"Heaven bless you, merry gentlemen," she chirruped. "Here is a cup of comfort for you."

"Heaven bless you, merry matron," Bardon answered, as soberly as he could, for indeed the sight of Mistress Satchell in her Sunday best and in her most coming-on humor was not of a nature to strengthen sobriety. Lord Fawley gasped as the virago swaggered towards his companions, and young Ingrow popped his handkerchief into his mouth and bit at it while he stared with eyes of nursery wonder at the dame. Radlett winked as if dazzled by the whimsical apparition, and Sir Rufus, familiar with Mrs. Satchell and her vagaries, was the only member of his party who kept his countenance unchanged on her entrance.

Brilliana was sympathetically swift to explain her astonishing handwoman.

"Gentles," she said, "this is Mistress Satchell, who queens it in times of peace over my kitchen, but who has proved herself my very valiant adjutant during the siege."

The dame bridled with pride.

"I can handle a pike, my lords, I promise ye," she asserted; and then, turning to Halfman for confirmation, "Can I not, Master Halfman?"

Halfman slapped his thigh approvingly and answered to the Cavalier with grave voice and smiling eyes.

"Never was pike so handled before, I promise ye."

The tone of his voice mimicked Mrs. Satchell's manner even as the words of it aped her matter, but the dame was too pleased with herself and the world to heed what it was that set the gentlemen laughing.

"So, so," Radlett hummed approval. "Mrs. Satchell, will you ride with me to the King?"

Mrs. Satchell dipped him a swimming reverence, but she shook her head decisively.

"Your honor means well, but I cannot leave my lady. The Roundheads might come again."

The Lord Fawley had by this seen his glass filled by Tiffany and was staring boldly into her pretty face, much to the exasperation of honest Thoroughgood, chafing in the background.

"Do you handle a pike, prettikins?" Fawley asked. Prettikins dropped him a courtesy and shook her curls.

"No, my lord," she whispered, "I am not very soldierly."

It was now Ingrow's turn to have his glass filled and to stare admiration at the pretty serving-woman.

"If you have a mind to enlist," he said, temptingly, "you shall be ensign in my troop and we'll carry your kirtle for a flag."

Whether Mrs. Satchell considered that Tiffany was like to be embarrassed by the attentions of the gentry, or whether she considered that those attentions diverted too much notice from herself as the heroine of the servants' hall, she certainly came to the rescue, edging her bulk between the girl and Ingrow.

"She is too green for your grace," she insisted. "You need a fine woman like me for your flag-bearer."

Even Ingrow's readiness found him something at a loss for an answer. He looked as if he feared lest dame Satchell might take him in an embrace. Brilliana, now that all the glasses were charged, decided that the company had tasted enough of Mrs. Satchell's humors.

"I thank you, Mistress Satchell," she said, quietly, and Mrs. Satchell, rightly reading in the tones of her mistress's voice permission to retire, withdrew in good order, beaming and bobbing to all the gentlemen and followed by Shard and Tiffany, who, with lids demurely lowered, avoided recognition of the admiring glances of Fawley and Ingrow.

Brilliana turned to her company and lifted her glass.

"Drink, gentles," she summoned. "Drink 'The King!'"

All the Cavaliers shouted the loyal toast so that the words "The King!" seemed to ring in every nook of the great hall; then every Cavalier drained his glass.

"Ah," sighed Lord Fawley, as he set down his empty vessel, "I could drink the King's health forever."

"I swear it would sweeten sour ale," Bardon declared.

Young Ingrow took him up. "When it floats on such noble tipple I am a god-swilling nectar." Halfman slapped his chest.

"Come, lads!" he cried; "when Cavaliers drink the King's health they should sing the King's song," and in another moment his mellow voice was setting his friends a sturdy example. "Gallants of England," he warbled:

"Gallants of England, shall not the King land Safely in town to knock Parliament down? Shall we not ever strive to endeavor Glory to win for our King and our crown? Shall not the Roundhead soon be confounded? Sa, sa, sa, sa, boys, ha, ha, ha, ha, boys, Then we'll return home in triumph and joy. Then we'll be merry, drink sack and sherry, And we will sing, boys, God save the King, boys, Cast up our hats, and sing Vive le Roy."



XI

AT BAY

Brilliana and the Cavaliers, stirred by the enthusiasm of Halfman's stanza, caught up the cry commanded and sent it rolling through the hall.

"Vive le Roy! God bless the King!" they shouted, with the loyal tears in their eyes. Brilliana gave Halfman a grateful smile.

"Well sung, well done," she approved. Halfman glowed. Sir Rufus frowned a little. Turning hurriedly to his companions, he said:

"Friends, I have another toast for you. I give you the King's sweet warrior, Oxfordshire's blithe viceroy, 'The Lady of Loyalty House.'"

"Never a better toast in the world," Halfman shouted. "Drink, gallants, drink."

Brilliana crossed her fingers before her face. Through the living lattice her eyes peeped brightly.

"I protest you make too much of me," she pleaded, while Halfman and the Cavaliers quickly filled their glasses again and lifted them high in air. A chorus of "The Lady of Loyalty House!" rang out, and again the toast was honored.

