Then too he must and would have Nell.



CHAPTER VI

Softly on tiptoe; Here Nell doth lie.

As often happens in life, when one suitor departs, another suitor knocks; and so it happened on this glorious night. The belated suitor was none other than Charles, the Stuart King. He seemed in the moonlight the picture of royalty, of romance, of dignity, of carelessness, of indifference—the royal vagabond of wit, of humour and of love. A well-thumbed "Hudibras" bulged from his pocket. He was alone, save for some pretty spaniels that played about him. He heeded them not. His thoughts were of Nell.

"Methought I heard voices tuned to love," he mused, as he glanced about. "What knave has spied out the secret of her bower? Ho, Rosamond, my Rosamond! Why came I here again to-night? What is there in this girl, this Nell? And yet her eyes, how like the pretty maid's who passed me the cup that day at the cottage where we rested. Have I lived really to love—I, Solomon's rival in the entertainment of the fair,—to have my heart-strings torn by this roguish player?"

His reflections were broken in upon by the hunters' song in the distance. The music was so in harmony with the night that the forest seemed enchanted.

"Hush; music!" he exclaimed, softly, as he lent himself reluctantly to the spell, which pervaded everything as in a fairyland. "Odds, moonlight was once for me as well the light for revels, bacchanals and frolics; yet now I linger another evening by Nell's terrace, mooning like a lover o'er the memory of her eyes and entranced by the hunters' song."

The singers were approaching. The King stepped quickly beneath the trellis, in an angle of the wall, and waited. Their song grew richer, as melodious as the night, but it struck a discord in his soul. He was thinking of a pair of eyes.

"Cease those discordant jangles," he exclaimed impatiently to himself; "cease, I say! No song except for Nell! Nell! Pour forth your sweetest melody for Nell!"

The hunters stopped as by intuition before the terrace. A goodly company they were, indeed; there were James and Rochester and others of the court returning from the day's hunt. There was Buckingham too, who had rejoined them as they left the inn. The music died away.

"Whose voice was that?" asked James, as he caught the sound of the King's impatient exclamation from the corner of the wall.

"Some dreamer of the night," laughed Buckingham. "Yon love-sick fellow, methinks," he continued, pointing to a figure, well aloof beneath the trees, who was watching the scene most jealously. It was none other than Hart, who rarely failed to have an eye on Nell's terrace and who instantly stole away in the darkness.

"This is the home of Eleanor Gwyn we are passing," said Rochester, superfluously; for all knew full well that it was Nelly's terrace.

"The love-lorn seer is wise," cried the Duke of York, quite forgetting his frigid self as he bethought him of Nell, and becoming quite lover-like, as he, sighing, said: "It were well to make peace with Nelly. Sing, hunters, sing!"

The command was quickly obeyed and the voices well attuned; for none were there but worshipped Nelly.

Hail to the moonbeams' Crystal spray, Nestling in Heaven All the day, Falling by night-time, Silvery showers, Twining with love-rhyme Nell's fair bowers.

Sing, hunters, sing, Gently carolling, Here lies our hart— Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

Hail to the King's oaks, Sentries blest, Spreading their branches, Guarding her rest, Telling the breezes, Hastening by: "Softly on tiptoe; Here Nell doth lie."

Sing, hunters, sing, Gently carolling, Here lies our hart— Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

The King heard the serenade to the end, then stepped gaily from his hiding-place.

"Brother James under Nelly's window!" he said, with a merry laugh.

"The King!" exclaimed James, in startled accents, as he realized the presence of his Majesty and the awkward position in which he and his followers were placed.

"The King!" repeated the courtiers. Hats were off and knees were bent respectfully.

"Brother," saluted Charles, as he embraced the Duke of York good-naturedly.

Buckingham withdrew a few steps. He was the most disturbed at the presence of the King at Nelly's bower. "As I feared," he thought. "Devil take his Majesty's meandering heart."

"Odsfish," laughed Charles, "we must guard our Nelly, or James and his saintly followers will rob her bower by moonlight."

The Duke of York assumed a devout and dignified mien. "Sire," he attempted to explain, but was interrupted quickly by his Majesty.

"No apologies, pious brother. God never damned a man for a little irregular pleasure."

There was a tittering among the courtiers as the King's words fell upon their ears.

James continued to apologize. "In faith, we were simply passing—" he said.

Again he was interrupted by his Majesty, who was in the best of humour and much pleased at the discomfiture of his over-religious brother.

"Lorenzo too was simply passing," he observed, "but the fair Jessica and some odd ducats stuck to his girdle; and the Jew will still be tearing his hair long after we are dust. Ah, Buckingham, they tell me you too have a taste for roguish Nelly. Have a care!"

The King strode across to Buckingham as he spoke; and while there was humour in his tone, there was injunction also.

Buckingham was too great a courtier not to see and feel it. He bowed respectfully, replying to his Majesty, "Sire, I would not presume to follow the King's eyes, however much I admire their taste."

"'T'is well," replied his Majesty, pointedly, "lest they lead thee abroad on a sleeveless mission."

Others had travelled upon such missions; Buckingham knew it well.

"But what does your Majesty here to-night, if we dare ask?" questioned James, who had just bethought him how to turn the tables upon the King.

Charles looked at his brother quizzically. "Humph!" he exclaimed, in his peculiar way. "Feeding my ducks in yonder pond." His staff swept indefinitely toward the park.

"Hunting with us were nobler business, Sire," suggested James, decisively.

"Not so," replied the King, quite seriously. "My way—I learn to legislate for ducks."

"'T'were wiser," preached York, "to study your subjects' needs."

The King's eyes twinkled. "I go among them," he said, "and learn their needs, while you are praying, brother."

At this sally, Rochester became convulsed, though he hid it well; for Rochester was not as pious as brother James.

York, feeling that the sympathy was against him, grew more earnest still. "I wish your Majesty would have more care," he pleaded. "'Tis a crime against yourself, a crime against the state, a crime against the cavaliers who fought and died for you, to walk these paths alone in such uncertain times. Perchance, 'tis courting lurking murder!"

"No kind of danger, James," answered the King, with equal seriousness, laying a hand kindly on his brother's shoulder; "for I am sure no man in England would take away my life to make you King."

There was general laughter from the assembled party; for all dared laugh, even at the expense of the Duke of York, when the jest was of the King's making. Indeed, not to laugh at a king's jest has been in every age, in or out of statutes, the greatest crime. Fortunately, King Charles's wit warranted its observation.

James himself grew mellow under the influence of the gaiety, and almost affectionately replied, "God grant it be ever so, brother." He then turned the thought. "We heard but now an ambassador from Morocco's court is lately landed. He brings your Majesty two lions and thirty ostriches."

"Odsfish, but he is kind," replied the King, reflecting on the gift. "I know of nothing more proper to send by way of return than a flock of geese."

His brow arched quizzically, as he glanced over the circle of inert courtiers ranged about him. "Methinks I can count them out at Whitehall," he thought.

"He seeks an audience to-night. Will you grant it, Sire?" besought James.

"'Sheart!" replied the King. "Most cheerfully, I'll lead you from Nelly's terrace, brother. Hey! Tune up your throats. On to the palace."



CHAPTER VII

Come down! Come up!

The music died away among the old oaks in the park. Before its final notes were lost on the air, however, hasty steps and a chatter of women's voices came from the house. The door leading to the terrace was thrown quickly open, and Nell appeared. Her eyes had the bewildered look of one who has been suddenly awakened from a sleep gilded with a delightful dream.

She had, indeed, been dreaming—dreaming of the King and of his coming. As she lay upon her couch, where she had thrown herself after the evening meal, she had seemed to hear his serenade.

Then the music ceased and she started up and rubbed her eyes. It was only to see the moonlight falling through the latticed windows on to the floor of her dainty chamber. She was alone and she bethought herself sadly that dreams go by contraries.

Once again, however, the hunters' song had arisen on her startled ear—and had died away in sweet cadences in the distance. It was not a dream!

As she rushed out upon the terrace, she called Moll reprovingly; and, in an instant, Moll was at her side. The faithful girl had already seen the hunters and had started a search for Nell; but the revellers had gone before she could find her.

"What is it, dear Nell?" asked her companion, well out of breath.

"Why did you not call me, cruel girl?" answered Nell, impatiently. "To miss seeing so many handsome cavaliers! Where is my kerchief?"

Nell leaned over the balustrade and waved wildly to the departing hunters. A pretty picture she was too, in her white flowing gown, silvered by the moonlight.

"See, see," she exclaimed to Moll, with wild enthusiasm, "some one waves back. It may be he, sweet mouse. Heigh-ho! Why don't you wave, Moll?"

Before Moll could answer, a rich bugle-horn rang out across the park.

"The hunters' horn!" cried Nell, gleefully. "Oh, I wish I were a man—except when one is with me"; and she threw both arms about Moll, for the want of one better to embrace. She was in her varying mood, which was one 'twixt the laughter of the lip and the tear in the eye.

"I have lost my brother!" ejaculated some one; but she heard him not.

This laconic speech came from none other than the King, who in a bantering mood had returned.

"I went one side a tree and pious James t'other; and here I am by Nelly's terrace once again," he muttered. "Oh, ho! wench!" His eyes had caught sight of Nell upon the terrace.

He stepped back quickly into the shadow and watched her playfully.

Nell looked longingly out into the night, and sighed heavily. She was at her wit's end. The evening was waning, and the King, as she thought, had not come.

"Why do you sigh?" asked Moll, consolingly.

