"What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"

At once I stepped out from the hiding-place that had shown me such strange things, and, crossing to her, hat in hand, answered her sad desolate question.

"Why, trust in your friends, Mistress Barbara," said I cheerily. "What else can any lady do?"

"Simon!" she cried eagerly, and as I thought gladly; for her hand flew out to mine. "You, here?"

"And at your service always," said I.

"But have you been here? Where did you come from?"

"Why, from across the hall, behind the chair there," I answered. "I've been there a long while back. His Grace told me to wait in the hall, and in the hall I waited, though the Duke, having other things to think of, forgot both his order and his servant."

"Then you heard?" she asked in a whisper.

"All, I think, that the Duke said. Lord Carford said nothing. I was about to interrupt his Grace when the task was better performed for me. I think, madame, you owe some thanks to M. de Perrencourt."

"You heard what he said?"

"The last few words only," I answered regretfully.

She looked at me for an instant, and then said with a dreary little smile,

"I'm to be grateful to M. de Perrencourt?"

"I know no other man who could or would have rid you of the Duke so finely. Besides, he appeared to treat you with much courtesy."

"Courtesy, yes!" she cried, but seemed to check herself. She was still in great agitation, and a moment later she covered her face and I heard her sob again.

"Come, take heart," said I. "The Duke's a great man, of course; but no harm shall come to you, Mistress Barbara. Your father bade me have my services in readiness for you, and although I didn't need his order as a spur, I may pray leave to use it as an excuse for thrusting myself on you."

"Indeed I—I'm glad to see you, Simon. But what shall I do? Ah, Heaven, why did I ever come to this place?"

"That can be mended by leaving it, madame."

"But how? How can I leave it?" she asked despairingly.

"The Duchess will grant you leave."

"Without the King's consent?"

"But won't the King consent? Madame will ask for you; she's kind."

"Madame won't ask for me; nobody will ask for me."

"Then if leave be impossible, we must go without leave, if you speak the word."

"Ah, you don't know," she said sadly. Then she caught my hand again and whispered hurriedly and fearfully: "I'm afraid, Simon. I—I fear him. What can I do? How can I resist? They can do what they will with me, what can I do? If I weep, they laugh; if I try to laugh, they take it for consent. What can I do?"

There is nothing that so binds a man to a woman as to feel her hand seeking his in weakness and appeal. I had thought that one day so Barbara's might seek mine and I should exult in it, nay, might even let her perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamed of was come, but where was my exultation? There was a choking in my throat and I swallowed twice before I contrived to answer:

"What can we do, you mean, Mistress Barbara."

"Alas, alas," she cried, between tears and laughter, "what can we—even we—do, Simon?"

I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old days before my apostacy and great offence. I was glad of it, for if I was to be of service to her we must be friends. Suddenly she said,

"You know what it means—I can't tell you; you know?"

"Aye, I know," said I, "none better. But the Duke shan't have his way."

"The Duke? If it were only the Duke—Ah!" She stopped, a new alarm in her eyes. She searched my face eagerly. Of deliberate purpose I set it to an immutable stolidity.

"Already he's very docile," said I. "See how M. de Perrencourt turned and twisted him, and sent him off crestfallen."

She laid her hand on my arm.

"If I might tell you," she said, "a thing that few know here; none but the King and his near kindred and one or two more."

"But how came you to know of it?" I interrupted.

"I—I also came to know it," she murmured.

"There are many ways of coming to know a thing," said I. "One is by being told; another, madame, is by finding out. Certainly it was amazing how M. de Perrencourt dealt with his Grace; ay, and with my Lord Carford, who shrank out of his path as though he had been—a King." I let my tones give the last word full effect.

"Simon," she whispered in eagerness mingled with alarm, "Simon, what are you saying? Silence for your life!"

"My life, madame, is rooted too deep for a syllable to tear it up. I said only 'as though he had been a king.' Tell me why M. Colbert wears the King's Star. Was it because somebody saw a gentleman wearing the King's Star embrace and kiss M. de Perrencourt the night that he arrived?"

"It was you?"

"It was I, madame. Tell me on whose account three messengers went to London, carrying the words 'Il vient.'"

She was hanging to my arm now, full of eagerness.

"And tell me now what M. de Perrencourt said to you. A plague on him, he spoke so low that I couldn't hear!"

A blush swept over her face; her eyes, losing the fire of excitement, dropped in confusion to the ground.

"I can't tell you," she murmured.

"Yet I know," said I. "And if you'll trust me, madame——"

"Ah, Simon, you know I trust you."

"Yet you were angry with me."

"Not angry—I had no right—I mean I had no cause to be angry. I—I was grieved."

"You need be grieved no longer, madame."

"Poor Simon!" said she very gently. I felt the lightest pressure on my hand, the touch of two slim fingers, speaking of sympathy and comradeship.

"By God, I'll bring you safe out of it," I cried.

"But how, how? Simon, I fear that he has——"

"The Duke?"

"No, the—the other—M. de Perrencourt; he has set his heart on—on what he told me."

"A man may set his heart on a thing and yet not win it," said I grimly.

"Yes, a man—yes, Simon, I know; a man may——"

"Ay, and even a——"

"Hush, hush! If you were overheard—your life wouldn't be safe if you were overheard."

"What do I care?"

"But I care!" she cried, and added very hastily, "I'm selfish. I care, because I want your help."

"You shall have it. Against the Duke of Monmouth, and against the——"

"Ah, be careful!"

I would not be careful. My blood was up. My voice was loud and bold as I gave to M. de Perrencourt the name that was his, the name by which the frightened lord and the cowed Duke knew him, the name that gave him entrance to those inmost secret conferences, and yet kept him himself hidden and half a prisoner in the Castle. The secret was no secret to me now.

"Against the Duke of Monmouth," said I sturdily, "and also, if need be, against the King of France."

Barbara caught at my arm in alarm. I laughed, till I saw her finger point warily over my shoulder. With a start I turned and saw a man coming down the steps. In the dim light the bright Star gleamed on his breast. He was M. Colbert de Croissy. He stood on the lowest step, peering at us through the gloom.

"Who speaks of the King of France here?" he said suspiciously.

"I, Simon Dale, gentleman-in-waiting to the Duke of Monmouth, at your Excellency's service," I answered, advancing towards him and making my bow.

"What have you to say of my master?" he demanded.

For a moment I was at a loss; for although my heart was full of things that I should have taken much pleasure in saying concerning His Majesty, they were none of them acceptable to the ears of His Majesty's Envoy. I stood, looking at Colbert, and my eyes fell on the Star that he wore. I knew that I committed an imprudence, but for the life of me I could not withstand the temptation. I made another bow, and, smiling easily, answered M. Colbert.

"I was remarking, sir," said I, "that the compliment paid to you by the King of England in bestowing on you the Star from His Majesty's own breast, could not fail to cause much gratification to the King of France."

He looked me hard in the eyes, but his eyes fell to the ground before mine. I warrant he took nothing by his searching glance, and did well to give up the conflict. Without a word, and with a stiff little bow, he passed on his way to the hall. The moment he was gone, Barbara was by me. Her face was alight with merriment.

"Oh, Simon, Simon!" she whispered reprovingly. "But I love you for it!" And she was gone up the stairs like a flitting moonbeam.

Upon this, having my head full and to spare of many matters, and my heart beating quick with more than one emotion, I thought my bed the best and safest place for me, and repaired to it without delay.

"But I'll have some conversation with M. de Perrencourt to-morrow," said I, as I turned on my pillow and sought to sleep.



CHAPTER XIII

THE MEED OF CURIOSITY

The next morning my exaltation had gone. I woke a prey to despondency and sickness of soul. Not only did difficulty loom large, and failure seem inevitable, but a disgust for all that surrounded me seized on my mind, displacing the zest of adventure and the excitement of enterprise. But let me not set my virtue too high. It is better to be plain. Old maxims of morality, and a standard of right acknowledged by all but observed by none, have little power over a young man's hot blood; to be stirred to indignation, he must see the wrong threaten one he respects, touch one he loves, or menace his own honour and pride. I had supported the scandals of this Court, of which I made a humble part, with shrugs, smiles, and acid jests; I had felt no dislike for the chief actors, and no horror at the things they did or attempted; nay, for one of them, who might seem to sum up in her own person the worst of all that was to be urged against King and Court, I had cherished a desperate love that bred even in death an obstinate and longing memory. Now a change had come over me; I seemed to see no longer through my own careless eyes, but with the shamed and terrified vision of the girl who, cast into this furnace, caught at my hand as offering her the sole chance to pass unscathed through the fire. They were using her in their schemes, she was to be sacrificed; first she had been chosen as the lure with which to draw forth Monmouth's ambitions from their lair, and reveal them to the spying eyes of York and his tool Carford; if that plan were changed now, she would be no better for the change. The King would and could refuse this M. de Perrencourt (I laughed bitterly as I muttered his name) nothing, however great; without a thought he would fling the girl to him, if the all-powerful finger were raised to ask for her. Charles would think himself well paid by his brother king's complaisance towards his own inclination. Doubtless there were great bargains of policy a-making here in the Castle, and the nature of them I made shift to guess. What was it to throw in a trifle on either side, barter Barbara Quinton against the French lady, and content two Princes at a price so low as the dishonour of two ladies? That was the game; otherwise, whence came M. de Perrencourt's court and Monmouth's deference? The King saw eye to eye with M. de Perrencourt, and the King's son did not venture to thwart him. What matter that men spoke of other loves which the French King had? The gallants of Paris might think us in England rude and ignorant, but at least we had learnt that a large heart was a prerogative of royalty which even the Parliament dared not question. With a new loathing I loathed it all, for it seemed now to lay aside its trappings of pomp and brilliancy, of jest and wit, and display itself before me in ugly nakedness, all unashamed. In sudden frenzy I sat up in my bed, crying, "Heaven will find a way!" For surely heaven could find one, where the devil found so many! Ah, righteous wert thou, Simon Dale, so soon as unrighteousness hurt thee! But Phineas Tate might have preached until the end of time.

