
 " Is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " It is Mistress Eleanor Gwyn," said I, bowing my 
 head. 
 
 Nell laughed a short, strange laugh ; I saw her 
 breast rise and fall, and a bright red patch marked 
 either cheek. 
 
 "Yes, I'm Nelly," said she, and laughed again. 
 
 Barbara's eyes now met hers. 
 
 " You were at Hatchstead ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Nell, and now she smiled defiantly ; 
 but in a moment she sprang forward, for Barbara had 
 reeled, and seemed like to faint again and fall. A 
 proud motion of the hand forbade Nell's approach, 
 but weakness baffled pride, and now perforce Barbara 
 caught at her hand. 
 
 " I I can go in a moment," stammered Barbara. 
 " But " 
 
 Nell held one hand. Very slowly, very timidly,
 
 266 Simon Dale* 
 
 with fear and shame plain on her face, she drew 
 nearer, and put out her other hand to Barbara. Bar- 
 bara did not resist her, but let her come nearer. Nell's 
 glance warned me not to move, and I stood where I 
 was, watching them. Now the clasp of the hand was 
 changed for a touch on the shoulder, now the com- 
 forting arm sank to the waist and stole round it, full 
 as timidly as ever gallant's round a denying mistress. 
 Still I watched, and I met Nell's bright eyes, which 
 looked across at me, wet and sparkling. The dark 
 hair almost mingled with the ruddy brown, as Barbara's 
 head fell on Nell's shoulder. I heard a little sob, and 
 Barbara moaned, 
 
 " Oh, I'm tired, and very hungry." 
 
 " Rest here, and you shall have food, my pretty," 
 said Nell Gwyn. " Simon, go and bid them give you 
 some." 
 
 I went, glad to go. And as I went I heard, " There, 
 pretty, don't cry." 
 
 Well, women love to weep. A plague on them, 
 though they need not make us also fools.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A Night on the Road* 
 
 IN a man of green age and inexperience a hasty 
 judgment may gain pardon, and none need wonder 
 that his hopes carry him on straightway to conclusions 
 born of desire rather than of reason. The meeting I 
 feared had passed off so softly that I forgot how 
 strange and delicate it was, and what were the barriers 
 which a gust of sympathy had for the moment 
 levelled. It did not enter my mind that they must 
 raise their heads again, and that friendship or even 
 companionship must be impossible between the two 
 whom I, desperately seeking some refuge, had thrown 
 together. Yet an endeavour was made and that on 
 both sides; obligation blunted the edge of Mistress 
 Barbara's scorn, freedom's respect for virtue's chain 
 schooled Nell to an unwonted statdness of demeanour. 
 The fires of war but smouldered, the faintest puff of 
 smoke showing only here and there. I was on the 
 alert to avoid an outbreak; for awhile no outbreak 
 came and my hopes grew to confidence. But then I 
 can write the thing no other way that ancient devil 
 of hers made re-entry into the heart of Mistress Gwyn. 
 I was a man, and a man who had loved her ; it was 
 then twice intolerable that I should disclaim her do- 
 minion, that I should be free nay, that I should 
 serve another with a sedulous care which might well 
 seem devotion ; for the offence touching the guinea 
 was forgotten, my mock drowning well-nigh forgiven,
 
 268 Simon Dale* 
 
 and although Barbara had few words for me, they 
 were such that gratitude and friendship shone in them 
 through the veil of embarrassment. Mistress Nell's 
 shrewd eyes were on us, and she watched while she 
 aided. It was in truth her interest, as she conceived, 
 to carry Barbara safe out of Dover; but there was 
 kindness also in her ample succour; although (ever 
 slave to the sparkle of a gem) she seized with eager 
 gratitude on Louis' jewelled dagger when I offered it 
 as my share of our journey's charges, she gave full 
 return. Barbara was seated in her coach, a good horse 
 was provided for me, her servant found me a sober 
 suit of clothes and a sword. Thus our strange party 
 stole from Dover before the town was awake, Nell 
 obeying the King's command which sent her back to 
 London, and delighting that she could punish him for 
 it by going in our company. I rode behind the coach, 
 bearing myself like a serving-man until we reached 
 open country, when I quickened pace and stationed 
 myself by the window. Up to this time matters had 
 gone well ; if they spoke, it was of service given and 
 kindness shown. But as the day wore on and we came 
 near Canterbury the devil began to busy himself. 
 Perhaps I showed some discouragement at the grow- 
 ing coldness of Barbara's manner, and my anxiety to 
 warm her to greater cordiality acted as a spur on our 
 companion. First Nell laughed that my sallies gained 
 small attention and my compliments no return, that 
 Barbara would not talk of our adventures of the day 
 before, but harped always on coming speedily where 
 her father was and so discharging me from my forced 
 service. A merry look declared that if Mistress Quin- 
 ton would not play the game another would : a 
 fusillade of glances opened, Barbara seeing and feign- 
 ing not to see, I embarrassed, yet chagrined into some 
 return ; there followed words, half-whispered, half- 
 aloud, not sparing in reminiscence of other days and
 
 A Night on the Road. 269 
 
 mischievously pointed with tender sentiment. The 
 challenge to my manhood was too tempting, the joy 
 of encounter sweet. Barbara grew utterly silent, sit- 
 ting with eyes downcast and lips set in a disapproval 
 that needed no speech for its expression. Bolder and 
 bolder came Nell's advances ; when I sought to drop 
 behind she called me up ; if I rode ahead she swore 
 she would bid the driver gallop his horses till she came 
 to me again. " I can't be without you, Simon. Ah, 
 'tis so long since we were together," she whispered, 
 and turned naughty eyes on Barbara. 
 
 Yet we might have come through without declared 
 conflict, had not a thing befallen us at Canterbury 
 that brought Nell into fresh temptation, and thereby 
 broke the strained cords of amity. The doings of 
 the King at Dover had set the country in some stir ; 
 there was no love of the French and less of the Pope ; 
 men were asking, and pretty loudly, why Madame 
 came ; she had been seen in Canterbury, the Duke of 
 York had given a great entertainment there for her. 
 They did not know what I knew, but they were un- 
 easy concerning the King's religion and their own. 
 Yet Nell must needs put her head well out of win- 
 dow as we drove in. I know not whether the sequel 
 were what she desired, it was at least what she seemed 
 not to fear, a fellow caught sight of her and raised a 
 cheer. The news spread quick among the idle folk 
 in the street and the busy, hearing it, came out of 
 their houses. A few looked askance at our protector, 
 but the larger part, setting their Protestantism above 
 their scruples, greeted her gladly, and made a proces- 
 sion for her, cheering and encouraging her with cries 
 which had more friendliness than delicacy in them. 
 Now, indeed, I dropped behind and rode beside the 
 mounted servant. The fellow was all agrin, triumph- 
 ing in his mistress's popularity. Even so she herself 
 exulted in it, and threw all round nods and smiles ;
 
 270 Simon Dale. 
 
 aye, and, alas, repartees conceived much in the same 
 spirit as the jests that called them forth. I could 
 have cried on the earth to swallow me, not for my 
 own sake (in itself the scene was entertaining enough, 
 however little it might tend to edification), but on 
 account of Mistress Barbara. Fairly I was afraid to 
 ride forward and see her face, and dreaded to re- 
 member that I had brought her to this situation. 
 But Nell laughed and jested, flinging back at me now 
 and again a look that mocked my glum face and de- 
 clared her keen pleasure in my perplexity and her 
 scorn of Barbara's shame. Where now the tenderness 
 and sympathy which had made their meeting beauti- 
 ful ? The truce was ended and war raged relentless. 
 
 We came to our inn ; I leapt from my horse and fore- 
 stalled the bustling host in opening the coach door. 
 The loons of townsmen and their gossiping wives lined 
 the approach on either side ; Nell sprang out, merry, 
 radiant, unashamed ; she laughed in my face as she 
 ran past me amid the plaudits ; slowly Barbara fol- 
 lowed ; with a low bow I offered my arm. Alas, 
 there rose a murmur of questions concerning her; 
 who was the lady that rode with Nell Gwyn, who was 
 he that, although plainly attired, bore himself so 
 proudly ? Was he some great lord, travelling un- 
 known, and was the lady ? Well, the conjectures 
 may be guessed and Mistress Quinton heard them. 
 Her pride broke fora moment and I feared she would 
 weep ; then she drew herself up and walked slowly by 
 with a haughty air and a calm face, so that the mur- 
 mured questions fell to silence. Perhaps I also had 
 my share in the change, for I walked after her, wear- 
 ing a fierce scowl, threatening with my eyes, and hav- 
 ing my hand on the hilt of my sword. 
 
 The host, elate with the honour of Nell's coming, 
 was eager to offer us accommodation. Barbara ad- 
 dressed not a word either to Nell or to me, but fol-
 
 A Night on the Road. 271 
 
 lowed a maid to the chamber allotted to her. Nell 
 was in no such haste to hide herself from view. She 
 cried for supper, and was led to a room on the first 
 floor which overlooked the street. She threw the 
 window open and exchanged more greetings and ban- 
 ter with her admirers below. I flung my hat on the 
 table and sat moodily in a chair. Food was brought, 
 and Nell, turning at last from her entertainment, flew 
 to partake of it with merry eagerness. 
 
 " But doesn't Mistress Quinton sup with us?" she 
 said. 
 
 Mistress Quinton, it seemed, had no appetite for a 
 meal, was shut close in her own chamber, and refused 
 all service. Nell laughed and bade me fall to. I 
 obeyed, being hungry in spite of my discomfort. 
 
 I was resolute not to quarrel with her. She had 
 shown me great friendliness ; nay, and I had a fond- 
 ness for her, such as I defy any man (man I say, not 
 woman) to have escaped. But she had tried me sorely, 
 and while we ate, she plied me with new challenges 
 and fresh incitements to anger. I held my temper 
 well in bounds, and, when I was satisfied, rose with a 
 bow, saying that I would go and enquire if I could be 
 of any aid to Mistress Quinton. 
 
 " She won't show herself to you," cried Nell, mock- 
 ingly. 
 
 " She will, if you're not with me," I retorted. 
 
 " Make the trial ! Behold, I'm firmly seated here ! " 
 
 A maid carried my message while I paced the corri- 
 dor ; the lady's compliments returned to me, but, 
 thanks to the attention of the host, she had need of 
 nothing. I sent again, saying that I desired to speak 
 with her concerning our journey. The lady's excuses 
 returned to me ; she had a headache and had sought 
 her bed ; she must pray me to defer my business till 
 the morrow, and wished Mistress Gwyn and me good- 
 night. The maid tripped off smiling.
 
 272 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Plague on her ! " I cried, angrily and loudly. A 
 laugh greeted the exclamation, and I turned to see 
 Nell standing in the doorway of the room where we 
 had supped. 
 
 " I knew, I knew ! " she cried, revelling in her 
 triumph, her eyes dancing in delight. " Poor Simon ! 
 Alas, poor Simon, you know little of women ! But 
 come, you're a brave lad and I'll comfort you. Besides, 
 you have given me a jewelled dagger. Shall I lend it 
 you again, to plunge in your heart, poor Simon?" 
 
 " I don't understand you. I have no need of a 
 dagger," I answered stiffly ; yet, feeling a fool there in 
 the passage, I followed her into the room. 
 
 "Your heart is pierced already?" she asked. "Ah, 
 but your heart heals well ! I'll spend no pity on you." 
 
 There was now a new tone in her voice. Her eyes 
 still sparkled in mischievous exultation that she had 
 proved right and I come away sore and baffled. But 
 when she spoke of the healing of my heart, there was 
 an echo of sadness; the hinting of some smothered 
 sorrow seemed to be struggling with her mirth. She 
 was a creature all compounded of sudden changing 
 moods; I did not know when they were true, when 
 feigned in sport, or to further some device. She 
 came near now and bent over my chair, saying gently, 
 
 " Alas, I'm very wicked ! I couldn't help the folk 
 cheering me, Simon. Surely it was no fault of mine ? " 
 
 " You had no need to look out of the window of the 
 coach," said I, sternly. 
 
 " But I did that with never a thought. I wanted 
 the air. I " 
 
 " Nor to jest and banter. It was mighty unseemly, 
 I swear." 
 
 " In truth I was wrong to jest with them," said Nell, 
 remorsefully. " And within, Simon, my heart was 
 aching with shame, even while I jested. Ah, you 
 don't know the shame I feel ! "
 
 A Night on the Road. 273 
 
 " In good truth," I returned, " I believe you feel no 
 shame at all." 
 
 " You're very cruel to me, Simon. Yet it's no 
 more than my desert. Ah, if " she sighed heavily. 
 " If only, Simon " she said, and her hand was very 
 near my hair by the back of the chair. " But that's 
 past praying," she ended, sighing again most woefully. 
 "Yet I have been of some service to you ! " 
 
 " I thank you for it most heartily," said I, still stiff 
 and cold. 
 
 " And I was very wrong to-day. Simon, it was on 
 her account." 
 
 " What ? " I cried. " Did Mistress Quinton bid you 
 put your head out and jest with the fellows on the 
 pavement? " 
 
 " She did not bid me, but I did it because she was 
 there." 
 
 I looked up at her; it was a rare thing with her, but 
 she would not meet my glance. I looked down again. 
 
 " It was always the same between her and me," 
 murmured Nell. "Aye, so long ago even at Hatch- 
 stead." 
 
 " We're not in Hatchstead now," said I, roughly. 
 
 " Nay, nor even in Chelsea. For even in Chelsea 
 you had a kindness for me." 
 
 " I have much kindness for you now." 
 
 " Well, then you had more." 
 
 " It is in your knowledge why now I have no more." 
 
 " Yes, it's in my knowledge!" she cried. "Yet I 
 carried Mistress Quinton from Dover! " 
 
 I made no answer to that. She sighed " Heigho," 
 and for a moment there was silence. But messages 
 pass without words and there are speechless Mercuries 
 who carry tidings from heart to heart. Then the air 
 is full of whisperings and silence is but foil to a thou- 
 sand sounds which the soul hears though the dull cor- 
 poreal ear be deaf. Did she still amuse herself or was
 
 274 Simon Dale, 
 
 there more ? Sometimes a part, assumed in play or 
 malice, so grows on the actor that he cannot, even 
 when he would, throw aside his trappings and wash 
 from his face the paint which was to show the passion 
 that he played. The thing takes hold and will not be 
 thrown aside ; it seems to seek revenge for the light 
 assumption and punishes the bravado that feigned 
 without feeling by a feeling which is not feint. She 
 was now, for the moment if you will, but yet now, in 
 earnest. Some wave of recollection or of fancy had 
 come over her and transformed her jest. She stole 
 round till her face peeped into mine in piteous bewitch- 
 ing pleading, asking a sign of fondness, bringing back 
 the past, raising the dead from my heart's sepulchre. 
 There was a throbbing in my brain ; yet I had need of 
 a cool head. With a spring I was on my feet. 
 
 " I'll go and ask if Mistress Barbara sleeps," I 
 stammered. " I fear she may not be well attended." 
 
 "You'll go again? Once scorned, you'll go again, 
 Simon? Well, the maid will smile; they'll make a 
 story of it among themselves at their supper in the 
 kitchen." 
 
 The laugh of a parcel of knaves and wenches ! 
 Surely it is a small thing ! But men will face death 
 smiling who run wry-faced from such ridicule. I sank 
 in my chair again. But in truth did I desire to go ? 
 The dead rise, or at least there is a voice that speaks 
 from the tomb. A man tarries to listen. Well if he 
 be not lost in listening ! 
 
 With a sigh Nell moved across the room and flung 
 the window open. The loiterers were gone, all was 
 still, only the stars looked in, only the sweet scent of 
 the night made a new companion. 
 
 " It's like a night at Hatchstead," she whispered. 
 " Do you remember how we walked there together? 
 It smelt as it smells to-night. It's so long ago ! " She 
 came quickly towards me and asked " Do you hate
 
 A Night on the Road, 275 
 
 me now ? " but did not wait for the answer. She 
 threw herself in a chair near me and fixed her eyes on 
 me. It was strange to see her face, grave and wrung 
 with agitation ; yet she was better thus, the new 
 timidity became her marvelously. 
 
 There was a great clock in the corner of the old 
 panelled room; it ticked solemnly, seeming to keep 
 time with the beating of my heart. I had no desire 
 to move, but sat there waiting ; yet every nerve of 
 my body was astir. Now I watched her every move- 
 ment, took reckoning of every feature, seemed to 
 read more than her outward visage showed and to 
 gain knowledge of her heart. I knew that she 
 tempted me, and why. I was not a fool, to think 
 that she loved me, but she was set to conquer me, 
 and with her there was no price that seemed high 
 when the prize was victory or a whim's fulfilment. 
 
 I would have written none of this, but that it is so 
 part and marrow of my history, that without it the 
 record of my life would go limping on one leg. 
 
 She rose and came near me again. Now she laughed, 
 yet still not lightly, but as though she hid a graver 
 mood. 
 
 " Come," said she, " you needn't fear to be civil to 
 me. Mistress Barbara is not here." 
 
 The taunt was well conceived ; for the most part 
 there is no incitement that more whips a man to any 
 madness than to lay self-control to the score of cow- 
 ardice, and tell him that his scruples are not his own, 
 but worn by command of another and on pain of her 
 displeasure. But sometimes woman's cunning goes 
 astray, and a name, used in mockery, speaks for itself 
 with strong attraction, as though it held the charm of 
 her it stands for. The name, falling from Nell's pout- 
 ing lips, had power to raise in me a picture, and the 
 picture spread, like a very painting done on canvas, a 
 screen between me and the alluring eyes that sought
 
 276 Simon Dale. 
 
 mine in provoking witchery. She did not know her 
 word's work, and laughed again to see me grow yet 
 more grave at Barbara's name. 
 
 " The stern mistress is away," she whispered. " May 
 we not sport? The door is shut! Why, Simon, 
 you're dull. In truth you're as dull as the King when 
 his purse is empty." 
 
 I raised my eyes to hers, she read the thought. 
 She tossed her head, flinging the brown curls back ; 
 her eyes twinkled merrily, and she said in a soft 
 whisper half smothered in a rising laugh, 
 
 " But, Simon, the King also is away." 
 
 I owed nothing to the King and thought nothing of 
 the King. It was not there I stuck. Nay, and I did 
 not stick on any score of conscience. Yet stick I did 
 and gazed at her with a dumb stare. She seemed to 
 fall into a sudden rage, crying, 
 
 " Go to her then if you will, but she won't have you. 
 Would you like to know what she called you to-day 
 in the coach ?" 
 
 " I would hear nothing that was not for my ears." 
 
 "A very pretty excuse, but in truth you fear to 
 hear it." 
 
 Alas, the truth was even as she said. I feared to 
 hear it. 
 
 "But you shall hear it. 'A good honest fellow,' 
 she said, ' but somewhat forward for his station.' 
 So she said and leant back with half-closed lids. You 
 know the trick these great ladies have? By heaven 
 though, I think she wronged you ! For I'll swear on 
 my Bible that you're not forward, Simon. Well, I'm 
 not Mistress Quinton." 
 
 " You are not," said I, sore and angry, and wishing to 
 wound her in revenge for the blow she had dealt me. 
 
 " Now you're gruff with me for what she said. It's 
 a man's way. I care not. Go and sigh outside her 
 door, she won't open it to you."
 
 A Night on the Road. 277 
 
 She drew near to me again, coaxing and seeking to 
 soften me. 
 
 " I took your part," she whispered, " and declared 
 that you were a fine gentleman. Nay, I told her how 
 once' I had come near to Well, 1 told her many 
 things that it should please you to hear. But she 
 grew mighty short with me, and on the top came the 
 folk with their cheers. Hence my lady's in a rage." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders ; I sat there sullen ; the 
 scornful words were whirling through my brain. 
 " Somewhat forward for his station ! " It was a hard 
 judgment on one who had striven to serve her. In 
 what had I shown presumption? Had she not pro- 
 fessed to forgive all offence? She kept the truth for 
 others, and it came out when my back was turned. 
 
 " Poor Simon ! " said Nell, softly. " Indeed I won- 
 der any lady should speak so of you. It's an evil re- 
 turn for your kindness to her." 
 
 Silence fell on us for awhile. Nell was by me now, 
 her hand rested lightly on my shoulder, and, looking 
 up, I saw her eyes on my face in mingled pensiveness 
 and challenge. 
 
 " Indeed you are not forward," she murmured with 
 a little laugh, and set one hand over her eyes. 
 
 I sat and looked at her; yet, though I seemed to 
 look at her only, the whole of the room with its fur- 
 nishings is stamped clear and clean on my memory. 
 Nell moved a little away and stood facing me. 
 
 " It grows late," she said, softly, "and we must be 
 early on the road. I'll bid you good-night and go to 
 my bed." 
 
 She came to me, holding out her hand ; I did not 
 take it, but she laid it for a moment on mine. Then 
 she drew it away and moved towards the door. I rose 
 and followed her. 
 
