MY M EERY ROCKHURST jrzee/* an f- 1 /O THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ShipardBookCompany "YE OLD BOOKE SHOPPE" MY MERRY ROCKHURST" JSy "Bqwcs & Bgerton Castle THE PRIDE OF JENNICO "IF YOUTH BUT KNEW!" THE SECRET ORCHARD ROSE OF THE WORLD THE STAR-DREAMER THE HOUSE OF ROMANCE THE BATH COMEDY INCOMPARABLE BELLAIRS THE HEART OF LADY ANNE 3Bs Bgerton Castle YOUNG APRIL THE LIGHT OF SCARTHEY CONSEQUENCES MARSHFIELD THE OBSERVER LE ROMAN DU PRINCE OTHON THE JERNINGHAM LETTERS ENGLISH BOOK-PLATES SCHOOLS AND MASTERS OF FENCE ETC. Through the open window, out of the darkness, gathered a heavy rumble of wheels ; then again uprose the call of the bell, the cry of the hoarse voice: "Bring out your dead!" (See p. 293.) MY MERRY ROCKHURST" BEING SOME EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF VISCOUNT ROCKHURST, A FRIEND OF KING CHARLES THE SECOND, AND AT ONE TIME CON- STABLE OF HIS MAJESTY'S TOWER OF LONDON RECOUNTED BY AGNES & EGERTON CASTLE AUTHORS OF "THE PRIDE OF JENNICO," "'IF YOUTH BUT KNEW ! ' " " ROSE OF THE WORLD," ETC. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1907 All rights reserved Copyright, 1907, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1907. NorfaoDu $«BS S. Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. '"Dp Co RANDOLPH HENRY STEWART ELEVENTH EARL OF GALLOWAY HEAD OF THE ANCIENT HOUSE OF STEWART THIS STORY IS DEDICATED WITH THE AUTHORS' AFFECTIONATE REGARD Sept. i, 1907. 2134662 CONTENTS PAGE The King's Comrade i I. The State Crust . 3 II. Cavalier and Capitan 21 Farrant Chace 43 I. Farrant Chace 45 II. The Lady in the Snow 58 III. The Ransom 64 IV. Under the Stars . 78 The Enigma of the Locket 87 I. Little Satan . 89 II. Whitehall Stairs . 106 III. The Linnet's Song 124 The Peacock Walk . '45 I. June Roses . 147 II. Fatherly Wisdom . 168 III. The New French Pass 186 The King's Cup. 197 I. Little Satan . 199 II. The Venetian Glass 225 III. The Phial of Acquetta 236 Lady Chillingburgh's Last Card-Party 251 I. Lincoln's Inn Fields 253 II. Love's Reproach .... 267 III. The Plague-Cart .... 281 vii Mil Contents Broken Sanctuary . I. The Haven of Refuge II. The Gold Whistle III. Nemesis Th k Red Desolation I. The Watchers 11. The Testament III. The Last Command l'AGE 297 299 308 323 339 34i 3Si 368 ILLUSTRATIONS " Through the open window, out of the darkness, gath- ered a heavy rumble of wheels ; then again uprose the call of the bell, the cry of the hoarse voice : ' Bring out your dead ! ' ' (See page 293) Frontispiece OPP. PAGE " The single contemptuous exclamation fell like the cut of a whip " 68 " She felt at last that she had power" . . . .132 Lionel took place beside him and from narrowed lids looked smilingly at the young man's happy counte- 184 "The huddled figure in the great chair. The face of her that had so stout a heart, conquered in death — but less piteous, less awful sight than the living face of the French madam " ..... 314 " Harry gave a deep groan, covered his face with his hands, and fell upon the bench " . . . 364 IX THE KING'S COMRADE THE KING'S COMRADE THE STATE CRUST The early September night had descended upon Bruges, — " City of Bridges," — once the seat of the most luxurious court in Europe, now so far away, fallen from its high if not from its wealthy estate. The life of the little town, never very active or varied under the Spaniard's rule, seemed this evening to have been swept into a stillness emphasised only by an occasional footfall upon the cobbles of its winding streets, some husky cry from a barge gliding ghost- like down a canal, or the far-away barking of dogs on the farm lands beyond the walls. A sea mist had crept from the north, muffling even these sounds of silence, rolling in thicker volumes along the many sluggard waters that intersect the old Flemish Mart and bring prosperity to her comfortable merchants, as it were in their sleep. It hung itself in loose wisps around the carven towers of the Cathedral, the giddy heights of the belfry — whence, as the hours slipped 3 4 " My Merry Rockhurst " on, deep bell voices answered clear bell voices, like spirits communing from their heights across the petty- lives below. The corner house of a row of solid burgher man- sions, flanking the canal on the Quai Vert, stood slightly apart with an air of greater importance than the rest, giving to the street on the one side through courtyard and wrought-iron