Earlier than usual by an hour Jonah Wall came up from the town where he was lodged, but he found me up and dressed, eager to act, ready for what might chance. I had seen little of the fellow lately, calling on him for necessary services only, and ridding myself of his sombre company as quickly as I could. Yet I looked on him to-day with more consideration; his was a repulsive form of righteousness, grim and gloomy, but it was righteousness, or seemed such to me against the background of iniquity which threw it up in strong relief. I spoke to him kindly, but taking no heed of my advances he came straight up to me and said brusquely: "The woman who came to your lodging in London is here in Dover. She bids you be silent and come quickly. I can lead you."

I started and stared at him. I had set "Finis" to that chapter; was fate minded to overrule me and write more? Strange also that Jonah Wall should play Mercury!

"She here in Dover? For what?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"I don't doubt, for sin," he answered uncompromisingly.

"Yet you can lead me to her house?" said I with a smile.

"I can," said he, in sour disregard of my hinted banter.

"I won't go," I declared.

"The matter concerns you, she said, and might concern another."

It was early, the Court would not be moving for two hours yet. I could go and come, and thereby lose no opportunity. Curiosity led me on, and with it the attraction which still draws us to those we have loved, though the love be gone and more pain than pleasure wait on our visiting. In ten minutes I was following Jonah down the cliff, and plunged thence into a narrow street that ran curling and curving towards the sea. Jonah held on quickly, and without hesitation, until we reached a confined alley, and came to a halt before a mean house.

"She's here," said Jonah, pointing to the door and twisting his face as though he was swallowing something nauseous.

I could not doubt of her presence, for I heard her voice singing gaily from within. My heart beat quick, and I had above half a mind not to enter. But she had seen us, and herself flung the door open wide. She lodged on the ground floor; and, in obedience to her beckoning finger, I entered a small room. Lodging was hard to be had in Dover now, and the apartment served her (as the bed, carelessly covered with a curtain, showed) for sleeping and living. I did not notice what became of Jonah, but sat down, puzzled and awkward, in a crazy chair.

"What brings you here?" I blurted out, fixing my eyes on her, as she stood opposite to me, smiling and swaying to and fro a little, with her hands on her hips.

"Even what brings you. My business," she answered. "If you ask more, the King's invitation. Does that grieve you, Simon?"

"No, madame," said I.

"A little, still a little, Simon? Be consoled! The King invited me, but he hasn't come to see me. There lies my business. Why hasn't he come to see me? I hear certain things, but my eyes, though they are counted good if not large, can't pierce the walls of the Castle yonder, and my poor feet aren't fit to pass its threshold."

"You needn't grieve for that," said I sullenly.

"Yet some things I know. As that a French lady is there. Of what appearance is she, Simon?"

"She is very pretty, so far as I've looked at her."

"Ah, and you've a discriminating glance, haven't you? Will she stay long?"

"They say Madame will be here for ten or fourteen days yet."

"And the French lady goes when Madame goes?"

"I don't know as to that."

"Why, nor I neither." She paused an instant. "You don't love Lord Carford?" Her question came abruptly and unlooked for.

"I don't know your meaning." What concern had Carford with the French lady?

"I think you are in the way to learn it. Love makes men quick, doesn't it? Yes, since you ask (your eyes asked), why, I'll confess that I'm a little sorry that you fall in love again. But that by the way. Simon, neither do I love this French lady."

Had it not been for that morning's mood of mine, she would have won on me again, and all my resolutions gone for naught. But she, not knowing the working of my mind, took no pains to hide or to soften what repelled me in her. I had seen it before, and yet loved; to her it would seem strange that because a man saw, he should not love. I found myself sorry for her, with a new and pitiful grief, but passion did not rise in me. And concerning my pity I held my tongue; she would have only wonder and mockery for it. But I think she was vexed to see me so unmoved; it irks a woman to lose a man, however little she may have prized him when he was her own. Nor do I mean to say that we are different from their sex in that; it is, I take it, nature in woman and man alike.

"At least we're friends, Simon," she said with a laugh. "And at least we're Protestants." She laughed again. I looked up with a questioning glance. "And at least we both hate the French," she continued.

"It's true; I have no love for them. What then? What can we do?"

She looked round cautiously, and, coming a little nearer to me, whispered:

"Late last night I had a visitor, one who doesn't love me greatly. What does that matter? We row now in the same boat. I speak of the Duke of Buckingham."

"He is reconciled to my Lord Arlington by Madame's good offices," said I. For so the story ran in the Castle.

"Why, yes, he's reconciled to Arlington as the dog to the cat when their master is by. Now there's a thing that the Duke suspects; and there's another thing that he knows. He suspects that this treaty touches more than war with the Dutch; though that I hate, for war swallows the King's money like a well."

"Some passes the mouth of the well, if report speaks true," I observed.

"Peace, peace! Simon, the treaty touches more."

"A man need not be Duke nor Minister to suspect that," said I.

"Ah, you suspect? The King's religion?" she whispered.

I nodded; the secret was no surprise to me, though I had not known whether Buckingham were in it.

"And what does the Duke of Buckingham know?" I asked.

"Why, that the King sometimes listens to a woman's counsel," said she, nodding her head and smiling very wisely.

"Prodigious sagacity!" I cried. "You told him that, may be?"

"Indeed, he had learnt it before my day, Master Simon. Therefore, should the King turn Catholic, he will be a better Catholic for the society of a Catholic lady. Now this Madame—how do you name her?"

"Mlle. de Querouaille?"

"Aye. She is a most devout Catholic. Indeed, her devotion to her religion knows no bounds. It's like mine to the King. Don't frown, Simon. Loyalty is a virtue."

"And piety also, by the same rule, and in the same unstinted measure?" I asked bitterly.

"Beyond doubt, sir. But the French King has sent word from Calais——"

"Oh, from Calais! The Duke revealed that to you?" I asked with a smile I could not smother. There was a limit then to the Duke's confidence in his ally; for the Duke had been at Paris and could be no stranger to M. de Perrencourt.

"Yes, he told me all. The King of France has sent word from Calais, where he awaits the signing of the treaty, that the loss of this Madame Querouaille would rob his Court of beauty, and he cannot be so bereft. And Madame, the Duke says, swears she can't be robbed of her fairest Maid of Honour ('tis a good name that, on my life) and left desolate. But Madame has seen one who might make up the loss, and the King of France, having studied the lady's picture, thinks the same. In fine, Simon, our King feels that he can't be a good Catholic without the counsels of Madame Querouaille, and the French King feels that he must by all means convert and save so fair a lady as—is the name on your tongue, nay, is it in your heart, Simon?"

"I know whom you mean," I answered, for her revelation came to no more than what I had scented out for myself. "But what says Buckingham to this?"

"Why, that the King mustn't have his way lest he should thereby be confirmed in his Popish inclinations. The Duke is Protestant, as you are—and as I am, so please you."

"Can he hinder it?"

"Aye, if he can hinder the French King from having his way. And for this purpose his Grace has need of certain things."

"Do you carry a message from him to me?"

"I did but say that I knew a gentleman who might supply his needs. They are four; a heart, a head, a hand, and perhaps a sword."

"All men have them, then."

"The first true, the second long, the third strong, and the fourth ready."

"I fear then that I haven't all of them."

"And for reward——"

"I know. His life, if he can come off with it."

Nell burst out laughing.

"He didn't say that, but it may well reckon up to much that figure," she admitted. "You'll think of it, Simon?"

"Think of it? I! Not I!"

"You won't?"

"Or I mightn't attempt it."

"Ah! You will attempt it?"

"Of a certainty."

"You're very ready. Is it all honesty?"

"Is ever anything all honesty, madame—saving your devotion to the King?"

"And the French lady's to her religion?" laughed Nell. "On my soul, I think the picture that the King of France saw was a fair one. Have you looked on it, Simon?"

"On my life I don't love her."

"On my life you will."

"You seek to stop me by that prophecy?"

"I don't care whom you love," said she. Then her face broke into smiles. "What liars women are!" she cried. "Yes, I do care; not enough to grow wrinkled, but enough to wish I hadn't grown half a lady and could——"

"You stop?"

"Could—could—could slap your face, Simon."

"It would be a light infliction after breaking a man's heart," said I, turning my cheek to her and beckoning with my hand.

"You should have a revenge on my face; not in kind, but in kindness. I can't strike a man who won't hit back." She laughed at me with all her old enticing gaiety.

I had almost sealed the bargain; she was so roguish and so pretty. Had we met first then, it is very likely she would have made the offer, and very certain that I should have taken it. But there had been other days; I sighed.

"I loved you too well once to kiss you now, mistress," said I.

"You're mighty strange at times, Simon," said she, sighing also, and lifting her brows. "Now, I'd as lief kiss a man I had loved as any other."

"Or slap his face?"

"If I'd never cared to kiss, I'd never care for the other either. You rise?"

"Why, yes. I have my commission, haven't I?"

"I give you this one also, and yet you keep it?"

"Is that slight not yet forgiven?"

"All is forgiven and all is forgotten—nearly, Simon."