"I was only looking down the path, dear heart," replied Nell, sadly.

"He will come," hopefully suggested Moll, whose little heart sympathized deeply with her benefactress.

"Nay, sweet," said Nell, and she shook her curls while the moonbeams danced among them, "he is as false as yonder moon—as changeable of face."

She withdrew her eyes from the path and they fell upon the King. His Majesty's curiosity had quite over-mastered him, and he had inadvertently stepped well into the light. The novelty of hearing himself derided by such pretty lips was a delicious experience, indeed.

"The King!" she cried, in joyous surprise.

Moll's diplomatic effort to escape at the sight of his Majesty was not half quick enough for Nell, who forthwith forced her companion into the house, and closed the door sharply behind her, much to the delight of the humour-loving King.

Nell then turned to the balustrade and, somewhat confused, looked down at his Majesty, who now stood below, calmly gazing up at her, an amused expression on his face.

"Pardon, your Majesty," she explained, falteringly, "I did not see you."

"You overlooked me merely," slyly suggested Charles, swinging his stick in the direction of the departed hunters.

"I'faith, I thought it was you waved answer, Sire," quickly replied Nell, whose confusion was gone and who was now mistress of the situation and of herself.

"No, Nell; I hunt alone for my hart."

"You hunt the right park, Sire."

"Yea, a good preserve, truly," observed the King. "I find my game, as I expected, flirting, waving kerchiefs, making eyes and throwing kisses to the latest passer-by."

"I was encouraging the soldiers, my liege. That is every woman's duty to her country."

"And her countrymen," said he, smiling. "You are very loyal, Nell. Come down!" It was irritating, indeed, to be kept so at arm's length.

She gazed down at him with impish sweetness—down at the King of England!

"Come up!" she said, leaning over the balustrade.

"Nay; come down if you love me," pleaded the King.

"Nay; come up if you love me," said Nell, enticingly.

"Egad! I am too old to climb," exclaimed the Merry Monarch.

"Egad! I am too young yet for the downward path, your Majesty," retorted Nell.

The King shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

"You will fall if we give you time," he said.

"To the King's level?" she asked, slyly, then answered herself: "Mayhap."

Thus they stood like knights after the first tilt. Charles looked up at Nell, and Nell looked down at Charles. There was a moment's silence. Nell broke it.

"I am surprised you happen this way, Sire."

"With such eyes to lure me?" asked the King, and he asked earnestly too.

"Tush," answered Nell, coyly, "your tongue will lead you to perdition, Sire."

"No fear!" replied he, dryly. "I knelt in church with brother James but yesterday."

"In sooth, quite true!" said Nell, approvingly, as she leaned back against the door and raised her eyes innocently toward the moon. "I sat in the next pew, Sire, afraid to move for fear I might awake your Majesty."

The King chuckled softly to himself. Nell picked one of the flowers that grew upon the balustrade.

"Ah, you come a long-forgotten path to-night," she said abruptly.

The King was alert in an instant. He felt that he had placed himself in a false light. He loved the witch above despite himself.

"I saw thee twa evenings ago, lass," he hastily asserted, in good Scotch accents, somewhat impatiently.

"And is not that a long time, Sire," questioned Nell, "or did Portsmouth make it fly?"

"Portsmouth!" exclaimed Charles. He turned his face away. "Can it be my conscience pricks me?" he thought. "You know more of her than I, sweet Nell," he then asserted, with open manner.

"Marry, I know her not at all and never saw her," said Nell. "I shall feel better when I do," she thought.

"It were well for England's peace you have not met," laughed Charles.

"Faith and troth," said Nell, "I am happy to know our King has lost his heart."

"Odso! And why?" asked Charles; and he gazed at Nell in his curious uncertain way, as he thought it was never possible to tell quite what she meant or what she next would think or say or do.

"We feared he had not one to lose," she slyly suggested. "It gives us hope."

"To have it in another's hand as you allege?" asked Charles.

"Marry, truly!" answered Nell, decisively. "The Duchess may find it more than she can hold and toss it over."

"How now, wench!" exclaimed the King, with assumption of wounded dignity. "My heart a ball for women to bat about!"

"Sire, two women often play at rackets even with a king's heart," softly suggested Nell.

"Odsfish," cried the King, with hands and eyes raised in mock supplication. "Heaven help me then."

Again the hunters' horn rang clearly on the night.

"The horn! The horn!" said Nell, with forced indifference. "They call you, Sire."

There was a triumphantly bewitching look in her eyes, however, as she realized the discomfiture of the King. He was annoyed, indeed. His manner plainly betokened his desire to stay and his irritation at the interruption.

"'Tis so!" he said at last, resignedly. "The King is lost."

The horn sounded clearer. The hunters were returning.

"Again—nearer!" exclaimed Charles, fretfully. His mind reverted to his pious brother; and he laughed as he continued: "Poor brother James and his ostriches!"

He could almost touch Nell's finger-tips.

"Farewell, sweet," he said; "I must help them find his Majesty or they will swarm here like bees. Yet I must see my Nell again to-night. You have bewitched me, wench. Sup with me within the hour—at—Ye Blue Boar Inn. Can you find the place?"

There was mischief in Nell's voice as she leaned upon the balustrade. She dropped a flower; he caught it.

"Sire, I can always find a rendezvous," she answered.

"You're the biggest rogue in England," laughed Charles.

"Of a subject, perhaps, Sire," replied Nell, pointedly.

"That is treason, sly wench," rejoined the King; but his voice grew tender as he added: "but treason of the tongue and not the heart. Adieu! Let that seal thy lips, until we meet."

He threw a kiss to the waiting lips upon the balcony.

"Alack-a-day," sighed Nell, sadly, as she caught the kiss. "Some one may break the seal, my liege; who knows?"

"How now?" questioned Charles, jealously.

Nell hugged herself as she saw his fitful mood; for beneath mock jealousy she thought she saw the germ of true jealousy. She laughed wistfully as she explained: "It were better to come up and seal them tighter, Sire."

"Minx!" he chuckled, and tossed another kiss.

The horn again echoed through the woods. He started.

"Now we'll despatch the affairs of England, brother; then we'll sup with pretty Nelly. Poor brother James! Heaven bless him and his ostriches."

He turned and strode quickly through the trees and down the path; but, as he went, ever and anon he called: "Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour!"

Each time from the balcony in Nell's sweet voice came back—"Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour! I will not fail you, Sire!"

Then she too disappeared. There was again a slamming of doors and much confusion within the house. There were calls and sounds of running feet.

The door below the terrace opened suddenly, and Nell appeared breathless upon the lawn—at her heels the constant Moll. Nell ran some steps down the path, peering vainly through the woods after the departing King. Her bosom rose and fell in agitation.

"Oh, Moll, Moll, Moll!" she exclaimed, fearfully. "He has been at Portsmouth's since high noon. I could see it in his eyes." Her own eyes snapped as she thought of the hated French rival, whom she had not yet seen, but whose relation to the royal household, as she thought, gave her the King's ear almost at will.

She walked nervously back and forth, then turned quickly upon her companion, asking her, who knew nothing, a hundred questions, all in one little breath. "What is she? How looks she? What is her charm, her fascination, the magic of her art? Is she short, tall, fat, lean, joyous or sombre? I must know."

"Oh, Nell, what will you do?" cried Moll in fearful accents as she watched her beautiful mistress standing passion-swayed before her like a queen in the moonlight, the little toe of her slipper nervously beating the sward as she general-like marshalled her wits for the battle.

"See her, see her,—from top to toe!" Nell at length exclaimed. "Oh, there will be sport, sweet mouse. France again against England—the stake, a King!"

She glanced in the direction of the house and cried joyously as she saw Strings hobbling toward her.

"Heaven ever gave me a man in waiting," she said, gleefully. "Poor fellow, he limps from youthful, war-met wounds. Comrade, are you still strong enough for service?"

"To the death for you, Mistress Nell!" he faithfully replied.

"You know the Duchess of Portsmouth, and where she lives?" artfully inquired Nell.

"Portsmouth!" he repeated, excitedly. "She was here but now, peeping at your windows."

Nell stood aghast. Her face grew pale, and her lips trembled.

"Here, here!" she exclaimed, incredulously. "The imported hussy!"

She turned hotly upon Strings, as she had upon poor Moll, with an array of questions which almost paralyzed the old fiddler's wits. "How looks she? What colour eyes? Does her lip arch? How many inches span her waist?"

Strings looked cautiously about, then whispered in Nell's ear. He might as well have talked to all London; for Nell, in her excitement, repeated his words at the top of her voice.

"You overheard? Great Heavens! Drug the King and win the rights of England while he is in his cups? Bouillon—the army—Louis—the Dutch! A conspiracy!"

"Oh, dear; oh, dear," came from Moll's trembling lips.

Nell's wits were like lightning playing with the clouds. Her plans were formed at once.

"Fly, fly, comrade," she commanded Strings. "Overtake her chair. Tell the Duchess that her beloved Charles—she will understand—entreats her to sup at Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour. Nay, she will be glad enough to come. Say he awaits her alone. Run, run, good Strings, and you shall have a hospital to nurse these wounds, as big as Noah's ark; and the King shall build it for the message."

Strings hastened down the path, fired by Nell's inspiration, with almost the eagerness of a boy.

"Run, run!" cried Nell, in ecstasy, as she looked after him and dwelt gleefully upon the outcome of her plans.

He disappeared through the trees.

"Heigh-ho!" she said, with a light-hearted step. "Now, Moll, we'll get our first sight of the enemy."