gate, and on the other sheer over the water that lazily lipped the green, slimy foot of its walls. The second floor of this house had been the dwell- ing of my lord Viscount Rockhurst ever since — that is, some two years before — Charles had trans- ferred to Bruges his penurious little court of English Cavaliers, exiles like himself since the fateful days of Worcester, of Boscobel, and Whiteladies. In a long, low room overlooking the canal, two men sat together, one on each side of an open hearth, lost in deep musings. The curtains were undrawn ; one window stood open, and ever and anon admitted a wreath of the sea-fog that swirled a moment and swiftly fainted away. The only light in the apart- ment was the ruddy glow of a driftwood fire, now cheerfully burning, although the acrid savour that still hung in the air betrayed its recent stubbornness The King's Comrade 5 and explained the gaping casement. It seemed as if the two lacked the energy either to shut out the gloom of night or call for the enlivening of candle or lamp ; as if the paralysing, sodden weight lying upon the world without had laid hold of their souls. The blue-tipped flames that leaped round the logs flung now one brooding countenance in relief, now the other. Upon the right, the dark head of the exiled King of England, still in the very ripeness of young manhood, would be sketched against the leather-backed chair upon which it wearily rested. But not all the geniality of the blaze could give sanguine hue or gleam of cheerfulness to the sallow, harsh visage. In utter dejection, the long figure — "a tall man, above two yards high," so had run the description on the Council of State's Warrant for the apprehension of Charles Stuart — extended itself as if unconsciously to the warmth, chin sunk upon breast, eyes fixed and moody under drooping lids and singularly bushy eyebrows. Upon the left, the fitful tongues of flame revealed a face of equal melancholy if of greater energy and comeliness. My lord Rockhurst sat forward, sup- porting his cheek upon his hand. His was a type such as Sir Anthony Van Dyck, some few years before, had loved to fix in his incomparable line and colour. 6 " My Merry Rockhurst " Like his King he was dark, but with chestnut lights and a crispness in the waves of hair falling upon his shoulders absent from the heavy locks of Charles. Against the glow his profile stood out, fine-cut and pale-hued as a carving in ivory. Older by some years, there yet was a youthful air of alertness about his whole personality, even as he sat motionless, that was conspicuously lacking in the apathetic figure facing him. Ever and anon his eyes, hawk-like in their keenness and the quick dilation of their pupils, would shift from the wistful contemplation of fire-pictures to the royal countenance, where they would rest in scrutiny, and, it seemed, in deepening concern. Ever and anon, upon the withdrawal of this gaze, a slight sigh escaped him. Suddenly Charles gathered his long limbs into a more erect posture, and jerking his head toward his companion : — "And there you go again, Harry, with your heigh- ho 's. I fled but an hour ago from the long faces of my lord Gerard, of Erskine, and Armorer—" "My lord Gerard, gentleman of the Bedchamber, Messieurs Erskine and Armorer, Cupbearer and Comptroller of the Household — " murmured Rock- hurst, with a humorous twist of bitterness. The King's Comrade 7 "Gentleman of the Straw Pallet and Wooden Stool . . . Comptroller of the State Crusts ! As for Mr. Cupbearer Erskine, he had to-day to pledge in pawn the last silver pot for fear of arrest. . . . Marry ! I took refuge with you, who at least, God be praised, never weary me with talk of debts. Yet even you must need treat me to sighs ! Upon my soul, a man Would no more cheerful company than that of this Court of mine to put him in fit frame for the monastery — How say you, Harry? Is't per- chance the one issue left us? There is Royal, aye, Imperial example for it. Do you see in me proper material for a Trappist ? ' Brother, we must die ' — Nay, 'Brother, we are dead' would better suit our case ! No Cistercian wall could hold a drearier prospect than this dismal town of Bruges." He rose as he spoke, and dragged himself with slouching steps to the window : — "Faugh! the smell of those dead waters — the stillness of them ! . . . I vow I can hear the drip from yonder leafless poplars on the