At this instant—and since man is human, woman persistent, and courtesy imperative, I did not quarrel with the interruption—a sound came from the room above, strange in a house where Nell lived (if she will pardon so much candour), but oddly familiar to me. I held up my hand and listened. Nell's rippling laugh broke in.

"Plague on him!" she cried. "Yes, he's here. Of a truth he's resolute to convert me, and the fool amuses me."

"Phineas Tate!" I exclaimed, amazed; for beyond doubt his was the voice. I could tell his intonation of a penitential psalm among a thousand. I had heard it in no other key.

"You didn't know? Yet that other fool, your servant, is always with him. They've been closeted together for two hours at a time."

"Psalm-singing?"

"Now and again. They're often quiet too."

"He preaches to you?"

"Only a little; when we chance to meet at the door he gives me a curse and promises a blessing; no more."

"It's very little to come to Dover for."

"You would have come farther for less of my company once, sir."

It was true, but it did not solve my wonder at the presence of Phineas Tate. What brought the fellow? Had he too sniffed out something of what was afoot and come to fight for his religion, even as Louise de Querouaille fought for hers, though in a most different fashion?

I had reached the door of the room and was in the passage. Nell came to the threshold and stood there smiling. I had asked no more questions and made no conditions; I knew that Buckingham must not show himself in the matter, and that all was left to me, heart, head, hand, sword, and also that same reward, if I were so lucky as to come by it. I waited for a moment, half expecting that Phineas, hearing my voice, would show himself, but he did not appear. Nell waved her hand to me; I bowed and took my leave, turning my steps back towards the Castle. The Court would be awake, and whether on my own account or for my new commission's sake I must be there.

I had not mounted far before I heard a puffing and blowing behind. The sound proved to come from Jonah Wall, who was toiling after me, laden with a large basket. I had no eagerness for Jonah's society, but rejoiced to see the basket; for my private store of food and wine had run low, and if a man is to find out what he wants to know, it is well for him to have a pasty and a bottle ready for those who can help him.

"What have you there?" I called, waiting for him to overtake me.

He explained that he had been making purchases in the town and I praised his zeal. Then I asked him suddenly:

"And have you visited your friend Mr Tate?"

As I live, the fellow went suddenly pale, and the bottles clinked in his basket from the shaking of his hand. Yet I spoke mildly enough.

"I—I have seen him but once or twice, sir, since I learnt that he was in the town. I thought you did not wish me to see him."

"Nay, you can see him as much as you like, as long as I don't," I answered in a careless tone, but keeping an attentive eye on Jonah. His perturbation seemed strange. If Phineas' business were only the conversion of Mistress Gwyn, what reason had Jonah Wall to go white as Dover cliffs over it?

We came to the Castle and I dismissed him, bidding him stow his load safely in my quarters. Then I repaired to the Duke of Monmouth's apartments, wondering in what mood I should find him after last night's rebuff. Little did he think that I had been a witness of it. I entered his room; he was sitting in his chair, with him was Carford. The Duke's face was as glum and his air as ill-tempered as I could wish. Carford's manner was subdued, calm, and sympathetic. They were talking earnestly as I entered but ceased their conversation at once. I offered my services.

"I have no need of you this morning, Simon," answered the Duke. "I'm engaged with Lord Carford."

I retired. But of a truth that morning every one in the Castle was engaged with someone else. At every turn I came on couples in anxious consultation. The approach of an intruder brought immediate silence, the barest civility delayed him, his departure was received gladly and was signal for renewed consultation. Well, the King sets the mode, and the King, I heard, was closeted with Madame and the Duke of York.

But not with M. de Perrencourt. There was a hundred feet of the wall, with a guard at one end and a guard at the other, and mid-way between them a solitary figure stood looking down on Dover town and thence out to sea. In an instant I recognised him, and a great desire came over me to speak to him. He was the foremost man alive in that day, and I longed to speak with him. To have known the great is to have tasted the true flavour of your times. But how to pass the sentries? Their presence meant that M. de Perrencourt desired privacy. I stepped up to one and offered to pass. He barred the way.

"But I'm in the service of his Grace the Duke of Monmouth," I expostulated.

"If you were in the service of the devil himself you couldn't pass here without the King's order," retorted the fellow.

"Won't his head serve as well as his order?" I asked, slipping a crown into his hand. "Come, I've a message from his Grace for the French gentleman. Yes, it's private. Deuce take it, do fathers always know of their sons' doings?"

"No, nor sons all their father's sometimes," he chuckled. "Along with you quick, and run if you hear me whistle; it will mean my officer is coming."

I was alone in the sacred space with M. de Perrencourt. I assumed an easy air and sauntered along, till I was within a few yards of him. Hearing my step then, he looked round with a start and asked peremptorily,

"What's your desire, sir?"

By an avowal of himself, even by quoting the King's order, he could banish me. But if his cue were concealment and ignorance of the order, why, I might indulge my curiosity.

"Like your own, sir," I replied courteously, "a breath of fresh air and a sight of the sea."

He frowned a little, but I gave him no time to speak.

"That fellow though," I pursued, "gave me to understand that none might pass; yet the King is not here, is he?"

"Then how did you pass, sir?" asked M. de Perrencourt, ignoring my last question.

"Why, with a lie, sir," I answered. "I said I had a message for you from the Duke of Monmouth, and the fool believed me. But we gentlemen in attendance must stand by one another. You'll not betray me? Your word on it?"

A slow smile broke across his face.

"No, I'll not betray you," said he. "You speak French well, sir."

"So M. de Fontelles, whom I met at Canterbury, told me. Do you chance to know him, sir?"

M. de Perrencourt did not start now; I should have been disappointed if he had.

"Very well," he answered. "If you're his friend, you're mine." He held out his hand.

"I take it on false pretences," said I with a laugh, as I shook it. "For we came near to quarrelling, M. de Fontelles and I."

"Ah, on what point?"

"A nothing, sir."

"Nay, but tell me."

"Indeed I will not, if you'll pardon me."

"Sir, I wish to know. I ins—I beg." A stare from me had stopped the "insist" when it was half-way through his lips. On my soul, he flushed! I tell my children sometimes how I made him flush; the thing was not done often. Yet his confusion was but momentary, and suddenly, I know not how, I in my turn became abashed with the cold stare of his eyes, and when he asked me my name, I answered baldly, with never a bow and never a flourish, "Simon Dale."

"I have heard your name," said he gravely. Then he turned round and began looking at the sea again.

Now, had he been wearing his own clothes (if I may so say) this conduct would have been appropriate enough; it would have been a dismissal and I should have passed on my way. But a man should be consistent in his disguises, and from M. de Perrencourt, gentleman-in-waiting, the behaviour was mighty uncivil. Yet my revenge must be indirect.

"Is it true, sir," I asked, coming close to him, "that the King of France is yonder at Calais? So it's said."

"I believe it to be true," answered M. de Perrencourt.

"I wish he had come over," I cried. "I should love to see him, for they say he's a very proper man, although he's somewhat short."

M. de Perrencourt did not turn his head, but again I saw his cheek flush. To speak of his low stature was, I had heard Monmouth say, to commit the most dire offence in King Louis' eyes.

"Now, how tall is the King, sir?" I asked. "Is he tall as you, sir?"

M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the truth, I began to be a little uneasy; there were cells under the Castle, and I had need to be at large for the coming few days.

"For," said I, "they tell such lies concerning princes."

Now he turned towards me, saying,

"There you're right, sir. The King of France, is of middle size, about my own height."

For the life of me I could not resist it. I said nothing with my tongue, but for a moment I allowed my eyes to say, "But then you're short, sir." He understood, and for the third time he flushed.

"I thought as much," said I, and with a bow I began to walk on.

But, as ill-luck would have it, I was not to come clear off from my indiscretion. In a moment I should have been out of sight. But as I started I saw a gentleman pass the guard, who stood at the salute. It was the King; escape was impossible. He walked straight up to me, bowing carelessly in response to M. de Perrencourt's deferential inclination of his person.

"How come you here, Mr Dale?" he asked abruptly. "The guard tells me that he informed you of my orders and that you insisted on passing."

M. de Perrencourt felt that his turn was come; he stood there smiling. I found nothing to say; if I repeated my fiction of a message, the French gentleman, justly enraged, would betray me.

"M. de Perrencourt seemed lonely, sir," I answered at last.

"A little loneliness hurts no man," said the King. He took out his tablets and began to write. When he was done, he gave me the message, adding, "Read it." I read, "Mr Simon Dale will remain under arrest in his own apartment for twenty-four hours, and will not leave it except by the express command of the King." I made a wry face.

"If the Duke of Monmouth wants me——" I began.

"He'll have to do without you, Mr Dale," interrupted the King. "Come, M. de Perrencourt, will you give me your arm?" And off he went on the French gentleman's arm, leaving me most utterly abashed, and cursing the curiosity that had brought me to this trouble.

"So much for the Duke of Buckingham's 'long head,'" said I to myself ruefully, as I made my way towards the Constable's Tower, in which his Grace was lodged, and where I had my small quarters.

Indeed, I might well feel a fool; for the next twenty-four hours, during which I was to be a prisoner, would in all likelihood see the issue in which I was pledged to bear a part. Now I could do nothing. Yet at least I must send speedy word to the town that I was no longer to be looked to for any help, and when I reached my room I called loudly for Jonah Wall. It was but the middle of the day, yet he was not to be seen. I walked to the door and found, not Jonah, but a guard on duty.

"What are you doing here?"

"Seeing that you stay here, sir," he answered, with a grin.