She darted into the house, dragging poor Moll after her.



CHAPTER VIII

"And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."

An old English inn! What spot on earth is more hospitable, even though its floor be bare and its tables wooden? There is a homely atmosphere about it, with its cobwebbed rafters, its dingy windows, its big fireplace, where the rough logs crackle, and its musty ale. It has ever been a home for the belated traveller, where the viands, steaming hot, have filled his soul with joy. Oh, the Southdown mutton and the roasts of beef!

If England has given us naught else, she should be beloved for her wealth of inns, with their jolly landlords and their pert bar-maids and their lawns for the game of bowls. May our children's children find them still unchanged.

In a quaint corner of London, there stood such an inn, in the days of which we speak; and it lives in our story. When it was built, no one knew and none cared. Tradition said that it had been a rendezvous for convivial spirits for ages that had gone. A sign hung from the door, on which was a boar's head; and under it, in Old English lettering, might have been deciphered, if the reader had the wit to read, "Ye Blue Boar Inn."

It was the evening of a certain day, known to us all, in the reign of good King Charles. Three yesty spirits sat convivially enjoying the warmth of the fire upon the huge hearth. A keg was braced in the centre of the room. One of the merry crew—none other, indeed, than Swallow, a constable to the King—sat astride the cask, Don Quixote-like. In place of the dauntless lance, he was armed with a sturdy mug of good old ale. He sang gaily to a tune of his own, turning ever and anon for approbation to Buzzard, another spirit of like guild, who sat in a semi-maudlin condition by the table, and also to the moon-faced landlord of the inn, who encouraged the joviality of his guests—not forgetting to count the cups which they demolished.

Swallow sang:

"Here's a health unto his Majesty, with a fa, la, fa, Conversion to his enemies with a fa, la, fa, And he that will not pledge his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor yet a rope to hang himself— With a fa, la, fa, With a fa, la, fa."

The song ended in a triumphant wave of glory. The singer turned toward the fellow, Buzzard, and demanded indignantly:

"Why don't ye sing, knave, to the tune of the spigot?"

"My gullet's dry, Master Constable," stupidly explained his companion, as he too buried his face in the ale.

"Odsbud, thou knowest not the art, thou clod," retorted the constable, wisely.

"Nay; I can sing as well as any man," answered Buzzard, indignantly, "an I know when to go up and when to come down." He pointed stupidly, contrary to the phrase, first to the floor and then to the ceiling.

The landlord chuckled merrily, imitating him. "When to go up and when to come down!" he repeated with the same idiotic drawl and contradictory gesture.

"Go to, simple," replied Swallow, with tremendous condescension of manner. "Thy mother gave thee a gullet but no ear. Pass the schnapps."

He arose and staggered to the table.

"Good Master Constable, how singest thou?" sheepishly inquired Buzzard, as he filled Swallow's tankard for the twentieth time.

"Marry, by main force, thou jack-pudding; how else?" demanded Swallow, pompously. He reseated himself with much effort astride the cask. "Oh, bury me here," he continued, looking into the foaming mug, and then buried his face deep in the ale.

His companions were well pleased with the toast; for each repeated it after him, each in his turn emphasizing the "me" and the "here"—"Oh, bury me here!" "Oh, bury me here!"—Buzzard in a voice many tones deeper than that of Swallow and the landlord in a voice many tones deeper than that of Buzzard. Indeed, the guttural tones of the landlord bespoke the grave-yard.

The three faces were lost in the foam; the three sets of lips smacked in unison; and the world might have wagged as it would for these three jolly topers but for a woman's voice, calling sharply from the kitchen:

"Jenkins, love!"

"Body o' me!" exclaimed the landlord, almost dropping his empty tankard. "Coming, coming, my dear!" and he departed hastily.

The constable poked Buzzard in the ribs; Buzzard poked the constable in the ribs.

"Jenkins, love!" they exclaimed in one breath as the landlord returned, much to his discomfiture; and their eyes twinkled and wrinkled as they poked fun at the taverner.

"Body o' me! Thou sly dog!" said the constable, as he continued to twit him. "Whence came the saucy wench in the kitchen, landlord? A dimpled cook, eh?"

The landlord's face grew serious with offended dignity as he attempted to explain.

"'Tis my wife, Master Constable," he said.

"Marry, the new one?" inquired Swallow.

"'Tis not the old one, Master Swallow," replied the old hypocrite, wiping away a forced tear. "Poor soul, she's gone, I know not where."

"I' faith, I trow she's still cooking, landlord," consolingly replied the constable, with tearful mien, pointing slyly downward for the benefit of Buzzard and steadying himself with difficulty on the cask.

"Bless Matilde," said the landlord as he wiped his eyes again, "I had a hard time to fill her place."

"Yea, truly," chuckled Swallow in Buzzard's ear, between draughts, "three long months from grave to altar."

"A good soul, a good soul, Master Swallow," continued the landlord, with the appearance of deep affliction.

"And a better cook, landlord," said Swallow, sadly. "Odsbud, she knew a gooseberry tart. Patch your old wife's soul to your new wife's face, and you'll be a happy man, landlord. Here's a drop to her."

"Thank ye, Master Constable," replied the landlord, much affected. He looked well to the filling of the flagon in his hand, again wiped a tear from his eye and took a deep draught to the pledge of

"The old one!"

Swallow, with equal reverence, and with some diplomacy, placed his flagon to his lips with the pledge of

"The new one!"

Buzzard, who had not been heard from for some time, roused sufficiently to realize the situation, and broke out noisily on his part with

"The next one!"

A startled expression pervaded the landlord's face as he realized the meaning of Buzzard's words. He glanced woefully toward the kitchen-door, lest the new wife might have overheard.

"Peace, Buzzard!" Swallow hastened to command, reprovingly. "Would ye raise a man's dead wife? Learn discretion from thy elders, an thou hop'st to be a married man."

"Marry, I do not hope," declared Buzzard, striking the table with his clenched hand. He had no time for matrimony while the cups were overflowing.

There was a quick, imperative knock at the door. The constable, Buzzard and the landlord, all started up in confusion and fear.

"Thieves," stammered Swallow, faintly, from behind the cask, from which he had dismounted at the first sign of danger. "They are making off with thy tit-bit-of-a-wife, landlord."

"Be there thieves in the neighbourhood, Master Constable?" whispered the landlord, in consternation.

"Why should his Majesty's constable be here else?" said Swallow, reaching for a pike, which trembled in his hand as if he had the ague. "The country about's o'er-run with them; and I warrant 'tis thy new wife's blue eyes they are after." He steadied himself with the pike and took a deep draught of ale to steady his courage as well.

Buzzard started to crawl beneath the table, but the wary constable caught him by his belt and made a shield for the nonce of his trembling body.

The landlord's eyes bulged from their sockets as if a spirit from the nether regions had confronted him. The corners of his mouth, which ascended in harmony with his moon-face, twitched nervously. "Mercy me, sayest thou so?" he asked.

"And in thine ear," continued Swallow, consolingly, "and if thou see'st Old Rowley within a ten league, put thy new huswife's face under lock and key and Constable Swallow on the door to guard thy treasure."

It was not quite clear, however, what the constable meant; for "Old Rowley" was the name of the King's favourite racehorse, of Newmarket fame, and had also come to be the nickname of the King himself. Charles assumed it good-naturedly. Assuredly, neither might be expected as a visitor to Ye Blue Boar.

There came a more spirited knock at the door. The constable sought a niche in the fireplace, whence he endeavoured to exclude Buzzard, who was loath to be excluded.

"Pass the Dutch-courage, good landlord," entreated Swallow, in a hoarse whisper.

The landlord started boldly toward the door, but his courage failed him. "Go thou, Master Constable," he exclaimed.

"Go thou thyself," wisely commanded Swallow, with the appearance of much bravery, though one eye twitched nervously in the direction of the kitchen-door in the rear, as a possible means of exit. "There's no need of his Majesty's constable till the battery be complete. There must be an action and intent, saith the law."

"Old Rowley!" muttered the landlord, fearfully. "Good Master Constable—" he pleaded. His face, which was usually like a roast of beef, grew livid with fear.

Swallow, however, gave him no encouragement, and the landlord once more started for the door.

On the way his eye lighted on a full cask which was propped up in the corner. Instinct was strong in him, even in death. It had been tapped, and it would be unsafe to leave it even for an instant within reach of such guests. He stopped and quickly replaced the spigot with a plug.

There was a third knock at the door—louder than before.

"Anon, anon!" he called, hastily turning and catching up the half-filled flagon from the table. He disappeared in the entry-way.

The brave representatives of the King's law craned their necks, but they could hear nothing. As the silence continued, courage was gradually restored to them; and, with the return of courage, came the desire for further drink.

Swallow again seized his pike and staggered toward the entry-way to impress his companion with his bravery.

Buzzard caught the spirit of the action. "Marry, I'd be a constable, too, an it were to sit by the fire and guard a pretty wench," he said. His face glowed in anticipation of such happiness as he glanced through the half-open door to the kitchen, where the landlord's wife reigned.

"Egad, thou a constable!" ejaculated Swallow, contemptuously, throwing a withering glance in the direction of his comrade. "Thou ignoramamus! Old Rowley wants naught but brave men and sober men like me to guard the law. Thou art a drunken Roundhead. One of Old Noll's vile ruffians. I can tell it by the wart on thy nose, knave."