bank ! Aye, Charles is dead, and Bruges is his tomb ! Tis no lofty withdrawal from life, like his great name- sake's, but a very sordid end, my good Harry. Death of credit, death of hopes. . . . Here we are, in a town of merchants, a community of buyers 8 " My Merry Rockhurst " and sellers, and we have not wherewithal to pay for a supper, nay, not even for a bottle to help us forget that we have not supped." The other man had risen in his turn and ap- proached the window. "Why, now !" he cried, and his voice in its brisk, manly tone formed a strong contrast to the other's melancholy drawl, " 'tis surely but this pestilent fog keeps Mr. Secretary Hyde and my lord of Bristol from rejoining us with the promised supplies ; faith, and who knows? with news that may cheer our hearts, my liege." "Harry," said the other, wheeling round and facing him with something of humour in his rueful visage, "this my liege of yours to my empty stomach savours most damnably of mockery. For love of Heaven, if thou wouldst help me to bear it, remember we are but comrades in bad straits together. Here is poor Charles, and there stands poor Harry. Liege? Majesty? Psho ! Our own country will have none of us; our friends abroad have failed us; the wise burghers of this town will no longer recognise the value of a signature of mine — and as for thee ..." "My last remittance, overdue this month; inter- cepted, I make no doubt, by Old Noll's — " Rock- The King's Comrade 9 hurst made a gesture toward the casement : yonder to the north, but a score of miles, perhaps, Cromwell's well-found ships were cruising, as he knew, close in shore. "Well, better luck next venture!" he went on. "Our friends at home — the one certainty in these uncertain times — do not forget us. Sighs! Did I sigh ? 'Twas at the thought that, though there is still firewood in the house you deigned to honour to-night, there is ne'er a bottle left for your Majesty's entertainment — and ..." In eloquent conclusion, the Cavalier pulled out a silk purse and crushed its emptiness between his palms with a smile, which the anxious gaze he fixed upon his visitor markedly belied. "My last angel gone to the surly porter of Myn- heer Tratsaert's house of business this afternoon. I had better have kept it for our supper. But who would have thought that Mr. Secretary Hyde, Coun- cillor, Chancellor of the Exchequer, would allow such lack ..." "And who would have thought who knew the fortunes of Charles that he was ever destined to do aught but lack? The fox hath his hole and the birds of the air have nests ... but Charles shall not even have a stone whereon to lay his head. Aye — you may well stare, Harry, to hear me quote io " My Merry Rockhurst " Scripture. The waters are at lowest ebb with us, good friend ; and like the rest of the world, in our extremity, we turn to the texts." A moment the elder man stood gazing through the gloom which in the falling firelight was gathering ever more closely about them, at the face of his royal master. Then he said in a low voice which more concealed than betrayed, emotion : — "When the tide is at lowest, 'tis but nearest to the turn." "Nay," broke from the other with ever-increasing bitterness, "if that is where thy hopes lie, I am sorry for thee. There is no turn in such fortunes as mine, but an ever-sapping drain. Why, there is not a kinsman can afford to show countenance to such a falling house, not a lady in Europe who has heart enough to risk her fate with my hopes. Nay, there's not even a fat tallow merchant of Flanders who thinks it worth his while to risk a. present guilder for future favour. You would do better, my lord, to go seek your peace with the powers that be — and for this you have recent high precedent — rather than remain to share the last ruin of our line." "Sire," exclaimed Rockhurst then, "how shall my house stand if yours fall? How shall my body The King's Comrade n keep health if yours ail ? Where is my country but with you, or my hopes but with yours?" Charles answered the steady tones with an attempt at lightness which failed to cover completely a certain tender break in his own voice. " The more fool you, then, Harry ! Easy terms would be made to the Viscount Rockhurst. He could dwell on his fat lands once more in power and opulence instead of wasting them in fines — he could bring up his heir in leisure ; nay, he could wed him a new wife and beget him a