Then the King was very anxious that I should obey his orders, and had lost no time in ensuring my obedience; he was right to take his measures, for, standing where I did, his orders would not have restrained me. I was glad that he had set a guard on me in lieu of asking my parole. For much as I love sin, I hate temptation. Yet where was Jonah Wall, and how could I send my message? I flung myself on the bed in deep despondency. A moment later the door opened, and Robert, Darrell's servant, entered.

"My master begs to know if you will sup with him to-night, sir."

"Thank him kindly," said I; "but if you ask that gentleman outside, Robert, he'll tell you that I must sup at home by the King's desire. I'm under arrest, Robert."

"My master will be grieved to hear it, sir, and the more because he hoped that you would bring some wine with you, for he has none, and he has guests to sup with him."

"Ah, an interested invitation! How did Mr Darrell know that I had wine?"

"Your servant Jonah spoke of it to me, sir, and said that you would be glad to send my master some."

"Jonah is liberal! But I'm glad, and assure Mr Darrell of it. Where is my rascal?"

"I saw him leave the Castle about an hour ago; just after he spoke to me about the wine."

"Curse him! I wanted him. Well, take the wine. There are six bottles that he got to-day."

"There is French wine here, sir, and Spanish. May I take either?"

"Take the French in God's name. I don't want that. I've had enough of France. Stay, though, I believe Mr Darrell likes the Spanish better."

"Yes, sir; but his guests will like the French."

"And who are these guests?"

Robert swelled with pride.

"I thought Jonah would have told you, sir," said he. "The King is to sup with my master."

"Then," said I, "I'm well excused. For no man knows better than the King why I can't come."

The fellow took his bottles and went off grinning. I, being left, fell again to cursing myself for a fool, and in this occupation I passed the hours of the afternoon.



CHAPTER XIV

THE KING'S CUP

At least the Vicar would be pleased! A whimsical joy in the anticipation of his delight shot across my gloomy meditations as the sunset rays threaded their way through the narrow window of the chamber that was my cell. The thought of him stayed with me, amusing my idleness and entertaining my fancy. I could imagine his wise, contented nod, far from surprise as the poles are apart, full of self-approval as an egg of meat. For his vision had been clear, in him faith had never wavered. Of a truth, the prophecy which old Betty Nasroth spoke (foolishness though it were) was, through Fortune's freak, two parts fulfilled. What remained might rest unjustified to my great content; small comfort had I won from so much as had come to pass. I had loved where the King loved, and my youth, though it raised its head again, still reeled under the blow; I knew what the King hid—aye, it might be more than one thing that he hid; my knowledge landed me where I lay now, in close confinement with a gaoler at my door. For my own choice, I would crave the Vicar's pardon, would compound with destiny, and, taking the proportion of fate's gifts already dealt to me in lieu of all, would go in peace to humbler doings, beneath the dignity of dark prophecy, but more fit to give a man quiet days and comfort in his life. Indeed, as my lord Quinton had said long ago, there was strange wine in the King's cup, and I had no desire to drink of it. Yet who would not have been moved by the strange working of events which made the old woman's prophecy seem the true reading of a future beyond guess or reasonable forecast? I jeered and snarled at myself, at Betty, at her prophecy, at the Vicar's credulity. But the notion would not be expelled; two parts stood accomplished, but the third remained. "Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be what thou art promised!"—I forget how it runs on, for it is long since I saw the play, though I make bold to think that it is well enough written. Alas, no good came of listening to witches there, if my memory holds the story of the piece rightly.

There is little profit, and less entertainment, in the record of my angry desponding thoughts. Now I lay like a log, again I ranged the cell as a beast his cage. I cared not a stiver for Buckingham's schemes, I paid small heed to Nell's jealousy. It was nought to me who should be the King's next favourite, and although I, with all other honest men, hated a Popish King, the fear of him would not have kept me from my sleep or from my supper. Who eats his dinner the less though a kingdom fall? To take a young man's appetite away, and keep his eyes open o' nights, needs a nearer touch than that. But I had on me a horror of what was being done in this place; they sold a lady's honour there, throwing it in for a make-weight in their bargain. I would have dashed the scales from their hands, but I was helpless. There is the truth: a man need not be ashamed for having had a trifle of honesty about him when he was young. And if my honesty had the backing of something else that I myself knew not yet, why, for honesty's good safety, God send it such backing always! Without some such aid, it is too often brought to terms and sings small in the end.

The evening grew late and darkness had fallen. I turned again to my supper and contrived to eat and to drink a glass or two of wine. Suddenly I remembered Jonah Wall, and sent a curse after the negligent fellow, wherever he might be, determining that next morning he should take his choice between a drubbing and dismissal. Then I stretched myself again on the pallet, resolute to see whether a man could will himself asleep. But I had hardly closed my eyes when I opened them again and started up, leaning on my elbow. There was somebody in conversation with my gaoler. The conference was brief.

"Here's the King's order," I heard, in a haughty, careless tone. "Open the door, fellow, and be quick."

The door was flung open. I sprang to my feet with a bow. The Duke of Buckingham stood before me, surveying my person (in truth, my state was very dishevelled) and my quarters with supercilious amusement. There was one chair, and I set it for him; he sat down, pulling off his lace-trimmed gloves.

"You are the gentleman I wanted?" he asked.

"I have reason to suppose so, your Grace," I answered.

"Good," said he. "The Duke of Monmouth and I have spoken to the King on your behalf."

I bowed grateful acknowledgments.

"You are free," he continued, to my joy. "You'll leave the Castle in two hours," he added, to my consternation. But he appeared to perceive neither effect of his words. "Those are the King's orders," he ended composedly.

"But," I cried, "if I leave the Castle how can I fulfil your Grace's desire?"

"I said those were the King's orders. I have something to add to them. Here, I have written it down, that you may understand and not forget. Your lantern there gives a poor light, but your eyes are young. Read what is written, sir."

I took the paper that he handed me and read:

"In two hours' time be at Canonsgate. The gate will be open. Two serving men will be there with two horses. A lady will be conducted to the gate and delivered into your charge. You will ride with her as speedily as possible to Deal. You will call her your sister, if need arise to speak of her. Go to the hostelry of the Merry Mariners in Deal, and there await a gentleman, who will come in the morning and hand you fifty guineas in gold. Deliver the lady to this gentleman, return immediately to London, and lie in safe hiding till word reaches you from me."

I read and turned to him in amazement.

"Well," he asked, "isn't it plain enough?"

"The lady I can guess," I answered, "but I pray your Grace to tell me who is the gentleman."

"What need is there for you to know? Do you think that more than one will seek you at the Merry Mariners Tavern and pray your acceptance of fifty guineas?"

"But I should like to know who this one is."

"You'll know when you see him."

"With respect to your Grace, this is not enough to tell me."

"You can't be told more, sir."

"Then I won't go."

He frowned and beat his gloves on his thigh impatiently.

"A gentleman, your Grace," said I, "must be trusted, or he cannot serve."

He looked round the little cell and asked significantly,

"Is your state such as to entitle you to make conditions?"

"Only if your Grace has need of services which I can give or refuse," I answered, bowing.

His irritation suddenly vanished, or seemed to vanish. He leant back in his chair and laughed.

"Yet all the time," said he, "you've guessed the gentleman! Isn't it so? Come, Mr Dale, we understand one another. This service, if all goes well, is simple. But if you're interrupted in leaving the Castle, you must use your sword. Well, if you use your sword and don't prove victorious, you may be taken. If you're taken it will be best for us all that you shouldn't know the name of this gentleman, and best for him and for me that I should not have mentioned it."

The little doubt I had harboured was gone. Buckingham and Monmouth were hand in hand. Buckingham's object was political, Monmouth was to find his reward in the prize that I was to rescue from the clutches of M. de Perrencourt and hand over to him at the hostelry in Deal. If success attended the attempt, I was to disappear; if it failed, my name and I were to be the shield and bear the brunt. The reward was fifty guineas, and perhaps a serviceable gratitude in the minds of two great men, provided I lived to enjoy the fruit of it.

"You'll accept this task?" asked the Duke.

The task was to thwart M. de Perrencourt and gratify the Duke of Monmouth. If I refused it, another might accept and accomplish it; if such a champion failed, M. de Perrencourt would triumph. If I accepted, I should accept in the fixed intention of playing traitor to one of my employers. I might serve Buckingham's turn, I should seek to thwart Monmouth.

"Who pays me fifty guineas?" I asked.

"Faith, I," he answered with a shrug. "Young Monmouth is enough his father's son to have his pockets always empty."

On this excuse I settled my point of casuistry in an instant.

"Then I'll carry the lady away from the Castle," I cried.

He started, leant forward, and looked hard in my face. "What do you mean, what do you know?" he asked plainly enough, although silently. But I had cried out with an appearance of zeal and innocence that baffled his curiosity, and my guileless expression gave his suspicions no food. Perhaps, too, he had no wish to enquire. There was little love between him and Monmouth, for he had been bitterly offended by the honours and precedence assigned to the Duke; only a momentary coincidence of interest bound them together in this scheme. If the part that concerned Buckingham were accomplished, he would not break his heart on account of the lady not being ready for Monmouth at the hostelry of the Merry Mariners.

"I think, then, that we understand one another, Mr Dale?" said he, rising.

"Well enough, your Grace," I answered with a bow, and I rapped on the door. The gaoler opened it.

"Mr Dale is free to go where he will within the Castle. You can return to your quarters," said Buckingham.

The soldier marched off. Buckingham turned to me.

"Good fortune in your enterprise," he said. "And I give you joy on your liberty."