 " I'll see you safe on your way," said I, in a low 
 voice. She met my gaze for a moment, but made no
 
 2 7 8 Simon Dale* 
 
 answer in words. We were in the corridor now, and 
 she led the way. Once she turned her head and again 
 looked at me. It was a sullen face she saw, but still I 
 followed. 
 
 "Tread lightly!" she whispered. "There's her 
 door, we pass it, and she would not love to know that 
 you escorted me. She scorns you herself, and yet 
 when another " The sentence went unended. 
 
 In a tumult of feeling still I followed. I was half 
 mad with resentment against Barbara; swearing to 
 myself that her scorn was nothing to me, I shrank 
 from nothing to prove to my own mind the lie that 
 my heart would not receive. 
 
 "The door!" whispered Nell, going delicately on 
 her toes with uplifted fore-finger. 
 
 I cannot tell why, but at the word I came to a 
 stand. Nell, looking over her shoulder and seeing me 
 stand, turned to front me. She smiled merrily, then 
 frowned, then smiled again with raised eyebrows. I 
 stood there as though pinned to the spot. For now I 
 had heard a sound from within. It came very softly. 
 There was a stir as of some one moving, then a line 
 of some soft sad song, falling in careless half-conscious- 
 ness from saddened lips. The sound fell clear and 
 plain on my ears, though I paid no heed to the words 
 and have them not in my memory ; I think that in 
 them a maid spoke to her lover who left her, but I am 
 not sure. I listened. The snatch died away and the 
 movement in the room ceased. All was still again, 
 and Nell's eyes were fixed on mine. I met them 
 squarely, and thus for awhile we stood. Then came 
 the unspoken question, cried from the eyes that were 
 on mine in a thousand tones. I could trace the play 
 of her face but dimly by the light of the smoky lan- 
 tern, but her eyes I seemed to see plain and clear. I 
 had looked for scorn there, and, it might be, amuse- 
 ment. I seemed to see (perhaps the imperfect light
 
 A Night on the Road. 279 
 
 played tricks), besides lure and raillery, reproach, sor- 
 row, and, most strange of all, a sort of envy. Then 
 came a smile and ever so lightly her finger moved in 
 beckoning. The song came no more through the 
 closed door, my ears were empty of it ; but not my 
 heart ; there it sounded still in its soft pleading 
 cadence. Poor maid, whose lover left her ! Poor 
 maid, poor maid! I looked full at Nell but did not 
 move. The lids drooped over her eyes, and their 
 lights went out. She turned and walked slowly and 
 alone along the corridor. I watched her going, yes, 
 wistfully I watched. But I did not follow, for the 
 snatch of song rose in my heart. There was a door 
 at the end of the passage, she opened it and passed 
 though. For a moment it stood open, then a hand 
 stole back and slowly drew it close. It was shut. 
 The click of the lock rang clear and sharp through the 
 silent house.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Vicar's Proposition, 
 
 I do not know how long I stood outside the door 
 there in the passage. After awhile I began to move 
 softly to and fro, more than once reaching the room 
 where I was to sleep, but returning again to my old 
 post. I was loth to forsake it. A strange desire was 
 on me. I wished that the door would open, nay, to 
 open it myself, and by my presence declare what was 
 now so plain to me. But to her it would not have 
 been plain, for now I was alone in the passage, and 
 there was nothing to show the thing which had come 
 to me there, and there at last had left me. Yet it 
 seemed monstrous that she should not know, possible 
 to tell her to-night, certain that my shame-faced tongue 
 would find no words to-morrow. It was a thing that 
 must be said while the glow and the charm of it were 
 still on me, or it would find no saying. 
 
 The light had burnt down very low and gave forth 
 a dim fitful glare, hardly conquering the darkness. 
 Now, again, I was standing still, lost in my struggle. 
 Presently, with glad amazement, as though there had 
 come an unlooked-for answer to my prayer, I heard a 
 light step within. The footfalls seemed to hesitate ; 
 then they came again, the bolt of the door shot back, 
 and a crack of faint light showed. "Who's there?" 
 asked Barbara's voice, trembling with alarm or some 
 other agitation which made her tones quick and timid. 
 I made no answer. The door opened a little wider.
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 281 
 
 I saw her face as she looked out, half-fearful, yet 
 surely also half expectant. Much as I had desired 
 her coming, I would willingly have escaped now, for I 
 did not know what to say to her. I had rehearsed my 
 speech a hundred times; the moment for its utterance 
 found me dumb. Yet the impulse I had felt was still 
 on me, though it failed to give me words. 
 
 " I thought it was you," she whispered. " Why 
 are you there? Do you want me ? " 
 
 Lame and halting came my answer. 
 
 " I was only passing by on my way to bed," I stam- 
 mered. " I'm sorry I roused you." 
 
 " I wasn't asleep," she said. Then after a pause 
 she added, " I I thought you had been there some 
 time. Good-night." 
 
 She bade me good-night, but yet seemed to wait for 
 me to speak ; since I was still silent she asked, " Is 
 our companion gone to bed?" 
 
 " Some little while back," said I. Then raising my 
 eyes to her face, I said, " I'm sorry that you don't 
 sleep." 
 
 " Alas, we both have our sorrows," she returned, 
 with a doleful smile. Again there was a pause. 
 
 " Good-night," said Barbara. 
 
 " Good-night," said I. 
 
 She drew back, the door closed, I was alone again 
 in the passage. 
 
 Now if any man nay, if every man who reads my 
 history, at this place close the leaves on his thumb and 
 call Simon Dale a fool, I will not complain of him ; 
 but if he be moved to fling the book away for good 
 and all, not enduring more of such a fool as Simon 
 Dale, why I will humbly ask him if he hath never re- 
 hearsed brave speeches for his mistress' ear and found 
 himself tongue-tied in her presence? And if he hath, 
 what did he then ? I wager that, while calling himself 
 a dolt with most hearty honesty, yet he set some of
 
 282 Simon Dale* 
 
 the blame on her shoulders, crying that he would 
 have spoken had she opened the way, that it was her 
 reticence, her distance, her coldness which froze his 
 eloquence; and that to any other lady in the whole 
 world he could have poured forth words so full of fire 
 that they must have inflamed her to a passion like to 
 his own and burnt down every barrier which parted 
 her heart from his. Therefore at that moment he 
 searched for accusations against her and found a bitter- 
 tasting comfort in every offence that she had given 
 him, and made treasure of any scornful speech, rescu- 
 ing himself from the extreme of foolishness by such 
 excuse as harshness might afford. Now Barbara 
 Quinton had told Mistress Nell that I was forward for 
 my station. What man could, what man would, lay 
 bare his heart to a lady who held him to be forward 
 for his station? 
 
 These meditations took me to my chamber, whither 
 I might better have gone an hour before, and lasted me 
 fully two hours after I had stretched myself upon the 
 bed. Then I slept heavily; when I woke it was high 
 morning. I lay there a little while, thinking with no 
 pleasure of the journey before me. Then having 
 risen and dressed hastily, I made my way to the room 
 where Nell and I had talked the night before. I did 
 not know in what mood I should find her, but I de- 
 sired to see her alone and beg her to come to some 
 truce with Mistress Quinton, lest our day's travelling 
 should be over thorns. She was not in the room 
 when I came there. Looking out of window I per- 
 ceived the coach at the door; the host was giving an 
 eye to the horses and I hailed him. He ran in and a 
 moment later entered the room. 
 
 "At what hour are we to set out?" I asked. 
 
 " When you will," said he. 
 
 " Have you no orders then from Mistress Gwyn? " 
 
 " She left none with me, sir."
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 283 
 
 " Left none? " I cried, amazed. 
 
 A smile came on his lips and his eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Now I thought it ! " said he, with a chuckle. 
 " You didn't know her purpose ? She has hired a 
 post-chaise and set out two hours ago, telling me that 
 you and the other lady would travel as well without 
 her ; and that, for her part, she was weary of both of 
 you. But she left a message for you. See, it lies 
 there on the table." 
 
 A little packet was on the table ; I took it up. The 
 innkeeper's eyes were fixed on me in obvious curiosity 
 and amusement. I was not minded to afford him 
 more entertainment than I need and bade him begone 
 before I opened the packet. He withdrew reluc- 
 tantly. Then I unfastened Nell's parcel. It con- 
 tained ten guineas wrapped in white paper, and on 
 the inside of the paper was written in a most laborious 
 awkward scrawl (I fear the execution of it gave poor 
 Nell much pains), " In pay for your dagger. E. G." 
 It was all of her hand that I had ever seen ; the brief 
 message seemed to speak a sadness in her. Perhaps 
 I deluded myself ; her skill with the pen would 
 not serve her far. She had gone ; that was the sum 
 of it, and I was grieved that she had gone in this 
 fashion. 
 
 With the piece of paper still in my hands, the 
 guineas also still standing in a little pile on the table, 
 I turned to find Barbara Quinton in the doorway of 
 the room. Her air was timid, as though she were not 
 sure of welcome, and something of the night's embar- 
 rassment still hung about her. She looked round as 
 though in search for somebody. 
 
 " I am alone here," said I, answering her glance. 
 
 " But she ? Mistress ? " 
 
 " She's gone," said I. " I haven't seen her. The 
 innkeeper tells me that she has been gone these two 
 hours. But she has left us the coach and " I
 
 284 Simon Dale* 
 
 walked to the window and looked out. " Yes, and 
 my horse is there, and her servant with his horse." 
 
 " But why is she gone ? Hasn't she left ? " 
 
 " She has left ten guineas also," said I, pointing to 
 the pile on the table. 
 
 " And no reason for her going? " 
 
 " Unless this be one," 1 answered, holding out the 
 piece of paper. 
 
 " I won't read it," said Barbara. 
 
 " It says only, ' In pay for your dagger.' " 
 
 "Then it gives no reason." 
 
 "Why, no, it gives none," said I. 
 
 " It's very strange," murmured Barbara, looking not 
 at me but past me. 
 
 Now to me, when I pondered over the matter, it 
 did not seem altogether strange. Yet where lay the 
 need to tell Mistress Barbara why it seemed not 
 altogether strange? Indeed I could not have told it 
 easily, seeing that, look at it how you will, the thing 
 was not easy to set forth to Mistress Barbara. Doubt- 
 less it was but a stretch of fancy to see any meaning 
 in Nell's mention of the dagger, save the plain one 
 that lay on the surface ; yet had she been given to 
 conceits, she might have used the dagger as a figure 
 for some wound that I had dealt her. 
 
 " No doubt some business called her," said I, rather 
 lamely. "She has shown much consideration in leav- 
 ing her coach for us." 
 
 "And the money? Shall you use it?" 
 
 " What choice have I ? " 
 
 Barbara's glance was on the pile of guineas. I put 
 out my hand, took them up, and stowed them in my 
 purse : as I did this, my eye wandered to the window. 
 Barbara followed my look and my thought also. I 
 had no mind that this new provision for our needs 
 should share the fate of my last guinea. 
 
 " You needn't have said that ! " cried Barbara,
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 285 
 
 flushing; although, as may be seen, I had said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 " I will repay the money in due course," said I, pat- 
 ting my purse. 
 
 We made a meal together in unbroken silence. No 
 more was said of Mistress Nell ; our encounter in the 
 corridor last night seemed utterly forgotten. Re- 
 lieved of a presence that was irksome to her and 
 would have rendered her apprehensive of fresh shame 
 at every place we passed through, Mistress Barbara 
 should have shown an easier bearing and more gai- 
 ety ; so I supposed and hoped. The fact refuted me ; 
 silent, cold and distant, she seemed in even greater 
 discomfort than when we had a companion. Her 
 mood called up a like in me, and I began to ask my- 
 self whether for this I had done well to drive poor Nell 
 away. 
 
 Thus in gloom we made ready to set forth. Myself 
 prepared to mount my horse, I offered to hand Bar- 
 bara into the coach. Then she looked at me ; I noted 
 it, for she had not done so much for an hour past ; a 
 slight colour came on her cheeks, she glanced round 
 the interior of the coach; it was indeed wide and spa- 
 cious for one traveller. 
 
 "You ride to-day also?" she asked. 
 
 The sting that had tormented me was still alive ; I 
 could not deny myself the pleasure of a retort so apt. 
 I bowed low and deferentially, saying " I have learnt 
 my station. I would not be so forward as to sit in the 
 coach with you." The flush on her cheeks deepened 
 suddenly, she stretched out her hand a little way 
 towards me and her lips parted as though she were 
 about to speak. But her hand fell again and her lips 
 shut on unuttered words. 
 
 " As you will," she said, coldly. " Pray bid them 
 set out." 
 
 Of our journey I will say no more. There is noth-
 
 286 Simon Dale* 
 
 ing in it that I take pleasure in telling, and to write 
 its history would be to accuse either Barbara or my- 
 self. For two days we travelled together, she in her 
 coach, I on horseback. Come to London we were told 
 that my lord was at Hatchstead ; having dispatched 
 our borrowed equipage and servants to their mistress, 
 and with them the amount of my debt and a most grate- 
 ful message, we proceeded on our way, Barbara in a 
 chaise, I again riding. All the way Barbara shunned 
 me as though I had the plague and I on my side 
 showed no desire to be with a companion so averse 
 from my society. On my life I was driven half-mad 
 and had that night at Canterbury come again well, 
 Heaven be thanked that temptation comes sometimes 
 at moments when virtue also has attractions, or which 
 of us would stand ? And the night we spent on the 
 road decorum forbade that we should so much as 
 speak, much less sup, together ; and the night we lay 
 in London I spent at one end of the town and she at 
 the other. At least I showed no forwardness ; to that 
 I was sworn and adhered most obstinately. Thus we 
 came to Hatchstead, better strangers than ever we 
 had left Dover, and, although safe and sound from 
 bodily perils and those wiles of princes that had of 
 late so threatened our tranquillity, yet both of us as ill 
 in temper as could be conceived. Defend me from 
 any such journey again ! But there is no likelihood 
 of such a trial now, alas ! Yes, there was a pleasure 
 in it ; it was a battle, and, by my faith, it was close 
 drawn between us. 
 
 The chaise stopped at the Manor gates, and I rode 
 up to the door of it, cap in hand. Here was to be 
 our parting. 
 
 " I thank you heartily, sir," said Barbara in a low 
 voice, with a bow of her head and a quick glance that 
 would not dwell on my sullen face. 
 
 " My happiness has been to serve you, madame," I
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 287 
 
 returned. " I grieve only that my escort has been so 
 irksome to you." 
 
 " No," said Barbara, and she said no more, but rolled 
 up the avenue in her chaise, leaving me to find my 
 way alone to my mother's house. 
 
 1 sat a few moments -on my horse watching her go. 
 Then with an oath I turned away. The sight of the 
 gardener's cottage sent my thoughts back to the old 
 days when Cydaria came and caught my heart in her 
 butterfly net. It was just there, in the meadow by 
 the avenue, that I had kissed her. A kiss is a thing 
 lightly given and sometimes lightly taken. It was 
 that kiss which Barbara had seen from the window, 
 and great debate had arisen on it. Lightly given, yet 
 leading on to much that I did not see; lightly taken, 
 yet perhaps mother to some fancies that men would 
 wonder to find in Mistress Gwyn ! 
 
 " I'm heartily glad to be here ! " I cried, loosing the 
 Vicar's hand and flinging myself into the high arm- 
 chair in the chimney corner. 
 
 My mother received this exclamation as a tribute 
 of filial affection, the Vicar treated it as an evidence 
 of friendship, my sister Mary saw in it a thanksgiving 
 for deliverance from the perils and temptations of 
 London and the Court. Let them take it how they 
 would ; in truth it was inspired in none of these ways, 
 but was purely an expression of relief, first at having 
 brought Mistress Barbara safe to the Manor, in the 
 second place at being quit of her society. 
 
 " I am very curious to learn, Simon," said the Vicar, 
 drawing his chair near mine, and laying his hand upon 
 my knee, " what passed at Dover. For it seems to 
 me that there, if at any place in the world, the 
 prophecy which Betty Nasroth spoke concerning 
 you " 
 
 " You shall know all in good time, sir," I cried, im- 
 patiently.
 
 288 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Should find its fulfilment," ended the Vicar, pla- 
 cidly. 
 
 " Are we not finished with that folly yet ? " asked 
 my mother. 
 
 " Simon must tell us that," smiled the Vicar. 
 
 " In good time, in good time," I cried again. 
 " But tell me first, when did my lord come here from 
 London?" 
 
 " Why, a week ago. My lady was sick and the phy- 
 sician prescribed the air of the country for her. But 
 my lord stayed four days only and then was gone 
 again." 
 
 I started and sat upright in my seat. 
 
 " What, isn't he here now?" I asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Why, Simon," said my good mother with a laugh, 
 " we looked to get news from you, and now we have 
 news to give you ! The King has sent for my lord ; 
 I saw his message. It was most flattering and spoke 
 of some urgent and great business on which the King 
 desired my lord's immediate presence and counsel. 
 So he set out two days ago to join the King with a 
 large train of servants, leaving behind my lady, who 
 was too sick to travel." 
 
 I was surprised at these tidings and fell into deep 
 consideration. What need had the King of my lord's 
 counsel, and so suddenly? What had been done at 
 Dover would not be opened to Lord Quinton's ear. 
 Was he summoned as a Lord of Council or as his 
 daughter's father? For by now the King must know 
 certain matters respecting my lord's daughter and a 
 humble gentleman who had striven to serve her as far 
 as his station enabled him and without undue for- 
 wardness. We might well have passed my lord's 
 coach on the road and not remarked it among the 
 many that met us as we drew near to London in the 
 evening. I had not observed his liveries, but that 
 went for nothing. I took heed of little on that
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 289 
 
 journey save the bearing of Mistress Barbara. Where 
 lay the meaning of my lord's summons? It came 
 into my mind that M. de Perrencourt had sent mes- 
 sengers from Calais, and that the King might be seek- 
 ing to fulfil in another way the bargain whose 
 accomplishment I had thwarted. The thought was 
 new life to me. If my work were not finished I 
 broke off; the Vicar's hand was on my knee again. 
 
 " Touching the prophecy " he began. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, in good time you shall know all. It 
 is fulfilled." 
 
 " Fulfilled ! " he cried, rapturously. " Then, Simon, 
 fortune smiles?" 
 
 " Nay," I retorted, " she frowns most damnably." 
 
 To swear is a sin, to swear before ladies is bad 
 manners, to swear in talking to a clergyman is worst 
 of all. Yet, while my mother and my sister drew 
 away in offence (and I hereby tender them an apology 
 never yet made) the Vicar only smiled. 
 
 " A plague on such prophecies," said I, sourly. 
 
 "Yet if it be fulfilled!" he murmured. For he 
 held more by that than by any good fortune of mine ; 
 me he loved, but his magic was dearer to him. " You 
 must indeed tell me," he urged. 
 
 My mother approached somewhat timidly. 
 
 " You are come to stay with us, Simon ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " For the term of my life, so far as I know, madame," 
 said I. 
 
 " Thanks to God ! " she murmured, softly. 
 
 There is the sort of saying that a mother speaks and 
 a son hears to his shame and wonder! Her heart was 
 all in me, while mine was far away. Despondency 
 had got hold of me. Fortune, in her merriest mood, 
 seeming bent on fooling me fairly, had opened a door 
 and shown me the prospect of fine doings and high 
 ambitions realised. The glimpse had been but brief,
 
 290 Simon Dale* 
 
 and the tricky creature shut the door in my face with 
 a laugh. Betty Nasroth's prophecy was fulfilled, but 
 its accomplishment left me in no better state ; nay, I 
 should be compelled to count myself lucky if I came 
 off unhurt and were not pursued by the anger of those 
 great folk whose wills and whims I had crossed. I 
 must lie quiet in Hatchstead, and to lie quiet in Hatch- 
 stead was hell to me aye, hell, unless by some mira- 
 cle (whereof there was but one way) it should turn to 
 heaven. That was not for me ; I was denied youth's 
 sovereign balm for ill-starred hopes and ambitions 
 gone awry. 
 
 The Vicar and I were alone now, and I could not 
 but humour him by telling what had passed. He 
 heard with rare enjoyment ; and although his interest 
 declined from its zenith so soon as I had told the last 
 of the prophecy, he listened to the rest with twinkling 
 eyes. No comment did he make, but took snuff fre- 
 quently. I, my tale done, fell again into meditation. 
 Yet I had been fired by the rehearsal of my own story, 
 and my thoughts were less dark in hue. The news 
 concerning Lord Quinton stirred me afresh. My aid 
 might again be needed ; my melancholy was tinted 
 with pleasant pride as I declared to myself that it 
 should not be lacking, for all that I had been used as 
 one would not use a faithful dog, much less a gentle- 
 man, who, doubtless by no merit of his own but yet 
 most certainly, had been of no small service. To con- 
 fess the truth, I was so persuaded of my value that I 
 looked for every moment to bring me a summons, and 
 practised under my breath the terms, respectful yet 
 resentful, in which I would again place my arm and 
 sword at Barbara's disposal. 
 