"I thank you with all my heart," Brilliana panted, blushing and excited at the tumult and the praise. There was a moment's silence. Everything worth saying seemed to have been said, everything worth doing to have been done. Suddenly, in that silence, Bardon caught sight of Evander where he stood apart, disdainful, between his guards, and the sight pricked his wits. Turning to his mates, he thumbed at the prisoner over his shoulder.

"Should we not make the crop-ear yonder pledge the Lady of Loyalty House?" he questioned. Radlett rubbed approving hands.

"Well thought. Let him honor his conqueror," he began. The Lord Fawley tripped him up with a new proposal.

"Stop, stop; not so fast," he protested. "The fellow has not pledged the King yet. Let him drink the King's health first and be damned to him."

The others applauded, but Ingrow, noting a certain sterner tightening of Evander's mouth, interrupted.

"I'll wager he will not drink," he said, looking maliciously from the flushed faces of the Cavaliers to the pale face of the Puritan. Rufus's temper blazed instantly.

"Will not drink, say you!" he cried. "This mewcant shall pledge at our pleasure or taste our displeasure."

He strode to the table, filled a cup of wine, and set it down on the corner nearest to Evander.

"Come, you Roundpoll," he continued—"come, you Geneva mumbler, here is a cup for you to wash down the dust of your dry thoughts. Drink, I give you 'The King.'"

Evander gazed steadfastly at the irate gentleman and made no motion to take the wine. Brilliana, from where she stood, watching him curiously, wrestled with a reluctant admiration of his carriage. Ingrow commented, smoothly, maliciously:

"You see, the gentleman does not drink."

Ingrow's words fanned the Cavalier fire.

"Damn him for a disloyal rat!" Radlett shouted. Halfman elbowed his way past him and addressed Rufus.

"Sweet Sir Rufus," he said, "I have lived in places where a little persuasion has often led folk to act much against their personal inclinations and desires. Out swords and force the toast."

As he spoke he drew his sword with his best Mercutio manner, and the suggestion and the naked steel carried contagion. Every gentleman unsheathed his sword; all advanced upon Evander, a line of shining points.

"Bait him, bait him!" Bardon shouted.

Ingrow shrilled, "Tickle him, prick him, pink him till he drinks!"

Though Evander surveyed his enemies as composedly as if they had been children threatening him with pins, Brilliana knew that the spirit of mischief was alive and that the Cavaliers would not boggle at cruelty, six to one, for the sport of making a Parliament man honor the King against his will. She hated the man, but she would not have him so handled. Instantly she stepped between Evander and the Cavaliers, who fell back with lowered points before their hostess.

"Wait, sirs," she ordered, "let me see if my entreaties will not make the bear more gracious."

She took up the cup where Rufus had set it down, and, coming close to Evander, held the vessel to him with her sweetest smile, the smile which, she had been assured a thousand times, would tame a savage and shatter adamant. "Will you not pledge the best gentleman in England?" she asked, with a voice all honey.

Very courteously Evander took the proffered cup from her fingers and gave her back her smile. Brilliana's heart thrilled with pleasure at this new proof of beauty's victory.

"I will drink at your wish," he said, looking at her with a quiet smile and speaking as if he and she were alone together in the great hall. "I will drink at your wish, but with my own wit." Still looking into the gratified eyes of Brilliana, he lifted the cup.

"I drink," he cried, loud and clear, "to the best man in England. I drink to Colonel Cromwell."

He drained the glass and sent it crashing into the fireplace. Then he folded his arms and faced his antagonists.

Brilliana's heart seemed for a second to stand still. So beauty had not triumphed, after all. Dimly, as one in a dream, she could hear the fury of the Cavaliers find words.

"You black Jack, I will clip your ears," Rufus promised.

"Blood him. Blood him," bawled Fawley.

"Slit his nose," Radlett suggested.

"Duck him in the horse-pond," suggested Bardon.

"Set him in the stocks," Ingrow advised.

Halfman, seeing how Brilliana leaned against the table, her face pale as her smock, raged at her daring denier. He stretched out his sword as if to marshal and restrain the passions of the Cavaliers.

"Would it not be properer sport, sirs," he asked, "to tie him in a chair, like Guido Fawkes on November day, and take him through the village that loyal lads may pelt a traitor?"

Once again Halfman's pleasant invention pleased the fancy of his allies.

"Well said," assented Rufus. "Fetch a rope, some one."

Brilliana, hearing, moved a little forward. She had failed and felt shamed. Yet this thing must not happen. She could not leave her enemy thus to the mercy of his enemies. But what she would have said was stayed by a sudden diversion.

Interest in all the events that had so swiftly passed before them had gravely relaxed the vigilance of Evander's guardians. Garlinge and Clupp—a strong Gyas and a strong Cloanthes—open-eyed and open-mouthed, were open-handed also and clawed no clutch upon their prisoner's shoulder. Thoroughgood, confused between jealous thoughts of Tiffany and envious admiration of the manner in which Halfman handled the gentry, was as heedless as his inferiors, and was therefore taken too much by surprise to offer the slightest resistance when Evander, suddenly springing from between his guards, snatched from his supine arms the captured sword that had been intrusted to his keeping. Before he or any other of the astonished spectators could take any action Evander had leaped lightly into the alcove of the window, and, dragging by main force the heavy table in front of him, so as to blockade his corner, showed himself snugly intrenched behind a rampart which his single sword might well hope to hold at least for some time against the swords of half a dozen assailants.