The words were not out of his mouth when a lieutenant and two men appeared, approaching us at a rapid walk, nay, almost at a run. They made directly for us, the Duke and I both watching them. The officer's sword was drawn in his hand, their daggers were fixed in the muzzles of the soldiers' muskets.

"What's happened now?" asked Buckingham in a whisper.

The answer was not long in coming. The lieutenant halted before us, crying,

"In the King's name, I arrest you, sir."

"On my soul, you've a habit of being arrested, sir," said the Duke sharply. "What's the cause this time?"

"I don't know," I answered; and I asked the officer, "On what account, sir?"

"The King's orders," he answered curtly. "You must come with me at once." At a sign from him his men took their stand on either side of me. Verily, my liberty had been short! "I must warn you that we shall stand at nothing if you try to escape," said the officer sternly.

"I'm not a fool, sir," I answered. "Where are you going to take me?"

"Where my orders direct."

"Come, come," interrupted Buckingham impatiently, "not so much mystery. You know me? Well, this gentleman is my friend, and I desire to know where you take him."

"I crave your Grace's pardon, but I must not answer."

"Then I'll follow you and discover," cried the Duke angrily.

"At your Grace's peril," answered the officer firmly. "If you insist, I must leave one of my men to detain you here. Mr Dale must go alone with me."

Wrath and wonder were eloquent on the proud Duke's face. In me this new misadventure bred a species of resignation. I smiled at him, as I said,

"My business with your Grace must wait, it seems."

"Forward, sir," cried the officer, impatiently, and I was marched off at a round pace, Buckingham not attempting to follow, but turning back in the direction of the Duke of Monmouth's quarters. The confederates must seek a new instrument now; if their purpose were to thwart the King's wishes, they might not find what they wanted again so easily.

I was conducted straight and quickly to the keep, and passed up the steps that led to the corridor in which the King was lodged. They hurried me along, and I had time to notice nothing until I came to a door near the end of the building, on the western side. Here I found Darrell, apparently on guard, for his sword was drawn and a pistol in his left hand.

"Here, sir, is Mr Dale," said my conductor.

"Good," answered Darrell briefly. I saw that his face was very pale, and he accorded me not the least sign of recognition. "Is he armed?" he asked.

"You see I have no weapons, Mr Darrell," said I stiffly.

"Search him," commanded Darrell, ignoring me utterly.

I grew hot and angry. The soldiers obeyed the order. I fixed my eyes on Darrell, but he would not meet my gaze; the point of his sword tapped the floor on which it rested, for his hand was shaking like a leaf.

"There's no weapon on him," announced the officer.

"Very well. Leave him with me, sir, and retire with your men to the foot of the steps. If you hear a whistle, return as quickly as possible."

The officer bowed, turned about, and departed, followed by his men. Darrell and I stood facing one another for a moment.

"In hell's name, what's the meaning of this, Darrell?" I cried. "Has Madame brought the Bastille over with her, and are you made Governor?"

He answered not a word. Keeping his sword still in readiness, he knocked with the muzzle of his pistol on the door by him. After a moment it was opened, and a head looked out. The face was Sir Thomas Clifford's; the door was flung wide, a gesture from Darrell bade me enter. I stepped in, he followed, and the door was instantly shut close behind us.

I shall not readily forget the view disclosed to me by the flaring oil lamps hung in sconces to the ancient smoky walls. I was in a narrow room, low and not large, scantly furnished with faded richness, and hung to half its height with mouldering tapestries. The floor was bare, and uneven from time and use. In the middle of the room was a long table of polished oak wood; in the centre of it sat the King, on his left was the Duchess of Orleans, and beyond her the Duke of York; on the King's right at the end of the table was an empty chair; Clifford moved towards it now and took his seat; next to him was Arlington, then Colbert de Croissy, the Special Envoy of the French King. Next to our King was another empty chair, an arm-chair, like the King's; empty it was, but M. de Perrencourt leant easily over the back of it, with his eyes fixed on me. On the table were materials for writing, and a large sheet of paper faced the King—or M. de Perrencourt; it seemed just between them. There was nothing else on the table except a bottle of wine and two cups; one was full to the brim, while the liquor in the other fell short of the top of the glass by a quarter of an inch. All present were silent; save M. de Perrencourt, all seemed disturbed; the King's swarthy face appeared rather pale than swarthy, and his hand rapped nervously on the table. All this I saw, while Darrell stood rigidly by me, sword in hand.

Madame was the first to speak; her delicate subtle face lit up with recognition.

"Why, I have spoken with this gentleman," she said in a low voice.

"And I also," said M. de Perrencourt under his breath.

I think he hardly knew that he spoke, for the words seemed the merest unconscious outcome of his thoughts.

The King raised his hand, as though to impose silence. Madame bowed in apologetic submission, M. de Perrencourt took no heed of the gesture, although he did not speak again. A moment later he laid his hand on Colbert's shoulder and whispered to him. I thought I heard just a word—it was "Fontelles." Colbert looked up and nodded. M. de Perrencourt folded his arms on the back of the chair, and his face resumed its impassivity.

Another moment elapsed before the King spoke. His voice was calm, but there seemed still to echo in it a trace of some violent emotion newly passed; a slight smile curved his lips, but there was more malice than mirth in it.

"Mr Dale," said he, "the gentleman who stands by you once beguiled an idle minute for me by telling me of a certain strange prophecy made concerning you which he had, he said, from your own lips, and in which my name—or at least some King's name—and yours were quaintly coupled. You know what I refer to?"

I bowed low, wondering what in Heaven's name he would be at. It was, no doubt, high folly to love Mistress Gwyn, but scarcely high treason. Besides, had not I repented and forsworn her? Ah, but the second member of the prophecy? I glanced eagerly at M. de Perrencourt, eagerly at the paper before the King. There were lines on the paper, but I could not read them, and M. de Perrencourt's face was fully as baffling.

"If I remember rightly," pursued the King, after listening to a whispered sentence from his sister, "the prediction foretold that you should drink of my cup. Is it not so?"

"It was so, Sir, although what your Majesty quotes was the end, not the beginning of it."

For an instant a smile glimmered on the King's face; it was gone and he proceeded gravely.

"I am concerned only with that part of it. I love prophecies and I love to see them fulfilled. You see that cup there, the one that is not quite full. That cup of wine was poured out for me, the other for my friend M. de Perrencourt. I pray you, drink of my cup and let the prophecy stand fulfilled."

In honest truth I began to think that the King had drunk other cups before and left them not so full. Yet he looked sober enough, and the rest were grave and mute. What masquerade was this, to bring me under guard and threat of death to drink a cup of wine? I would have drunk a dozen of my free will, for the asking.

"Your Majesty desires me to drink that cup of wine?" I asked.

"If you please, sir; the cup that was poured out for me."

"With all my heart," I cried, and, remembering my manners, I added, "and with most dutiful thanks to Your Majesty for this signal honour."

A stir, hardly to be seen, yet certain, ran round the table. Madame stretched out a hand towards the cup as though with a sudden impulse to seize it; the King caught her hand and held it prisoner. M. de Perrencourt suddenly dragged his chair back and, passing in front of it, stood close over the table. Colbert looked up at him, but his eyes were fixed on me, and the Envoy went unnoticed.

"Then come and take it," said the King.

I advanced after a low bow. Darrell, to my fresh wonder, kept pace with me, and when I reached the table was still at my side. Before I could move his sword might be through me or the ball from his pistol in my brains. The strange scene began to intoxicate me, its stirring suggestion mounting to my head like fumes of wine. I seized the cup and held it high in my hand. I looked down in the King's face, and thence to Madame's; to her I bowed low and cried:

"By His Majesty's permission I will drain this cup to the honour of the fairest and most illustrious Princess, Madame the Duchess of Orleans."

The Duchess half-rose from her seat, crying in a loud whisper, "Not to me, no, no! I can't have him drink it to me."

The King still held her hand.

"Drink it to me, Mr Dale," said he.

I bowed to him and put the cup to my lips. I was in the act to drink, when M. de Perrencourt spoke.

"A moment, sir," he said calmly. "Have I the King's permission to tell Mr Dale a secret concerning this wine?"

The Duke of York looked up with a frown, the King turned to M. de Perrencourt as if in doubt, the Frenchman met his glance and nodded.

"M. de Perrencourt is our guest," said the King. "He must do as he will."

M. de Perrencourt, having thus obtained permission (when was his will denied him?), leant one hand on the table and, bending across towards me, said in slow, calm, yet impressive tones:

"The King, sir, was wearied with business and parched with talking; of his goodness he detected in me the same condition. So he bade my good friend and his good subject Mr Darrell furnish him with a bottle of wine, and Mr Darrell brought a bottle, saying that the King's cellar was shut and the cellarman in bed, but praying the King to honour him by drinking his wine, which was good French wine, such as the King loved and such as he hoped to put before His Majesty at supper presently. Then His Majesty asked whence it came, and Mr Darrell answered that he was indebted for it to his good friend Mr Simon Dale, who would be honoured by the King's drinking it."

"Why, it's my own wine then!" I cried, smiling now.

"He spoke the truth, did he?" pursued M. de Perrencourt composedly. "It is your wine, sent by you to Mr Darrell?"

"Even so, sir," I answered. "Mr. Darrell's wine was out, and I sent him some bottles of wine by his servant."

"You knew for what he needed it?"

I had forgotten for the moment what Robert said, and hesitated in my answer. M. de Perrencourt looked intently at me.

"I think," said I, "that Robert told me Mr Darrell expected the King to sup with him."