 "You loved this creature Nell?" asked the Vicar, 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Aye," said I, " I loved her." 
 
 "You love her no more?"
 
 The Vicar's Proposition. 291 
 
 " Why, no," I answered, mustering a cool smile. 
 " Folly such as that goes by with youth." 
 
 "Your age is twenty-four?" 
 
 " Yes, I am twenty-four." 
 
 " And you love her no longer ? " 
 
 "I tell you, no longer, sir." 
 
 The Vicar opened his box and took a large pinch. 
 
 "Then," said he, the pinch being between his finger 
 and thumb and just half way on the road to his nose, 
 "you love some other woman, Simon." 
 
 He spoke not as a man who asks a question nor 
 even as one who hazards an opinion ; he declared a fact 
 and needed no answer to confirm him. " Yes, you love 
 some other woman, Simon," said he, and there left 
 the matter. 
 
 " I don't," I cried, indignantly. Had I told myself 
 a hundred times that I was not in love to be told by 
 another that I was? True I might have been in love, 
 had not 
 
 " Ah, who goes there ? " exclaimed the Vicar, 
 springing nimbly to the window and looking out with 
 eagerness. " I seem to know the gentleman. Come, 
 Simon, look." 
 
 I obeyed him. A gentleman, attended by two ser- 
 vants, rode rapidly past ; twilight had begun to fall, 
 but the light served well enough to show me who the 
 stranger was. He rode hard and his horse's head was 
 towards the Manor gates. 
 
 " I think it is my Lord Carford," said the Vicar. 
 " He goes to the Manor, as I think." 
 
 " I think it is and I think he does," said I ; and for 
 a single moment I stood there in the middle of the 
 room, hesitating, wavering, miserable. 
 
 " What ails you, Simon ? Why shouldn't my Lord 
 Carford go to the Manor? " cried the Vicar. 
 
 " Let him go to the devil ! " I cried, and I seized 
 my hat from the table where it lay.
 
 2 92 Simon Dale* 
 
 The Vicar turned to me with a smile on his lips. 
 
 "Go, lad," said he, " and let me not hear you again 
 deny my propositions. They are founded on an ex- 
 tensive observation of humanity and " 
 
 Well, I know not to this day on what besides. For 
 I was out of the house before the Vicar completed 
 his statement of the authority that underlay his pro- 
 positions.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 
 
 I HAVE heard it said that King Charles laughed 
 most heartily when he heard how a certain gentleman 
 had tricked M. de Perrencourt and carried off from 
 his clutches the lady who should have gone to pre- 
 pare for the Duchess of York's visit to the Court of 
 Versailles. " This Uriah will not be set in the fore- 
 front of the battle," said he, " and therefore David 
 can't have his way." He would have laughed, I think, 
 even although my action had thwarted his own 
 schemes, but the truth is that he had so wrought on 
 that same devotion to her religion which, according to 
 Mistress Nell, inspired Mile, de Que>ouaille, that by 
 the time the news came from Calais he had little 
 doubt of success for himself although his friend M. de 
 Perrencourt had been baffled. He had made his 
 treaty, he had got his money, and the lady, if she 
 would not stay, yet promised to return. The King 
 then was well content, and found perhaps some sly 
 satisfaction in the defeat of the great Prince whose 
 majesty and dignity made any reverse which befell 
 him an amusement to less potent persons. In any 
 case the King laughed, then grew grave for a moment 
 while he declared that his best efforts should not be 
 wanting to reclaim Mistress Quinton to a sense of her 
 duty, and then laughed again. Yet he set about re- 
 claiming her, although with no great energy or fierce- 
 ness ; and when he heard that Monmouth had other
 
 294 Simon Dale. 
 
 views of the lady's duty, he shrugged his shoulders, 
 saying, " Nay, if there be two Davids, I'll wager a 
 crown on Uriah." 
 
 It is easy to follow a man to the door of a house, 
 but if the door be shut after him and the pursuer not 
 invited to enter, he can but stay outside. So it fell 
 out with me, and being outside I did not know what 
 passed within nor how my Lord Carford fared with 
 Mistress Barbara. I flung myself in deep chagrin on 
 the grass of the Manor park, cursing my fate, myself, 
 and, if not Barbara, yet that perversity which was in 
 all women, and, by logic, even in Mistress Barbara. 
 But although I had no part in it the play went on and 
 how it proceeded I learnt afterwards ; let me now 
 leave the stage that I have held too long and pass out 
 of sight till my cue calls me again. 
 
 This evening then, my lady, who was very sick, be- 
 ing in her bed and Mistress Barbara, although not 
 sick, very weary of her solitude and longing for the 
 time when she could betake herself to the same refuge 
 (for there is a pride that forbids us to seek bed too 
 early, however strongly we desire it) there came a 
 great knocking at the door of the house. A gentle- 
 man on horseback and accompanied by two servants 
 was without and craved immediate audience of her 
 ladyship. Hearing that she was abed he asked for 
 Mistress Barbara and obtained entrance ; yet he 
 would not give his name, but declared that he came 
 on urgent business from Lord Quinton. The excuse 
 served and Barbara received him. With surprise she 
 found Carford bowing low before her. I had told her 
 enough concerning him to prevent her welcome being 
 warm. I would have told her more, had she afforded 
 me the opportunity. The imperfect knowledge that 
 she had caused her to accuse him rather of a timidity 
 in face of powerful rivals than of any deliberate 
 design to set his love below his ambition and to use
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 295 
 
 her as his tool. Had she known all I knew, she would 
 not have listened to him. Even now she made some 
 pretext for declining conversation that night, and 
 would have withdrawn at once ; but he stayed her re- 
 treat, earnestly praying her for her father's sake and 
 her own to hear his message, and asserting that she 
 was in more danger than she was aware of. Thus he 
 persuaded her to be seated. 
 
 " What is your message from my father, my lord ? " 
 she asked coldly, yet not uncivilly. 
 
 " Madame, I have none," he answered, with a blunt- 
 ness not ill calculated. " I used the excuse to gain 
 admission, fearing that my own devotion to you would 
 not suffice, well as you know it. But although I have 
 no message, I think that you will have one soon. Nay, 
 you must listen." For she had risen. 
 
 " I listen, my lord, but I will listen standing." 
 
 "You're hard to me, Mistress Barbara," he said. 
 " But take the tidings how you will ; only pay heed to 
 them." He drew nearer to her and continued. " To- 
 morrow a message will come from your father. You 
 have had none for many days? " 
 
 " Alas, no ! " said she. " We were both on the 
 road and could send no letter to one another." 
 
 '' To-morrow one comes. May I tell you what it 
 will say ? " 
 
 " How can you know what it will say, my lord ?" 
 
 " I will stand by the event," said he, sturdily. " The 
 coming of the letter will prove me right or wrong. 
 It will bid your mother and you accompany the mes- 
 senger " 
 
 " My mother cannot " 
 
 " Or, if your mother cannot, you alone, with some 
 waiting-woman, to Dover." 
 
 " To Dover ? " cried Barbara. " For what purpose ? " 
 She shrank away from him, as though alarmed by the 
 very name of the place whence she had escaped.
 
 296 Simon Dale* 
 
 He looked full in her face and answered slowly and 
 significantly, 
 
 " Madame goes back to France and you are to go 
 with her." 
 
 Barbara caught at a chair near her and sank into it. 
 He stood over her now, speaking quickly and ur- 
 gently. 
 
 "You must listen," he said, "and lose no time in 
 acting. A French gentleman, by name M. de Fon- 
 telles, will be here to-morrow ; he carries your father's 
 letter and is sent to bring you to Dover." 
 
 " My father bids me come ? " she cried. 
 
 " His letter will convey the request," answered Car- 
 ford. 
 
 " Then I will go," said she. " I can't come to harm 
 with him, and when I have told him all, he .won't al- 
 low me to go to France." For as yet my lord did 
 not know of what had befallen his daughter, nor did 
 my lady, whose sickness made her unfit to be bur- 
 dened with such troublesome matters. 
 
 " Indeed you would come to no harm with your 
 father, if you found your father," said Carford. 
 " Come, I will tell you. Before you reach Dover my 
 lord will have gone from there. As soon as his letter 
 to you was sent, the King made a pretext to dispatch 
 him into Cornwall ; he wrote again to tell you of his 
 journey and bid you not come to Dover till he sends 
 for you. This letter he entrusted to a messenger of 
 my Lord Arlington's who was taking the road for Lon- 
 don. But the Secretary's messengers know when to 
 hasten and when to loiter on the way. You are to 
 have set out before the letter arrives." 
 
 Barbara looked at him in bewilderment and terror ; 
 he was to all seeming composed and spoke with an 
 air of honest sincerity. 
 
 " To speak plainly, it is a trick," he said, " to induce 
 you to return to Dover. This M. de Fontelles has
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen* 297 
 
 orders to bring you at all hazards and is armed with 
 the King's authority in case my lord's bidding should 
 not be enough." 
 
 She sat for a while in helpless dismay. Carford had 
 the wisdom not to interrupt her thoughts ; he knew 
 that she was seeking for a plan of escape and was 
 willing to let her find that there was none. 
 
 "When do you say that M. de Fontelles will be 
 here?" she asked at last. 
 
 " Late to-night or early to-morrow. He rested a 
 few hours in London, while I rode through, else I 
 shouldn't have been here before him." 
 
 " And why are you come, my lord ? " she asked. 
 
 " To serve you, madame," he answered, simply. 
 
 She drew herself up, saying haughtily, 
 
 " You were not so ready to serve me at Dover." 
 
 Carford was not disconcerted by an attack that he 
 must have foreseen ; he had the parry ready for the 
 thrust. 
 
 " From the danger that I knew I guarded you, the 
 other I did not know." Then with a burst of well- 
 feigned indignation he cried, "By heaven, but for me 
 the French King would have been no peril to you ; he 
 would have come too late." 
 
 She understood him and flushed painfully, 
 
 "When the enemy is mighty," he pursued, "we 
 must fight by guile, not force; when we can't ^oppose 
 we must delay'; we must check, where we can't stop. 
 You know my meaning, to you I couldn't put it more 
 plainly. But now I have spoken plainly to the Duke 
 of Monmouth, praying something from him in my 
 own game as well as yours. He is a noble Prince, 
 madame, and his offence should be pardoned by you 
 who caused it. Had I thwarted him openly, he would 
 have been my enemy and yours. Now he is your 
 friend and mine." 
 
 The defence was clever enough to bridle her indig-
 
 298 Simon Dale. 
 
 nation. He followed up his advantage swiftly, leaving 
 her no time to pry for a weak spot in his pleading. 
 
 " By heaven," he cried, " let us lose no time on past 
 troubles. I was to blame, if you will, in execution, 
 though not, I swear, in intention. But here and now 
 is the danger, and I am come to guard you from it." 
 
 " Then I am much in your debt, my lord," said she, 
 still doubtful, yet in her trouble eager to believe him 
 honest. 
 
 " Nay," said he, " all that I have, madame, is yours, 
 and you can't be in debt to your slave." 
 
 I do not doubt that in this speech his passion 
 seemed real enough and was the more effective from 
 having been suppressed till now, so that it appeared 
 to break forth against his will. Indeed, although he 
 was a man in whom ambition held place of love, yet 
 he loved her and would have made her his for passion's 
 sake as well as for the power that he hoped to wield 
 through her means. I hesitate how to judge him ; 
 there are many men who take their colour from the 
 times, as some insects from the plants they feed on ; 
 in honest times they would be honest, in debauched 
 they follow the evil fashion, having no force to stand 
 by themselves. Perhaps this lord was one of this 
 kidney. 
 
 " It's an old story, this love of mine," said he, in 
 gentler tones. " Twice you have heard it, and a lover 
 who speaks twice must mourn once at least ; yet the 
 second time I think you came nearer to heeding it. 
 May I tell it once again? " 
 
 " Indeed it is not the time " she began, in an agi- 
 tated voice. 
 
 " Be your answer what it may, I am your servant," 
 he protested. " My hand and heart are yours, al- 
 though yours be another's ! " 
 
 " There is none I am free " she murmured. His 
 eyes were on her and she nerved herself to calm, say-
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen, 299 
 
 ing, " There is nothing of what you suppose. But my 
 disposition towards you, my lord, has not changed." 
 
 He let a moment go by before he answered her; he 
 made it seem as though emotion forbade earlier speech. 
 Then he said gravely, 
 
 " I am grieved from my heart to hear it, and I pray 
 heaven that an early day may bring me another an- 
 swer. God forbid that I should press your inclination 
 now. You may accept my service freely, although 
 you do not accept my love. Mistress Barbara, you'll 
 come with me? " 
 
 " Come with you ? " she cried. 
 
 " My lady will come also, and we three together will 
 seek your father in Cornwall. On my faith, madame, 
 there is no safety but in flight." 
 
 " My mother lies too sick for travelling. Didn't 
 you hear it from my father ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen my lord. My knowledge of his 
 letter came through the Duke of Monmouth, and al- 
 though he spoke there of my lady's sickness, I trusted 
 that she had recovered." 
 
 " My mother cannot travel. It is impossible." 
 
 He came a step nearer her. 
 
 " Fontelles will be here to-morrow," he said. " If 
 
 you are here then ! Yet if there be any other 
 
 whose aid you could seek ? " Again he paused, 
 regarding her intently. 
 
 She sat in sore distress, twisting her hands in her 
 lap. One there was and not far away. Yet to send 
 for him crossed her resolution and stung her pride 
 most sorely. We had parted in anger, she and I , I 
 had blamed my share in the quarrel bitterly enough, 
 it is likely she had spared herself no more ; yet the 
 more fault is felt the harder comes its acknowledg= 
 ment. 
 
 " Is Mr. Dale in Hatchstead ? " asked Carford, boldly 
 and bluntly.
 
 3 Simon Dale* 
 
 " I don't know where he is. He brought me here, 
 but I have heard nothing from him since we parted." 
 
 "Then surely he is gone again?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Barbara. 
 
 Carford must have been a dull man indeed not to 
 discern how the matter lay. There is no better time 
 to press a lady than when she is chagrined with a rival 
 and all her pride is under arms to fight her inclination. 
 
 "Surely, or he could not have shown you such in- 
 difference nay, I must call it discourtesy." 
 
 " He did me service." 
 
 " A gentleman, madame, should grow more, not 
 less, assiduous, when he is so happy as to have put a 
 lady under obligation." 
 
 He had said enough, and restrained himself from a 
 further attack. 
 
 " What will you do?" he went on. 
 
 "Alas, what can I do?" Then she cried, "This 
 M. de Fontelles can't carry me off against my will." 
 
 " He has the King's commands," said Carford. 
 " Who will resist him ? " 
 
 She sprang to her feet and turned on him quickly. 
 
 "Why, you," she said. "Alone with you I cannot 
 and will not go. But you are my you are ready to 
 serve me. You will resist M. de Fontelles for my 
 sake, aye, and for my sake the King's commands." 
 
 Carford stood still, amazed at the sudden change in 
 her manner. He had not conceived this demand and 
 it suited him very ill. The stroke was too bold for 
 his temper ; the King was interested in this affair and 
 it might go hard with the man who upset his plan and 
 openly resisted his messenger. Carford had calculated 
 on being able to carry her off and thus defeat the 
 scheme under show of ignorance. The thing done 
 and done unwittingly might gain pardon ; to meet 
 and defy the enemy face to face was to stake all his 
 fortune on a desperate chance. He was dumb. Bar-
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen* 301 
 
 bara's lips curved into a smile that expressed wonder 
 and dawning contempt. 
 
 ' You hesitate, sir?" she asked. 
 
 ' The danger is great," he muttered. 
 
 ' You spoke of discourtesy just now, my lord " 
 
 ' You do not lay it to my charge ? " 
 
 ' Nay, to refuse to face danger for a lady, and a lady 
 whom a man loves you meant that, my lord ? goes 
 by another name. I forgive discourtesy sooner than 
 that other thing, my lord." 
 
 His face grew white with passion. She accused him 
 of cowardice and plainly hinted to him that, if he 
 failed her, she would turn to one who was no coward, 
 let him be as discourteous and indifferent as his sullen 
 disposition made him. I am sorry I was not there, to 
 see Carford's face. Yet he was in the net of her chal- 
 lenge now and a bold front alone would serve. 
 
 " By God, madame," he cried, "you shall know by 
 to-morrow how deeply you wrong me. If my head 
 must answer for it, you shall have the proof." 
 
 " I thank you, my lord," said she, with a little bow, 
 as though she asked no more than her due in demand- 
 ing that he should risk his head for her. " I did not 
 doubt your answer." 
 
 " You shall have no cause, madame," said he very 
 boldly, although he could not control the signs of his 
 uneasiness. 
 
 " Again I thank you," said she. " It grows late, 
 my lord. By your kindness I shall sleep peacefully 
 and without fear. Good-night." She moved towards 
 the door, but turned to him again, saying, " I pray 
 your pardon, but even hospitality must give way to 
 sickness. I cannot entertain you suitably while my 
 mother lies abed. If you lodge at the inn, they will 
 treat you well for my father's sake, and a message 
 from me can reach you easily." 
 
 Carford had strung himself to give the promise,
 
 32 Simon Dale* 
 
 whether he would fulfil it or not lay uncertain in the 
 future. Yet for so much as he had done, he had a 
 mind to be paid. He came to her, and, kneeling, took 
 her hand ; she suffered him to kiss it. 
 
 "There is nothing I wouldn't do to win my prize," 
 he said, fixing his eyes ardently on her face. 
 
 " I have asked nothing but what you seemed to 
 offer," she answered, coldly. " If it be a matter of 
 bargain, my lord 
 
 " No, no," he cried, seeking to catch again at her 
 hand as she drew it away and with a curtsey passed 
 out. 
 
 Thus she left him without so much as a backward 
 glance to promise further favour. So may a lady, if 
 she plays her game well, take all and promise nothing. 
 
 Carford, refused even a lodging in the house, crossed 
 in the plan by which he had recko'ned on getting Bar- 
 bara into his power, driven to an enterprise for which 
 he had small liking, and left in utter doubt whether 
 the success for which he ran so great a risk would 
 profit him, may well have sought the inn to which 
 Barbara commended him in no cheerful moo'd. I 
 wager he swore a round oath or two, as he and his 
 servants made their way thither through the dark and 
 knocked up the host, who, keeping country hours, was 
 already in his bed. It cost them some minutes to 
 rouse him, and Carford beat most angrily on the door. 
 At last they were admitted. And I turned away. 
 
 For I must confess it ; I had dogged their steps, 
 not able to rest till I saw what would become of Car- 
 ford. Yet we must give love his due; if he takes a 
 man into strange places, sometimes he shows him 
 things worth his knowing. If I, a lovesick fool, had 
 watched a rival into my mistress' house and watched 
 him out of it with devouring jealousy, aye, if I had 
 chosen to spend my time beneath the Manor windows 
 rather than in my own comfortable chair, why I had
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen* 303 
 
 done only what many who are now wise and sober 
 gentlemen have done in their time. And if once in 
 that same park I had declared my heart broken for 
 the sake of another lady, there are revolutions in 
 hearts as in states, and, after the rebels have had their 
 day, the King comes to his own again. Nay, I have 
 known some who were very loyal to King Charles, 
 and yet said nothing hard of Oliver whose yoke they 
 once had worn. I will say naught against my usurper, 
 although the Queen may have come to her own again. 
 
 Well, Carford should not have her. I, Simon Dale, 
 might be the greatest fool in the King's dominions and 
 lie sulking while another stormed the citadel on which 
 I longed to plant my flag. But the victor should not 
 be Carford. Among gentlemen a quarrel is easily 
 come by ; yokels may mouth their blowsy sweetheart's 
 name and fight openly for her favour over their mugs 
 of ale; we quarrel on the state of the kingdom, the 
 fall of the cards, the cut of our coats, what you will. 
 Carford and I would find a cause without much search- 
 ing. I was so hot that I was within an ace of sum- 
 moning him then and there to show by what right he 
 rode so boldly through my native village ; that offence 
 would serve as well as any other. Yet prudence pre- 
 vailed. The closed doors of the inn hid the party 
 from my sight, and I went on my way, determined to 
 be about by cock-crow, lest Carford should steal a 
 march. 
 
 But as I went, I passed the Vicar's door. He stood 
 on the threshold, smoking his long pipe (the good 
 man loved Virginia and gave his love free rein in the 
 evening) and gazing at the sky. I tried to slink by 
 him, fearing to be questioned, but he caught sight of 
 my figure and called me to him ; but he made no 
 reference to the manner of our last parting. 
 
 "Whither away, Simon? " he asked. 
 
 " To bed, sir," said I.
 