fresh family, all in merry England." "My son," answered the other, "is in good hands — and my sister in the farm-house where she hath refuge brings him up even in such wise as I should myself. As for a new wife, poor Charles," — his lips broke into a smile as they spoke the words, — "believe your poor Harry, he is as little likely to seek one as he is to seek a new master — But, Heaven forgive me!" he went on with brisk change of tone, "this outer fog seems to have befogged my inner wits. The house can at least afford us lights. Nay, I will close the casement upon the dull, wet world. Another log or two on the hearth !" He added action to speech, and a cheerful roar and blaze answered the minis- tration. "The curtain across the casement — so! is "My Merry Rockhurst" Now we were in worse straits after Worcester. Have you forgotten how we stole a sheep and killed it and brought you the reeking leg, and you yourself cut it into collops and set them in the pan ? Good lack - - how tough they were ! Yet 'twas a merry supper. Back to your chair by the warmth, my dearest Sire. An hour's patience, and it will go ill with me if I serve you not a meal — and wine to it — fit wine for the pledge it shall wash." "Aye, and how will you manage that, my merry Rockhurst?" asked Charles Stuart listlessly, as he suffered himself to be led back to his chair. "Why, by a fight or a kiss, a laugh or a lie!" cried his companion gaily. "Since the French king has thrust us out to please England's Protector ; since the Don neglects to maintain us in proper state, why then, the Don's land must be made to provide !" He took up his sword which lay on the table to his hand and buckled it round his lean figure as he spoke. "A joke will bring a man far along sometimes; or, if not, then a prodigious bit of deceit. I am ready, too, to kiss, my good liege, or kill. Is not all fair in love and war? And are we not at war still, aye, and with the whole world too, — and as much in love as out of it ? There are women in this Flemish town, and they The King's Comrade 13 have hearts for a man, or how could even this Bruges subsist?" He stood in the full light of the racing hearth- flame, the points of the thin mustache quivering with his smile. So handsome, although worn with anxiety and privation; so tall and proper a man, so dashing a presence in such tattered and faded garb. Charles turned his dark eyes slowly on his friend. "Art a likely figure, in verity, to go courting the prude burgher's daughter!" he drawled upon a yawn. "Aye, well — off with thee, then, and I'll have a nap to pass the weary time. Qui dort dine, as the French say — though my sleek cousin of France would scarce put up with the alternative ! — But mind how you play, my lord, with your kisses and your blade — I can ill afford to lose my last friend!" Rockhurst answered but by a look of affectionate devotion. Then, after a little pause : — "I will send Chitterley with candles," said he, "and bid him lay the table against my return." Upon which, he made as low a bow toward the languid figure as if the exile sat in state upon his throne, and withdrew from the room. 14 " My Merry Rockhurst " In the entrance-hall, dimly lit by a tallow candle thrust in an iron sconce, he paused, and an air of concentration succeeded the spurt of enforced gaiety. Charles had indeed summed up the situation. The English Royalists, bankrupt of credit, bank- rupt at last of hope, the King himself reduced to pledge his orders, even his favourite silver-hilt sword, the royal dinner "dwindled to one dish"; withal the taste of wine like to some receding memory ! It would require an inspiration of audacity this evening to provide the rashly promised guerdon. But Rockhurst had a soul to which emergency was a sure spur. He wasted no further time upon re- flection, since reflection served but to show ever more sternly that in this night's foray he must suffer chance and his own boldness to guide him. Going to the door of the servants' quarters, he called for the French factotum — a clever rascal, cook, valet, groom, — who, with his faithful English attendant, represented the household of the whilom sumptuous Lord Viscount. "Marcelin!" "Monseigneur?" The word rang back in brisk interrogation from the underground kitchen. "Get thee a lantern and attend me. We go foraging, you understand?" The King's Comrade 15 "Oh, yes, monseigneur ! " There was something