"He told you that?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, I remember that," said I, now thoroughly bewildered by the history and the catechism which seemed necessary to an act so simple as drinking a glass of my own wine.

M. de Perrencourt said nothing more, but his eyes were still set on my face with a puzzled searching expression. His glance confused me, and I looked round the table. Often at such moments the merest trifles catch our attention, and now for the first time I observed that a little of the wine had been spilt on the polished oak of the table; where it had fallen the bright surface seemed rusted to dull brown. I noticed the change, and wondered for an idle second how it came that wine turned a polished table dull. The thing was driven from my head the next moment by a brief and harsh order from the King.

"Drink, sir, drink."

Strained with excitement, I started at the order, and slopped some of the wine from the cup on my hand. I felt a strange burning where it fell; but again the King cried, "Drink, sir."

I hesitated no more. Recalling my wandering wits and determining to play my part in the comedy, whatever it might mean, I bowed, cried "God save your Majesty," and raised the cup to my lips. As it touched them, I saw Madame hide her eyes with her hand and M. de Perrencourt lean farther across the table, while a short quick gasp of breath came from where Darrell stood by my side.

I knew how to take off a bumper of wine. No sippings and swallowings for me! I laid my tongue well down in the bottom of my mouth that the liquor might have fair passage to my gullet, and threw my head back as you see a hen do (in thanks to heaven, they say, though she drinks only water). Then I tilted the cup, and my mouth was full of the wine. I was conscious of a taste in it, a strange acrid taste. Why, it was poor wine, turned sour; it should go back to-morrow; that fool Jonah was a fool in all things; and I stood disgraced for offering this acrid stuff to a friend. And he gave it to the King! It was the cruellest chance. Why——

Suddenly, when I had gulped down but one good mouthful, I saw M. de Perrencourt lean right across the table. Yet I saw him dimly, for my eyes seemed to grow glazed and the room to spin round me, the figures at the table taking strange shapes and weird dim faces, and a singing sounding in my ears, as though the sea roared there and not on Dover beach. There was a woman's cry, and a man's arm shot out at me. I felt a sharp blow on my wrist, the cup was dashed from my hand on to the stone floor, breaking into ten thousand pieces, while the wine made a puddle at my feet. I stood there for an instant, struck motionless, glaring into the face that was opposite to mine. It was M. de Perrencourt's, no longer calm, but pale and twitching. This was the last thing I saw clearly. The King and his companions were fused in a shifting mass of trunks and faces, the walls raced round, the singing of the sea roared and fretted in my ears. I caught my hand to my brow and staggered; I could not stand, I heard a clatter as though of a sword falling to the floor, arms were stretched out to receive me and I sank into them, hearing a murmur close by me, "Simon, Simon!"

Yet one thing more I heard, before my senses left me—a loud, proud, imperious voice, the voice that speaks to be obeyed, whose assertion brooks no contradiction. It rang in my ears where nothing else could reach them, and even then I knew whence it came. The voice was the voice of M. de Perrencourt, and it seemed that he spoke to the King of England.

"Brother," he cried, "by my faith in God, this gentleman is innocent, and his life is on our heads, if he lose it."

I heard no more. Stupor veiled me round in an impenetrable mist. The figures vanished, the tumultuous singing ceased. A great silence encompassed me, and all was gone.



CHAPTER XV

M. DE PERRENCOURT WHISPERS

Slowly the room and the scene came back to me, disengaging themselves from the darkness which had settled on my eyes, regaining distinctness and their proper form. I was sitting in a chair, and there were wet bandages about my head. Those present before were there still, save M. de Perrencourt, whose place at the table was vacant; the large sheet of paper and the materials for writing had vanished. There was a fresh group at the end, next to Arlington; here now sat the Dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, carrying on a low conversation with the Secretary. The King lay back in his chair, frowning and regarding with severe gaze a man who stood opposite to him, almost where I had been when I drank of the King's cup. There stood Darrell and the lieutenant of the Guards who had arrested me, and between them, with clothes torn and muddy, face scratched and stained with blood, with panting breath and gleaming eyes, firmly held by either arm, was Phineas Tate the Ranter. They had sent and caught him then, while I lay unconscious. But what led them to suspect him?

There was the voice of a man speaking from the other side of this party of three. I could not see him, for their bodies came between, but I recognised the tones of Robert, Darrell's servant. It was he, then, who had put them on Jonah's track, and, in following that, they must have come on Phineas.

"We found the two together," he was saying, "this man and Mr Dale's servant who had brought the wine from the town. Both were armed with pistols and daggers, and seemed ready to meet an attack. In the alley in front of the house that I have named——"

"Yes, yes, enough of the house," interrupted the King impatiently.

"In the alley there were two horses ready. We attacked the men at once, the lieutenant and I making for this one here, the two with us striving to secure Jonah Wall. This man struggled desperately, but seemed ignorant of how to handle his weapons. Yet he gave us trouble enough, and we had to use him roughly. At last we had him, but then we found that Jonah, who fought like a wild cat, had wounded both the soldiers with his knife, and, although himself wounded, had escaped by the stairs. Leaving this man with the lieutenant, I rushed down after him, but one of the horses was gone, and I heard no sound of hoofs. He had got a start of us, and is well out of Dover by now."

I was straining all my attention to listen, yet my eyes fixed themselves on Phineas, whose head was thrown back defiantly. Suddenly a voice came from behind my chair.

"That man must be pursued," said M. de Perrencourt. "Who knows that there may not be accomplices in this devilish plot? This man has planned to poison the King; the servant was his confederate. I say, may there not have been others in the wicked scheme?"

"True, true," said the King uneasily. "We must lay this Jonah Wall by the heels. What's known of him?"

Thinking the appeal was made to me, I strove to rise. M. de Perrencourt's arm reached over the back of my chair and kept me down. I heard Darrell take up the story and tell what he knew—and it was as much as I knew—of Jonah Wall, and what he knew of Phineas Tate also.

"It is a devilish plot," said the King, who was still greatly shaken and perturbed.

Then Phineas spoke loudly, boldly, and with a voice full of the rapturous fanaticism which drowned conscience and usurped in him religion's place.

"Here," he cried, "are the plots, here are the devilish plots! What do you here? Aye, what do you plot here? Is this man's life more than God's Truth? Is God's Word to be lost that the sins and debauchery of this man may continue?"

His long lean forefinger pointed at the King. A mute consternation fell for an instant on them all, and none interrupted him. They had no answer ready for his question; men do not count on such questions being asked at Court, the manners are too good there.

"Here are the plots! I count myself blessed to die in the effort to thwart them! I have failed, but others shall not fail! God's Judgment is sure. What do you here, Charles Stuart?"

M. de Perrencourt walked suddenly and briskly round to where the King sat and whispered in his ear. The King nodded, and said,

"I think this fellow is mad, but it's a dangerous madness."

Phineas did not heed him, but cried aloud,

"And you here—are you all with him? Are you all apostates from God? Are you all given over to the superstitions of Rome? Are you all here to barter God's word and——"

The King sprang to his feet.

"I won't listen," he cried. "Stop his cursed mouth. I won't listen." He looked round with fear and alarm in his eyes. I perceived his gaze turned towards his son and Buckingham. Following it, I saw their faces alight with eagerness, excitement, and curiosity. Arlington looked down at the table; Clifford leant his head on his hand. At the other end the Duke of York had sprung up like his brother, and was glaring angrily at the bold prisoner. Darrell did not wait to be bidden twice, but whipped a silk handkerchief from his pocket.

"Here and now the deed is being done!" cried Phineas. "Here and now——" He could say no more; in spite of his desperate struggles, he was gagged and stood silent, his eyes still burning with the message which his lips were not suffered to utter. The King sank back in his seat, and cast a furtive glance round the table. Then he sighed, as though in relief, and wiped his brow. Monmouth's voice came clear, careless, confident.

"What's this madness?" he asked. "Who here is bartering God's Word? And for what, pray?"

No answer was given to him; he glanced in insolent amusement at Arlington and Clifford, then in insolent defiance at the Duke of York.

"Is not the religion of the country safe with the King?" he asked, bowing to his father.

"So safe, James, that it does not need you to champion it," said the King dryly; yet his voice trembled a little. Phineas raised that lean forefinger at him again, and pointed. "Tie the fellow's arms to his side," the King commanded in hasty irritation; he sighed again when the finger could no longer point at him, and his eyes again furtively sought Monmouth's face. The young Duke leant back with a scornful smile, and the consciousness of the King's regard did not lead him to school his face to any more seemly expression. My wits had come back now, although my head ached fiercely and my body was full of acute pain; but I watched all that passed, and I knew that, come what might, they would not let Phineas speak. Yet Phineas could know nothing. Nay, but the shafts of madness, often wide, may once hit the mark. The paper that had lain between the King and M. de Perrencourt was hidden.

Again the French gentleman bent and whispered in the King's ear. He spoke long this time, and all kept silence while he spoke—Phineas because he must, the lieutenant with surprised eyes, the rest in that seeming indifference which, as I knew, masked their real deference. At last the King looked up, nodded, and smiled. His air grew calmer and more assured, and the trembling was gone from his voice as he spoke.

"Come, gentlemen," said he, "while we talk this ruffian who has escaped us makes good pace from Dover. Let the Duke of Monmouth and the Duke of Buckingham each take a dozen men and scour the country for him. I shall be greatly in the debt of either who brings him to me."