 304 Simon Dale. 
 
 " It is well," said he. "And whence?" 
 
 " From a walk, sir." 
 
 His eyes met mine and I saw them twinkle. He 
 waved the stem of his pipe in the air, and said, 
 
 " Love, Simon, is a divine distemper of the mind, 
 wherein it paints bliss with woe's palate and sees 
 heaven from hell." 
 
 " You borrow from the poets, sir," said I, surlily. 
 
 " Nay," he rejoined, " the poets from me, or from 
 any man who has or has had a heart in him. What, 
 Simon, you leave me ? " For I had turned away. 
 
 " It's late, sir," said I, " for the making of rhapso- 
 dies." 
 
 " You've made yours," he smiled. " Hark, what's 
 that?" 
 
 As he spoke there came the sound of horses' hoofs. 
 A moment later the figures of two mounted men 
 emerged from the darkness. By some impulse, I 
 know not what, I ran behind the Vicar and sheltered 
 myself in the porch at his back. Carford's arrival had 
 set my mind astir again and new events found ready 
 welcome. The Vicar stepped out a pace into the road 
 with his hand over his eyes, and peered at the strangers. 
 
 "What do you call this place, sir?" came in a loud 
 voice from the nearer of the riders. I started at the 
 voice ; it had struck on my ears before, and no Eng- 
 lishman owned it. 
 
 1 " It is the village of Hatchstead, at your service," 
 answered the Vicar. 
 
 " Is there an inn in it ? " 
 
 " Ride for half-a-mile and you'll find a good one." 
 
 " I thank you, sir." 
 
 I could hold myself in no longer, but pushed the 
 Vicar aside and ran out into the road. The horse- 
 men had already turned their faces towards the inn, 
 and walked along slowly, as though they were weary. 
 " Good-night," cried the Vicar whether to them or
 
 II. YIKNT ' " -PAliK V
 
 The Strange Conjuncture of Two Gentlemen. 305 
 
 to me or to all creation I know not. The door closed 
 on him. I stood for an instant, watching the retreat- 
 ing form of the man who had enquired the way. A 
 spirit of high excitement came on me; it might be 
 that all was not finished, and that Betty Nasroth's 
 prophecy should not bind the future in fetters. For 
 there at the inn was Carford, and here, if I did not 
 err, was the man whom my knowledge of French had 
 so perplexed in the inn at Canterbury. 
 
 And Carford knew Fontelles. On what errand did 
 they come? Were they friends to one another or 
 foes? If friends, they should find an enemy ; if foes, 
 there was another to share their battle. I could not 
 tell the meaning of this strange conjuncture whereby 
 the two came to Hatchstead ; yet my guess was not 
 far out, and I hailed the prospect that it gave with a 
 fierce exultation. Nay, I laughed aloud, but first 
 knew that I laughed when suddenly M. de Fontelles 
 turned in his saddle, crying in French to his servant, 
 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 " Something laughed," answered the fellow, in an 
 alarmed voice. 
 
 " Something? You mean somebody." 
 
 " I know not, it sounded strange." 
 
 I had stepped in under the hedge when Fontelles 
 turned, but his puzzle and the servant's superstitious 
 fear wrought on my excitement. Nothing would 
 serve me but to play a jest on the Frenchman. I 
 laughed again loudly. 
 
 " God save us ! " cried the servant, and I make no 
 doubt he crossed himself most piously. 
 
 " It's some madman got loose," said M. de Fontelles, 
 scornfully. " Come, let's get on." 
 
 It was a boy's trick a very boy's trick. Save that 
 I set down everything I would not tell it. I put my 
 hands to my mouth and bellowed, 
 
 " // vient ! "
 
 36 Simon Dale* 
 
 An oath broke from Fontelles. I darted into the 
 middle of the road, and for a moment stood there, 
 laughing again. He had wheeled his horse round, but 
 did not advance towards me. I take it that he was 
 amazed, or, it may be, searching a bewildered memory. 
 
 " // vient ! " I cried again in my folly, and, turning, 
 ran down the road at my best speed, laughing still. 
 Fontelles made no effort to follow me, yet on I ran, till 
 I came to my mother's house. Stopping there, panting 
 and breathless, I cried in the exuberance of triumph, 
 
 " Now she'll have need of me ! " 
 
 Certainly the thing the Vicar spoke of is a distem- 
 per. Whether divine or of what origin, I will not 
 have judged by that night's prank of mine. 
 
 " They'll do very well together at the inn," I laughed, 
 as I flung myself on my bed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 The Device of Lord Carford. 
 
 IT is not my desire to assail, nor is it my part to 
 defend, the reputation of the great. There is no such 
 purpose in anything that I have written here. History 
 is their judge, and our own weakness their advocate. 
 Some said, and many believed, that Madame brought 
 the young French lady in her train to Dover with the 
 intention that the thing should happen which hap- 
 pened. I had rather hold, if it be possible to hold, 
 that a Princess so gracious and so unfortunate meant 
 innocently, and was cajoled or overborne by the per- 
 suasions of her kinsmen, and perhaps by some specious 
 pretext of State policy. In like manner I am reluc- 
 tant to think that she planned harm for Mistress Bar- 
 bara, towards whom she had a true affection, and I 
 will read in an honest sense, if I can, the letter which 
 M. de Fontelles brought with him to Hatchstead. In 
 it Madame touched with a light discretion on what 
 had passed, deplored with pretty gravity the wayward- 
 ness of men and her own simplicity, which made her 
 a prey to their devices and rendered her less useful to 
 her friends than she desired to be. Yet now she was 
 warned, her eyes were open, she would guard her own 
 honour and that of any who would trust to her. Nay, 
 he himself, M. de Perrencourt, was penitent (even as 
 was the Duke of Monmouth !), and had sworn to 
 trouble her and her friends no more. Would not then 
 her sweet Mistress Barbara, with whom (she vowed) 
 she had fallen so mightily in love, come back to her
 
 3S Simon Dale* 
 
 and go with her to France, and be with her until the 
 Duchess of York came, and, in good truth, as much 
 longer as Barbara would linger, and Barbara's father 
 in his kindness suffer. So ran the letter, and it seemed 
 an honest letter. But I do not know ; and if it were 
 honest, yet who dared trust to it ? Grant Madame 
 the best of will, where lay her power to resist M. de 
 Perrencourt? But M. de Perrencourt was penitent. 
 Aye, his penitence was for having let her go, and 
 would last until she should be in his power again. 
 
 Let the intent of the letter he carried be what it 
 might, M. de Fontelles, a gentleman of courage and 
 high honour, believed his errand honest. He had not 
 been at Dover, and knew nothing of what had passed 
 there ; if he were an instrument in wicked schemes, 
 he did not know the mind of those who employed 
 him. He came openly to Hatchstead on an honour- 
 able mission, as he conceived, and bearing an invita- 
 tion which should give great gratification to the lady 
 to whom it was addressed. Madame did Mistress 
 Quinton the high compliment of desiring her company, 
 and would doubtless recompense her well for the ser- 
 vice she asked. Fontelles saw no more and asked no 
 more. In perfect confidence and honesty he set about 
 his task, not imagining that he had been sent on an 
 errand with which any man could reproach him, or 
 with a purpose that gave any the right of questioning 
 his actions. Nor did my cry of " // vient " change 
 this mood in him. When he collected his thoughts 
 and recalled the incident in which those words had 
 played a part before, he saw in them the challenge of 
 some one who had perhaps penetrated a State secret, 
 and was ill-affected towards the King and the King's 
 policy ; but, being unaware of any connexion between 
 Mistress Barbara and M. de Perrencourt, he did not 
 associate the silly cry with the object of his present 
 mission. So also, on hearing that a gentleman was at
 
 The Device of Lord Carford. . 309 
 
 the inn (Carford had not given his name) and had 
 visited the Manor, he was in no way disquieted, but 
 ready enough to meet any number of gentlemen with- 
 out fearing their company or their scrutiny. 
 
 Gaily and courteously he presented himself to Bar- 
 bara. Her mother lay still in bed, and she received 
 him alone in the room looking out on the terrace. 
 With a low bow and words of deference he declared 
 his errand, and delivered to her the letter he bore 
 from Madame, making bold to add his own hopes 
 that Mistress Quinton would not send him back un- 
 successful, but let him win the praise of a trustworthy 
 messenger. Then he twirled his moustaches, smiled 
 gallantly, and waited with all composure while she 
 read the letter. Indeed he deserves some pity, for 
 women are not wont to spend much time on reason- 
 ing in such a case. When a man comes on a business 
 which they suspect to be evil, they make no ado 
 about holding him a party to it, and that without in- 
 quiring whether he knows the thing to which he is 
 setting his hand. 
 
 Barbara read her letter through once and a second 
 time ; then, without a word to Fontelles, aye, not so 
 much as bidding him be seated, she called a servant, 
 and sent him to the inn to summon Carford to her. 
 She spoke low and the Frenchman did not hear. 
 When they were again alone together, Barbara walked 
 to the window, and stood there looking out. Fon- 
 telles, growing puzzled and ill at ease, waited some 
 moments before he ventured to address her ; her air 
 was not such as to encourage him ; her cheek was 
 reddened, and her eyes were indignant. Yet at last 
 he plucked up his courage. 
 
 " I trust, madame," said he, " that I may cany the 
 fairest of answers back with me ? " 
 
 " What answer is that, sir?" she asked, half-turning 
 to him with a scornful glance.
 
 Simon Dale. 
 
 "Yourself, madame, if you will so honour me," he 
 answered, bowing. " Your coming would be the an- 
 swer best pleasing to Madame, and the best fulfilment 
 of my errand." 
 
 She looked at him coolly for a moment or two, and 
 then said, 
 
 " I have sent for a gentleman who will advise me on 
 my answer." 
 
 M. de Fontelles raised his brows, and replied some- 
 what stiffly, 
 
 "You are free, madame, to consult whom you will, 
 although I had hoped that the matter needed but 
 little consideration." 
 
 She turned full on him in a fury. 
 
 "I thank you for your judgment of me, sir," she 
 cried. " Or is it that you think me a fool to be 
 blinded by this letter ? " 
 
 " Before heaven " began the puzzled gentleman. 
 
 " I know, sir, in what esteem a woman's honour is 
 held in your country, and at your King's Court." 
 
 " In as high, madame, as in your country, and at 
 your Court." 
 
 " Yes, that's true. God help me, that's true ! But 
 we are not at Court now, sir. Hasn't it crossed your 
 mind that such an errand as yours may be dangerous? " 
 
 " I had not thought it," said he, with a smile and a 
 shrug. " But, pardon me, I do not fear the danger." 
 
 "Neither danger nor disgrace?" she sneered. 
 
 Fontelles flushed. 
 
 " A lady, madame, may say what she pleases," he 
 remarked, with a bow. 
 
 " Oh, enough of pretences," she cried. " Shall we 
 speak openly? " 
 
 " With all my heart, madame," said he, lost be- 
 tween anger and bewilderment. 
 
 For a moment it seemed as though she would speak, 
 but the shame of open speech was too great for her.
 
 The Device of Lord Carf ord* * 311 
 
 In his ignorance and wonder he could do nothing to 
 aid her. 
 
 " I won't speak of it," she cried. " It's a man's part 
 to tell you the truth, and to ask account from you. I 
 won't soil my lips with it." 
 
 Fontelles took a step towards her, seeking how he 
 could assuage a fury that he did not understand. 
 
 " As God lives " he began, gravely. Barbara 
 
 would not give him opportunity. 
 
 "I pray you," she cried, " stand aside and allow me 
 to pass. I will not stay longer with you. Let me 
 pass to the door, sir. I'll send a gentleman to speak 
 with you." 
 
 Fontelles, deeply offended, utterly at a loss, flung 
 the door open for her and stood aside to let her pass. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " it must be that you mis- 
 apprehend." 
 
 " Misapprehend ? Yes, or apprehend too clearly ! " 
 
 " As I am a gentleman " 
 
 " I do not grant it, sir," she interrupted. 
 
 He was silent then ; bowing again, he drew a pace 
 further back. She stood for a moment, looking scorn- 
 fully at him. Then with a curtsey she bade him fare- 
 well and passed out, leaving him in as sad a condition 
 as ever woman's way left man since the world began. 
 
 Now for reasons that have been set out Carford re- 
 ceived his summons with small pleasure, and obeyed 
 it so leisurely that M. de Fontelles had more time 
 than enough in which to rack his brains for the mean- 
 ing of Mistress Barbara's taunts. Yet he came no 
 nearer the truth, and was reduced to staring idly out 
 of window, till the gentleman who was to make the 
 matter plain should arrive. Thus he saw Carford 
 coming up to the house on foot, slowly and heavily, 
 with a gloomy face and a nervous air. Fontelles 
 uttered an exclamation of joy ; he had known Carford, 
 and a friend's aid would put him right with this hasty
 
 312 Simon Dale, 
 
 damsel who denied him even the chance of self-de- 
 fence. He was aware also that, in spite of his out- 
 ward devotion to the Duke of Monmouth, Carford 
 was in reality of the French party. So he was about 
 to run out and welcome him, when his steps were 
 stayed by the sight of Mistress Barbara herself, who 
 flew to meet the new-comer with every sign of eager- 
 ness. Carford saluted her, and the pair entered into 
 conversation on the terrace, Fontelles watching them 
 from the window. To his fresh amazement the inter- 
 view seemed hardly less fierce than his own had been. 
 The lady appeared to press some course on her adviser, 
 which the adviser was loth to take ; she insisted, grow- 
 ing angry in manner ; he, having fenced for awhile and 
 protested, sullenly gave way ; he bowed acquiescence 
 while his demeanour asserted disapproval, she made 
 nothing of his disapproval and received his acquies- 
 cence with a scorn little disguised. Carford passed on 
 to the house ; Barbara did not follow him, but, flinging 
 herself on a marble seat, covered her face with her 
 hands and remained there in an attitude which spoke 
 of deep agitation and misery. 
 
 " By my faith," cried honest M. de Fontelles, " this 
 matter is altogether past understanding! " 
 
 A moment later Carford entered the room and 
 greeted him with great civility. M. de Fontelles lost 
 no time in coming to the question ; his grievance 
 was strong and bitter, and he poured out his heart 
 without reserve. Carford listened, saying little, but 
 being very attentive and keeping his shrewd eyes on 
 the other's face. Indignation carried Fontelles back 
 and forwards along the length of the room in restless 
 paces ; Carford sat in a chair, quiet and wary, drinking 
 in all that the angry gentleman said. My Lord Carford 
 was not one who believed hastily in the honour and 
 honesty of his fellow-men, nor was he prone to expect 
 a simple heart rather than a long head ; but soon he
 
 The Device of Lord Carford. 313 
 
 perceived that the Frenchman was in very truth 
 ignorant of what lay behind his mission and that Bar- 
 bara's usage of him caused genuine and not assumed 
 offence. The revelation set my lord a-thinking. 
 
 " And she sends for you to advise her?" cried Fon- 
 telles. " That, my friend, is good ; you can advise 
 her but in one fashion." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Carford, feeling his way. 
 
 " It is because you don't know all. I have spoken 
 gently to her, seeking to win her by persuasion. But 
 to you I may speak plainly, I have direct orders 
 from the King to bring her and to surfer no man to 
 stop me. Indeed, my dear lord, there is no choice 
 open to you. You wouldn't resist the King's com- 
 mand?" 
 
 Yet Barbara demanded that he should resist even 
 the King's command. Carford said nothing, and the 
 impetuous Frenchman ran on, 
 
 " Nay, it would be the highest offence to myself to 
 hinder me. Indeed, my lord, all my regard for you 
 could not make me suffer it. I don't know what this 
 lady has against me, nor who has set this nonsense in 
 her head. It cannot be you ! You don't doubt my 
 honour? You don't taunt me when I call myself a 
 gentleman? " 
 
 He came to a pause before Carford, expecting an 
 answer to his hot questions. He saw offence in the 
 mere fact that Carford was still silent. 
 
 " Come, my lord," he cried, " I do not take pleasure 
 in seeing you think so long. Isn't your answer easy ? " 
 He assumed an air of challenge. 
 
 Carford was, I have no doubt, most plagued and 
 perplexed. He could have dealt better with a knave 
 than with this fiery gentleman. Barbara had de- 
 manded of him that he should resist even the King's 
 command. He might escape that perilous obligation 
 by convincing Fontelles himself that he was a tool
 
 3H Simon Dale* 
 
 in hands less honourable than his own ; then the 
 Frenchman would in all likelihood abandon his enter- 
 prise. But with him would go Carford's hold on Bar- 
 bara and his best prospect of winning her ; for in her 
 trouble lay his chance. If on the other hand he quar- 
 relled openly with Fontelles, he must face the con- 
 sequences he feared or incur Barbara's unmeasured 
 scorn. He could not solve the puzzle_and determined 
 to seek a respite. 
 
 " I do not doubt your honour, sir," he said. Fon- 
 telles bowed gravely. " But there is more in this 
 matter than you know. I must beg a few hours for 
 consideration and then I will tell you all openly." 
 
 " My orders will not endure much delay." 
 
 " You can't take the lady by force." 
 
 " I count on the aid of my friends and the King's to 
 persuade her to accompany me willingly." 
 
 I do not know whether the words brought the idea 
 suddenly and as if with a flash into Carford's head. 
 It may have been there dim and vague before, but 
 now it was clear. He paused on his way to the door, 
 and turned back with brightened eyes. He gave a 
 careless laugh, saying, 
 
 " My dear Fontelles, you have more than me to 
 reckon with before you take her away." 
 
 " What do you mean, my lord ? " 
 
 " Why, men in love are hard to reason with, and 
 with fools in love there is no reasoning at all. Come, 
 I'm your friend, although there is for the moment a 
 difficulty that keeps us apart. Do you chance to re- 
 member our meeting at Canterbury?" 
 
 " Why, very well." 
 
 " And a young fellow who talked French to you? " 
 Carford laughed again. " He disturbed you mightily 
 by calling out " 
 
 " ' // vient ! ' " cried Fontelles, all on the alert. 
 
 "Precisely. Well, he may disturb you again."
 
 The Device of Lord Carford. 3 1 5 
 
 " By heaven, then he's here ? " 
 
 " Why, yes." 
 
 " I met him last night ! He cried those \vords to 
 me again. The insolent rascal! I'll make him pay 
 for it." 
 
 " In truth you have a reckoning to settle with him." 
 
 " But how does he come into this matter? " 
 
 " Insolent still, he is a suitor for Mistress Ouinton's 
 hand." 
 
 Fontelles gave a scornful shrug of his shoulders ; 
 Carford, smiling and more at ease, watched him. The 
 idea promised well ; it would be a stroke indeed could 
 the quarrel be shifted on to my shoulders, and M. de 
 Fontelles and I set by the ears ; whatever the issue 
 of that difference, Carford stood to win by it. And I, 
 not he, would be the man to resist the King's com- 
 mand. 
 
 " But how comes he here?" cried Fontelles. 
 
 " The fellow was born here. He is an old neighbour 
 of Mistress Quinton." 
 
 " Dangerous then ? " 
 
 It was Carford's turn to shrug his shoulders, as he 
 said, 
 
 " Fools are always dangerous. Well, I'll leave you. 
 I want to think. Only remember ; if you please to 
 be on your guard against me, why, be more on your 
 guard against Simon Dale." 
 
 "He dares not stop me. Nay, why should he? 
 What I propose is for the lady's advantage." 
 
 Carford saw the quarrel he desired fairly in the 
 making. M. de Fontelles was honest, M. de Fon- 
 telles was hot-tempered, M. de Fontelles would be 
 told that he was a rogue. To Carford this seemed 
 enough. 
 
 " You would do yourself good if you convinced him 
 of that," he answered. " For though she would not, 
 I think, become his wife, he has the influence of long
 
 316 Simon Dale* 
 
 acquaintance, and might use it against you. But per- 
 haps you're too angry with him? " 
 
 " My duty comes before my quarrel," said Fon- 
 telles. " I will seek this gentleman." 
 
 " As you will. I think you're wise. They will 
 know at the inn where to find him." 
 
 " I will see him at once," cried Fontelles. " I have, 
 it seems, two matters to settle with this gentleman." 
 
 Carford, concealing his exultation, bade M. de Fon- 
 telles do as seemed best to him. Fontelles, declaring 
 again that the success of his mission was nearest his 
 heart, but in truth eager to rebuke or chasten my 
 mocking disrespect, rushed from the room. Carford 
 followed more leisurely. He had at least time for 
 consideration now ; and there were the chances of this 
 quarrel all on his side. 
 
 "Will you come with me?" asked Fontelles. 
 
 " Nay, it's no affair of mine. But if you need me 
 later " He nodded. If it came to a meeting, his 
 services were ready. 
 
 " I thank you, my lord," said the Frenchman, un- 
 derstanding his offer. 
 