"You will find me a spoil sport," he cried, cheerily, as he stood on guard behind the massive bulk of oak. "Dogs, here is a hart at bay; beware his antlers."

"Bravely done, rebel," Brilliana cried, aloud, as if in spite of herself, as she beheld the reckless deed, and "Bravely done, rebel," Halfman echoed, in his reluctant turn, as he heard his lady's words and saw the light of praise on his lady's face. Though he hated the Puritan as cordially as if he had been a King's man all his days, he could not deny his courage, and his scene of effective action made him wish himself in Evander's place, taking the stage so skilfully and dominating the situation. But above all this, if Brilliana applauded the rebel's act, then the rebel's life was of some value, and until he received his lady's orders the rebel's life should be sacred to Halfman. So he struck up with his sword the pikes that Garlinge and Clupp levelled, clumsily enough, and were preparing to thrust at Evander over the interposing barrier. At the same moment Rufus, for a very different reason, restrained the action of his comrade Cavaliers, who were making ready for a combined rush, sword in hand, upon their enemy. Rufus saw instantly how well intrenched their enemy lay; it would be hard for any sword to reach him across that width of oak, and even push of pike, when delivered by such loutish fingers as now governed those weapons, might easily be parried by a swordsman so skilful as he guessed Evander to be. But there was no generosity towards a brave adversary in Rufus's action. In his hot ferocity he merely wished to make sure of his quarry as quickly as possible.

"You shall be no hart-royal," he answered, fiercely, taking up the hunter's challenge. "You shall not escape. We shall sound the mort of the deer in a moment. Give me your gun, fellow."

This last command was addressed to Thoroughgood, who had brought his musketoon to the ready and was waiting irresolute for command. Sir Rufus snatched the weapon from him and was about to aim at Evander when, to his rage, Brilliana stepped between him and his mark.

"Stay your hand, Sir Rufus," she commanded, with a frown on the fair face to which the color had now returned. "It is for me, and for me only, to give orders here. This is my prisoner, and were he ten times a Roundpoll he should have honest handling."

Sir Rufus would fain have protested, would fain have carried his point, but he saw that in the face of her whom it was his heart's desire to please which reduced him to sullen obedience. He shrugged his shoulders. "As you please," he muttered, as he returned the gun to Thoroughgood and, turning on his heel to hide his vexation, joined his comrades, who seemed all to share, discomfited, in his rebuke, and to deprecate the anger of Brilliana. Brilliana went up to the table, and, poising herself against it by pressing the palms of her hands on its surface, looked with gracious entreaty into the grave eyes of Evander, who lowered his sword in respectful greeting.



XII

A USE FOR A PRISONER

"Sir," said Brilliana, "if you give me your parole you shall have the freedom of Harby."

Evander made her a ceremonious bow.

"Lady, you seem to me to be the only true gentleman on your side of this quarrel, so I will give you my word and my sword."

Holding his sword by the blade, he extended it across the table to Brilliana, whose hand caught its hilt with the firm grasp of one to whom the manage of arms was not unfamiliar. As she stepped back with her trophy Evander pushed the table aside to afford him passage from his alcove, and, saluting the lady, took his former place between his warders. Brilliana returned his salutation with a murmured "It is well." Rufus, disengaging himself from the knot of discomfited Cavaliers, moved towards her and addressed her with faintly restrained impatience.

"In Heaven's name," he begged, "set this Cantwell on one side if you tender him so precious. I have private news for you."

Brilliana's face wore something of a frown for her presuming friend. "Indeed!" she answered, coldly. Then turning towards Halfman she tendered to him Evander's sword, which he hastened to take from her, kneeling as he did so.

"Captain Cloud is in your care," she said. "Pray you, withdraw your prisoner a little."

Halfman rose, bearing Evander's sword, and went to Evander.

"Will you come this way?" he bade his captive, courteously enough. If Brilliana chose to trust a Roundhead's word, her will was Halfman's law. Evander again saluted Brilliana and followed Halfman to the farther part of the hall. Here in a window-seat, out of ear-shot of the other's speech, he seated himself to commune with his melancholy reflections, while Halfman, after stationing Thoroughgood at a little distance as a nominal guard upon the prisoner, dismissed Garlinge and Clupp from the room and rejoined the Cavaliers. Brilliana, who had still been standing with Sir Rufus, now addressed the others.

"Gentlemen," she said, "you must need sustenance after this morning's work. You will find such poor cheer as Harby can offer in the banqueting-hall. Captain Halfman, will you play the host for me?"

The Cavaliers, who were, indeed, sharp-set and ever-ready trenchermen, welcomed the proposal each after his own fashion.

"Indeed," averred the Lord Fawley, "I would say good-day to a pasty." "Ay," assented Radlett, "well met, beef or mutton." Ingrow euphemized, "I shall be well content with bread and cheese and dreams," as he glanced admiration at Brilliana. Bardon grunted, "I would sell all my dreams for a slice of cold boar's head."