The two Dukes started. The service which the King demanded of them entailed an absence of several hours from the Castle. It might be that they, or one of them, would learn something from Jonah Wall; but it was far more likely that they would not find him, or that he would not suffer himself to be taken alive. Why were they sent, and not a couple of the officers on duty? But if the King's object were to secure their absence, the scheme was well laid. I thought now that I could guess what M. de Perrencourt had said in that whispered conference. Buckingham had the discretion to recognise when the game went against him. He rose at once with a bow, declaring that he hastened to obey the King's command, and would bring the fellow in, dead or alive. Monmouth had less self-control. He rose indeed, but reluctantly and with a sullen frown on his handsome face.

"It's poor work looking for a single man over the countryside," he grumbled.

"Your devotion to me will inspire and guide you, James," observed the King. A chance of mocking another made him himself again as no other cure could. "Come, lose no time." Then the King added: "Take this fellow away, and lock him up. Mr Darrell, see that you guard him well, and let nobody come near him."

M. de Perrencourt whispered.

"Above all, let him speak to nobody. He must tell what he knows only at the right time," added the King.

"When will that be?" asked Monmouth audibly, yet so low that the King could feign not to hear and smiled pleasantly at his son. But still the Duke lingered, although Buckingham was gone and Phineas Tate had been led out between his custodians. His eyes sought mine, and I read an appeal in them. That he desired to take me with him in pursuit of Jonah Wall, I did not think; but he desired above all things to get me out of that room, to have speech with me, to know that I was free to work out the scheme which Buckingham had disclosed to me. Nay, it was not unlikely that his search for Jonah Wall would lead him to the hostelry of the Merry Mariners at Deal. And for my plan too, which differed so little yet so much from his, for that also I must be free. I rose to my feet, delighted to find that I could stand well and that my pains grew no more severe with movement.

"I am at your Grace's orders," said I. "May I ride with you, sir?"

The King looked at me doubtfully.

"I should be glad of your company," said the Duke, "if your health allows."

"Most fully, sir," I answered, and turning to the King I begged his leave to depart. And that leave I should, as I think, have obtained, but for the fact that once again M. de Perrencourt whispered to the King. The King rose from his seat, took M. de Perrencourt's arm and walked with him to where his Grace stood. I watched them, till a little stifled laugh caught my attention. Madame's face was merry, and hers the laugh. She saw my look on her and laughed again, raising her finger to her lips in a swift stealthy motion. She glanced round apprehensively, but her action had passed unnoticed; the Duke of York seemed sunk in a dull apathy, Clifford and Arlington were busy in conversation. What did she mean? Did she confess that I held their secret and impose silence on me by a more than royal command, by the behest of bright eyes and red lips which dared me to betray their confidence? On the moment's impulse I bowed assent; Madame nodded merrily and waved a kiss with her dainty hand; no word passed, but I felt that I, being a gentleman, could tell no man alive what I suspected, aye, what I knew, concerning M. de Perrencourt. Thus lightly are pledges given when ladies ask them.

The Duke of Monmouth started back with a sudden angry motion. The King smiled at him; M. de Perrencourt laid a hand, decked with rich rings, on his lace cuff. Madame rose, laughing still, and joined the three. I cannot tell what passed—alas, that the matters of highest interest are always elusive!—but a moment later Monmouth fell back with as sour a look as I have ever seen on a man's face, bowed slightly and not over-courteously, faced round and strode through the doorway, opening the door for himself. I heard Madame's gay laugh, again the King spoke, Madame cried, "Fie," and hid her face with her hand. M. de Perrencourt advanced towards me; the King caught his arm. "Pooh, he knows already," muttered Perrencourt, half under his breath, but he gave way, and the King came to me first.

"Sir," said he, "the Duke of Monmouth has had the dutiful kindness to release his claim on your present services, and to set you free to serve me."

I bowed very low, answering,

"His Grace is bountiful of kindness to me, and has given the greatest proof of it in enabling me to serve Your Majesty."

"My pleasure is," pursued the King, "that you attach yourself to my friend M. de Perrencourt here, and accompany him and hold yourself at his disposal until further commands from me reach you."

M. de Perrencourt stepped forward and addressed me.

"In two hours' time, sir," said he, "I beg you to be ready to accompany me. A ship lies yonder at the pier, waiting to carry His Excellency M. Colbert de Croissy and myself to Calais to-night on business of moment. Since the King gives you to me, I pray your company."

"Till then, Mr Dale, adieu," said the King. "Not a word of what has passed here to-night to any man—or any woman. Be in readiness. You know enough, I think, to tell you that you receive a great honour in M. de Perrencourt's request. Your discretion will show your worthiness. Kiss Madame's hand and leave us."

They both smiled at me, and I stood half-bewildered. "Go," said M. de Perrencourt with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. The two turned away. Madame held out her hand towards me; I bent and kissed it.

"Mr Dale," said she, "you have all the virtues."

"Alas, Madame, I fear you don't mean to commend me."

"Yes, for a rarity, at least. But you have one vice."

"It shall be mended, if your Royal Highness will tell its name."

"Nay, I shall increase it by naming it. But here it is; your eyes are too wide open, Mr Dale."

"My mother, Madame, used to accuse me of a trick of keeping them half-shut."

"Your mother had not seen you at Court, sir."

"True, Madame, nor had my eyes beheld your Royal Highness."

She laughed, pleased with a compliment which was well in the mode then, though my sons may ridicule it; but as she turned away she added,

"I shall not be with you to-night, and M. de Perrencourt hates a staring eye."

I was warned and I was grateful. But there I stopped. Since Heaven had given me my eyes, nothing on earth could prevent them opening when matter worth the looking was presented. And perhaps they might be open, and yet seem shut to M. de Perrencourt. With a final salute to the exalted company I went out; as I went they resumed their places at the table, M. de Perrencourt saying, "Come, let us finish. I must be away before dawn."

I returned to my quarters in no small turmoil; yet my head, though it still ached sorely from the effect of tasting that draught so fortunately dashed from my hand, was clear enough, and I could put together all the pieces of the puzzle save one. But that one chanced to be of some moment to me, for it was myself. The business with the King which had brought M. de Perrencourt so stealthily to Dover was finished, or was even now being accomplished; his presence and authority had reinforced Madame's persuasions, and the treaty was made. But in these high affairs I had no place. If I would find my work I must look elsewhere, to the struggle that had arisen between M. de Perrencourt and his Grace the Duke of Monmouth, in which the stakes were not wars or religions, and the quarrel of simpler nature. In that fight Louis (for I did not trouble to maintain his disguise in my thoughts) had won, as he was certain to win if he put forth his strength. My heart was sore for Mistress Barbara. I knew that she was to be the spoil of the French King's victory, and that the loss to the beauty of his Court caused by the departure of Mlle. de Querouaille was to find compensation. But, still, where was my part? I saw only one thing: that Louis had taken a liking for me, and might well choose me as his instrument, if an instrument were needed. But for what and where it was needed I could not conceive; since all France was under his feet, and a thousand men would spring up to do his bidding at a word—aye, let the bidding be what it might, and the task as disgraceful as you will. What were the qualities in me or in my condition that dictated his choice baffled conjecture.

Suddenly came a low knock on the door. I opened it and a man slipped in quickly and covertly. To my amazement, I saw Carford. He had kept much out of sight lately; I supposed that he had discovered all he wanted from Monmouth's ready confidence, and had carried his ill-won gains to his paymaster. But supposing that he would keep up the comedy I said stiffly,

"You come to me from the Duke of Monmouth, my lord?"

He was in no mood for pretence to-night. He was in a state of great excitement, and, brushing aside all reserve, made at once for the point.

"I am come," said he, "to speak a word with you. In an hour you're to sail for France?"

"Yes," said I. "Those are the King's orders."

"But in an hour you could be so far from here that he with whom you go could not wait for your return."

"Well, my lord?"

"To be brief, what's your price to fly and not to sail?"

We were standing, facing one another. I answered him slowly, trying to catch his purpose.

"Why are you willing to pay me a price?" said I. "For it's you who pays?"

"Yes, I pay. Come, man, you know why you go and who goes with you?"

"M. de Perrencourt and M. Colbert go," said I. "Why I go, I don't know."

"Nor who else goes?" he asked, looking in my eyes. I paused for a moment and then answered,

"Yes, she goes."

"And you know for what purpose?"

"I can guess the purpose."

"Well, I want to go in your place. I have done with that fool Monmouth, and the French King would suit me well for a master."

"Then ask him to take you also."

"He will not; he'll rather take you."

"Then I'll go," said I.

He drew a step nearer to me. I watched him closely, for, on my life, I did not know in what mood he was, and his honour was ill to lean on as a waving reed.

"What will you gain by going?" he asked. "And if you fly he will take me. Somebody he must take."

"Is not M. Colbert enough?"

He looked at me suspiciously, as though he thought that I assumed ignorance.

"You know very well that Colbert wouldn't serve his purpose."

"By my faith," I cried, "I don't know what his purpose is."

"You swear it?" he asked in distrust and amazement.

"Most willingly," I answered. "It is simple truth."

He gazed at me still as though but half-convinced.

"Then what's your purpose in going?" he asked.

"I obey my orders. Yet I have a purpose, and one I had rather trust with myself than with you, my lord."

"Pray, sir, what is it?"

"To serve and guard the lady who goes also."

After a moment of seeming surprise, he broke into a sneering laugh.

"You go to guard her?" he said.

"Her and her honour," I answered steadily. "And I do not desire to resign that task into your hands, my lord."

"What will you do? How will you serve her?" he asked.

A sudden suspicion of him seized me. His manner had changed to a forced urbanity; when he was civil he was treacherous.