 They were now at the door, and stepped out on the 
 terrace. Barbara, hearing their tread, looked up. 
 She detected the eagerness in M. de Fontelles' man- 
 ner. He went up to her at once. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " I am forced to leave you for 
 a while, but I shall soon return. May I pray you to 
 greet me more kindly when I return ? " 
 
 " In frankness, sir, I should be best pleased if you 
 did not return," she said, coldly ; then, turning to Car- 
 ford, she looked inquiringly at him. She conceived 
 that he had done her bidding, and thought that the 
 gentlemen concealed their quarrel from her. "You go 
 with M. de Fontelles, my lord ?" she asked. 
 
 " With your permission, I remain here," he an- 
 swered.
 
 The Device of Lord Carford* 317 
 
 She was vexed, and rose to her feet as she cried, 
 
 " Then where is M. de Fontelles going? " 
 
 Fontelles took the reply for himself. 
 
 " I am going to seek a gentleman with whom I have 
 business," said he. 
 
 " You have none with my Lord Carford ? " 
 
 " What I have with him will wait." 
 
 " He desires it should wait ? " she asked, in a quick 
 tone. 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " I'd have sworn it," said Barbara Quinton. 
 
 "But with Mr. Simon Dale " 
 
 " With Simon Dale? W ; hat concern have you with 
 Simon Dale? " 
 
 "He has mocked me twice, and I believe hinders 
 me now," returned Fontelles, his hot temper rising 
 again. 
 
 Barbara clasped her hands, and cried triumphantly, 
 
 "Go to him, go to him. Heaven is good to me! 
 Go to Simon Dale." 
 
 The amazed eyes of Fontelles and the sullen en- 
 raged glance of Carford recalled her to wariness. Yet 
 the avowal (Oh, that it had pleased God I should hear 
 it!) must have its price and its penalty. A burning 
 flush spread over her face and even to the border of the 
 gown on her neck. But she was proud in her shame 
 and her eyes met theirs in a level gaze. 
 
 To Fontelles her bearing and the betrayal of her- 
 self brought fresh and strong confirmation of Carford's 
 warning. But he was a gentleman and would not 
 look at her when her blushes implored the absence of 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I go to seek Mr. Dale," said he gravely, and with- 
 out more words turned on his heel. 
 
 In a sudden impulse, perhaps a sudden doubt of 
 her judgment of him, Barbara darted after him. 
 
 " For what purpose do you seek him ?"
 
 318 Simon Dale* 
 
 " Madame," he answered, " I cannot tell you." 
 
 She looked for a moment keenly in his face; her 
 breath came quick and fast, the hue of her cheek 
 flashed from red to white. 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said she, drawing herself up, " will not 
 fear to meet you." 
 
 Again Fontelles bowed, turned, and was gone, swiftly 
 and eagerly striding down the avenue, bent on find- 
 ing me. 
 
 Barbara was left alone with Carford. His heavy 
 frown and surly eyes accused her. She had no mind 
 to take the part of the guilty. 
 
 "Well, my lord," she said, "have you told this 
 M. de Fontelles what honest folk would think of him 
 and his errand? " 
 
 " I believe him to be honest," answered Carford. 
 
 "You live the quieter for your belief!" she cried, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " I live the less quiet for what I have seen just 
 now," he retorted. 
 
 There was a silence. Barbara stood with heaving 
 breast, he opposite to her, still and sullen. She looked 
 long at him, but at last seemed not to see him ; then 
 she spoke in soft tones, not as though to him, but 
 rather in an answer to her own heart, whose cry could 
 go no more unheeded. Her eyes grew soft and veiled 
 in a mist of tears that did not fall. (So I see it she 
 told me no more than that she was near crying). 
 
 " I couldn't send for him," she murmured. " I 
 wouldn't send for him. But now he will come, yes, 
 he'll come now." 
 
 Carford, driven half-mad by an outburst which his 
 own device had caused, moved by whatever of true 
 love he had for her, and by his great rage and jealousy 
 against me, fairly ran at her and caught her by the 
 wrist. 
 
 "Why do you talk of him? Do you love him?" 
 he said, from between clenched teeth.
 
 The Device of Lord Carford, 319 
 
 She looked at him, half-angry, half-wondering. 
 Then she said, 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Nell Gwyn's lover ? " said Carford. 
 
 Her cheek flushed again, and a sob caught her voice 
 as it came. 
 
 " Yes," said she. " Nell Gwyn's lover." 
 
 " You love him ?" 
 
 "Always, always, always." Then she drew herself 
 near to him in a sudden terror. " Not a word, not a 
 word," she cried. " I don't know what you are, I 
 don't trust you ; forgive me, forgive me ; but what- 
 ever you are, for pity's sake, ah, my dear lord, for 
 pity's sake, don't tell him. Not a word." 
 
 " I will not speak of it to M. de Fontelles," said 
 Carford. 
 
 An amazed glance was followed by a laugh that 
 seemed half a sob. 
 
 " M. de Fontelles ! M. de Fontelles ! No, no, but 
 don't tell Simon." 
 
 Carford's lips bent in a forced smile uglier than a 
 scowl. 
 
 " You love this fellow? " 
 
 " You have heard." 
 
 " And he loves you ? " 
 
 The sneer was bitter and strong. In it seemed now 
 to lie Carford's only hope. Barbara met his glance 
 an instant, and her answer to him was, 
 
 " Go, go." 
 
 " He loves you ?" 
 
 " Leave me. I beg you to leave me. Ah, God, 
 won't you leave me? " 
 
 " He loves you ? " 
 
 Her face went white. For awhile she said nothing ; 
 then in a calm quiet voice, whence all life and feeling, 
 almost all intelligence, seemed to have gone, she an- 
 swered, 
 
 " I think not, my lord."
 
 3 2 Simon Dale. 
 
 He laughed. " Leave me," she said again, and he, 
 in grace of what manhood there was in him, turned on 
 his heel and went. She stood alone, there on the ter- 
 race. 
 
 Ah, if God had let me be there ! Then she 
 should not have stood desolate nor flung herself again 
 on the marble seat. Then she should not have wept as 
 though her heart broke, and all the world were empty. 
 If I had been there, not the cold marble should have 
 held her, and for every sweetest tear there should have 
 been a sweeter kiss. Grief should have been drowned 
 in joy, while love leapt to love in the fulness of 
 delight. Alas for pride, breeder of misery ! Not life 
 itself is so long as to give atonement to her for that 
 hour ; though she has said that one moment, a certain 
 moment, was enough.
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 A Pleasant Penitence* 
 
 THERE was this great comfort in the Vicar's society 
 that, having once and for all stated the irrefutable 
 proposition which I have recorded, he let the matter 
 alone. Nothing was further from his thoughts than 
 to argue on it, unless it might be to take any action 
 in regard to it. To say the truth, and I mean no un- 
 kindness to him in saying it, the affair did not greatly 
 engage his thoughts. Had Betty Nasroth dealt with 
 it, the case would doubtless have been altered, and 
 he would have followed its fortune with a zest as keen 
 as that he had bestowed on my earlier unhappy pas- 
 sion. But the prophecy had stopped short, and all 
 that was of moment for the Vicar in my career, 
 whether in love, war, or State, was finished ; I had 
 done and undergone what fate declared and demanded, 
 and must now live in gentle resignation. Indeed I 
 think that in his inmost heart he wondered a little 
 to find me living on at all. This attitude was very 
 well for him, and I found some amusement in it even 
 while I chafed at his composed acquiescence in my 
 misfortunes. But at times I grew impatient, and 
 would fling myself out of the house, crying, " Plague 
 on it, is this old crone not only to drive me into folly, 
 but to forbid me a return to wisdom ? " 
 
 In such a mood I had left him, to wander by myself 
 about the lanes, while he sat under the porch of his 
 house with a great volume open on his knees. The
 
 322 Simon Dale* 
 
 book treated of Vaticination in all its branches, and 
 the Vicar read diligently, being so absorbed in his 
 study that he did not heed the approach of feet, and 
 looked up at last with a start. M. de Fontelles stood 
 there, sent on from the inn to the parsonage in the 
 progress of his search for me. 
 
 " I am called Georges de Fontelles, sir," he be- 
 gan. 
 
 " I am the Vicar of this parish, at your service, sir," 
 returned the Vicar, courteously. 
 
 " I serve the King of France, but have at this time 
 the honour of being employed by his Majesty the King 
 of England." 
 
 " I trust, sir," observed the Vicar, mildly, " that the 
 employment is an honour. 
 
 " Your loyalty should tell you so much." 
 
 "We are commanded to honour the King, but I 
 read nowhere that we must honour all that the King 
 does." 
 
 " Such distinctions, sir, lead to disaffection, and 
 even to rebellion," said Fontelles, severely. 
 
 " I am very glad of it," remarked the Vicar, com- 
 placently. 
 
 I had told my old friend nothing of what concerned 
 Barbara ; the secret was not mine ; therefore he had 
 nothing against M. de Fontelles; yet it seemed as 
 though a good quarrel could be found on the score of 
 general principles. It is strange how many men give 
 their heads for them and how few can give a reason ; 
 but God provides every man with a head, and since 
 the stock of brains will not supply all we draw lots for 
 a share in it. Yes, a pretty quarrel promised ; but a 
 moment later, Fontelles, seeing no prospect of sport 
 in falling out with an old man of sacred profession, 
 and amused, in spite of his principles, by the Vicar's 
 whimsical talk, chose to laugh rather than to storm, 
 and said with a chuckle,
 
 A Pleasant Penitence* 323 
 
 " Well, kings are like other men." 
 
 " Very like," agreed the Vicar. " In what can I 
 serve you, sir ?" 
 
 " I seek Mr. Simon Dale," answered Fontelles. 
 
 "Ah, Simon! Poor Simon! What would you 
 with the lad, sir? " 
 
 "I will tell that to him. Why do you call him 
 poor?" 
 
 " He has been deluded by a high-sounding prophecy, 
 and it has come to little." The Vicar shook his head 
 in gentle regret. 
 
 "He is no worse off, sir, than a man who marries," 
 said Fontelles, with a smile. 
 
 " Nor, it may be, than one who is born," said the 
 Vicar, sighing. 
 
 " Nor even than one who dies," hazarded the French- 
 man. 
 
 " Sir, sir, let us not be irreligious," implored the 
 Vicar, smiling. 
 
 The quarrel was most certainly over. Fontelles sat 
 down by the Vicar's side. 
 
 " Yet, sir," said he, " God made the world." 
 
 " It is full as good a world as we deserve," said the 
 Vicar. 
 
 " He might well have made us better, sir." 
 
 " There are very few of us who truly wish it," the 
 Vicar replied. "A man hugs his sin." 
 
 "The embrace, sir, is often delightful." 
 
 " I must not understand you," said the Vicar. 
 
 Fontelles' business was proceeding but slowly. A 
 man on an errand should not allow himself to talk 
 about the universe. But he was recalled to his task a 
 moment later by the sight of my figure a quarter-of-a- 
 mile away along the road. With an eager exclama- 
 tion he pointed his finger at me, lifted his hat to the 
 Vicar, and rushed off in pursuit. The Vicar, who had 
 not taken his thumb from his page, opened his book
 
 3 2 4 Simon Dale* 
 
 again, observing to himself, "A gentleman of some 
 parts, I think." 
 
 His quarrel with the Vicar had evaporated in the 
 mists of speculation ; Fontelles had no mind to lose 
 his complaint against me in any such manner, but he 
 was a man of ceremony and must needs begin again 
 with me much as he had with the Vicar. Thus ob- 
 taining my opportunity, I cut across his preface, say- 
 ing brusquely, 
 
 " Well, I am glad that it is the King's employment 
 and not M. de Perrencourt's." 
 
 He flushed red. 
 
 "We know what we know, sir," said he. "If you 
 have anything to say against M. de Perrencourt, con- 
 sider me as his friend. Did you cry out to me as I 
 rode last night ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, and I was a fool there. As for M. de 
 Perrencourt " 
 
 " If you speak of him, speak with respect, sir. You 
 know of whom you speak." 
 
 " Very well. Yet I have held a pistol to his head," 
 said I, not, I confess, without natural pride. 
 
 Fontelles started, then laughed scornfully. 
 
 "When he, and Mistress Quinton, and I, were in a 
 boat together," I pursued. " The quarrel then was 
 which of us should escort the lady, he or I, and 
 whether to Calais or to England. And although I 
 should have been her husband had we gone to Calais, 
 yet I brought her here." 
 
 " You're pleased to talk in riddles." 
 
 " They're no harder to understand than your errand 
 is to me, sir," I retorted. 
 
 He mastered his anger with a strong effort, and in 
 a few words told me his errand, adding that by Car- 
 ford's advice he came to me. 
 
 " For I am told, sir, that you have some power with 
 the lady."
 
 A Pleasant Penitence. 325 
 
 I looked full and intently in his face. He met my 
 gaze unflinchingly. There was a green bank by the 
 roadside ; I seated myself ; he would not sit, but 
 stood opposite to me. 
 
 " I will tell you, sir, the nature of the errand on 
 which you come,'' said I, and started on the task with 
 all the plainness of language that the matter required 
 and my temper enjoyed. 
 
 He heard me without a word, with hardly a move- 
 ment of his body ; his eyes never left mine all the 
 while I was speaking. I think there was a sympathy 
 between us, so that soon I knew that he was honest, 
 while he did not doubt my truth. His face grew 
 hard and stern as he listened ; he perceived now the 
 part he had been sent to play. He asked me but one 
 question when I had ended, 
 
 "My Lord Carford knew all this?" 
 
 " Yes, all of it," said I. " He was privy to all that 
 passed." 
 
 Engaged in talk, we had not noticed the Vicar's ap- 
 proach. He was at my elbow before I saw him ; the 
 large book was under his arm. Fontelles turned to 
 him with a bow. 
 
 " Sir," said he, "you were right just now." 
 
 "Concerning the prophecy, sir?" 
 
 " No, concerning the employment of kings," an- 
 swered M. de Fontelles. Then he said to me, " We 
 will meet again, before I take leave of your village." 
 With this he set off at a round pace down the road. I 
 did not doubt that he went to seek Mistress Barbara, 
 and ask her pardon. I let him go ; he would not hurt 
 her now. I rose myself from the green bank, for I 
 also had work to do. 
 
 " Will you walk with me, Simon ? " asked the Vicar. 
 
 "Your pardon, sir, but I am occupied." 
 
 "Will it not wait?" 
 
 " I do not desire that it should."
 
 326 Simon Dale* 
 
 For now that Fontelles was out of the way, Carford 
 alone remained. Barbara had not sent for me, but 
 still I served her, and to some profit. 
 
 It was now afternoon and I set out at once on my 
 way to the Manor. I did not know what had passed 
 between Barbara and Carford, nor how his passion had 
 been stirred by her avowal of love for me, but I con- 
 jectured that on learning how his plan of embroiling 
 me with Fontelles had failed, he would lose no time 
 in making another effort. 
 
 Fontelles must have walked briskly, for I, although 
 I did not loiter on the road, never came in sight of 
 him, and the long avenue was empty when I passed 
 the gates. It is strange that it did not occur to my 
 mind that the clue to the Frenchman's haste was to 
 be found in his last question ; no doubt he would make 
 his excuses to Mistress Quinton in good time, but it 
 was not that intention which lent his feet wings. His 
 errand was the same as my own ; he sought Carford, 
 not Barbara, even as I. He found what he sought, I 
 what I did not seek, but what, once found, I could not 
 pass by. 
 
 She was walking near the avenue, but on the grass 
 behind the trees. I caught a glimpse of her gown 
 through the leaves and my quick steps were stayed as 
 though by one of the potent spells that the Vicar 
 loved to read about. For a moment or two I stood 
 there motionless ; then I turned and walked slowly 
 towards her. She saw me a few yards off and it 
 seemed as though she would fly. But in the end she 
 faced me proudly ; her eyes were very sad and I 
 thought that she had been weeping ; as I approached 
 she thrust something it looked like a letter into the 
 bosom of her gown, as if in terror lest I should see it. 
 I made her a low bow. 
 
 " I trust, madame," said I, "that my lady mends ? " 
 
 " I thank you, yes, although slowly."
 
 A Pleasant Penitence. 327 
 
 "And that you have taken no harm from your jour- 
 ney ? " 
 
 " I thank you, none." 
 
 It was strange, but there seemed no other topic in 
 earth or heaven ; for I looked first at earth and then 
 at heaven, and in neither place found any. 
 
 " I am seeking my Lord Carford," I said, at last. 
 
 I knew my error as soon as I had spoken. She 
 would bid me seek Carford without delay and protest 
 that the last thing in her mind was to detain me. I 
 cursed myself for an awkward fool. But to my amaze- 
 ment she did nothing of what I looked for, but cried 
 out in great agitation, and, as it seemed, fear, 
 
 "You mustn't see Lord Carford." 
 
 " Why not ? " I asked. " He won't hurt me. Or at 
 least lie should not, if my sword could stop his." 
 
 " It is not that. It is it is not that," she murmured, 
 and flushed red. 
 
 " Well then, I will seek him." 
 
 " No, no, no," cried Barbara, in a passion that fear 
 surely it was that and nothing else made imperious. 
 I could not understand her, for I knew nothing of the 
 confession which she had made, but would not for 
 the world should reach my ears. Yet it was not very 
 likely that Carford would tell me, unless his rage 
 carried him away. 
 
 " You are not so kind as to shield me from Lord 
 Carford's wrath?" I asked, rather scornfully. 
 
 " No," she said, persistently refusing t'o meet my 
 eyes. 
 
 " What is he doing here ? " I asked. 
 
 " He desires to conduct me to my father." 
 
 " My God, you won't go with him ? " 
 
 For the fraction of a moment her dark eyes met 
 mine, then turned away in confusion. 
 
 " I mean," said I, " is it wise to go with him ?" 
 
 " Of course you meant that," murmured Barbara.
 
 328 Simon Dale. 
 
 " M. de Fontelles will trouble you no more," I 
 remarked, in a tone as calm as though I stated the 
 price of wheat ; indeed much calmer than such a vital 
 matter was wont to command at our village inn. 
 
 "What?" she cried. " He will not ?" 
 
 " He didn't know the truth. I have told him. He 
 is an honourable gentleman." 
 
 "You've done that also, Simon?" She came a 
 step nearer me. 
 
 " It was nothing to do," said I. Barbara fell back 
 again. 
 
 " Yet I am obliged to you," said she. I bowed with 
 careful courtesy. 
 
 Why tell these silly things? Everyman has such 
 in his life. Yet each counts his own memory a rare 
 treasure, and it will not be denied utterance. 
 
 " I had best seek my Lord Carford," said I, more for 
 lack of another thing to say than because there was 
 need to say that. 
 
 " I pray you " cried Barbara, again in a marked agi- 
 tation. 
 
 It was a fair soft evening; a breeze stirred the tree- 
 tops, and I could scarce tell when the wind whispered 
 and when Barbara spoke, so like were the caressing 
 sounds. She was very different from the lady of our 
 journey, yet like to her who had for a moment spoken 
 to me from her chamber-door at Canterbury. 
 
 "You haven't sent for me," I said, in a low voice. 
 " I suppose "you have no need of me? " 
 
 She made me no answer. 
 
 " Why did you fling my guinea in the sea? " I said, 
 and paused. 
 
 " Why did you use me so on the way ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why haven't you sent for me ? " I whispered. 
 
 She seemed to have no answer for any of these 
 questions. There was nothing in her eyes now save 
 the desire of escape. Yet she did not dismiss me,
 
 A Pleasant Penitence* 329 
 
 and without dismissal I would not go. I had for- 
 gotten Carford and the angry Frenchman, my quarrel 
 and her peril ; the questions I had put to her summed 
 up all life now held. 
 
 Suddenly she put her hand to her bosom and drew 
 out that same piece of paper which I had seen her 
 hide there. Before my eyes she read, or seemed to 
 read, something that was in it ; then she shut her 
 hand on it. In a moment I was by her, very close ; 
 I looked full in her eyes and they fled behind cover- 
 ing lids; the little hand, tightly clenched, hung by 
 her side. What had I to lose? Was I not already 
 banned for forwardness? I would be forward still 
 and justify the sentence by an after crime. I took 
 the hanging hand in both of mine. She started, and 
 I loosed it, but no rebuke came and she did not fly. 
 The far-off stir of coming victory moved in my blood ; 
 not yet to win, but now to know that win you will 
 sends through a man an exultation, more sweet be- 
 cause it is still timid. I watched her face it was 
 very pale and again took her hand. The lids of her 
 eyes rose now an instant, and disclosed entreaty. I 
 was ruthless; our hearts are strange, and cruelty or 
 the desire of mastery mingled with love in my tight- 
 ened grasp. One by one I bent her fingers back ; the 
 crushed paper lay in a palm that was streaked to red 
 and white. With one hand still I held hers, with the 
 other I spread out the paper. " You mustn't read it," 
 she murmured. "Oh, you mustn't read it." I paid no 
 heed but held it up. A low exclamation of wonder 
 broke from me. The scrawl that I had seen at Canter- 
 bury now met me again, plain and unmistakable in its 
 laborious awkwardness. "In pay for your dagger" it 
 had said before. Were five words the bounds of 
 Nell's accomplishment ? She had written no more 
 now. Yet before she had seemed to say much in that 
 narrow limit ; and much she said now.
 