Halfman addressed them in the character of Father Capulet. "We have a trifling foolish banquet towards." He turned towards the doors of the banqueting-room with the famished gentlemen at his heels; then, noticing that Sir Rufus remained with Brilliana, he stopped and questioned him. "You, sir, will you not eat?"

Rufus answered him with an impatience that was almost anger. "No, no," he said; "I have no hunger. Stay your stomachs swiftly, friends."

He turned again to Brilliana, and stood opposite to her in silence till Halfman and the Cavaliers had quitted the hall. Then Brilliana spoke.

"Well, good news or bad?"

"Bad," Rufus answered. "Your cousin Randolph is a captive."

Brilliana gave a little cry of regret.

"Bad news, indeed! How did it chance?"

"In the battle," Rufus answered. "The King's standard-bearer was slain and the King's flag fell into the rebel hands."

Brilliana clasped her hands with a sigh, and would have spoken, but Rufus stayed her, hurrying on with his tale.

"That could not be endured, dear lady. So in the dusk Randolph and I put orange scarfs about us that we might be taken for rogues of Essex's regiment, and so, unchallenged, slipped into the enemy's camp. Dear fortune led me to the tent of Lord Essex, and there I found his secretary sitting and gaping at the precious emblem. I snatched it from his fingers and made good my escape, gaining great praise from his Majesty when I laid the sacred silk at his feet."

Brilliana's eyes swam with adoration. "Oh, my gallant friend!" she cried, and held out her hands to him. He caught them both and kissed them, whereat she instantly withdrew them and moved a little away. He followed her, speaking low, passionately.

"Your words mean more than the King's words to me. You know that."

Brilliana did not look vastly displeased at this wild speech, but she forced a tiny frown and set her finger to her lips.

"Hush!" she said. "What of Randolph?"

"Less fortunate than I," Rufus resumed, in calmer tones, "he ran into the arms of a burly Parliament man, that Cambridge Crophead Mr. Cromwell, who made him prisoner."

"Truly," said Brilliana, thoughtfully, "it is hard luck for him just after his first battle. But 'twill be soon mended. They will exchange him."

Even as she spoke she seemed surprised at the gloomy look that reigned on Rufus's face. His tone was as gloomy as his face as he said, "He was wearing the orange scarf of Essex."

"What then?" Brilliana questioned, still surprised; then, as knowledge flashed upon her, she cried, quickly, "Ah, they will say that he was a spy."

"Ay," Rufus answered, hotly, "the King's spy, God's spy upon enemies of God and King, but still a spy in their eyes."

"But what is to be done?" Brilliana gasped.

"I would that I knew," Rufus answered. "His Majesty has interceded for him and has gained him some days of grace. It is certain that my Lord Essex, if he had his own way, would yield him. But he has not his own way, for this stubborn Cromwell fellow clings to his prisoner."

"Why is he so stubborn?" Brilliana asked. Rufus smiled sourly.

"Partly because, like all new-made soldiers, he is punctilious of the rules of war. Partly because he hopes to turn his capture to some account. Poor Randolph had upon him a letter in cipher from the King to a certain lord. Randolph may buy his life with the key to the cipher."

"He will never do that," Brilliana said, in proud confidence of the courage of her house. She was silent for a moment; then she gave a little cry of joy. "I think I can save him," she exclaimed. Rufus stared at her as if she had lost her wits.

"Why, what can you do?" he asked, astonished. Brilliana answered with a glance of profound wisdom. "I think I know a way," and she nodded her head sagely. Then she turned and moved a little space across the hall in the direction of that window-seat where Evander sat ensconced. When she had advanced two or three paces she called to him:

"Captain Cloud, pray favor me with your company for a few moments of speech."

Evander's consciousness swam to the surface of a pool of gloomy thought at her summons. He rose on the instant and came down the hall towards her.

"I am at your service, lady," he said. Brilliana watched him closely as she questioned.

"You say you are a friend of Mr. Cromwell?"

Evander seemed surprised at the interrogation, but he answered, simply, "I am so favored."

"Does he cherish you in affection?" Brilliana pursued, still watching him closely.

"He loved my father," said Evander. "If I dared to think it I should say he loved me, too. Truly, he has shown me much regard."

Brilliana struck her palms sharply together with the air of one who has solved a difficult problem.

"Your Mr. Cromwell has taken prisoner a cousin of mine whom he threatens to kill as a spy. We will exchange you against Mr. Cromwell's prisoner."

Evander looked steadily back at her with a hint of mild amusement at the corners of his mouth.

"Colonel Cromwell will never exchange a spy," he responded, decisively.

Rufus, who was listening to the conference, nodded his head in gloomy assent. "That is like enough," he agreed. Brilliana stamped a foot and her eyes snapped vexation.

"We shall see," she said, sharply. She turned away from the two men and moved to a small table against the wall that carried writing materials. Seating herself thereat, she took up a goose-quill and began to write rapidly on a large sheet of paper. When she had finished she looked round, and beckoned Rufus to her side that he might hear what she had written. She read it aloud, with her eyes fixed on Evander's impassive face.