"Nay, Master Constable," explained Buzzard, with an injured look at the mention of the wart, "it will soon away. Mother says, when I was a rosy babe, Master Wart was all in all; now I'm a man, Master Nose is crowding Neighbour Wart."

Swallow put his hands on his knees and laughed deeply. He contemplated the nose and person of his companion with a curious air and grew mellow with patronage.

"Thy fool's pate is not so dull," he said, half aloud, as he lighted a long pipe and puffed violently. "Thy wit would crack a quarter-staff. 'Sbud, would'st be my posse?

This was, indeed, a concession on the part of the constable, who was over-weighted with the dignity of the law which he upheld.

"Would'st be at my command," he continued, "to execute the King's Statu quos on rogues?"

"Marry, Constable Buzzard!" exclaimed the toper, gleefully. "Nay, and I would!"

"Marry, 'Constable' Buzzard!" replied Swallow, with tremendous indignation at the assumption of the fellow. "Nay, and thou would'st not, ass! By my patron saint—"

As the constable spoke, Buzzard's eye, with a leer, lighted on the cask in the corner. He bethought him that it had a vent-hole even though the landlord had removed the spigot. He tiptoed unsteadily across the room, and proceeded with much difficulty to insert a straw in the small opening. He had thus already added materially to his maudlin condition, before Swallow discovered, with consternation and anger, the temporary advantage which the newly appointed posse had secured.

The cunning constable held carefully on to his tongue, however. He quietly produced a knife and staggered in his turn to the cask, unobserved by the unsuspecting Buzzard, whose eyes were tightly closed in the realization of a dream of his highest earthly bliss.

In an instant, the straw was clipped mid-way and the constable was enjoying the contents of the cask through the lower half, while Buzzard slowly awakened to the fact that his dream of bliss had vanished and that he was sucking a bit of straw which yielded naught.

"Here, knave," commanded Swallow, between breaths, pushing the other roughly aside, "thou hast had enough for a posse. Fill my mug, thou ignoranshibus."

Buzzard staggered toward the table to perform the bidding. "The flagon's empty, Master Constable," he replied, and forthwith loudly called out, "Landlord! Landlord!"

The constable dropped his straw and raised himself with difficulty to his full height, one hand firmly resting on the cask.

"Silence, fool of a posse" he commanded, when he had poised himself; "look ye, I have other eggs on the spit. To thy knee, sirrah; to thy knee, knave!"

Buzzard with difficulty and with many groans unsuspectingly obeyed the command. Swallow lifted the cask which not long since he had been riding and which had not as yet been tapped upon the shoulder of his kneeling companion. There was another groan.

"'Tis too heavy, good Master Constable," cried Buzzard, in sore distress.

"Thou clodhopper'" yelled Swallow, unsympathetically. "An thou cannot master a cask of wine, thou wilt never master the King's law. To the kitchen with thee; and keep thy eyes shut, thou knave of a posse." The constable made a dive for his pike and lantern, and enforced his authority by punctuating his remarks with jabs of the pike from behind at his powerless friend, who could scarce keep his legs under the weight of the cask.

As Buzzard tottered through the kitchen-door and made his exit, the constable, finding his orders faithfully obeyed, steadied himself with the pike to secure a good start; and then, with long staggering strides, he himself made his way after the posse, singing loudly to his heart's content:

"Good store of good claret supplies everything And the man that is drunk is as great as a king."



CHAPTER IX

Three chickens!

The door opened quickly, and in came King Charles; but who would have known him? The royal monarch had assumed the mien and garb of a ragged cavalier.

His eyes swept the inn quickly and approvingly. He turned upon the landlord, who followed him with dubious glances.

"Cook the chickens to a turn; and, mark you, have the turbot and sauce hot, and plenty of wine," he said. "Look to't; the vintage I named, Master Landlord. I know the bouquet and sparkle and the ripple o'er the palate."

"Who is to pay for all this, sir?" asked the landlord, aghast at the order.

"Insolent!" replied Charles. "I command it, sirrah."

"Pardon, sir," humbly suggested the landlord; "guineas, and not words, command here."

"Odso!" muttered the King, remembering his disguise. "My temper will reveal me. Never fear, landlord," he boasted loudly. "You shall be paid, amply paid. I will pledge myself you shall be paid."

"Pardon, sir," falteringly repeated the landlord, rubbing his hands together graciously; "but the order is a costly one and you—"

"Do not look flourishing?" said Charles, as he laughingly finished the sentence, glancing somewhat dubiously himself at his own dress. "Never judge a man by his rags. Plague on't, though; I would not become my own creditor upon inspection. Take courage, good Master Landlord; England's debt is in my pocket."

"How many to supper, sir?" asked the landlord, fearful lest he might offend.

"Two! Two! Only two!" decisively exclaimed Charles. "A man is an extravagant fool who dines more. The third is expensive and in the way. Eh, landlord?"

The King winked gaily at the landlord, who grinned in response and dropped his eyes more respectfully.

"Two, sir," acquiesced the landlord.

"Aye, mine host, thou art favoured beyond thy kind," laughed Charles, knowingly, as he dwelt upon the joys of a feast incognito alone with Nell. "A belated goddess would sup at thy hostelry." The landlord's eyes grew big with astonishment. "I will return. Obey her every wish, dost hear, her every wish, and leave the bill religiously to me." Charles swaggered gaily up the steps to the entry-way and out the door.

The moon-face of the inn-keeper grew slowly serious. He could not reconcile the shabby, road-bespattered garments of the strange cavalier with his princely commands.

"Body o' me!" he muttered, lighting one by one the candles in the room, till the rafters fairly glowed in expectation of the feast. "Roundhead-beggar, on my life! Turbot and capons and the best vintage! The King could not have better than this rogue. Marry, he shall have the best in the larder; but Constable Swallow shall toast his feet in the kitchen, with a mug of musty ale to make him linger."

The corners of the mouth in the moon-face ascended in a chuckle.

"His ragged lordship'll settle the bill very religiously," he thought, "or sleep off his swollen Roundhead behind the bars."

He passed into the kitchen and gave the order for the repast. As he returned, there was a tap at the door; and he hastened to the window.

"Bless me, a petticoat!" he cried. "Well, he's told the truth for once. She's veiled. Ashamed of her face or ashamed of him."

He opened the door and ushered in a lady dressed in white; across her face and eyes was thrown a scarf of lace.

"Not here?" questioned the new-comer, glancing eagerly about the room and peeping into every nook and corner without the asking, to the astonishment of the inn-keeper.

"Not here?" she asked herself again, excitedly. "Tell me, tell me, is this Ye Blue Boar Inn?"

"Yes, lady—" replied the landlord, graciously.

"Good, good! Has she been here? Have you seen her?"

"Who, the goddess?" asked the landlord, stupidly.

"The goddess!" retorted Nell, for it was none other, with humorous irony of lip. "How can you so belie the Duchess?" She laughed merrily at the thought.

There was a second knock; and the landlord again hastened to the window.

"'Tis she; 'tis she!" exclaimed Nell, excitedly. "Haste ye, man; I am in waiting! What has she on? How is she dressed?"

"Body o' me!" exclaimed the landlord, in awe, as he craned his neck at the sash. "'Tis a lady of quality."

"Bad quality," ejaculated Nell.

"She has come in a chair of silver," cried the landlord.

"My chair shall be of beaten gold, then," thought Nell, with a twinkle of the eye. "Charles, you must raise the taxes."

"Mercy me, the great lady's coming in," continued the landlord, beside himself in his excitement.

"She shall be welcome, most welcome, landlord," observed Nell promptly.

"Body o' me! What shall I say?" asked the landlord, in trembling accents.

"Faith and troth," replied Nell, coming to his rescue, "I will do the parlez-vousing with her ladyship. Haste thee, thou grinning fat man." She glided quickly into a corner of the old fireplace, where she could not be observed so readily.

The Duchess of Portsmouth entered, with all the haughty grandeur of a queen. She glanced about contemptuously, and her lip could be seen to curl, even through the veil which partially hid her face.

"This bourgeois place," she said, "to sup with the King! It cannot be! Garcon!"

"What a voice," reflected Nell, in her hiding-place, "in which to sigh, 'I love you.'"

"Barbarous place!" exclaimed Portsmouth. "His Majesty must have lost his wits."

She smiled complacently, however, as she reflected that the King might consent even within these walls and that his sign-manual, if so secured, would be as binding as if given in a palace.

"Garcon!" again she called, irritably.

Nell was meanwhile inspecting her rival from top to toe. Nothing escaped her quick eye. "I'll wager her complexion needs a veil," she muttered, with vixenish glee. "That gown is an insult to her native France."

"Garcon; answer me," commanded Portsmouth, fretfully.

The landlord had danced about her grace in such anxiety to please that he had displeased. He had not learned the courtier's art of being ever present, yet never in the way.

"Yes, your ladyship," he stupidly repeated again and again. "What would your ladyship?"

"Did a prince leave commands for supper?" she asked, impatiently.

"No, your ladyship," he replied, obsequiously. "A ragged rogue ordered a banquet and then ran away, your ladyship."

"How, sirrah?" she questioned, angrily, though the poor landlord had meant no discourtesy.

"If he knew his guests, he would ne'er return," softly laughed Nell.

"Parbleu," continued Portsmouth, in her French, impatient way, now quite incensed by the stupidity of the landlord, "a cavalier would meet me at Ye Blue Boar Inn; so said the messenger."

She suddenly caught sight of Nell, whose biting curiosity had led her from her hiding-place. "This is not the rendezvous," she reflected quickly. "We were to sup alone."