 33 Simon Dale* 
 
 There was long silence between us ; my eyes were 
 intent on her veiled eyes. 
 
 "You needed this to tell you?" I said, at last. 
 
 "You loved her, Simon." 
 
 I would not allow the plea. Shall not a thing that 
 has become out of all reason to a man's own self, 
 thereby blazon its absurdity to the whole world? 
 
 " So long ago ! " I cried, scornfully. 
 
 " Nay, not so long ago," she murmured, with a note 
 of resentment in her voice. 
 
 Even then we might have fallen out ; we were in an 
 ace of it, for I most^ brutally put this question, 
 
 " You waited here for me to pass ? " 
 
 I would have given my ears not to have said it ; 
 what availed that ? A thing said is a thing done, and 
 stands forever amid the irrevocable. For an instant 
 her eyes rlashed in anger ; then she flushed suddenly, 
 her lips trembled, her eyes grew dim, yet through the 
 dimness mirth peeped out. 
 
 " I dared not hope you'd pass, Simon," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 " I am the greatest villain in the world ! " I cried. 
 " Barbara, you had no thought that I should pass ! " 
 
 Again came silence. Then I spoke, and softly, 
 
 " And you is it long since you ? " 
 
 She held out her hands towards me, and in an in- 
 stant was in my arms. First she hid her face, but 
 then drew herself back as far as the circle of my arm 
 allowed. Her dark eyes met mine full and direct in a 
 confession that shamed me but shamed her no more ; 
 her shame was swallowed in the sweet pride of sur- 
 render. 
 
 " Always," said she, " always ; from the first through 
 all ; always, always." It seemed as though she could 
 not speak that word enough. 
 
 In truth I could scarcely believe it ; save when I 
 looked in her eyes, I could not believe it.
 
 Yor KK.MKMBKR ? " HAl.H
 
 A Pleasant Penitence* 331 
 
 " But I wouldn't tell you," she said. " I swore you 
 should never know. Simon, do you remember how 
 you left me ? " 
 
 It seemed that I must play penitent now. 
 
 " I was too young to know " I began. 
 
 " I was younger and not too young," she cried. 
 " And all through those days at Dover I didn't know. 
 And when we were together I didn't know. Ah, 
 Simon, when I flung your guinea in the sea you must 
 have known ! " 
 
 " On my faith, no," I laughed. " I didn't see the 
 love in that, sweetheart." 
 
 " I'm glad there was no woman there to tell you 
 what it meant," said Barbara. "And even at Canter- 
 bury I didn't know. Simon, what brought you to my 
 door that night? " 
 
 I answered her plainly, more plainly than I could at 
 any other time, more plainly, it may be, than even 
 then I should, 
 
 " She bade me follow her, and I followed her so far." 
 
 "You followed her?" 
 
 " Aye. But I heard your voice through the door, 
 and stopped." 
 
 "You stopped for my voice; what did I say?" 
 
 " You sung how a lover had forsaken his love. And 
 I heard and stayed." 
 
 " Ah, why didn't you tell me then ? " 
 
 " I was afraid, sweetheart." 
 
 " Of what ? Of what ? " 
 
 " Why, of you. You had been so cruel." 
 
 Barbara's head, still strained far as could be from 
 mine, now drew nearer by an ace, and then she 
 launched at me the charge of most enormity, the in- 
 dictment that justified all my punishment. 
 
 "You had kissed her before my eyes, here, sir, 
 where we are now, in my own Manor park," said Bar- 
 bara.
 
 33 2 Simon Dale* 
 
 I took my arms from about her, and fell humbly on 
 my knee. 
 
 " May I kiss so much as your hand ? " said I, in utter 
 abasement. 
 
 She put it suddenly, eagerly, hurriedly, to my lips. 
 
 "Why did she write to me?" she whispered. 
 
 " Nay, love, I don't know." 
 
 " But I know. Simon, she loves you." 
 
 " It would afford no reason if she did. And I 
 think " 
 
 " It would ; and she does, Simon, of course she 
 does." 
 
 " I think rather that she was sorry for " 
 
 " Not for me ! " cried Barbara, with great vehe- 
 mence. " I will not have her sorry for me ! " 
 
 " For you ! " I exclaimed, in ridicule (It does not 
 matter what I had been about to say before.) " For 
 you ! How should she ? She wouldn't dare ! " 
 
 " No," said Barbara. One syllable can hold a world 
 of meaning. 
 
 "A thousand times, no!" cried I. 
 
 The matter was thus decided. Yet now, in quiet 
 blood and in the secrecy of my own soul, shall I ask 
 wherefore the letter came from Mistress Gwyn, to 
 whom the shortest letter was no light matter and to 
 let even a humble man go some small sacrifice ? And 
 why did it come to Barbara and not to me ? And why 
 did it not say " Simon, she loves you," rather than 
 the words that I now read, Barbara permitting me : 
 "Pretty fool, he loves you"? Let me not ask; not 
 even now would Barbara bear to think that it was 
 written in pity for her. 
 
 " Yes, she pitied you and so she wrote, and she loves 
 you," said Barbara. 
 
 I let it pass. Shall a man never learn wisdom? 
 
 " Tell me now," said I, " why I may not see Car- 
 ford?"
 
 A Pleasant Penitence. 333 
 
 Her lips curved in a smile ; she held her head high, 
 and her eyes were triumphant. 
 
 " You may see Lord Carford as soon as you will, 
 Simon," said she. 
 
 " But a few minutes ago" I began, much puzzled. 
 
 " A few minutes ! " cried Barbara, reproachfully. 
 
 "A whole lifetime ago, sweetheart ! " 
 
 " And shall that make no changes? " 
 
 " A whole lifetime ago, you were ready to die sooner 
 than let me see him." 
 
 "Simon, you're very He knew, I told him." 
 
 " You told him ? " I cried. " Before you told me ? " 
 
 *' He asked me before," said Barbara. 
 
 I did not grudge her that retort ; every jot of her 
 joy was joy to me and her triumph my delight. 
 
 " How did I dare to tell him ? " she asked herself 
 softly. "Ah, but how have I contrived not to tell all 
 the world ? How wasn't it plain in my face ? " 
 
 " It was most profoundly hidden," I assured her. 
 Indeed from me it had been ; but Barbara's wit had 
 yet another answer. 
 
 "You were looking in another face," said she. 
 Then as the movement of my hands protested, remorse 
 seized on her, and catching my hand she cried impul- 
 sively, " I'll never speak of it again, Simon." 
 
 Now I was not so much ashamed of the affair as to 
 demand that utter silence on it ; in which point lies a 
 difference between men and women. To have wan- 
 dered troubles our .conscience little, when we have 
 come to the right path again ; their pride stands so 
 strong in constancy as sometimes (I speak in trem- 
 bling) even to beget an oblivion of its falterings and 
 make what could not have been as if it had not. But 
 now was not the moment for excuse, and I took my 
 pardon with all gratitude and with full allowance of 
 my offence's enormity. 
 
 Then we determined that Carford must immediately
 
 334 Simon Dale* 
 
 be sought, and set out for the house with intent to 
 find him. But our progress was very slow, and the 
 moon rose in the skies before we stepped out on to 
 the avenue and came in sight of the house and the 
 terrace. There was so much to tell, so much that had 
 to slough off its old seeming and take on new and 
 radiant apparel, things that she had understood and 
 not I, that I had caught and she missed, wherein both 
 of us had gone astray most lamentably and now stood 
 aghast at our own sightlessness. Therefore never 
 were our feet fairly in movement towards the house, 
 but a sudden " Do you remember?" gave them 
 pause again ; then came shame that I had forgotten 
 or indignation that Barbara should be thought to have 
 forgotten, and in both of these cases the need for ex- 
 piation and so forth. The moon was high in heaven 
 when we stepped into the avenue and came in sight 
 of the terrace. 
 
 On the instant, with a low cry of surprise and alarm, 
 Barbara caught me by the arm, while she pointed to 
 the terrace. The sight might well turn us even from 
 our engrossing interchange of memories. There were 
 four men on the terrace, their figures standing out 
 dense and black against the old grey walls which 
 seemed white in the moonlight. Two stood impassive 
 and motionless, with hands at their sides; at their 
 feet lay what seemed bundles of clothes. The other 
 two were in their shirts; they were opposite one an- 
 other, and their swords were in their hands. I could 
 not doubt the meaning: while love held me idle, anger 
 had lent Fontelles speed ; while I sought to perfect my 
 joy, he had been hot to avenge his wounded honour. 
 I did not know who were the two that watched unless 
 they were servants ; Fontelles' fierce mood would not 
 stand for the niceties of etiquette. Now I could re- 
 cognise the Frenchman's bearing and even see Car- 
 ford's face, although distance hid its expression. I was
 
 A Pleasant Penitence. 335 
 
 amazed and at a loss what to do. How could I stop 
 them and by what right? But then Barbara gave a 
 little sob and whispered, 
 
 " My mother lies sick in the house." 
 
 It was enough to loose my bound limbs. I sprang 
 forward and set out at a run. I had not far to go and 
 lost no time ; but I would not cry out lest I might 
 put one off his guard and yet not arrest the other's 
 stroke. For the steel flashed, and they fought, under 
 the eyes of the quiet servants. I was near to them 
 now and already wondering how best to interpose, 
 when, in an instant, the Frenchman lunged, Carford 
 cried out, his sword dropped from his hand, and he 
 fell heavily on the gravel of the terrace. The ser 
 vants rushed forward and knelt down beside him. 
 M. de Fontelles did not leave his place, but stood, with 
 the point of his naked sword on the ground, looking 
 at the man who had put an affront on him and whom 
 he had now chastised. The sudden change that took 
 me from love's pastimes to a scene so stern, deprived 
 me of speech for a moment. I ran to Fontelles and 
 faced him, panting but saying nothing. He turned 
 his eyes on me; they were calm, but shone still with 
 the heat of contest and the sternness of resentment. 
 He raised his sword and pointed with it towards where 
 Carford lay. 
 
 " My lord there," said he, " knew a thing that hurt 
 my honour, and did not warn me of it. He knew 
 that I was made a tool and did not tell me. He knew 
 that I was used for base purposes and sought to use 
 me for his own also. He has his recompense." 
 
 Then he stepped across to where the green bank 
 sloped down to the terrace, and, falling on one knee, 
 wiped his blade on the grass.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 A Comedy Before the King, 
 
 ON the next day but one M. de Fontelles and I 
 took the road together for London. Carford lay be- 
 tween life and death (for the point had pierced his 
 lung) at the inn to which we had carried him ; he 
 could do no more harm and occasion us no uneasiness. 
 On the other hand M. de Fontelles was anxious to 
 seek out the French Ambassador, with whom he was 
 on friendly terms, and enlist his interest ; first, to ex- 
 cuse the abandonment of his mission, and in the sec- 
 ond place, to explain the circumstances of his duel 
 with Carford. In this latter task he asked my aid, 
 since I alone, saving the servants, had been a witness 
 of the encounter, and Fontelles, recognising (now that 
 his rage was past) that he had been wrong to force his 
 opponent to a meeting under such conditions, prayed 
 my testimony to vindicate his reputation. I could 
 not deny him, and moreover, though it grieved me to 
 be absent from Quinton Manor, I felt that Barbara's 
 interests and my own might be well served by a jour- 
 ney to London. No news had come from my lord, 
 and I was eager to see him and bring him over to my 
 side ; the disposition of the King was also a matter of 
 moment and of uncertainty; would he still seek to 
 gain for M. de Perrencourt what that exacting gen- 
 tleman required, or would he 'now abandon the strug- 
 gle in which his instruments had twice failed him ? 
 His Majesty should now be returning from Dover,
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 337 
 
 and I made up my mind to go to Court and learn 
 from him the worst and the best of what I might look 
 for. Nay, I will not say that the pure desire to see 
 him face to face had not weight with me ; for I be- 
 lieved that he had a liking for me, and that I should 
 obtain from him better terms in my own person than 
 if my cause were left in the hands of those who sur- 
 rounded him. 
 
 When we were come to London (and I pray that it 
 be observed and set down to my credit that, thinking 
 there was enough of love-making in this history, I 
 have spared any narrative of my farewell to Barbara, 
 although on my soul it was most moving) M. de Fon- 
 telles at once sought the Ambassador's, taking my 
 promise to come there as soon as his summons called, 
 while I betook myself to the lodging which I had 
 shared with Darrell before we went to Dover. I 
 hoped to find him there and renew our friendship ; 
 my grudge was for his masters, and I am not for mak- 
 ing an enemy of a man who does what his service 
 demands of him. I was not disappointed ; Robert 
 opened the door to me, and Darrell himself sprang to 
 his feet in amazement at the sound of my name. I 
 laughed heartily and flung myself into a chair, saying, 
 
 " How goes the Treaty of Dover? " 
 
 He ran to the door and tried it ; it was close-shut. 
 
 " The less you say of that, the safer you'll be," said 
 he. 
 
 " Oho ! " thought I, " then I'm not going to market 
 empty-handed. If I want to buy, it seems that I have 
 something to sell ! " And smiling very good-humour- 
 edly, I said, 
 
 " What, is there a secret in it ? " 
 
 Darrell came up to me and held out his hand. 
 
 "On my life," said he, " I didn't know you were in- 
 terested in the lady, Simon, or I wouldn't have taken 
 a hand in the affair."
 
 Simon Dale, 
 
 " On my life," said I, " I'm obliged to you. What 
 of Mile, de Querouaille?" 
 
 " She has returned with Madame." 
 
 "But will return without Madame?" 
 
 " Who knows ? " he asked, with a smile that he could 
 not smother. 
 
 " God and the King," said I. " What of M. de Per- 
 rencourt ?" 
 
 " Your tongue's hung so loose, Simon, that one day 
 it'll hang you tight." 
 
 " Enough, enough. What then of Phineas Tate ? " 
 
 " He is on board ship on his way to the plantations. 
 He'll find plenty to preach to there." 
 
 " What ! Why, there's never a Papist sent now ! 
 He'll mope to death. What of the Duke of Mon- 
 mouth ? " 
 
 " He has found out Carford." 
 
 "He has? Then he has found out the Secretary 
 also ? " 
 
 " There is indeed a distance between his Grace and 
 my lord," Darrell admitted. 
 
 " When rogues fall out ! A fine saying that, Dar- 
 rell. And what of the King? " 
 
 " My lord tells me that the King swears he won't 
 sleep o' nights till he has laid a certain troublesome 
 fellow by the heels." 
 
 " And where is that same troublesome fellow? " 
 
 " So near me that, did I serve the King as I ought, 
 Robert would now be on his way with news for my 
 Lord Arlington." 
 
 " Then his Majesty's sentiments are mighty unkind 
 towards me? Be at peace, Darrell. I am come to 
 London to seek him." 
 
 " To seek him ? Are you mad ? You'll follow 
 Phineas Tate!" 
 
 " But I have a boon to ask of the King. I desire 
 him to use his good offices with my Lord Quinton.
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 339 
 
 For I am hardly a fit match for my lord's daughter, 
 and yet I would make her my wife." 
 
 "1 wonder," observed Darrell, "that you, Simon, 
 who, being a heretic, must go to hell when you die, are 
 not more careful of your life." 
 
 Then we both fell to laughing. 
 
 "Another thing brings me to London," I pursued. 
 " I must see Mistress Gwyn." 
 
 He raised his hands over his head. 
 
 " Fill up the measure," said he. "The King knows 
 you came to London with her and is more enraged at 
 that than all the rest." 
 
 " Does he know what happened on the journey?" 
 
 " Why, no, Simon," smiled Darrell. " The matter is 
 just that. The King does not know what happened 
 on the journey." 
 
 "He must learn it," I declared. "To-morrow I'll 
 seek Mistress Gwyn. You shall send Robert to take 
 her pleasure as to the hour when I shall wait on her." 
 
 " She's in a fury with the King, as he with her." 
 
 " On what account ? " 
 
 "Already, friend Simon, you're too wise!" 
 
 " By heaven, I know ! It's because Mile, de Que"rou- 
 aille is so good a Catholic? " 
 
 Darrell had no denial ready. He shrugged his 
 shoulders and sat silent. 
 
 But although I had told Barbara that it was my in- 
 tention to ask an audience from the King, I had not 
 disclosed my purpose of seeing Mistress Nell. Yet it 
 was firm in my mind for courtesy's sake. Of a truth 
 she had done me great service. Was I to take it as 
 though it were my right, with never a word of thanks? 
 Curiosity also drew me, and that attraction which she 
 never lost for me, nor, as I believe, for any man whose 
 path she had crossed. I was sure of myself, and did 
 not fear to go. Yet memory was not dead in me, and 
 I went in a species of excitement, the ghost of old
 
 340 Simon Dale. 
 
 feelings dead but not forgotten. When a man has 
 loved, and sees her whom he loves no more, he will 
 not be indifferent ; angry he may be, or scornful, 
 amused he may be, and he should be tender ; but it 
 will not be as though he had not loved. Yet I had 
 put a terrible affront on her, and it might be that she 
 would not receive me. 
 
 As I live, I believe that but for one thing she would 
 not. That turned her, by its appeal to her humour. 
 When I came to the house in Chelsea, I was con- 
 ducted into a small ante-chamber, and there waited 
 long. There were voices speaking in the next room, 
 but I could not hear their speech. Yet I knew Nell's 
 voice ; it had for me always aye, still echoes of the 
 past. But now there was something which barred its 
 way to my heart. 
 
 The door in front of me opened, and she was in the 
 room with me. There she was, curtseying low in 
 mock obeisance and smiling whimsically. 
 
 " A bold man ! " she cried. " What brings you 
 here ? Art not afraid ? " 
 
 "Afraid that I am not welcome, yet not afraid to 
 come." 
 
 "A taunt wrapped in civility ! I do not love it." 
 
 " Mistress Nell, I came to thank you for the great- 
 est kindness " 
 
 " If it be kindness to help you to a fool ! " said 
 Mistress Nell. " What, besides your thanks to me, 
 brings you to town? " 
 
 I must forgive her the style in which she spoke of 
 Barbara. I answered with a smile, 
 
 " I must see the King. I don't know his purposes 
 about me. Besides, I desire that he should help me 
 to my fool." 
 
 " If you're wise you'll keep out of his sight." Then 
 she began to laugh. " Nay, but I don't know," said 
 she. Then with a swift movement she was by me,
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 341 
 
 catching at my coat and turning up to me a face full 
 of merriment. " Shall we play a comedy ? " she asked. 
 
 " As you will. What shall be my part ? " 
 
 " I'll give you a pretty part, Simon. Your face is 
 very smooth ; nay, do not fear, I remember so well 
 that I needn't try again. You shall be this French 
 lady of whom they speak." 
 
 " I the French lady ! God forbid ! " 
 
 " Nay, but you shall, Simon. And I'll be the King. 
 Nay, I say don't be afraid, I swear you tried to run 
 away then ! " 
 
 " Is it not prescribed as the best cure for temp- 
 tation ? " 
 
 " Alas, you're not tempted ! " she said, with a pout. 
 " But there's another part in the comedy." 
 
 " Besides the King and Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " Why, yes and a great part." 
 
 " Myself by chance?" 
 
 "You! No! What should you do in the play? 
 It is I I myself." 
 
 " True, true. I forgot you, Mistress Nell." 
 
 " You did forget me, Simon. But I must spare 
 you, for you will have heard that same charge of 
 fickleness from Mistress Quinton and it is hard to 
 hear it from two at once. But who shall play my 
 part? " 
 
 " Indeed I can think of none equal to it." 
 
 " The King shall play it ! " she cried, with a trium- 
 phant laugh and stood opposite to me, the embodi- 
 ment of merry triumph. " Do you catch the plot of 
 my piece, Simon ? " 
 
 " I am very dull," I confessed. 
 
 " It's your condition, not your nature, Simon," Nell 
 was so good as to say. " A man in love is always 
 dull, save to one woman, and she's stark-mad. Come, 
 can you feign an inclination for me, or have you for- 
 got the trick?"
 
 342 Simon Dale. 
 
 At the moment she spoke the handle of the door 
 turned. Again it turned and was rattled. 
 
 " I locked it," whispered Nell, her eyes full of mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Again and most impatiently the handle was twisted 
 to and fro. 
 
 " Pat, pat, how pat he comes ! " she whispered. 
 
 A last loud rattle followed, then a voice cried in an- 
 ger, "Open it, Ibid you open it." 
 
 "God help us!" I exclaimed, in sad perplexity. 
 "It's the King?" 
 