of a joyous ring in the prompt answer. "Chitterley!" "Yes, my lord!" "His Majesty himself is with us to-night ! Take up candles and lay the supper table — " "Yes — my lord." The quavering response was given in tones of doubt and wonder. Rockhurst adjusted his cloak, — a garment more weather-stained and damaged even than the suit it covered, — flung upon his head the battered beaver with its derision of a Cavalier plume, and was un- locking the door when Marcelin emerged. "I have taken the liberty to bring a basket, monseigneur," said the man, casting the object (which was of bloated dimensions) on the floor whilst he settled his lantern to better trim. "Foraging ? — Good news, my faith, for it's a weary time since we have had but Poor- John or a sandhill rabbit to our stringy cabbage ! Monseigneur has his plan, no doubt?" "None as yet," said Rockhurst. "But, at whatever cost, Marcelin, we return not here empty- handed." "As soon die of a knock on the head as of famine," said the Frenchman lightly. "Milord 1 6 " My Merry Rock hurst " hardly conceives with what joy I am of his enter- prise. I would follow milord at all times, but to- night there is hardly a crime I do not feel capable of after these days of stock-fish and clear water." The strokes of nine were falling slow and grave from the Cathedral tower, somewhere high above the fog, as they turned into the street. All Bruges, wrapped in her blanket of mist, lay to their will : a town asleep, or soon to be, for your Fleming is a creature of early hours. The hungry Cavalier had instinctively shaped his course through the High Street toward the Grande Place, in or about which purlieus lay the few taverns that remained open during night hours — dismal holes enough, which brought sighing remembrance of jovial London meetings. But no hostelry good or vile is a place of promise to him who, in the local parlance, "lodge but the Devil in his purse." And much to Marcelin's disappointment his lordship passed pensively on to outlying districts. There was, as he had admitted, as yet no definite plan in his mind ; but he sought those quarters of the town where the evening fare was likely to be most succulent. Was he not to cater for a king? With one or two of the great houses which rose on the quay of the Augustines, isolated from each The King's Comrade 17 other by the length of high-walled gardens, he had had in earlier and slightly more prosperous days of exile a passing acquaintance. Had a forgotten shutter, an undrawn curtain, but given him a glimpse of some pleasantly lighted family repast, he would have made bold to ply knocker and bell and demand a loan, trusting to the hour of mellow conviviality and his own winning address. But not even a ray was suffered this night to send its cheerful message into the street from those carefully barred balconies and windows. The burgher filled himself from his good fleshpots — the English exile or Spanish soldier might roam, ragged and empty, in the cold. "Has monseigneur any definite purpose in making his promenade through the fog, which — saving monseigneur's respect — is as searching as the devil? If I might venture to suggest," murmured Marcelin at last, in tones of apologetic weariness, drawing close to Rockhurst's elbow, "if monsei- gneur would visit the Three Flags tavern, or the Cel- lar at the Sluys Gate, he might perhaps deign to win a few pistoles from some Spanish coronel or some French gentleman prisoner on parole. Then — " "Marcelin," interrupted Rockhurst, "the lining of our purse admits of no such suggestion, however otherwise sagacious. Do not attempt to interfere 18 " My Merry Rockhurst " with the guidance of fate. The night is foggy, 'tis true; natheless is fog more substantial to take into your empty carcass than mere airs. These houses do not present a hospitable front, yet each one holds gold both in purse and in flagon. The question is how to get it. That question is fate's business to solve for us. March." He swung into as quick a pace as the uncertain gloom and the rough pavement permitted ; and, as if his servant's words had started it in his memory, began to sing, not loudly, but in a voice of some sweetness, the air of a swaggering popular Spanish song that was much on the lips, this autumn, of Don John's soldiery. Hardly had he reached the second stave when, overhead, a window guarded with ornamental bowed iron grille- work was