The landlord still bowed and still uttered the meaningless phrase: "Yes, your ladyship."

The Duchess was at the end of her patience. "Mon Dieu," she exclaimed, "do you know nothing, sirrah?"

The moon-face beamed. The head bowed and bowed and bowed; the hands were rubbed together graciously.

"Good lack, I know not; a supper for a king was ordered by a ragged Roundhead," he replied. "Here are two petticoats, your ladyship. When I know which petticoat is which petticoat, your ladyship, I will serve the dinner."

The tavern-keeper sidled toward the kitchen-door. As he went out, he muttered, judiciously low: "I wouldn't give a ha'penny for the choice."

"Beggar!" snapped Portsmouth. "Musty place, musty furniture, musty garcon, musty everything!"

She stood aloof in the centre of the room as if fearful lest she might be contaminated by her surroundings.

Nell approached her respectfully.

"You may like it better after supper, madame," she suggested, mildly. "A good spread, sparkling wine and most congenial company have cast a halo o'er more time-begrimed rafters than these."

"Who are you, madame?" inquired the Duchess, haughtily.

"A fellow-passenger on the earth," gently replied Nell, "and a lover of good company, and—some wine."

"Yes?" said the Duchess, in a way that only a woman can ask and answer a question with a "yes" and with a look such as only a woman can give another woman when she asks and answers that little question with a "yes."

There was a moment's pause.

The Duchess continued: "Perhaps you have seen the cavalier I await."

"Marry, not I," replied Nell, promptly; and she bethought her that she had kept a pretty sharp lookout for him, too.

"Is this a proper place for a lady to visit?" pompously inquired the Duchess.

"You raise the first doubt," said Nell quickly.

"Madame!" exclaimed Portsmouth, interrupting her, with fiery indignation.

"I say, you are the first to question the propriety of the place," explained Nell, apologetically, though she delighted inwardly at the intended shot which she had given her grace.

"I came by appointment," continued the Duchess; "but it seems I was misled. Garcon, my chair!"

The Duchess made a move toward the door, but Nell's words stopped her.

"Be patient, Duchess! He is too gallant to desert you."

"She knows me!" thought Portsmouth. She turned sharply upon the stranger. "I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame."

"Such is my loss, not yours," replied Nell, suavely.

"Remove your veil," commanded the Duchess; and her eyes flashed through her own.

"I dare not before the beauty of Versailles," continued Nell, sweetly. "Remove yours first. Then I may take mine off unseen."

"Do I know you?" suspiciously inquired Portsmouth.

"I fear not," said Nell, meekly, and she courtesied low. "I am but an humble player—called Nell Gwyn."

The Duchess raised herself to her full height.

"Nell Gwyn!" she hissed, and she fairly tore off her veil.

"Your grace's most humble servant," said Nell, again courtesying low and gracefully removing her veil.

"This is a trap," exclaimed the Duchess, as she realized the situation.

"Heaven bless the brain that set it then," sweetly suggested Nell.

"Your own, minx," snapped Portsmouth. "I'll not look at the hussy!" she muttered. She crossed the room and seated herself upon the bench, back to Nell.

"Your grace would be more kind if you knew my joy at seeing you."

"And why?" asked the Duchess, ironically.

"I would emulate your warmth and amiability," tenderly responded Nell.

"Yes?" said Portsmouth; but how much again there was in her little "yes," accented as it was with a French shrug.

"I adore a beautiful woman," continued Nell, "especially when I know her to be—"

"A successful rival?" triumphantly asked the Duchess.

"A rival!" exclaimed Nell, in well-feigned astonishment, still toying with the Duchess's temper. "Is the poor actress so honoured in a duchess's thought? Your grace is generous."

If all the angels had united, they could not have made her speech more sweet or her manner more enticing.

"I presumed you might conceive it so," replied Portsmouth, with mocking, condescending mien.

Nell approached her timidly and spoke softly, lovingly, subserviently.

"A rival to the great Duchess of Portsmouth!" she said. "Perish the thought! It is with trepidation I look upon your glorious face, madame; a figure that would tempt St. Anthony; a foot so small it makes us swear the gods have lent invisible wings to waft you to your conquest. Nay, do not turn your rosy lip in scorn; I am in earnest, so in earnest, that, were I but a man, I would bow me down your constant slave—unless perchance you should grow fat."

The turn was delicious: Nell's face was a study; and so was Portsmouth's.

The Duchess sprang to her feet, realizing fully for the first time that she had been trapped and trifled with. "Hussy! Beware your own lacings," she angrily exclaimed, turning now full face upon her adversary.

Nell was leaning against the table across the room, quietly observing Portsmouth upon the word-wrack. Her whole manner had changed. She watched with evident delight the play of discomfiture, mingled with contempt, upon the beautiful Duchess's face.

"Me fat!" she derisively laughed. "Be sure I shall never grow too much so. And have not the stars said I shall ne'er grow old?"

"Your stars are falser than yourself," tartly snapped the Duchess.

"Mayhap," said Nell, still gleeful; "but mark you this truth: I shall reign queen of Love and Laughter while I live, and die with the first wrinkle."

She was interrupted by his Majesty, who, unsuspecting, swaggered into the room in buoyant spirits.

"The King!" exclaimed Nell, as she slyly glanced over her shoulder.

The King looked at one woman and then at the other in dismay and horror.

"Scylla and Charybdis!" he muttered, nervously, glancing about for means of escape. "All my patron-saints protect me!"

Nell was by his side in an instant.

"Good even' to your Majesty," she roguishly exclaimed. "How can I ever thank you, Sire, for inviting the Duchess to sup with me! I have been eager to meet her ladyship."

"Ods-pitikins," he thought, "a loophole for me."

"Well,—you see—" he said, "a little surprise, Nelly,—a little surprise—for me." The last two words were not audible to his hearers. He looked at the beautiful rivals an instant, then ventured, "I hoped to be in time to introduce you, ladies."

"Oh, your Majesty," asserted Nell, consolingly, "we are already quite well acquainted. I knew her grace through her veil."

"No doubt on't," observed the King, knowingly.

"Yes, Sire," said the Duchess, haughtily, casting a frigid glance at Nell, "I warrant we understand each other perfectly."

"Better and better," said Charles, with a sickly laugh.

His Majesty saw rocks and shoals ahead, and his wits could find no channel of escape. He turned in dire distress upon Nell, who stood aloof. She looked up into his face with the innocence of a babe in every feature.

"Minx, this is your work!" he whispered.

"Yes, Sire!" she answered, mock-reprovingly, bending quite to the floor as she courtesied low.

"'Yes, Sire.' Baggage!" he exclaimed good-naturedly despite himself.

As he turned away, praying Heaven to see him out of the difficulty, he observed the landlord, who had just entered with bread and cups, muttering some dubious invocations to himself. He clutched at this piece of human stupidity—like a drowning man clutching at a straw: "Ah, landlord, bring in what we live for; and haste ye, sirrah. The wine! The wine!"

"It is ready, sir," obsequiously replied the landlord, who had just sense enough in his dull cranium to reflect also, by way of complement, "So is Constable Swallow."

"Good news, good news!" cried Charles; and he tossed his plumed hat upon the sideboard, preparatory to the feast. "D'ye hear, my fair and loving friends? Come, it is impolite to keep the capons waiting. My arms; my arms!"

The King stepped gallantly between the ladies, making a bold play for peace. The Duchess took one arm formally. Nell seized the remaining arm and almost hugged his Majesty, nestling her head affectionately against his shoulder. Charles observed the decorum of due dignity. He was impartial to a fault; for he realized that there only lay his salvation.

The phalanx approached the feast in solemn march. The King tossed his head proudly and observed: "Who would not play the thorn with two such buds to blush on either side?"

There was a halt. The Duchess looked coldly at the table, then coldly at the King, then more coldly at Nell. The King looked at each inquiringly.

"I thought your Majesty ordered supper for three," she said. "It is set for two."

"Odsfish, for two!" cried Charles, glancing, anxiously, for the first time at the collation.

Nell had taken her place at the feast, regardless of formality. She was looking out for herself, irrespective of King or Duchess. She believed that a dinner, like the grave, renders all equal.

"Egad!" she exclaimed, as she dwelt upon the force of the Duchess's observation. "Our host is teaching us the virtues of economy."

The unsuspecting landlord re-entered at this moment, wine in hand, which he proceeded to place upon the table.

"What do you mean, knave, by this treachery!" almost shrieked the King at sight of him. "Another plate, dost hear; another plate, dog!"

"Bless me," explained the landlord, in confusion, "you said supper for two, sir; that a man was a fool who dined more; that the third was expensive and in the way."

"Villain!" cried Charles, in a hopeless effort to suppress the fellow, "I said two-two—beside myself. I never count myself in the presence of these ladies."

The landlord beat a hasty retreat.

The Duchess smiled a chilling smile, and asked complacently:

"Which one of us did you expect, Sire?"

"Yes, which did you expect, Sire?" laughed Nell.

"Oh, my head," groaned Charles; "well, well,—you see—Duchess, the matter lies in this wise—"

"Let me help your Majesty," generously interrupted Nell. "Her ladyship is ill at figures. You see, Charles and I are one, and you make two, Duchess."

"I spoke to the King," haughtily replied the Duchess, not deigning to glance at Nell.

The King placed his hands upon his forehead in bewilderment.

"This is a question for the Prime Minister and sages of the realm in council."

"There are but two chairs, Sire," continued Portsmouth, coldly.