"To Colonel Cromwell, serving with my Lord Essex in the Parliamentary army lately at Edgehill. My cousin, Sir Randolph Harby, is a prisoner in your hands. Your friend, Mr. Evander Cloud, is a prisoner in mine. I will exchange my prisoner for your prisoner; but the life of Mr. Evander Cloud is answerable for the life of Randolph Harby. Such is the sure promise and steadfast vow of his cousin and the King's true subject, Brilliana Harby."

As she read, the dour face of Rufus brightened, and he rubbed his hands in satisfaction at the close.

"By the Lord, an honest thought," he chuckled. "Swing Randolph, swing rat-face."

Evander smiled disdainfully.

"I am no spy," he asserted, firmly, "and by the laws of war you have no right to my life."

Brilliana turned on him tauntingly.

"You were taken a rebel in arms and your life is at my mercy."

"Then," said Evander, calmly, "add to your letter my wish that Colonel Cromwell take no thought of me."

Brilliana stamped impatiently.

"I am not your secretary," she said, sharply.

"It does not matter," Evander answered, smoothly. "Colonel Cromwell will follow the laws of war."

"I am sorry for you if he do," Brilliana declared. "We shall test the strength of Colonel Cromwell's love." She called, loudly, "John Thoroughgood."

Thoroughgood advanced to her from where he stood removed.

"Ride with a white flag," Brilliana went on; "ride hard to my Lord Essex's army, wherever it may be. Where is my Lord Essex, Rufus?"

"They have retired, I think, upon Warwick," Rufus said, doubtfully.

"Well," Brilliana continued, "to the rebel army, wherever you can find it. Deliver this letter into the hands of Colonel Cromwell. Bring back his answer swiftly. Ride as if you were riding for your life."

Thoroughgood saluted, took the letter, and turned to go. Brilliana stopped him.

"First quarter Captain Cloud in the west room, and see him well tended."

Evander bowed.

"I thank you," he said, and followed Thoroughgood out of the room. Brilliana turned to Rufus.

"I trust you will all feast here to-night."

Rufus shook his head sadly.

"Tears in my eyes and heart, but not possible. We join the King to-night for Banbury." He came close to her and spoke low. "Bright Brilliana, will you not give me your golden promise ere I go?"

"You must not ask that yet," Brilliana pleaded. "I must know my own mind."

Sir Rufus banged his hands together.

"By God, I know mine, and my mind is to win you if I have to kill a regiment of rivals."

Brilliana pretended to shudder at his ferocity.

"Lord! you are a very violent lover."

Rufus did not deny her.

"I am a very earnest lover, a very desperate lover."

Brilliana made a gesture of protest.

"Fie, this is no love-talk time, when the King is fighting. Ride, gallant Rufus, come back with loyal laurels and the flags of canting rebels, and see how I shall welcome you."

Rufus caught her hands.

"Must I be content with this?" he asked, hotly.

"You must be content with this," Brilliana replied, coolly. "Here come your brothers-in-arms."

The doors of the banqueting-hall opened, and Fawley, Radlett, Bardon, Ingrow, and Halfman came in, all brighter for wine and food.

"'Tis boot and saddle, Rufus," Fawley cried.

"I am yours," Rufus answered. He bowed over Brilliana's fingers. "Farewell, lady."

One and all they turned and left her, and as they tramped into the air the chorus of the Cavalier song came back to her happy ears.

"And we will sing, boys, God bless the King, boys, Cast up your hats, and cry Vive le Roy."



XIII

A GILDED CAGE

Evander awoke in a strange world steeped in lavender. It was long since he had lain so soft, long since he had drifted out of dreams to breathe lavender. His pleased senses, less alert for very ease and pleasure, denied him immediate knowledge of his whereabouts. He saw a fair room, well appointed; he welcomed the morning sunlight through delicate, unfamiliar curtains; he questioned the insisting deliciousness of lavender. Where was he? What was this chamber of calm panelled in pale oak? It was not Leyden, it was not Cambridge; then in a flash he knew. It was the west room at Harby—Harby where he lay a prisoner on parole, Harby which he had tried to take and which had ended by taking him. He leaped from his bed instantly, well awake, well alive, and gaining the window peeped through the parted curtains. He looked out across the moat on the terrace to the rear of Harby, beyond which lay the spacious gardens for which Harby was held famous. His men had held that terrace twenty-four hours earlier; now they had vanished as if they had never been, save for the testimony of the trampled grass. In their place a solitary figure sat on a baluster drinking smoke contemplatively from a pipe of clay. Evander knew him for Halfman—knew, too, that Halfman watched there for him, for the moment the curtains parted the sitter rose and, advancing towards the edge of the moat, waved and voiced salutation to Evander.

"Give you good-morning, gallant capitano," he called. "Jocund day stands on the top of yon high eastern hill. Will it please your worthiness to be stirring?"

"Very willingly," Evander called back. "Have I overslept?"

Halfman made a gesture of protestation.

"Nay, nay," he answered. "Your time is your own nag here, to amble, pad, or gallop as you choose. Have I your permission to wait upon you in your apartment?"