 "Yes, it's the King, and, Simon, the piece begins. 
 Look as terrified as you can. It's the King." 
 
 " Open, I say, open ! " cried the King, with a thun- 
 dering knock. 
 
 I understood now that he had been in the other 
 room, and that she had left his society to come to me ; 
 but I understood dimly only why she had locked the 
 door, and why she now was so slow in opening it. 
 Yet I set my wits to work, and for further aid watched 
 her closely. She was worth the watching. Without 
 aid of paints or powders, of scene or theatre, she 
 transformed her air, her manner, aye, her face also. 
 Alarm and terror showed in her eyes as she stole in 
 fearful fashion across the room, unlocked the door 
 and drew it open, herself standing by it, stiff and rigid 
 in what seemed shame or consternation. The agita- 
 tion she feigned found some reality in me. I was not 
 ready for the thing, although I had been warned by 
 the voice outside. When the King stood in the door- 
 way, I wished myself a thousand miles away. 
 
 The King was silent for several moments; he 
 seemed to me to repress a passion which, let loose, 
 might hurry him to violence. When he spoke, he 
 was smiling ironically and his voice was calm. 
 
 " How comes this gentleman here?" he asked. 
 
 The terror that Nell had so artfully assumed she
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 343 
 
 appeared now, with equal art, to defy or conquer. 
 She answered him with angry composure. 
 
 " Why shouldn't Mr. Dale be here, Sir ? " she 
 asked. " Am I to see no friends ? Am I to live all 
 alone ?" 
 
 " Mr. Dale is no friend of mine " 
 
 "Sir " I began, but his raised hand stayed me. 
 
 " and you have no need of friends when I am 
 here." 
 
 " Your Majesty," said she, " came to say farewell ; 
 Mr. Dale was but half-an-hour too soon." 
 
 This answer showed me the game. If he had come 
 to bid her farewell why, I understood now the parts 
 in the comedy. If he left her for the Frenchwoman, 
 why should she not turn to Simon Dale? The King 
 bit his lip. He also understood her answer. 
 
 " You lose no time, mistress," he said, with an un- 
 easy laugh. 
 
 " I've lost too much already," she flashed back. 
 
 " With me ? " he asked, and was answered by a 
 sweeping curtsey and a scornful smile. 
 
 " You're a bold man, Mr. Dale," said he. " I knew 
 it before and am now most convinced of it." 
 
 " I didn't expect to meet your Majesty here," said 
 I, sincerely. 
 
 " I don't mean that. You're bold to come here at 
 all." 
 
 " Mistress Gwyn is very kind to me," said I. I 
 would play my part and would not fail her, and I 
 directed a timid yet amorous glance at Nell. The 
 glance reached Nell, but on its way it struck the King. 
 He was patient of rivals, they said, but he frowned 
 now and muttered an oath. Nell broke into sudden 
 laughter. It sounded forced and unreal. It was 
 meant so to sound. 
 
 " We're old friends," said she, " Simon and I. We 
 were friends before I was what I am. We're still
 
 344 Simon Dale. 
 
 friends, now that I am what I am. Mr. Dale escorted 
 me from Dover to London." 
 
 " He is an attentive squire," sneered the King. 
 
 " He hardly left my side," said Nell. 
 
 " You were hampered with a companion." 
 
 " Of a truth I hardly noticed it," cried Nelly, with 
 magnificent falsehood. I seconded her efforts with a 
 shrug and a cunning smile. 
 
 " I begin to understand," said the King. " And 
 when my farewell has been said, what then ? " 
 
 " I thought that it had been said half-an-hour ago," 
 she exclaimed. " Wasn't it ? " 
 
 " You were anxious to hear it, and so seemed to 
 hear it," said he, uneasily. 
 
 She turned to me with a grave face and tender eyes. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you here, just now, how the King 
 parted from me? " 
 
 I was to take the stage now, it seemed. 
 
 "Aye, you told me," said I, playing the agitated 
 lover as best I could. " You told me that that but 
 I cannot speak before his Majesty." And I ended in 
 a most rare confusion. 
 
 " Speak, sir," he commanded, harshly and curtly. 
 
 " You told me," said I, in low tones, " that the King 
 left you. And I said I was no king, but that you 
 need not be left alone." My eyes fell to the ground 
 in pretended fear. 
 
 The swiftest glance from Nell applauded me. 1 
 would have been sorry for him and ashamed for my 
 self had I not remembered M. de Perrencourt and our 
 voyage to Calais. In that thought I steeled myself to 
 hardness, and bade conscience be still. 
 
 A long silence followed. Then the King drew near 
 to Nell. With a rare stroke of skill she seemed to 
 shrink away from him and edged towards me, as 
 though she would take refuge in my arms from his 
 anger or his coldness.
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 345 
 
 " Come, I've never hurt you, Nelly," said he. 
 
 Alas, that art should outstrip nature ! Never have 
 I seen portrayed so finely the resentment of a love 
 that, however greatly wounded, is still love, that, even 
 in turning away, longs to turn back, that calls even in 
 forbidding, and in refusing breathes the longing to 
 assent. Her feet still came towards me, but her eyes 
 were on the King. 
 
 " You sent me away," she whispered, as she moved 
 towards me and looked where the King was. 
 
 " I was in a temper," said he. Then he turned to 
 me, saying " Pray leave us, sir." 
 
 I take it that I must have obeyed, but Nell sprang 
 suddenly forward, caught my hand, and, holding it, 
 faced the King. 
 
 " He sha'n't go ; or, if you send him away, I'll go 
 with him." 
 
 The King frowned heavily, but did not speak. She 
 went on, choking down a sob aye, a true sob ; the 
 part she played moved her, and beneath her acting 
 there was a reality. She fought for her power over 
 him and now was the test of it. 
 
 "Will you take my friendships from me as well as 
 my Oh, I won't endure it !" 
 
 She had given him his hint in the midst of what 
 seemed her greatest wrath. His frown persisted, but 
 a smile bent his lips again. 
 
 " Mr. Dale," said he, " it is hard to reason with a 
 lady before another gentleman. I was wrong to bid 
 you go. But will you surfer me to retire to that room 
 again ?" 
 
 I bowed low. 
 
 " And," he went on, " will you excuse our hostess' 
 presence for awhile ? " 
 
 I bowed again. 
 
 " No, I won't go with you," cried Nell. 
 
 " Nay, but, Nelly, you will," said he, smiling now.
 
 34& Simon Dale* 
 
 " Come, I'm old and mighty ugly, and Mr. Dale is a 
 strapping fellow. You must be kind to tfie unfortu- 
 nate, Nelly." 
 
 She was holding my hand still. The King took hers. 
 Very slowly and reluctantly she let him draw her 
 away. I did what seemed best to do ; I sighed very 
 heavily and plaintively, and bowed in sad submission. 
 
 " Wait till we return," said the King, and his tone 
 was kind. 
 
 They passed out together, and I, laughing yet 
 ashamed to laugh, flung myself in a chair. She would 
 not keep him for herself alone nay, as all the world 
 knows, she made but a drawn battle of it with the 
 Frenchwoman but the disaster and utter defeat 
 which had threatened her she had averted, jealousy 
 had achieved what love could not ; he would not let 
 her go now, when another's arms seemed open for her. 
 To this success I had helped her. On my life, I was 
 glad to have helped her. But I did not yet see how I 
 had helped my own cause. 
 
 I was long in the room alone, and though the King 
 had bidden me await his return, he did not come again. 
 Nell came alone, laughing, radiant, and triumphant; 
 she caught me by both hands, and swiftly, suddenly, 
 before I knew, kissed me on the cheek. Nay, come, 
 let me be honest ; I knew a short moment before, but 
 on my honour I could not avoid it courteously. 
 
 "We've won," she cried. "I have what I desire, 
 and you, Simon, are to seek him at Whitehall. He 
 has forgiven you all your sins and yes, he'll give you 
 what favour you ask. He has pledged his word to me." 
 
 "Does he know what I shall ask?" 
 
 " No, no, not yet. Oh, that I could see his face ! 
 Don't spare him, Simon. Tell him why, tell him all 
 the truth every word of it, the stark bare truth." 
 
 " How shall I say it?" 
 
 " Why, that you love, and have ever loved, and will
 
 A Comedy Before the King. 347 
 
 ever love Mistress Barbara Otiinton, and that you love 
 not, and will never love, and have never loved, no, nor 
 cared the price of a straw for Eleanor Gwyn." 
 
 " Is that the whole truth ? " said I. 
 
 She was holding my hands still, she pressed them 
 now and sighed lightly. 
 
 " Why, yes, it's the whole truth. Let it be the 
 whole truth, Simon. What matters that a man once 
 lived when he's dead, or once loved when he loves no 
 more ? " 
 
 "Yet I won't tell him more than is true," said I. 
 
 "You'll be ashamed to say anything else," she 
 whispered, looking up in my face. 
 
 " Now, by heaven, I'm not ashamed," said I, and I 
 kissed her hand. 
 
 "You're not?" 
 
 " No, not a whit. I think I should be ashamed, had 
 my heart never strayed to you." 
 
 " Ah, but you say strayed ! " 
 
 I made her no answer, but asked forgiveness with a 
 smile. She drew her hand sharply away, crying, 
 
 " Go your ways, Simon Dale, go your ways ; go to 
 your Barbara, and your Hatchstead, and your dulness 
 and your righteousness." 
 
 " We part in kindness? " I urged. 
 
 For a moment I thought she would answer peev- 
 ishly, but the mood passed, and she smiled sincerely 
 on me as she replied, 
 
 "Aye, in all loving-kindness, Simon; and when you 
 hear the sour gird at me, say why say, Simon, that 
 even a severe gentleman, such as you are, once found 
 some good in Nelly. Will you say that for me? " 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " Nay, I care not what you say," she burst out, 
 laughing again. " Begone, begone ! I swore to the 
 King that I would speak but a dozen words to you. 
 Begone ! "
 
 34& Simon Dale. 
 
 I bowed and turned towards the door. She flew to 
 me suddenly, as if to speak, but hesitated. I waited 
 for her ; at last she spoke, with eyes averted and an 
 unaccustomed embarrassment in her air, 
 
 " If if you're not ashamed to speak my name to 
 Mistress Barbara, tell her I wish her well, and pray her 
 to think as kindly of me as she can." 
 
 " She has much cause to think kindly," said I. 
 
 "And will therefore think unkindly! Simon, I bid 
 you begone." 
 
 She held out her hand to me, and I kissed it again. 
 
 "This time we part for good and all," said she. 
 " I've loved you, and I've hated you, and I have nearly 
 loved you. But it's nothing to be loved by me, who 
 love all the world." 
 
 " Nay, it's something," said I. " Fare you well." 
 
 I passed out, but turned to find her eyes on me. 
 She was laughing and nodding her head, swaying to 
 and fro on her feet as her manner was. She blew me 
 a kiss from her lips. So I went, and my life knew her 
 no more. 
 
 But when the strict rail on sinners, I guard my 
 tongue for the sake of Nelly and the last kiss she gave 
 me on my cheek.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The Mind of M. de Fontelles. 
 
 As I made my way through the Court nothing 
 seemed changed ; all was as I had seen it when I came 
 to lay down the commission that Mistress Gwyn had 
 got me. They were as careless, as merry, as shame- 
 less as before ; the talk then had been of Madame's 
 coming, now it was of her going; they talked of Dover 
 and what had passed there, but the treaty was dis- 
 missed with a shrug, and the one theme of interest 
 and the one subject of wagers was whether or how 
 soon Mile, de Querouaille would return to the shores 
 and the monarch she had left. In me distaste now 
 killed curiosity; I pushed along as fast as the throng 
 allowed me, anxious to perform my task and be quit 
 of them all as soon as I could. My part there was 
 behind me ; the prophecy was fulfilled, and my ambi- 
 tions quenched. Yet I had a pleasure in the remaining 
 scene of the comedy which I was to play with the 
 King; I was amused also to see how those whom I 
 knew to be in the confidence of the Duke of York and 
 of Arlington eyed me with mingled fear and wariness, 
 and hid distrust under a most deferential civility. 
 They knew, it seemed, that I had guessed their secrets. 
 But I was not afraid of them, for I was no more their 
 rival in the field of intrigue or in their assault upon 
 the King's favour. I longed to say to them, " Be at 
 peace. In an hour from now you will see my face no 
 more."
 
 35 Simon Dale* 
 
 The King sat in his chair, alone save for one gen- 
 tleman who stood beside him. I knew the Earl of 
 Rochester well by repute, and had been before now 
 in the same company, although, as it chanced, 1 had 
 never yet spoken with him. I looked for the King's 
 brother and for Monmouth, but neither was to be 
 seen. Having procured a gentleman to advise the 
 King of my presence, I was rewarded by being beck- 
 oned to approach immediately. But when he had 
 brought me there, he gave me no more than a smile, 
 and, motioning me to stand by him, continued his 
 conversation with my Lord Rochester and his caresses 
 of the little dog on his lap. 
 
 " In defining it as the device by which the weak 
 intimidate the strong," observed Rochester, " the 
 philosopher declared the purpose of virtue rather than 
 its effect. For the strong are not intimidated, while 
 the weak, falling slaves to their own puppet, grow 
 more helpless still." 
 
 " It's a just retribution on them," said the King, 
 " for having invented a thing so tiresome." 
 
 " In truth, Sir, all these things that make virtue are 
 given a man for his profit and that he may not go 
 empty-handed into the mart of the world. He has 
 stuff for barter; he can give honour for pleasure, 
 morality for money, religion for power." 
 
 The King raised his brows and smiled again, but 
 made no remark. Rochester bowed courteously to 
 me, as he added, 
 
 " Is it not as I say, sir?" and awaited my reply. 
 
 " It's better still, my lord," I answered. " For he 
 can make these bargains you speak of, and, by not 
 keeping them, have his basket still full for another 
 deal." 
 
 Again the King smiled, as he patted his dog. 
 
 "Very just, sir, very just," nodded Rochester. 
 " Thus by breaking a villainous bargain he is twice a
 
 The Mind of M. de Fontetles. 35 1 
 
 villain, and preserves his reputation to aid him in the 
 more effectual cheating of his neighbour." 
 
 " And the damning of his own soul/' said the King, 
 softly. 
 
 " Your Majesty is Defender of the Faith. I will 
 not meddle with your high office," said Rochester 
 with a laugh. " For my own part I suffer from a 
 hurtful sincerity; being known for a rogue by all the 
 town I am become the most harmless fellow in your 
 Majesty's dominions. As Mr. Dale here says I have 
 the honour of being acquainted with your name, sir 
 my basket is empty and no man will deal with me." 
 
 " There are women left you," said the King. 
 
 " It is more expense than profit," sighed the Earl. 
 "Although indeed the kind creatures will most read- 
 ily give for nothing what is worth as much." 
 
 " So that the sum of the matter," said the King, 
 " is that he who refuses no bargain however iniquitous 
 and performs none however binding " 
 
 " Is a king among men, Sir," interposed Rochester, 
 with a low bow, " even as your Majesty is here in 
 Whitehall." 
 
 " And by the same title ? " 
 
 "Aye, the same Right Divine. What think you of 
 my reasoning, Mr. Dale ? " 
 
 " I do not know, my lord, whence you came by 
 it, unless the Devil has published a tract on the 
 matter." 
 
 "Nay, he has but circulated it among his friends," 
 laughed Rochester. " For he is in no need of money 
 from the booksellers since he has a grant from God of 
 the Customs of the world for his support." 
 
 " The King must have the Customs," smiled 
 Charles. " I have them here in England. But the 
 smugglers cheat me." 
 
 "And the penitents him, Sir. Faith, these Holy 
 Churches run queer cargoes past his officers or so
 
 35 2 Simon Dale. 
 
 they say," and with another bow to the King, and one 
 of equal courtesy to me, he turned away and mingled 
 in the crowd that walked to and fro. 
 
 The King sat some while silent, lazily pulling the 
 dog's coat with his fingers. Then he looked up at me. 
 
 "Wild talk, Mr. Dale," said he, "yet perhaps not 
 all without a meaning." 
 
 " There's meaning enough, Sir. It's not that I 
 miss." 
 
 " No, but perhaps you do. I have made many bar- 
 gains ; you don't praise all of them ? " 
 
 " It's not for me to judge the King's actions." 
 
 " I wish every man were as charitable, or as dutiful. 
 But shall I empty my basket ? You know of some 
 of my bargains. The basket is not emptied yet." 
 
 I looked full in his face ; he did not avoid my re- 
 gard, but sat there smiling in a bitter amusement. 
 
 " You are the man of reservations," said he. " I 
 remember them. Be at peace and hold your place.. 
 For listen to me, Mr. Dale." 
 
 " I am listening to your Majesty's words." 
 
 " It will be time enough for you to open your mouth 
 when I empty my basket." 
 
 His words, and even more the tone in which he 
 spoke and the significant glance of his eyes, declared 
 his meaning. The bargain that I knew of I need not 
 betray nor denounce till he fulfilled it. When would 
 he fulfil it ? He would not empty his basket, but 
 still have something to give when he dealt with the 
 King of France. I wondered that he should speak to 
 me so openly; he knew that I wondered, yet, though 
 his smile was bitter, he smiled still. 
 
 I bowed to him and answered, 
 
 " I am no talker, Sir, of matters too great for me." 
 
 " That's well. I know you for a gentleman of great 
 discretion, and I desire to serve you. You have some- 
 thing to ask of me, Mr. Dale ? "
 
 The Mind of M. de Fontelles. 353 
 
 " The smallest thing in the world for your Majesty, 
 and the greatest for me." 
 
 " A pattern then that I wish all requests might fol- 
 low. Let me hear it." 
 
 " It is no more than your Majesty's favour for my 
 efforts to win the woman whom I love." 
 
 He started a little, and for the first time in all the 
 conversation ceased to fondle the little dog. 
 
 " The woman whom you love ? Well, sir, and does 
 she love you ? " 
 
 " She has told me so, Sir." 
 
 " Then at least she wished you to believe it. Do I 
 know this lady ? " 
 
 " Very well, Sir," I answered, in a very significant 
 tone. 
 
 He was visibly perturbed. A man come to his 
 years will see a ready rival in every youth, however 
 little other attraction there may be. But perhaps I 
 had treated him too freely already ; and now he used 
 me well. I would keep up the jest no longer. 
 
 " Orice, Sir," I said, " for a while I loved where the 
 King loved, even as I drank of his cup." 
 
 " I know, Mr. Dale. But you say ' once.' " 
 
 " It is gone by, sir." 
 
 ' But yesterday ? " he exclaimed, abruptly. 
 
 " She is a great comedian, Sir ; but I fear I seconded 
 her efforts badly." 
 
 He did not answer for a moment, but began again 
 to play with the dog. Then raising his eyes to mine 
 he said, 
 
 "You were well enough; she played divinely, Mr. 
 Dale." 
 
 " She played for life, Sir." 
 
 " Aye, poor Nelly loves me," said he, softly. " I 
 had been cruel to her. But I won't weary you with 
 my affairs. What would you ? " 
 
 " Mistress Gwyn, Sir. has been very kind to me."
 
 354 Simon Dale. 
 
 " So I believe," remarked the King. 
 
 " But my heart, Sir, is and now has been for long 
 irrevocably set on another." 
 
 " On my faith, Mr. Dale, and speaking as one man 
 to another, I'm glad to hear it. Was it so at Canter- 
 bury ? " 
 
 " More than ever before, Sir. For she was there 
 and " 
 
 " I know she was there." 
 
 " Nay, Sir, I mean the other, her whom I love, her 
 whom I now woo. I mean Mistress Barbara Quinton, 
 Sir." 
 
 The King looked down and frowned ; he patted his 
 dog, he looked up again, frowning still. Then a queer 
 smile bent his lips and he said in a voice which was 
 most grave, for all his smile, 
 
 "You remember M. de Perrencourt ? " 
 
 " I remember M. de Perrencourt very well, Sir." 
 
 " It was by his choice, not mine, Mr. Dale, that you 
 set out for Calais." 
 
 "So I understood at the time, Sir." 
 
 " And he is believed, both by himself and others, 
 to choose his men perhaps you will allow me to. say 
 his instruments, Mr. Dale better than any Prince in 
 Christendom. So you would wed Mistress Quinton ? 
 Well, sir, she is above your station." 
 
 " I was to have been made her husband, Sir." 
 
 " Nay, but she's above your station," he repeated, 
 smiling at my retort, but conceiving that it needed no 
 answer. 
 
 " She's not above your Majesty's persuasion, or 
 rather, her father is not. She needs none." 
 
 " You do not err in modesty, Mr. Dale." 
 
 " How should I, Sir, I who have drunk of the King's 
 cup ? " 
 
 " So that we should be friends? " 
 
 " And known what the King hid ! "
 
 The Mind of M. de Fonteltes. 355 
 
 " So that we must stand or fall together? " 
 
 "And loved where the King loved?" 
 