"Two chairs!" exclaimed the Merry Monarch, aghast, as he saw the breach hopelessly widening. "I am lost."

"That is serious, Sire," said Nell, sadly; and then her eye twinkled as she suggested, "but perhaps we might make out with one, for the Duchess's sake. I am so little."

She turned her head and laughed gaily, while she watched the Duchess's face out of the corner of her eye.

"'Sheart," sighed the King, "I have construed grave controversies of state in my time, but ne'er drew the line yet betwixt black eyes and blue, brunette and blonde, when both were present. Another chair, landlord! Come, my sweethearts; eat, drink and forget."

The King threw himself carelessly into a chair in the hope that, in meat and drink, he might find peace.

"Aye," acquiesced Nell, who was already at work, irrespective of ceremony, "eat, drink and forget! I prefer to quarrel after supper."

"I do not," said the Duchess, who still stood indignant in the centre of the room.

Nell could scarce speak, for her mouthful; but she replied gaily, with a French shrug, in imitation of the Duchess:

"Oh, very well! I have a solution. Let's play sphinx, Sire."

Charles looked up hopefully.

"Anything for peace," he exclaimed. "How is't?"

"Why," explained Nell, with the philosophical air of a learned doctor, "some years before you and I thought much about the ways and means of this wicked world, your Majesty, the Sphinx spent her leisure asking people riddles; and if they could not answer, she ate them alive. Give me some of that turbot. Don't stand on ceremony, Sire; for the Duchess is waiting."

The King hastened to refill Nell's plate.

"Thank you," laughed the vixen; "that will do for now. Let the Duchess propound a riddle from the depths of her subtle brain; and if I do not fathom it upon the instant, Sire, 't is the Duchess's—not Nell's—evening with the King."

"Odsfish, a great stake!" cried Charles. He arose with a serio-comic air, much pleased at the turn things were taking.

"Don't be too confident, madame," ironically suggested the Duchess; "you are cleverer in making riddles than in solving them."

As she spoke, the room was suddenly filled with savoury odour. The moon-faced landlord had again appeared, flourishing a platter containing two finely roasted chickens. His face glowed with pride and ale.

"The court's famished," exclaimed Charles, as he greeted the inn-keeper; "proceed!"

"Two capons! I have it," triumphantly thought Portsmouth, as she reflected upon a riddle she had once heard in far-off France. It could not be known in England. Nothing so clever could be known in England. She looked contemptuously at Nell, and then at the two chickens, as she propounded it.

"Let your wits find then three capons on this plate."

"Three chickens!" cried Charles, in wonderment, closely scrutinizing the two fowl upon the plate and then looking up inquiringly at the Duchess. "There are but two."

Nell only gurgled.

"Another glass, landlord, and I'll see four," she said. "Here's to you two, and to me too." She drank gaily to her toast.

"That is not the answer, madame," coldly retorted the Duchess.

"Are we come to blows over two innocent chickens?" asked Charles, somewhat concerned still for the outcome. "Bring on your witnesses." "This is one chicken, your Majesty," declared the Duchess. "Another's two; and two and one make three."

With much formality and something of the air of a conjurer, she counted the first chicken and the second chicken and then recounted the first chicken, in such a way as to make it appear that there were three birds in all.

The King, who was ill at figures, like all true spendthrifts, sat confused by her speech. Nell laughed again. The landlord, who was in and out, stopped long enough to enter upon his bill, in rambling characters, "3 chickens." This was all his dull ear had comprehended. He then piously proceeded on his way.

"Gadso!" exclaimed the King, woefully. "It is too much for me."

"Pooh, pooh, 'tis too simple for you, Sire," laughed Nell. "I solved it when a child. Here is my bird; and here is your bird; and our dearest Duchess shall sup on her third bird!"

Nell quickly spitted one chicken upon a huge fork and so removed it to her own plate. The second chicken, she likewise conveyed to his Majesty's. Then, with all the politeness which she only could summon, she bowed low and offered the empty platter to the Duchess.

Portsmouth struck it to the board angrily with her gloved hand and steadied herself against the table.

"Hussy!" she hissed, and forthwith pretended to grow faint.

Charles was at her elbow in an instant, supporting her.

"Oh,—Sire, I—" she continued, in her efforts to speak.

"What is it?" cried Charles, seriously, endeavouring to assist her. "You are pale, Louise."

"I am faint," replied she, with much difficulty. "Pardon my longer audience, Sire; I am not well. Garcon, my chair. Assist me to the door."

The fat landlord made a hasty exit, for him, toward the street, in his desire to help the great lady. Charles supported her to the threshold.

"Call a leech, Sire," cried Nell after them, with mock sympathy. "Her grace has choked on a chicken-bone."

"Be still, wench," commanded the King. "Do not leave us, Louise; it breaks the sport."

"Nay," pleaded Nell also, "do not go because of this little merry-making, Duchess. I desire we may become better friends."

Her voice revived the Duchess.

"Sans doute, we shall, madame," Portsmouth replied, coldly. "A mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir."

The great Duchess courtesied low, kissed the King's hand, arose to her full height and, with an eye-shot at Nell, took her departure.



CHAPTER X

Arrest him yourself!

The King stood at the door, thoughtfully reflecting on the temper of the departing Duchess. She was a maid of honour and, more than that, an emissary from his brother Louis of France. Gossip said he loved her, but it was not true, though he liked her company exceeding well when the mood suited. He regretted only the evening's incident, with the harsher feeling it was sure to engender.

Nell stood by the fireplace, muttering French phrases in humorous imitation of her grace. Observing the King's preoccupation, she tossed a serviette merrily at his head.

This brought his Majesty to himself again. He turned, and laughed as he saw her; for his brain and heart delighted in her merry-making. He loved her.

"What means this vile French?" she asked, with delicious suggestion of the shrug, accent and manner of her vanquished rival.

"The Duchess means," explained the King, "that she gives a royal ball—"

"And invites me?" broke in Nell, quickly, placing her elbows upon a cask and looking over it impishly at Charles.

"And invites you not" said the King, "and so outwits you."

"By her porters' wits and not her own," retorted Nell.

She threw herself into a chair and became oblivious for the moment of her surroundings.

"The French hussy! So she gives a ball?" she thought. "Well, well, I'll be there! I'll teach her much. Oh, I'll be pretty, too, aye, very pretty. No fear yet of rivalry or harm for England."

Charles watched her amusedly, earnestly, lovingly. The vixen had fallen unconsciously into imitating again the Duchess's foreign ways, as an accompaniment even for her thoughts.

"Sans doute, we shall, madame" Nell muttered audibly, with much gesticulating and a mocking accent. "A mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir."

The King came closer.

"Are you ill," he asked, "that you do mutter so and wildly act?"

"I was only thinking that, if I were a man," she said, turning toward him playfully, "I would love your Duchess to devotion. Her wit is so original, her repartee so sturdy. Your Majesty's taste in horses—and some women—is excellent."

She crossed the room gaily and threw herself laughing upon the bench. The King followed her.

"Heaven help the being, naughty Nell," he said, "who offends thy merry tongue; but I love thee for it." He sat down beside her in earnest adoration, then caught her lovingly in his arms.

"Love me?" sighed Nell, scarce mindful of the embrace. "Ah, Sire, I am but a plaything for the King at best, a caprice, a fancy—naught else."

"Nay, sweet," said Charles, "you have not read this heart."

"I have read it too deeply," replied Nell, with much meaning in her voice. "It is this one to-day, that one to-morrow, with King Charles. Ah, Sire, your love for the poor player-girl is summed up in three little words: 'I amuse you!'"

"Amuse me!" exclaimed Charles, thoughtfully. "Hark ye, Nell! States may marry us; they cannot make us love. Ye Gods, the humblest peasant in my realm is monarch of a heart of his own choice. Would I were such a king!"

"What buxom country lass," asked Nell, sadly but wistfully, "teaches your fancy to follow the plough, my truant master?"

"You forget: I too," continued Charles, "have been an outcast, like Orange Nell, seeking a crust and bed."

He arose and turned away sadly to suppress his emotion. He was not the King of England now: he was a man who had suffered; he was a man among men.

"Forgive me, Sire," said Nell, tenderly, as a woman only can speak, "if I recall unhappy times."

"Unhappy!" echoed Charles, while Fancy toyed with Recollection. "Nell, in those dark days, I learned to read the human heart. God taught me then the distinction 'twixt friend and enemy. When a misled rabble had dethroned my father, girl, and murdered him before our palace gate, and bequeathed the glorious arts and progressive sciences to religious bigots and fanatics, to trample under foot and burn—when, if a little bird sang overjoyously, they cut out his tongue for daring to be merry—in some lonely home by some stranger's hearth, a banished prince, called Charles Stuart, oft found an asylum of plenty and repose; and in your eyes, my Nell, I read the self-same, loyal, English heart."

There was all the sadness of great music in his speech. Nell fell upon her knee, and kissed his hand, reverently.

"My King!" she said; and her voice trembled with passionate love.

He raised her tenderly and kissed her upon the lips.

"My queen," he said; and his voice too trembled with passionate love.

"And Milton says that Paradise is lost," whispered Nell. Her head rested on the King's shoulder. She looked up—the picture of perfect happiness—into his eyes.

"Not while Nell loves Charles," he said.

"And Charles remembers Nell," her voice answered, softly.

Meanwhile, the rotund landlord had entered unobserved; and a contrast he made, indeed, to the endearing words of the lovers as at this instant he unceremoniously burst forth in guttural accents with:

"The bill! The bill for supper, sir!"