On Evander's assurances that nothing would afford him greater pleasure, Halfman favored him with a military salute, and, crossing the moat by the now restored bridge, disappeared inside the house. Evander hastened to clothe himself, a task which he had but partially accomplished when the drumming of a pair of hands upon the door informed him that his custodian waited at the threshold. He opened the door, and Halfman walked in wearing for the occasion a manner in which good-fellowship and condescension, with the consideration of a noble victor for a noble vanquished, were artfully blended and emphatically interpreted. He held out his hand for Evander's and gave to it a martial pressure.

"A soldier should ever be abroad betimes," he asserted. "Wherefore I applaud your rising."

Evander inquired again, somewhat anxiously, if he had been expected to appear before, which again Halfman denied.

"Since you have passed your parole," he affirmed, "Harby Hall is Liberty Hall for you as far as to the park limits. I would have battered at your door ere this, but I respected your first sleep in a strange bed, wherein often a bad night makes a late matins. Can you break your fast?"

Evander answering that he could, Halfman called upon him to follow, and led the way into an adjoining room, which was, so he assured Evander, set at his disposal during the period of his stay. The room, like the bedchamber, was panelled of oak, was handsomely furnished, and its long windows, which occupied almost the entirety of one wall, afforded the same view of terrace and garden that Evander had already seen. Much had been newly done, so Evander could see, to brighten and cheer the place. A bowl of royal roses stood on the buffet, and Evander smiled at the delicate defiance. In the alcove of the window-seat a number of books were piled, books that had patently been newly dusted, and Evander, glancing at these, found that they were all theological, an attention which made him smile. A table decked with lily-white linen and silver furniture bore preparations for a meal.

"Here, sir," said Halfman, cheerfully, "for some few hours of flying time, you are, in a word, king of the castle. These rooms are yours to eat in, read in, pray in, sleep in—what you please. None shall disturb your privacy without your leave."

Evander guessed that his hostess had found this way of treating him well and yet keeping her from his presence. There was bitterness in the thought that she must needs hate him so deeply. It may be that something of the bitterness of the thought asserted itself on Evander's face, and that Halfman misread it thinking he read the prisoner's thoughts clearly.

"Do not think," he proceeded, "that you are cabined and cribbed to these walls. All Harby Park is your pleasant paradise when you are pleased to walk abroad, and after you have broken your fast I shall be pleased to guide you through its glories. And now, will you that I eat with you? I have kept myself fasting, or wellnigh fasting, till now, but if you would rather break your bread in solitude say, without offence given, what I shall hear without offence taken."

Evander assured his companion that he desired his company of all things. Indeed, had Halfman been other than he was, Evander would have preferred any companionship that kept him from his melancholy thoughts. And already Halfman attracted him, or at least interested him. His fantastical manner, his fluent speech, his assurance, and that note of something foreign, odd, as characteristic, as conclusive, as the scorch of foreign suns upon his face, appealed to the curiosity in Evander which ever made men books for him. Halfman's manner grew more expansive at Evander's ready acceptance of his offer. He was now the magnificent host, soldier still, but soldier at his ease, and he played at Lord of Harby with enthusiasm.

"You are in the right," he said. "It is ill for man to sit alone at meat, for it encourages whimsical humors and the mounting of crudities to the brain. A flagon is twice a flagon that is shared by camerados, and who can praise a pasty to himself with only dumb walls to echo his plaudits? And here in good time come flagon and pasty, both."

The door had opened as he spoke, and Mistress Satchell came into the room, followed by a brace of serving-men who bore on trays the materials for an ample repast. Halfman eyed the viands with approval, while Evander returned gravely Mrs. Satchell's florid bobs and greetings.

"I saw to it last night," he went on, "that Harby was revictualled. You pinched us, sir, you pared us; our larder was as lean as a stork's leg, but to-day we can eat our fill."

And, indeed, the table now being spread by Mrs. Satchell's directions bore out the assertion of Halfman. Jolly, white loaves, a grinning boar's head, a pasty with a golden dome, a ham the color of a pink flower, and a dish of cold game tempted hunger where flagons of white wine and red wine tempted thirst. Halfman dismissed Mrs. Satchell and her satellites affably.

"We can wait upon ourselves," he averred. "We shall be more private so," and he motioned Evander to a seat and took his own place opposite. "Yes," he said, resuming the thread of his thought, as he piled a plate for Evander, "you did your best to starve us; we must not do the like by you."

Evander smiled as he stayed the generosity of his host's hands and accepted from his reluctance a plate less lavishly charged with viands than Halfman had proposed to offer him.

"Yet," he said, "I think I heard, no later ago than yesterday, much clatter of dishes and much rattling of cups and all the sounds of plenty."

Halfman hurriedly bolted a goodly slice of ham lest it should choke him while he laughed, which he now did heartily, lolling back in his chair. He was honestly amused, and yet it seemed to Evander as if there were something in his strange friend's mirth which was carefully calculated to produce its effect. Indeed, Halfman, as he laughed, was thinking of Sir John Falstaff's full-bodied thunders over some ticklish misdoings of Bardolph or Nym. When he had enough of his own performance, he allowed the laughter to die as suddenly as it had dawned, and gave tongue.