cautiously opened, and a woman's voice took up the refrain as gently as a swallow twitters. Rockhurst instantly halted, and doffing his hat with gallant alertness, glanced up at the square of faint light, against which a woman's head, leaning forward behind the curving bars, was just visible. "Hist — " The warning sound dropped sibilantly. "Hist!" promptly responded Rockhurst, ready for all emergency. The King's Comrade 19 Then through the bars a hand fluttered a second. "La Have del jardin" breathed the timid tones, in a Spanish which even his own foreign ear recog- nised as more Flemish than Castilian. Upon which something fell with a muffled clang at his feet : the key of the garden door. "My soul . . .!" responded Rockhurst in his most ardent whisper. His Spanish did not go very far; but he had at least that nodding acquaintance with it which resi- dence in Flanders rendered necessary to a Cavalier. Fortunately, more was not required of him ; for the house wall grew blank again with the closing window. But fate had pointed her finger. Stooping, he groped for the key. It was wrapped in a fine kerchief which had a fragrance of angelic water, and he sniffed with amused anticipation ere he thrust it in his breast. He was weighing the heavy key in his hand as Marcelin crept up to him again. "If monseigneur had only deigned to inform me that it was a rendezvous . . . !" he thought plain- tively. "Here am I very foolish, with my basket instead of good cutlass to keep watch over his bonne fortune /" The honest fellow's head was in a complete whirl. That milord should abandon the King for the sake 20 " My Merry Rockhurst " of a lady was milord ail over, it was true ; neverthe- less an astounding proceeding, and milord's manner of conducting the affair confusing in the extreme. But his master's next words brought illumination : — "Look you now, Marcelin, did I not tell you Fortune would solve the riddle? Has she not brought us to the most opulent house of the whole row? And if it were not for the fog, her servant, would that sweet lady have mistaken me for her Spanish lover ? Come, now, the garden door must lurk in this wall to the right." He moved on a few steps, running his hand along the brick. Marcelin followed, lost in admiration. "Eh, by the little dog of St. Roch!" he cried, "does monseigneur intend — ?" "Certes, my friend, and to make the lady glad of the exchange," answered the Cavalier in his quiet voice. "Ha, here is the nail-studded wood: here with your lantern." II CAVALIER AND CAPITAN Even as he spoke, bending to look for the lock, there came along the cobbles of the lane a clink of spurs that rang to the rhythm of a martial tread. And presently a rather husky voice was uplifted into that same conquering lilt— the tune of the marching Spaniards — that had come to Rockhurst's mind a few moments before. Lilt and step fell into sudden silence at the corner of the house. The newcomer had halted, apparently struck by the sight of the two figures, shadowed as they were through the vapours at the garden gate by the lantern light. Rockhurst's head as he bent over the lock was lit up fantastically. The bold features, the thin, upturned mustache, quivering now with a mischievous smile, the peaked beard, black as raven's wing, and the hat with its challenging tilt and its incredible plume, all seemed to proclaim in him one of Don John's own rakish soldiers of fortune. 21 22 " My Merry Rockhurst " The key turned in the lock. The next instant the Capitan (the red plume sweeping over the hat- brim proclaimed his rank) sprang forward with a growl like an angry dog's and plucked at Rockhurst 's cloak, even as the latter was pushing the door open. "Hey, there, comrade!" he whispered, "you are caught at it — breaking into an honest burgher's house! Out of this, sharp!" "Breaking in, camarado? Why, not at all," responded Rockhurst, in his own Franco-Spanish. "Merely entering where I am expected, and my servant there holds the light. — Come in, Marcelin." He stepped lightly through the doorway, leaving his cloak in the other's grasp. His voice, in the undertone they both deemed prudent to adopt, yet conveyed the perfection of mockery. "Expected? Cuerpo de Dios!" said the gallant, and fell back a step, blank surprise robbing him, it seemed, of all other emotion for the present. "Even so, Sefior Caballero, witness this key. (Up with the light, Marcelin, that the