Nell looked at the King and the King looked at Nell; then both looked at the landlord. The lovers' sense of humour was boundless. That was their first tie; the second, their hearts.

"The bill!" repeated Nell, smothering a laugh. "Yes, we were just speaking of the bill."

"How opportune!" exclaimed Charles, taking the cue. "We feared you would forget it, sirrah."

"See that it is right," ejaculated Nell.

The King glanced at the bill indifferently, but still could not fail to see "3 chickens" in unschooled hand. His eyes twinkled and he glanced at the landlord, but the latter avoided his look with a pretence of innocence.

"Gad," said Charles, with a swagger, "what are a few extra shillings to Parliament? Here, my man." He placed a hand in a pocket, but found it empty. "No; it is in the other pocket." He placed his hand in another, only to find it also empty. Then he went through the remaining pockets, one by one, turning them each out for inspection—his face assuming an air of mirthful hopelessness as he proceeded. He had changed his garb for a merry lark, but had neglected to change his purse. "Devil on't, I—have—forgotten—Odsfish, where is my treasurer?" he exclaimed at last.

"Your treasurer!" shrieked the landlord, who had watched Charles's search, with twitching eyes. "Want your treasurer, do ye? Constable Swallow'll find him for ye. Constable Swallow! I knew you were a rascal, by your face."

Charles laughed.

This exasperated the landlord still further. He began to flutter about the room aimlessly, bill in hand. He presented it to Charles and he presented it to Nell, who would have none of it; while at intervals he called loudly for the constable.

"Peace, my man," entreated Nell; "be still for mercy's sake."

"Good lack, my lady," pleaded the landlord, in despair, "good lack, but you would not see a poor man robbed by a vagabond, would ye? Constable Swallow!"

The situation was growing serious indeed. The King was mirthful still, but Nell was fearful.

"Nell, have you no money to stop this heathen's mouth?" he finally ejaculated, as he caught up his bonnet and tossed it jauntily upon his head.

"Not a farthing," replied she, sharply. "I was invited to sup, not pay the bill."

"If the King knew this rascal," yelled the landlord at the top of his voice, pointing to Charles, "he would be behind the bars long ago."

This was too much for his Majesty, who broke into the merriest of laughs.

"Verily, I believe you," he admitted. Then he fell to laughing again, almost rolling off the bench in his glee.

"Master Constable," wildly repeated the landlord, at the kitchen-door. "Let my new wife alone; they are making off with the house."

Nell was filled with consternation.

"He'll raise the neighbourhood, Sire," she whispered to Charles. "Have you no money to stop this heathen's mouth?"

"Not even holes in my pockets," calmly replied the Merry Monarch.

"Odsfish, what company am I got into!" sighed Nell. She ran to the landlord and seized his arm in her endeavour to quiet him.

The landlord, however, was beside himself. He stood at the kitchen-door gesticulating ferociously and still shouting at the top of his voice: "Constable Swallow! Help, help; thieves; Constable Swallow!"

Swallow staggered into the room with all his dignity aboard. Tankard in hand, he made a dive for the table, and catching it firmly, surveyed the scene.

Nell turned to her lover for protection.

"Murder, hic!" ejaculated the constable. "Thieves! What's the row?—Hic!"

"Arrest this blackguard," commanded the landlord, nervously, "this perfiler of honest men."

"Arrest!—You drunken idiot!" indignantly exclaimed Charles; and his sword cut the air before the constable's eyes.

Nell seized his arm. Her woman's intuition showed her the better course.

"You will raise a nest of them," she whispered. "You need your wits, Sire; not your sword."

"Nay; come on, I say," cried Charles, fearlessly. "We'll see what his Majesty's constables are made of."

"You rogue—Posse!" exclaimed Swallow, starting boldly for the King, then making a brilliant retreat, calling loudly for help, as the rapier tickled him in the ribs.

"You ruffian—Posse!" he continued to call, alternately, first to one and then to the other; for his fear paralyzed all but his tongue. "You outlaw—Posse commi-ti-titous—hic!"

Buzzard also now entered from his warm nest in the kitchen, so intoxicated that he vented his enthusiasm in song, which in this case seemed apt:

"The man that is drunk is as great as a king."

"Another champion of the King's law!" ejaculated Charles, not without a shadow of contempt in his voice, once more assuming an attitude of defence.

"Oh, Charles!" pleaded Nell, again catching his arm.

"Posse, arrest that vagabond," commanded the constable, from a point of safety behind the table.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the obedient Buzzard. "On what charge—hic?"

"He's a law-breaker and a robber!" yelled the watchful landlord.

"He called the law a drunken idiot. Hic—hic!" woefully wailed Swallow. "Odsbud, that's treason! Arrest him, posse—hic!"

"Knave, I arrest—hic!" asserted Buzzard.

The posse started boldly enough for his game, but was suddenly brought to a stand-still in his reeling course by the sharp point of the rapier playing about his legs. He made several indignant efforts to overcome the obstacle. The point of the blade was none too gentle with him, even as he beat a retreat; and his enthusiasm waned.

"Arrest him yourself—hic!" he exclaimed.

Swallow's face grew red with rage. To have his orders disobeyed fired him with much more indignation of soul than the escape of the ruffian, who was simply defrauding the landlord of a dinner. He turned hotly upon the insubordinate posse, crying:

"I'll arrest you, you Buzzard—hic!"

"I'll arrest you, you Swallow—hic!" with equal dignity retorted Buzzard.

"I'm his Majesty's constable—hic!" hissed Swallow, from lips charged with air, bellows-like.

"I'm his Majesty's posse—hic!" hissed Buzzard in reply.

The two drunken representatives of the law seized each other angrily. The landlord, in despair, endeavoured hopelessly to separate them.

"A wrangle of the generals," laughed Charles. "Now is our time." He looked about quickly for an exit.

"Body o' me! The vagabonds'll escape," shouted the landlord.

"Fly, fly!" said Nell. "This way, Charles."

She ran hastily toward the steps leading to the entry-way; the King assisted her.

"Stop, thief! Stop, thief!" screamed the landlord. "The bill! The bill!"

"Send it to the Duchess!" replied Nell, gaily, as she and the Merry Monarch darted into the night.

The landlord turned in despair, to find the drunken champions of the King's law in a struggling heap upon the floor. He raised his foot and took out vengeance where vengeance could be found.



CHAPTER XI

In the field, men; at court, women!

It was the evening of Portsmouth's long-awaited bal masque. Music filled her palace with rhythmic sound. In the gardens, its mellowing strains died away among the shrubs and over-hanging boughs. In every nook and corner wandered at will the nobility—the richest—the greatest—in the land.

None entertain like the French; and the Duchess had, indeed, exhausted French art in turning the grand old place into a land of ravishing enchantment, with its many lights, its flowers, its works of art. Her abode was truly an enlivening scene, with its variety of maskers, bright dominoes and vizards.

The King was there and took a merry part in all the sport, although, beneath his swaggering abandon, there lurked a vein of sadness. He laughed heartily, he danced gaily, he jested with one and all; but his manner was assumed. The shrewdest woman's eye could not have seen it; though she might have felt it. Brother James too enjoyed the dance, despite his piety; and Buckingham, Rochester and a score of courtiers beloved by the King entered mirthfully into the scene, applauding the Duchess's entertainment heartily.

As the evening wore apace, the merry maskers grew merrier and merrier. In a drawing-room adjoining the great ball-room, a robber-band, none other than several gallants, whose identity was concealed by silken vizards, created huge amusement by endeavouring to steal a kiss from Lady Hamilton. She feigned shyness, then haughtiness, then anger; then she ran. They were after her and about her in an instant. There were cries of "A kiss!" "A kiss!" "This way!" "Make a circle or she'll escape us!"

A dozen kisses so were stolen by the eager gallants before my lady broke away, stamping her foot in indignation, as she exclaimed:

"Nay, I am very angry, very—"

"That there were no more, wench!" laughed Buckingham. "Marry, 'tis a merry night when Portsmouth reigns. Long live the Duchess in the King's heart!"

"So you may capture its fairer favourite, friend Buckingham?" suggested the King, softly; and there was no hidden meaning in his speech, for the King suspected that Buckingham's heart as well was not at Portsmouth's and Buckingham knew that the King suspected it.

Buckingham was the prince of courtiers; he bowed low and, saying much without saying anything, replied respectfully:

"So I may console her, Sire, that she is out-beautied by France to-night."

"Out-beautied! Not bidden, thou mean'st," exclaimed the King, his thoughts roving toward Nelly's terrace. Ah, how he longed to be there! "The room is close," he fretted. "Come, gallants, to the promenade!"

He was dressed in white and gold; and a princely prince he looked, indeed, as the courtiers separated for him to pass out between them.

All followed save Buckingham, whom Portsmouth's eye detained.

She broke into a joyous laugh as she turned from the tapestry-curtains, through which she could see his Majesty—the centre of a mirthful scene without.

"What say you now, my lord?" she asked, triumphantly, of Buckingham. "I am half avenged already, and the articles half signed. The King is here despite his Madame Gwyn, and in a playful mood that may be tuned to love."

Buckingham's ardour did not kindle as she hoped.

"Merriment is oft but Sadness's mask, Louise," he replied, thoughtfully.

"What meanest thou?" she asked, in her nervous, Gallic way, and as quickly, her mind anticipating, answered: "This trifle of the gossips that Charles advances the player's whim to found a hospital at Chelsea, for broken-down old soldiers? Ce n'est rien!"