"That was the best jest in the world," he chuckled. "Clatter of dishes, say you, and rattle of cups. Once, when I was in Aleppo, I heard an old fellow in an Abraham beard telling a tale to a crowd of Moors. I had not enough of their lingo to know why they laughed, but one who was with me that had more Moorish told me the tale. It was of one who invited a poor man to his house and pretended to feed him nobly, naming this fair dish and that fine wine, and pressing meat and drink upon him, while all the while, in very mockery, there was neither bite in any platter nor sup in any bottle. Well, excellent sir, our table of yesterday was in some such case."

Evander nodded. "I guessed as much," he commented. "But, indeed, it was bravely done."

"It was bravely devised," Halfman asserted. "It was my lady's thought. She would never let a rascally Roundhead—I crave your pardon, she would never let an enemy—dream that we were in lack of aught at Harby that could help us to serve the King."

"Your lady is a very brave lady," Evander said, quietly. Halfman caught at his words with a kind of cheer in his voice.

"Hippolyta was not more valiant, nor Parthian Candace, nor French Joan. She is the rose of the world, the fairest fair, the valiantest valor. There is no wine in the world that is worthy to pledge her, but we must do our best with what we have."

He filled himself a spacious tankard as he spoke and drained it at a draught. Evander listened to his ebullient praises in silence. He did not think that the Lady of Harby should be so spoken of and by such an one. Over-eating and especially over-drinking were ever distasteful to him, and he took it that Halfman was on the high-road to becoming drunk. But in this he was wrong. When Halfman set down his vessel he was as sober as when he had lifted it, but of a sudden a shade graver, as if Evander's silence had shadowed his boisterous gayety. He pushed the beaker from him with a sigh, and then, seeing that Evander's plate was empty, offered to ply him with more food. On Evander's refusal he pushed back his chair. "Well," he said, "if your stomach is stayed, are you for a stroll in the gardens—will you see lawns and parks of fairyland?"

Evander willingly acquiesced, and the strangely assorted pair rose and quitted the chamber. They met Mistress Satchell on the threshold, and Tiffany hiding slyly behind her highness. Evander smilingly complimented Mistress Satchell on the excellence of her table, to the good dame's great gratification. But much to Tiffany's indignation he paid little heed to her pretty face.



XIV

A PASSAGE AT ARMS

The vane of Halfman's attitude towards the captive had veered strongly in the past half-hour. He had been ready to treat him well, for such was Brilliana's pleasure; he was willing to make friends and taste the agreeables of the magnanimous victor. But the conquered man had gained no ground that morning in the heart of one of his conquerors. He ate little, which Halfman pitied; he drank little, which Halfman despised; and it was with a much-augmented disdain that he beheld Evander dash his solitary cup with water.

"Craftily qualified, curse him," he thought; "the fellow's a damned Cassio, and will be fumbling with his right hand and his left in a twinkle."

In this he was disappointed; Evander's draught wrought no havoc in his speech or demeanor; Halfman was more disappointed that the prisoner took so coldly his laudations of his lady.

"The Roundpoll is so mad to be mastered by a woman that he has not enough gentility in his thin wits to spur him to a compliment."

His hostile thoughts brewed in his heated brain-pan till their fumes fevered him. As he led the way by stair and corridor, his mood for quarrel grew the keener that he knew his choler could find no hope of ventage with a prisoner committed to his care. And even as he thought this, chance seemed to furnish him with some occasion for satisfaction. They were passing by the open door of a room which had long been used as a place of arms at Harby, and its walls were hung with weapons of the time and weapons of an earlier generation. Halfman had passed much time there with the brisker fellows of the garrison, breaking them in to feats of weapon-play, and he smiled at the memory and the magnitude of his own dexterity. He paused for a moment at the threshold and looked round at Evander.

"Here," he said, with a smile that was half a leer and an intonation that was little less than a sneer—"here is a spot that will scarce have enough attraction for your worship to merit your worship's stay."

Evander, who had been following his guide almost mechanically, enveloped in his own gray reflections, took surprised note of his companion's changed bearing. Up to now he had been civil enough, even if his civility had not been of a quality greatly to Evander's liking, yet now his blustering good-humor gave place to something akin to deliberate offence. But he might be mistaken, and it was not for a prisoner to snatch at straws of quarrel. Therefore he protested, courteously:

"Why should you think that a soldier takes no interest in a soldier's tools?"

Halfman gave a shrug to his shoulders that might or might not be intended to annoy.

"Your worship is too raw a soldier to know much of these same tickers and tappers. Let us rather to the library for volumes of divinity."

This time the intention to affront was so patent, so patent, too, that Halfman's temper was getting the better of whatever discretion he possessed, that Evander's face hardened, and yet for his own reasons he still spoke mildly enough:

"There is no need to call me worship, for I can claim no such title. But I think I know something of these trinkets, and with your leave will examine them."

He passed by Halfman as he spoke and entered the room, where he immediately busied himself in the examination of some of the weapons displayed there, and apparently ignoring Halfman's existence. Halfman watched him with a scowl for a moment and then followed him into the room.