 He made no answer to that, but sat silent for a 
 great while. I was conscious that many eyes were on 
 us, in wonder that I was so long with him, in specula- 
 tion on what our business might be, and whence came 
 the favour that gained me such distinction. I paid 
 little heed, for I was seeking to follow the thoughts 
 of the King and hoping that I had won him to my 
 side. I asked only leave to lead a quiet life with her 
 whom I loved, setting a bound at once to my ambi- 
 tion and to the plans which he had made concerning 
 her. Nay, I believe that I might have claimed some 
 hold over him, but I would not. A gentleman may 
 not levy hush-money, however fair the coins seem in 
 his eyes. Yet I feared that he might suspect me, and 
 I said, 
 
 " To-day I leave the town, Sir, whether I have what 
 I ask of you or not ; and whether I have what I ask 
 of you or not I am silent. If your Majesty will not 
 grant it me, yet, in all things that I may be, I am 
 your loyal subject." 
 
 To all this perhaps it rang too solemn, as the 
 words of a young man are apt to at the moments 
 when his heart is moved he answered nothing, but, 
 looking up with a whimsical smile, said, 
 
 " Tell me now ; how do you love this Mistress 
 Quinton ? " 
 
 At this I fell suddenly into a fit of shame and bash- 
 ful embarrassment. The assurance that I had gained 
 at Court forsook me, and I was tongue-tied as any 
 calf-lover. 
 
 " I I don't know," I stammered. 
 
 " Nay, but I grow old. Pray tell me, Mr. Dale," he 
 urged, beginning to laugh at my perturbation. 
 
 For my life I could not ; it seems to me that the 
 more a man feels a thing the harder it is for him to
 
 35 6 Simon Dale. 
 
 utter; sacred things are secret, and the hymn must 
 not be heard save by the deity. 
 
 The King suddenly bent forward and beckoned. 
 Rochester was passing by, with him now was the 
 Duke of Monmouth. They approached ; I bowed 
 low to the Duke, who returned my salute most cava- 
 lierly. He had small reason to be pleased with me 
 and his brow was puckered. The King seemed to 
 find fresh amusement in his son's bearing, but he 
 made no remark on it, and, addressing himself to 
 Rochester, said, 
 
 " Here, my lord, is a young gentleman much en- 
 amoured of a lovely and most chaste maiden. I ask 
 him what this love of his is for my memory fails 
 and behold he cannot tell me. In case he doesn't 
 know what it is that he feels, I pray you tell him." 
 
 Rochester looked at me with an ironical smile. 
 
 "Am I to tell what love is?" he asked. 
 
 " Aye, with your utmost eloquence," answered the 
 King, laughing still and pinching his dog's ears. 
 
 Rochester twisted his face in a grimace, and looked 
 appealingly at the King. 
 
 " There's no escape ; to-day I am a tyrant," said the 
 King. 
 
 " Here then, youths," said Rochester, and his face 
 was smoothed into a pensive and gentle expression. 
 " Love is madness and the only sanity, delirium and 
 the only truth, blindness and the only vision, folly 
 
 and the only wisdom. It is " He broke off and 
 
 cried impatiently, " I have forgotten what it is." 
 
 " Why, my lord, you never knew what it is," said 
 the King. "Alone of us here, Mr. Dale knows, and 
 since he cannot tell us, the knowledge is lost to the 
 world. James, have you any news of my friend, M. de 
 Fontelles?" 
 
 " Such news as your Majesty has," answered Mon- 
 mouth. " And I hear that my Lord Carford will not 
 die."
 
 The Mind of M. de Fontelles. 357 
 
 " Let us be as thankful as is fitting for that," said 
 the King. " M. de Fontelles sent rne a very uncivil 
 message ; he is leaving England, and goes, he tells 
 me, to seek a king whom a gentleman may serve." 
 
 "Is the gentleman about to kill himself, Sir?" 
 asked Rochester, with an affected air of grave con- 
 cern. 
 
 " He's an insolent rascal," cried Monmouth, angrily. 
 " Will he go back to France ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, in the end, when he has tried the rest 
 of my brethren in Europe. A man's king is like his 
 nose; the nose may not be handsome, James, but it's 
 small profit to cut it off. That was done once, you 
 remember " 
 
 " And here is your Majesty on the throne," inter- 
 posed Rochester, with a most loyal bow. 
 
 " James," said the King, " our friend Mr. Dale de- 
 sires to wed Mistress Barbara Quinton." 
 
 Monmouth started violently and turned red. 
 
 " His admiration for that lady," continued the 
 King, " has been shared by such high and honour- 
 able persons that I cannot doubt it to be well 
 founded. Shall he not then be her husband ?" 
 
 Monmouth's eyes were fixed on me ; I met his 
 glance with an easy smile. Again I felt that I, who 
 had worsted M. de Perrencourt, need not fear the 
 Duke of Monmouth. 
 
 "If there be any man," observed Rochester, "who 
 would love a lady who is not a wife, and yet is fit to 
 be his wife, let him take her, in heaven's name ! For 
 he might voyage as far in search of another like her 
 as M. de Fontelles must in his search for a Perfect 
 King." 
 
 "Shall he not have her, James?" asked the King of 
 his son. 
 
 Monmouth understood that the game was lost. 
 
 "Aye, Sir, let him have her," he answered, muster-
 
 358 Simon Dale* 
 
 ing a smile. "And I hope soon to see your Court 
 graced by her presence." 
 
 Well, at that, I, most inadvertently, and by an error 
 in demeanour which I now deplore sincerely, burst 
 into a short sharp laugh. The King turned to me 
 with raised eyebrows. 
 
 " Pray let us hear the jest, Mr. Dale," said he. 
 
 " Why, Sir," I answered, " there is no jest. I don't 
 know why I laughed, and I pray your pardon hum- 
 bly." 
 
 "Yet there was something in your mind," the King 
 insisted. 
 
 " Then, Sir, if I must say it, it was no more than 
 this : if I would not be married in Calais, neither will 
 I be married in Whitehall." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. It was broken by 
 Rochester. 
 
 " I am dull," said he. " I don't understand that 
 observation of Mr. Dale's." 
 
 " That may well be, my lord," said Charles, and he 
 turned to Monmouth, smiling maliciously as he asked, 
 "Are you as dull as my lord here, James, or do you 
 understand what Mr. Dale would say ? " 
 
 Monmouth's mood hung in the balance between 
 anger and amusement. I had crossed and thwarted 
 his fancy, but it was no more than a fancy. And I 
 had crossed and thwarted M. de Perrencourt's also ; 
 that was balm to his wounds. I do not know that he 
 could have done me harm, and it was as much from a 
 pure liking for him as from any apprehension of his 
 disfavour that I rejoiced when I saw his kindly 
 thoughts triumph and a smile come on his lips. 
 
 "Plague take the fellow," said he, "I understand 
 him. On my life he's wise ! " 
 
 I bowed low to him, saying, " I thank your Grace 
 for your understanding." 
 
 Rochester sighed heavily.
 
 The Mind of M. de Fontelles. 359 
 
 "This is wearisome," said he. " Shall we walk?" 
 
 "You and James shall walk," said the King. "I 
 have yet a word for Mr. Dale." As they went he 
 turned to me and said, "But will you leave us? I 
 could find work for you here." 
 
 I did not know what to answer him. He saw my 
 hesitation. 
 
 " The basket will not be emptied," said he, in a low 
 and cautious voice. " It will be emptied neither for 
 M. de Perrencourt nor for the King of France. You 
 look very hard at me, Mr. Dale, but you needn't 
 search my face so closely. I will tell you what you 
 desire to know. I have had my price, but I do not 
 empty my basket." Having said this, he sat leaning 
 his head on his hands with his eyes cast up at me from 
 under his swarthy bushy brows. 
 
 There was a long silence then between us. For 
 myself I do not deny that youthful ambition again 
 cried to me to take his offer, while pride told me that 
 even at Whitehall I could guard my honour and all 
 that was mine. I could serve him ; since he told me 
 his secrets, he must and would serve me. And he 
 had in the end dealt fairly and kindly with me. 
 
 The King struck his right hand on the arm of his 
 chair suddenly and forcibly. 
 
 " I sit here," said he ; " it is my work to sit here. 
 My brother has a conscience, how long would he sit 
 here? James is a fool, how long would he sit here ? 
 They laugh at me or snarl at me, but here I sit, and 
 here I will sit till my life's end, by God's grace or the 
 Devil's help. My gospel is to sit here." 
 
 I had never before seen him so moved, and never 
 had so plain a glimpse of his heart, nor of the resolve 
 which lay beneath his lightness and frivolity. Whence 
 came that one unswerving resolution I know not ; yet 
 I do not think that it stood on nothing better than 
 his indolence and a hatred of going again on his
 
 360 Simon Dale. 
 
 travels. There was more than that in it ; perhaps he 
 seemed to himself to hold a fort and considered all 
 stratagems and devices well justified against the en- 
 emy. I made him no answer but continued to look 
 at him. His passion passed as quickly as it had come 
 and he was smiling again with his ironical smile as he 
 said to me, 
 
 " But my gospel need not be yours. Our paths 
 have crossed, they need not run side by side. Come, 
 man, I have spoken to you plainly, speak plainly to 
 me." He paused and then, leaning forward, said, 
 
 "Perhaps you are of M. de Fontelles' mind? Will 
 you join him in his search? Abandon it! You had 
 best go to your home and wait. Heaven may one 
 day send you what you desire. Answer me, sir. 
 Are you of the Frenchman's mind? " 
 
 His voice now had the ring of command in it and I 
 could not but answer. And when I came to answer 
 there was but one thing to say. He had told me the 
 terms of my service. What was it to me that he sat 
 there, if honour and the Kingdom's greatness and all 
 that makes a crown worth the wearing must go, in 
 order to his sitting there? There rose in me at once 
 an inclination towards him and a loathing for the 
 gospel that he preached ; the last was stronger, and, 
 with a bow, I said, 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am of M. de Fontelles' mind." 
 
 He heard me, lying back in his chair. He said 
 nothing, but sighed lightly, puckered his brow an 
 instant, and smiled. Then he held out his hand to 
 me and I bent and kissed it. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Dale," said he. " I don't know 
 how long you'll have to wait. I'm hale and so's my 
 brother." 
 
 He moved his hand in dismissal, and, having with- 
 drawn some paces, I turned and walked away. All 
 observed or seemed to observe me ; I heard whispers
 
 The Mind of M. de Fontelles. 36 1 
 
 that asked who I was, why the King had talked so 
 long to me, and to what service or high office I was 
 destined. Acquaintances saluted me and stared in 
 wonder at my careless acknowledgment and the quick 
 decisive tread that carried me to the door. Now, 
 having made my choice, I was on fire to be gone ; yet 
 once 1 turned my head and saw the King sitting still 
 in his chair, his head resting on his hands and a slight 
 smile on his lips. He saw me look, and nodded his 
 head. I bowed, turned again, and was gone. 
 
 Since then I have not seen him, for the paths that 
 crossed diverged again. Yet, as all men know, he car- 
 ried out his gospel. There he sat till his life's end, 
 whether by God's grace or the Devil's help I know 
 not. But there he sat, and never did he empty his 
 basket lest, having given all, he should have nothing 
 to carry to market. It is not for me to judge him 
 now ; but then, when I had the choice set before me, 
 there in his own palace, I passed my verdict. I do 
 not repent of it. For good or evil, in wisdom or in 
 folly, in mere honesty or the extravagance of senti- 
 ment, I had made my choice. I was of the mind of 
 M. de Fontelles, and I went forth to wait till there 
 should be a king whom a gentleman could serve. 
 Yet to this day I am sorry that he made me tell him 
 of my choice.
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 I Come Home. 
 
 I HAVE written the foregoing for my children's sake 
 that they may know that once their father played 
 some part in great affairs, and, rubbing shoulder to 
 shoulder with folk of high degree, bore himself (as I 
 venture to hope) without disgrace and even with that 
 credit which a ready brain and hand bring to their 
 possessor. Here then I might well come to an end 
 and deny myself the pleasure of a last few words in- 
 dited for my own comfort and to please a greedy recol- 
 lection. The children, if they read, will laugh. Have 
 you not seen the mirthful wonder that spreads on a 
 girl's face when she comes by chance on some relic of 
 her father's wooing, a faded wreath that he has given 
 her mother or a nosegay tied with a ribbon and a 
 poem attached thereto? She will look in her father's 
 face and thence to where her mother sits at her 
 needle-work, just where she has sat at her needle-work 
 these twenty years, with her old kind smile and com- 
 fortable eyes. The girl loves her, loves her well, but 
 how came father to write those words ? For mother, 
 though the dearest creature in the world, is not slim, 
 nor dazzling, nor a Queen, nor is she Venus herself, 
 decked in colours of the rainbow, nor a Goddess come 
 from heaven to men, nor the desire of all the world, 
 nor aught else that father calls her in the poem. In- 
 deed what father wrote is something akin to what the 
 Squire slipped into her own hand last night ; but it is a 
 strange strain in which to write to mother, the dearest
 
 I Come Home. 363 
 
 creature in the world, but no, not Venus in her glory 
 nor the Queen of the Nymphs. But though the 
 maiden laughs, her father is not ashamed. He still 
 sees her to whom he wrote, and when she smiles 
 across the room at him and smiles again to see her 
 daughter's wonder all the years fade from the picture's 
 face, and the vision stands as once it was though my 
 young mistress' merry eyes have not the power to see 
 it. Let her laugh. God forbid that I should grudge 
 it her ! Soon enough shall she sit sewing and another 
 laugh. 
 
 Carford was gone, well-nigh healed of his wound, 
 healed also of his love, I trust, at least headed off from 
 it. M. de Fontelles was gone also, on that quest of 
 his which made my Lord Rochester so merry ; indeed 
 I fear that in this case the scoffer had the best of it, 
 for he whom I have called M. de Perrencourt was cer- 
 tainly served again by his indignant subject and that 
 most brilliantly. Well, had I been a Frenchman, I 
 could have forgiven King Louis much ; and I suppose 
 that, although an Englishman, I do not hate him 
 greatly, since his ring is often on my wife's finger and 
 I see it there without pain. 
 
 It was the day before my wedding was to take 
 place ; for my lord, on being informed of all that had 
 passed, had sworn roundly that since there was one 
 honest man who sought his daughter, he would not re- 
 fuse her lest, while he waited for better things, worse 
 should come. And he proceeded to pay me many a 
 compliment, which I would repeat, despite of modesty, 
 if it chanced that I remembered them. But in truth 
 my head was so full of his daughter that there was no 
 space for his praises, and his well-turned eulogy (for 
 my lord had a pretty flow of words) was as sadly 
 wasted as though he had spoken it to the statue of 
 Apollo on his terrace. 
 
 I had been taking dinner with the Vicar, and, since
 
 364 Simon Dale, 
 
 it was not yet time to pay my evening visit to the 
 Manor, I sat with him a while after our meal, telling 
 him for his entertainment how I had talked with the 
 King at Whitehall, what the King had said, and what 
 I, and how my Lord Rochester had talked finely of the 
 Devil and tried but failed to talk of love. He drank 
 in all with eager ears, weighing the wit in a balance 
 and striving to see, through my recollection, the life 
 and the scene and the men that were so strange to his 
 eyes and so familiar to his dreams. 
 
 " You don't appear very indignant, sir," I ventured 
 to observe with a smile. 
 
 We were in the porch, and, for answer to what I 
 said, he pointed to the path in front of us. Following 
 the direction of his finger I perceived a fly of a species 
 with which I, who am a poor student of nature, was 
 not familiar. It was villainously ugly, although here 
 and there on it were patches of bright colour. 
 
 " Yet," said the Vicar, " you are not indignant with 
 it, Simon." 
 
 " No, I am not indignant," I admitted. 
 
 " But if it were to crawl over you " 
 
 " I should crush the brute," I cried. 
 
 " Yes. They have crawled over you and you are in- 
 dignant. They have not crawled over me, and I am 
 curious." 
 
 " But, sir, will you allow a man no disinterested 
 moral emotion ? " 
 
 " As much as he will, and he shall be cool at the end 
 of it," smiled the Vicar. " Now if they took my bene- 
 fice from me again ! " Stooping down, he picked up 
 the creature in his hand and fell to examining it very 
 minutely. 
 
 " I wonder you can touch it," said I, in disgust. 
 
 " You did not quit the Court without some regret, 
 Simon," he reminded me. 
 
 I could make nothing of him in this mood and was
 
 I Come Home. 365 
 
 about to leave him when I perceived my lord and 
 Barbara approaching the house. Springing up, I ran 
 to meet them ; they received me with a grave air, and, 
 in the ready apprehension of evil born of a happiness 
 that seems too great, I cried out to know if there were 
 bad tidings. 
 
 " There's nothing that touches us nearly," said my 
 lord. " But very pitiful news is come from France." 
 
 The Vicar had followed me and now stood by me ; I 
 looked up and saw that the ugly creature was still in 
 his hand. 
 
 "It concerns Madame, Simon," said Barbara. "She 
 is dead and all the town declares that she had poison 
 given to her in a cup of chicory-water. Is it not piti- 
 ful?" 
 
 Indeed the tidings came as a shock to me, for I re- 
 membered the winning grace and wit of the unhappy 
 lady. 
 
 " But who has done it?" I cried. 
 
 " I don't know," said my lord. " It is set down to 
 her husband ; rightly or wrongly, who knows? " 
 
 A silence ensued for a few moments. The Vicar 
 stooped and set his captive free to crawl away on the 
 path. 
 
 " God has crushed one of them, Simon," said he. 
 " Are you content ? " 
 
 " I try not to believe it of her," said I. 
 
 In a grave mood we began to walk and presently, as 
 it chanced, Barbara and I distanced the slow steps of 
 our elders and found ourselves at the Manor gates 
 alone. 
 
 " I am very sorry for Madame," said she, sighing 
 heavily. Yet presently, because by the mercy of Pro- 
 vidence our own joy outweighs others' grief and thus 
 we can pass through the world with unbroken hearts, 
 she looked up at me with a smile and passing her arm 
 through mine drew herself close to me.
 
 366 Simon Dale* 
 
 "Aye, be merry, to-night at least be merry, my 
 sweet," said I. " For we have come through a forest 
 of troubles and are here safe out on the other side." 
 
 " Safe and together," said she. 
 
 " Without the second, where would be the first ? " 
 
 "Yet," said Barbara, " I fear you'll make a bad hus- 
 band ; for here at the very beginning nay, I mean 
 before the beginning you have deceived me." 
 
 " I protest ! " I cried. 
 
 " For it was from my father only that I heard of a 
 visit you paid in London." 
 
 I bent my head and looked at her. 
 
 " I would not trouble you with it," said I. " It was 
 no more than a debt of civility." 
 
 " Simon, I don't grudge it to her. For I am here 
 in the country with you, and she is there in London 
 without you." 
 
 " And in truth," said I, " I believe that you are 
 both best pleased." 
 
 " For her," said Barbara, " I cannot speak." 
 
 For a long while then we walked in silence, while 
 the afternoon grew full and waned again. They mock 
 at lovers' talk ; let them, say I with all my heart, so 
 that they leave our silence sacred. But at last Bar- 
 bara turned to me and said with a little laugh, 
 
 " Art glad to have come home, Simon ? " 
 
 Verily I was glad. In body I had wandered some 
 way, in mind and heart further, through many dark 
 ways, turning and twisting here and there, leading I 
 knew not whither, seeming to leave no track by which 
 I might regain my starting-point. Yet although I 
 felt it not, the thread was in my hand, the golden 
 thread spun here in Hatchstead when my days were 
 young. At length the hold of it had tightened and 
 I, perceiving it, had turned and followed. Thus it 
 had brought me home, no better in purse or station 
 than I went and poorer by the loss of certain dreams
 
 I Come. Home. 367 
 
 that haunted me, yet, as I hope, sound in heart and 
 soul. I looked now in the dark eyes that were set 
 on me as though there were their refuge, joy, and 
 life; she clung to me as though even still I might 
 leave her. But the last fear fled, the last doubt faded 
 away, and a smile came in radiant serenity on the 
 lips I loved as, bending down, I whispered, 
 " Aye, I am glad to have come home." 
 But there was one thing more that I must say. 
 Her head fell on my shoulder, as she murmured, 
 "And you have utterly forgotten her? " 
 Her eyes were safely hidden. I smiled as I an- 
 swered " Utterly." 
 
 See how I stood ! Wilt thou forgive me, Nelly ? 
 For a man may be very happy as he is and still not 
 forget the things which have been. " What are you 
 thinking of, Simon?" my wife asks sometimes when 
 I lean back in my chair and smile. " Of nothing, 
 sweet," say I. And in truth I am not thinking ; it is 
 only that a low laugh echoes distantly in my ear. 
 Faithful and loyal am I, but should such as Nell 
 leave naught behind her?
 
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