"That's my secret, my lord," I answered. "I have preparations to make. I pray you, give me leave." I opened the door and held it for him.

His rage mastered him; he grew red and the veins swelled on his forehead.

"By heaven, you shan't go," he cried, and clapped his hand to his sword.

"Who says that Mr Dale shall not go?"

A man stood in the doorway, plainly attired, wearing boots, and a cloak that half-hid his face. Yet I knew him, and Carford knew him. Carford shrank back, I bowed, and we both bared our heads. M. de Perrencourt advanced into the room, fixing his eyes on Carford.

"My lord," he said, "when I decline a gentleman's services I am not to be forced into accepting them, and when I say a gentleman shall go with me he goes. Have you a quarrel with me on that account?"

Carford found no words in which to answer him, but his eyes told that he would have given the world to draw his sword against M. de Perrencourt, or, indeed, against the pair of us. A gesture of the newcomer's arm motioned him to the door. But he had one sentence more to hear before he was suffered to slink away.

"Kings, my lord," said M. de Perrencourt, "may be compelled to set spies about the persons of others. They do not need them about their own."

Carford turned suddenly white, and his teeth set. I thought that he would fly at the man who rebuked him so scornfully; but such an outbreak meant death; he controlled himself. He passed out, and Louis, with a careless laugh, seated himself on my bed. I stood respectfully opposite to him.

"Make your preparations," said he. "In half an hour's time we depart."

I obeyed him, setting about the task of filling my saddle-bags with my few possessions. He watched me in silence for awhile. At last he spoke.

"I have chosen you to go with me," he said, "because although you know a thing, you don't speak of it, and although you see a thing, you can appear blind."

I remembered that Madame thought my blindness deficient, but I received the compliment in silence.

"These great qualities," he pursued, "make a man's fortune. You shall come with me to Paris."

"To Paris, sir?"

"Yes. I'll find work for you there, and those who do my work lack neither reward nor honour. Come, sir, am I not as good a King to serve as another?"

"Your Majesty is the greatest Prince in Christendom," said I. For such indeed all the world held him.

"Yet even the greatest Prince in Christendom fears some things," said he, smiling.

"Surely nothing, sir?"

"Why, yes. A woman's tongue, a woman's tears, a woman's rage, a woman's jealousy; I say, Mr Dale, a woman's jealousy."

It was well that my preparations were done, or they had never been done. I was staring at him now with my hands dropped to my side.

"I am married," he pursued. "That is little." And he shrugged his shoulders.

"Little enough at Courts, in all conscience," thought I; perhaps my face betrayed something of the thought, for King Louis smiled.

"But I am more than a husband," he pursued. "I am a lover, Mr Dale."

Not knowing what comment to make on this, I made none. I had heard the talk about his infatuation, but it was not for me to mention the lady's name. Nor did the King name her. He rose and approached me, looking full in my face.

"You are neither a husband nor a lover?" he asked.

"Neither, sir."

"You know Mistress Quinton?"

"Yes, sir."

He was close to me now, and he whispered to me as he had whispered to the King in the Council Chamber.

"With my favour and such a lady for his wife, a gentleman might climb high."

I heard the words, and I could not repress a start. At last the puzzle was pieced, and my part plain. I knew now the work I was to do, the price of the reward I was to gain. Had he said it a month before, when I was not yet trained to self-control and concealment, King as he was, I would have drawn my sword on him. For good or evil dissimulation is soon learnt. With a great effort I repressed my agitation and hid my disgust. King Louis smiled at me, deeming what he had suggested no insult.

"Your wedding shall take place at Calais," he said; and I (I wonder now to think of it) bowed and smiled.

"Be ready in a quarter of an hour," said he, and left me with a gracious smile.

I stood there where I was for the best part of the time still left to me. I saw why Carford desired the mission on which I went, why Madame bade me practise the closing of my eyes, how my fortune was to come from the hand of King Louis. An English gentleman and his wife would travel back with the King; the King would give his favour to both; and the lady was Barbara Quinton.

I turned at last, and made my final preparation. It was simple; I loaded my pistol and hid it about me, and I buckled on my sword, seeing that it moved easily in the sheath. By fortune's will, I had to redeem the pledge which I had given to my lord; his daughter's honour now knew no safety but in my arm and wits. Alas, how slender the chance was, and how great the odds!

Then a sudden fear came upon me. I had lived of late in a Court where honour seemed dead, and women, no less than men, gave everything for wealth or place. I had seen nothing of her, no word had come from her to me. She had scorned Monmouth, but might she not be won to smile on M. de Perrencourt? I drove the thought from me, but it came again and again, shaming me and yet fastening on me. She went with M. de Perrencourt; did she go willingly?

With that thought beating in my brain, I stepped forth to my adventure.



CHAPTER XVI

M. DE PERRENCOURT WONDERS

As I walked briskly from my quarters down to the sea, M. de Perrencourt's last whisper, "With my favour and such a lady for his wife, a gentleman might climb high," echoed in my ears so loudly and insistently as to smother all thought of what had passed in the Council Chamber, and to make of no moment for me the plots and plans alike of Kings, Catholics, and Ranters. That night I cared little though the King had signed away the liberties of our religion and his realm; I spared no more than a passing wonder for the attempt to which conscience run mad had urged Phineas Tate, and in which he in his turn had involved my simpleton of a servant. Let them all plot and plan; the issue lay in God's hand, above my knowledge and beyond my power. My task was enough, and more than enough, for my weakness; to it I turned, with no fixed design and no lively hope, with a prayer for success only, and a resolve not to be King Louis' catspaw. A month ago I might have marvelled that he offered such a part to any gentleman; the illusions of youth and ignorance were melting fast; now I was left to ask why he had selected one so humble for a place that great men held in those days with open profit and without open shame; aye, and have held since. For although I have lived to call myself a Whig, I do not hold that the devil left England for good and all with the House of Stuart.

We were on the quay now, and the little ship lay ready for us. A very light breeze blew off the land, enough to carry us over if it held, but promising a long passage; the weather was damp and misty. M. Colbert had shrugged his shoulders over the prospect of a fog; his master would hear of no delay, and the King had sent for Thomas Lie, a famous pilot of the Cinque Ports, to go with us till the French coast should be sighted. The two Kings were walking up and down together in eager and engrossed conversation. Looking about, I perceived the figures of two women standing near the edge of the water. I saw Colbert approach them and enter into conversation; soon he came to me, and with the smoothest of smiles bade me charge myself with the care of Mistress Quinton.

"Madame," said he, "has sent a discreet and trustworthy waiting-woman with her, but a lady needs a squire, and we are still hampered by business." With which he went off to join his master, bestowing another significant smile on me.

I lost no time in approaching Barbara. The woman with her was stout and short, having a broad hard face; she stood by her charge square and sturdy as a soldier on guard. Barbara acknowledged my salutation stiffly; she was pale and seemed anxious, but in no great distress or horror. But did she know what was planned for her or the part I was to play? The first words she spoke showed me that she knew nothing, for when I began to feel my way, saying: "The wind is fair for us," she started, crying: "For us? Why, are you coming with us?"

I glanced at the waiting-woman, who stood stolidly by.

"She understands no English," said Barbara, catching my meaning. "You can speak freely. Why are you coming?"

"Nay, but why are you going?"

She answered me with a touch of defiance in her voice.

"The Duchess of York is to return with Madame on a visit to the French Court, and I go to prepare for her coming."

So this was the story by which they were inducing her to trust herself in their hands. Doubtless they might have forced her, but deceit furnished a better way. Yet agitation had mingled with defiance in her voice. In an instant she went on:

"You are coming, in truth are you? Don't jest with me."

"Indeed I'm coming, madame. I hope my company is to your liking?"

"But why, why?"

"M. de Perrencourt has one answer to that question and I another."

Her eyes questioned me, but she did not put her question into words. With a little shiver she said:

"I am glad to be quit of this place."

"You're right in that," I answered gravely.

Her cheek flushed, and her eyes fell to the ground.

"Yes," she murmured.

"But Dover Castle is not the only place where danger lies," said I.

"Madame has sworn——" she began impetuously.

"And M. de Perrencourt?" I interrupted.

"He—he gave his word to his sister," she said in a very low voice. Then she stretched her hand out towards me, whispering, "Simon, Simon!"

I interpreted the appeal, although it was but an inarticulate cry, witnessing to a fear of dangers unknown. The woman had edged a little away, but still kept a careful watch. I paid no heed to her. I must give my warning.

"My services are always at your disposal, Mistress Barbara," said I, "even without the right to them that M. de Perrencourt purposes to give you."

"I don't understand. How can he—Why, you wouldn't enter my service?"

She laughed a little as she made this suggestion, but there was an eagerness in her voice; my heart answered to it, for I saw that she found comfort in the thought of my company.

"M. de Perrencourt," said I, "purposes that I should enter your service, and his also."

"Mine and his?" she murmured, puzzled and alarmed.

I did not know how to tell her; I was ashamed. But the last moments fled, and she must know before we were at sea.

"Yonder where we're going," I said, "the word of M. de Perrencourt is law and his pleasure right."

She took alarm, and her voice trembled.

"He has promised—Madame told me," she stammered. "Ah, Simon, must I go? Yet I should be worse here."

"You must go. What can we do here? I go willingly."

"For what?"

"To serve you, if it be in my power. Will you listen?"

"Quick, quick. Tell me!"

"Of all that he swore, he will observe nothing. Hush, don't cry out. Nothing."

I feared that she would fall, for she reeled where she stood. I dared not support her.

"If he asks a strange thing, agree to it. It's the only way."