She broke into a mocking laugh.

"Aye!" replied Buckingham, quietly but significantly. "The orders are issued for its building and the people are cheering Nell throughout the realm."

"Ma foi!" came from the Duchess's contemptuous lips. "And what say the rabble of Portsmouth?"

"That she is Louis's pensioner sent here from France—a spy!" he answered, quickly and forcefully too. "The hawkers cry it in the streets."

"Fools! Fools!" she mused. Then, making sure that no arras had ears, she continued: "Before the night is done, thou shalt hear that Luxembourg has fallen to the French—Mark!—Luxembourg! Feed the rabble on that, my lord. Heaven preserve King Louis!"

The Duke started incredulously. When had Portsmouth seen the King? and by what arts had she won the royal consent? A score of questions trembled on his lips—and yet were checked before the utterance. Not an intimation before of her success had reached his ear, though he had advised with the Duchess almost daily since their accidental meeting below Nell's terrace. Indeed, in his heart, he had never believed that she would be able so to dupe the King. The shadow from the axe which fell upon Charles I. still cast its warning gloom athwart the walls of Whitehall; and, in the face of the temper of the English people and of well-known treaties, the acquiescence of Charles II. in Louis's project would be but madness. Luxembourg was the key strategetically to the Netherlands and the states beyond. Its fall meant the augmentation of the Empire of Louis, the personal ignominy of Charles!

"Luxembourg!" He repeated the word cautiously. "King Charles did not consent—"

"Nay," replied the Duchess, in her sweetest way, "but I knew he would; and so I sent the message in advance."

"Forgery! 'Twas boldly done, Louise," cried Buckingham, in tones of admiration mixed with fear.

"I knew my power, my lord," she said confidently; and her eyes glistened with womanly pride as she added: "The consent will come."

Buckingham's eyes—usually so frank—fell; and, for some seconds, he stood seemingly lost in abstraction over the revelations made by the Duchess. He was, however, playing a deeper game than he appeared to play. Apparently in thoughtlessness, he began to toy with a ring which hung upon a ribbon about his neck and which till then had been cautiously concealed.

"Nay, what have you there?" questioned Portsmouth.

Buckingham's face assumed an expression of surprise. He pretended not to comprehend the import of her words.

She pointed to the ring.

He glanced at it as though he regretted it had been seen, then added carelessly, apparently to appease but really to whet the Duchess's curiosity:

"Merely a ring the King gave Nell."

There was more than curiosity now in Portsmouth's eyes.

"I borrowed it to show it you," continued Buckingham, indifferently, then asked, with tantalizing calmness: "Is your mission quite complete?"

With difficulty, the Duchess mastered herself. Without replying, she walked slowly toward the table, in troubled thought. The mask of crime revealed itself in her beautiful features, as she said, half to herself:

"I have a potion I brought from France."

She was of the Latin race and poison was a heritage.

Buckingham caught the words not meant for him, and realized too well their sinister meaning. Poison Nell! His eyes swept the room fearfully and he shuddered. He hastened to Portsmouth's side, and in cold whispers importuned her:

"For Heaven's mercy, woman, as you love yourself and me—poison is an unhealthy diet to administer in England."

The Duchess turned upon him impatiently. The black lines faded slowly from her face; but they still were there, beneath the beauty-lines.

"My servants have watched her house without avail," she sneered. "Your plan is useless; my plan will work."

"Stay!" pleaded Buckingham, still fearful. "We can ourselves entice some adventurous spirit up Nell's terrace, then trap him. So our end is reached."

"Aye," replied the Duchess, in milder mood, realizing that she had been over-hasty at least in speech, "the minx presumes to love the King, and so is honest! But of her later. The treaties! He shall sign to-night—to-night, I say."

With a triumphant air, she pointed to the quills and sand upon a table in readiness for his signing.

Buckingham smiled approvingly; and in his smile lurked flattery so adroit that it pleased the Duchess despite herself.

"Lord Hyde, St. Albans and the rest," said he, "are here to aid the cause."

"Bah!" answered Portsmouth, with a shrug. "In the field, men; at court, women! This girl has outwitted you all. I must accomplish my mission alone. Charles must be Louis's pensioner in full; England the slave of France! My fortune—Le Grand Roi's regard—hang upon it."

Buckingham cautioned her with a startled gesture.

"Nay," smiled Portsmouth, complacently, "I may speak frankly, my lord; for your head is on the same block still with mine."

"And my heart, Louise," he said, in admiration. "Back to the King! Do nothing rash. We will banish thy rival, dear hostess."

He did not add, save in thought, that Nell's banishment, if left to him, would be to his own country estate.

There was almost a touch of affection in the Duchess's voice as she prepared to join the King.

"Leave all to me, my lord," she said, then courtesied low.

"Yea, all but Nell!" reflected his lordship, as he watched her depart. "With this ring, I'll keep thee wedded to jealous interest, and so enrich my purse and power. Thou art a great woman, fair France; I half love thee myself. But thou knowest only a moiety of my purpose. The other half is Nell!"

He stood absorbed in his own thoughts.

The draperies at the further doorway, on which was worked in Gobelin tapestry a forest with its grand, imposing oaks, were pushed nervously aside. Jack Hart entered, mask in hand, and scanned the room with skeptic eye.

"A happy meeting," mused Buckingham, reflecting upon Hart's one-time ardour for Mistress Nell and upon the possibility that that ardour, if directed by himself, might yet compromise Nell in the King's eyes and lead to the realization of his own fond dreams of greater wealth and power and, still more sweet, to the possession of his choice among all the beauties of the realm.

"It is a sad hour," thought Hart, glancing at the merry dancers through the arch, "when all the world, like players, wear masks."

Buckingham assumed an air of bonhomie.

"Whither away, Master Hart?" he called after the player, who started perceptibly at his voice. "Let not thy fancy play truant to this gay assemblage, to mope in St. James's Park."

"My lord!" exclaimed Hart, hotly. The fire, however, was gone in an instant; and he added, evidently under strong constraint: "Pardon; but we prefer to change the subject."

"The drift's the same," chuckled the shrewd Buckingham; "we may turn it to advantage." He approached the player in a friendly manner. "Be not angry," he exclaimed soothingly; "for there's a rift even in the clouds of love. Brighter, man; for King Charles was seeking your wits but now."

"He'd have me play court-fool for him?" asked the melancholy mime, who had in his nature somewhat of the cynicism of Jaques, without his grand imaginings of soul. "There are many off the stage, my lord, in better practice." "True, most true," acquiesced Buckingham; "I could point them out."

He would have continued in this vein but beyond the door, whence Hart had just appeared, leading by a stair-way of cupids to the entrance to the palace, arose the sound of many voices in noisy altercation.

"Hark ye, hark!" he exclaimed, in an alarmed tone. "What is't? Confusion in the great hallway below. We'll see to't."

He had assumed a certain supervision of the palace for the night. With the player as a body-guard, he accordingly made a hasty exit.



CHAPTER XII

Beau Adair is my name.

The room was not long vacant. The hostess herself returned. She was radiant.

As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back proudly at the revellers, who, led by his Majesty, were turning night into day with their merry-making. She had the right, indeed, to be proud; for the evening, though scarce half spent, bespoke a complete triumph for her entertainment. This was the more gratifying too, in that she knew that there were many at court who did not wish the "imported" Duchess, as they called her, or her function well, though they always smiled sweetly at each meeting and at each parting and deigned now to feast beyond the limit of gentility upon her rich wines and collations.

The bal masque, however, as we have seen, was with the Duchess but a means to an end. She took from the hand of a pretty page the treaties, lately re-drawn by Bouillon, and glanced hastily over the parchments to see that her instructions from Louis were covered by their words. A smile played on her arching lips as she read and re-read and realized how near she was to victory.

"'Tis Portsmouth's night to-night!" she mused. "My great mission to England is nearly ended. Dear France, I feel that I was born for thy advancement."

She seated herself by the table, where the materials for writing had been placed, and further dwelt upon the outcome of the royal agreements, their contingencies and triumphs. She could write Charles Rex almost as well as the King, she thought, as her eye caught the places left for his signature.

"Bouillon never fails me," she muttered. "Drawn by King Charles's consent, except perchance some trifling articles which I have had interlined for Louis's sake. We need not speak of them. It would be troublesome to Charles. A little name and seal will make these papers history."

Her reflections were interrupted by the return of Buckingham, who was laughing so that he could scarcely speak.

"What is 't?" she asked, petulantly.

"The guard have stayed but now a gallant, Irish youth," replied he, as best he could for laughter, "who swore that he had letters to your highness. Oh, he swore, indeed; then pleaded; then threatened that he would fight them all with single hand. Of course, he won the ladies' hearts, as they entered the great hall, by his boyish swagger; but not the guards. Your orders were imperative—that none unbidden to the ball could enter."

"'Tis well," cried Portsmouth. "None, none! Letters to me! Did he say from whom?"

"He said," continued Buckingham, still laughing, "that he was under orders of his master to place them only in the Duchess's hands. Oh, he is a very lordly youth."

The Duke throughout made a sad attempt at amusing imitations of the brogue of the strange, youthful, Irish visitor who, with so much importunity, sought a hearing.

Portsmouth reflected a moment and then said: "I will see him, Buckingham, but briefly."

Buckingham, not a little surprised, bowed and departed graciously to convey the bidding.

The Duchess lost herself again in thought. "His message may have import," she reflected. "Louis sends strange messengers ofttimes."