sefior may see for himself.) Witness the token." He brandished first the key, then the scented handkerchief, with gay gesture. "May I trouble you for my cloak? Then I shall wish you good night." Marcelin, grinning, stood between the two, his The King's Comrade 23 back against the door-post, the basket on his arm, holding up the lantern. The light fell full on the Spaniard's visage : young and handsome enough it was, though now livid with fury. Still speechless, he seemed rooted to the spot, his black eyes starting, the wings of his nostrils distended upon his angry breath. Rockhurst waited a second or two, then with a laugh : — " Marcelin," he ordered, "relieve the noble Capitan of my cloak: he will understand my impatience." The little valet, shifting the lantern into the basket, put out his hand obediently for the ragged garment in question. But here the newcomer, suddenly leaping into active ferocity, made a headlong rush into the garden, and had not Rockhurst by a dex- terous step aside avoided the onslaught, would have seized his rival by the throat. " Come in, Marcelin, and shut the door," came the mocking voice from the darkness. "Let us unravel this little question of precedence in snug privacy. We shall want your lantern, my friend." The garden, tree-shaded and high-walled on all sides, seemed to shut in and concentrate the night's gloom. The sound of two swords, hissing out of the scabbards even as the words were spoken, was sinister in the darkness. 24 " My Merry Rockhurst " Rockhurst quickly drew once more within the faint circle of light. The lantern held aloft (now in a somewhat nervous clutch, it must be said) revealed the silent laughter that rippled over his features like wild-fire, as he flung himself into an extravagantly truculent fencing attitude. The Span- iard, stamping on the sod like a bull enraged, filled the air with guttural execrations, while he swung Rockhurst 's cloak in frantic circles over his left arm. His rapier gleamed one moment aloft, then, low- aimed, shot forward like a flash. Marcelin involuntarily shouted warning; but Rockhurst, with the coolness of the experienced fight- ing man, had already slipped from the stroke of death as airily as the practised dancer to the turn of the tune. On the instant he had plucked his dilapidated beaver from his head, and beating with it the menac- ing blade widely aside, brought down his own steel whistling upon the wrist that palely showed behind the gilt Toledo hilt. With a muffled scream of rage and pain the Span- iard dropped his weapon, fell on one knee, feverishly shaking the cloak off his arm to nurse his helpless, bleeding hand. Rockhurst's skill, guided by luck, had inflicted, at the first pass, one of those disabling wounds that The King's Comrade 25 cause pangs singularly disproportionate to their seri- ousness. He sheathed his rapier with much delib- eration, picked up his cloak and flung it around him as it were a royal mantle, smoothed out the feather in his hat, — not improved in any way by its buckler service, — and set it back on his head at the right jaunty cock. He was about to pass the Capitan with a taunting buenas noches, when some impulse of careless good nature bade him change his mind. "Nay, I am sure," he said, "that our fair one within will support my invitation when I bid you to sup and converse. In your own Castilian phrase : Will you not enter into this your house ? — Marcelin, support the Sefior Capitan ; he waxes, methinks, somewhat weakly." And, upon a further spur of magnanimity, he himself returned the fallen sword to the defeated man's side. Faint chinks of light cut upon the darkness showed them where the house door stood, slightly ajar, upon the garden. And as the trio approached, the feet of the wounded man shuffling along the tiled path, the soft voice called out, in its broken Spanish : — "Sefior Ramon, is that you? — For the love of God, what has happened?" 26 " My Merry Rockhurst " He who was just adjured answered only by a groan; whereupon Rockhurst, stepping up to the chink and speaking in low but cheerful tones, ad- dressed the invisible lady in French this time: — "Dear madam, if you will but admit us, you shall have explanation. The Capitan Ramon has met with a slight misadventure, and needs but your smile, a bandage, and a tass of brandwein to restore him." "Ah, heavens!" answered she, and the door was flung wide open. A woman, evidently of the rich burgher class, young, and very fair of colouring, stood in the passage, a small lamp in her hand. Her face blanched as the half-fainting man was assisted across the threshold, and she caught her free hand to her lips as if to stifle a rising scream. It was evident, thought Rockhurst, that there were those in the house whom she feared to disturb. The danger of her own situation weighing appar- ently upon her even more than the condition of her lover, she gathered herself quickly together ; and, im- ploring caution by gesture, ran light-footed up the pas- sage, beckoning as she went. She thus inducted the whole party into a panelled room, which seemed built at the most distant end from the front. It was gaily lighted by a hanging crown of candles, warmed by a The King's Comrade 27 stove, furnished in brown oak, with dressers and shelves upon which gleamed much pewter and brass of high polish. Upon a table covered with fair red and white napery stood revealed an unmistakable supper for two, with abundance of good things, at sight of which Rockhurst and Marcelin exchanged a deep glance of meaning. As she closed the door upon their entrance, the young woman drew a deep breath of relief, exclaim- ing in her Flemish French : — "Here we are safe ! — In the passage," she added, turning to Rockhurst, "the servants, sir, might have heard us from their quarters." The simple air with which she spoke, the round blue eyes she fixed upon them, the practical candour with which she excused herself for a seeming want of hospitality before attending to her groaning lover, gave Rockhurst swift insight into the nature they had to deal with. Here was a matter-of-fact young vrow, not even pretty, — at least to a fas- tidious English eye — for, with her little moon face and her hemp-coloured hair, she might have emerged from a canvas by Master Gerard Dow, yet with much that was agreeable about her manner, about the gentle irregularity of her features, but above all about her engaging youthfulness. Here 28 " My Merry Rockhurst " certainly was none of your vaporous dames. She showed no undue emotion at sight of the Spaniard's blcod-dyed hands; but, as she turned to help him, was neatly careful to twitch her dress from too close proximity and to push her lace cuffs higher up her plump arms. After examining the gash with crooning sympa- thy, she poured water into one of the bright pewter dishes that stood on the sideboard ; then, cutting a napkin into strips with the carving-knife, ad- dressed the Cavalier : — "If you will kindly give him the brandwein — it is in the square glass bottle beside the pasty." Rockhurst started from his amused contempla- tion and turned to the damaged gallant. This latter, installed by Marcelin with mock solicitude in a chair near the table, sat collapsed, with his head on his breast. Rockhurst conceived a shrewd suspicion that the Capitan's prolonged weakness was more feint than reality, an opinion apparently shared by the servant, whose face was wreathed in satiric smiles. And when the wounded man pet- tishly pushed aside the brandy and demanded del vino, the doubt became certainty. "Wine, Marcelin," ordered the Cavalier briefly, as one in his own house. The King's Comrade 29 After having drained a rummer of Rhenish, the Capitan recovered sufficiently to roll his head toward his lady as she knelt on his right, laving the languid, bleeding hand. "Ah, traitress!" he observed scathingly. "Madam," interjected Rockhurst, as the pale blue eyes were raised in wonder from their task, "your valiant friend refers, I imagine, to your having honoured me with a song, an invitation, a token, and a key. It is because of his failure to understand the. right of a lady to dispose of all favours at her will that he met with the little accident to which he now owes the honour and the joy of your sweet ministration." "Sir ... ! " cried Ramon the Capitan, lifting his olive-hued countenance to fling an uncertain glare across the table. Then, no fresh argument apparently occurring to him, he repeated resent- fully, " Traitress — traitress ! " " In heaven's name," she cried, pausing in her task, "was it not you? — How, sir, was it you?" She turned her childish gaze from one to the other, her blond head, as she knelt, just emerging above the table. For all answer, Rockhurst drew key and kerchief from his breast and pushed them toward her. 3