"Your honor," he said—"since you will not be called worship—your honor really has a use for these toys of gentlefolk?"

Evander had taken a handsome Italian rapier from its case against the wall, and, after glancing at its blade, was weighing and testing the weapon in the air. As he gave Halfman no answer, the latter took up the talk again, provocatively:

"I cannot deny that your honor showed fight briskly enough yester evening, but then it seemed little less than fight or die, and even a rat, if you corner him, will snap for dear life. Moreover, you were well ambushed, and there was a gentle lady present who would not see a rat butchered unnecessarily."

Evander, still weighing the fine Italian blade, turned to Halfman and addressed him with an exasperating composure.

"Friend," he said, "I have told you that I am not unacquainted with arms. When I am a free man I enforce belief in my word. As it is—"

He left his sentence uncompleted, and with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders proceeded on his journey round the room, still carrying the Italian rapier in his hand. Under his tan Halfman's face blazed and his eyes glittered, but he spoke with a forced calm and a feigned civility:

"Say you so much? Why, I believe your honor, surely. Yet, as they say, seeing is believing, and if you are in the vein for a gentle and joyous passage with buttoned arms, I that am here to entertain your honor would not for the world's width gainsay you."

Evander eyed him quietly. "Are you ready at fence?" he inquired. "I shall be pleased to take a lesson from you."

Halfman's heart warmed at his words. "The coney creeps towards the gin," he thought, exultantly; then he answered, aloud:

"Why, if you have a stomach for it you shall not be crossed. Here be two buttoned rapiers, true twins—length, weight, workmanship. I will beleather them in a twink. I promise you I would not hurt your honor."

"You are very good," Evander answered, gravely. Halfman was already busy tying two large pads of leather the size of small oranges onto the buttoned blades. While he was at work Evander occupied himself with the contents of the room until Halfman, having finished his job, advanced towards him with the weapons extended. Suddenly he paused.

"Stop!" he said. "Let us make a wager on our game. I always play with more heart so. Here is my stake."

He began to fumble at his doublet, and presently produced from an inner pocket a great thumb-ring with a ruby in it.

"I gained that," he said, "at the sacking of a Spanish town. 'Tis worth a pope's ransom. Set what you please against it."

Evander lifted the ring from the table where Halfman placed it and took it to the window to look at it closely. Presently he laid it on the table again.

"It is a goodly ring," he observed. "The setting is old and curious, and the stone, though it has a slight flaw in it, as you have been doubtless told before now, is worth more than any poor possessions I have about my person. Wherefore I would rather we contended for love."

Halfman shook his head. He was a thought dashed by Evander's discovery of the blemish in the stone, and he carried off his discomfiture by bravado.

"Nay, nay," he answered; "there is my stake. Set what you please against it, were it no more than a silver groat. I do not ask to be paid well for my lesson."

Evander said nothing, but drew his purse from his pocket and laid it on the table. Through the meshes Halfman could see the gleam of a few pieces of gold, and the gleam cheered him, as it always did. He was ever greedy of gold, and thought the death of Crassus not unkingly.

"Choose your blade," he said. Evander, with a quick glance at the two weapons, selected the one nearest to him, flung his hat onto a chair, stripped off his doublet, and quietly waited for his adversary. Halfman did not keep him long. He flung his hat and doublet on the floor and advanced.

"Are you ready?" he asked. Evander saluted in silence, and in another moment the antagonists engaged and the mock duello began. Halfman expected that it would be short, but it proved much shorter than he expected. He was far too good a swordsman not to know when he had encountered a better. The thing had not happened to him very often; it happened very flagrantly now. In less than five minutes Evander had placed the muffled button of his blade three times on Halfman's person—once upon either breast, and the third time fair on the forehead, just between the eyes. The last blow was so surely delivered that had it been given with greater force it might have knocked the receiver senseless. As it was, however, it was given with such deliberate delicacy that, though Halfman's head hummed for the moment and his eyes saw stars, he rallied quickly enough to stare at Evander where he stood with lowered point and to tender him a salutation of honest admiration.

"Great Jove of glory!" he gasped; "who was it that ran liquid steel into your spare body?"

Evander smiled at the new change in his chameleon companion.

"I learned a little fencing when I was in Paris," he admitted. "I fear I was over-inclined for the pastime."

"A little fencing!" Halfman ejaculated. "A little fencing! Why, man, that botte between the eyes would have done for me, even if you had not spitted both my lungs first. No one can ever say of you that you held your sword like a dancer. Give me your hand—by God! I must grip your hand."

"Sir," said Evander, as the pair clasped hands with the hearty clasp of true combatants, "you overpraise me; yet for your friendly praises I have a favor to ask of you."

"Name it and it is done," Halfman asseverated, with an oath, "were it to pluck a purple hair for you from the beard of the Grand Cham himself."

"'Tis no such matter," Evander answered. "I do but entreat you of your courtesy to take back your ring, for which in very truth I have no use."

Halfman protested a little for form's sake, then gave way, glad enough to pouch his jewel again.

"You are a gentleman," he declared. "Come, let us taste the air in the gardens."



XV

MY LADY'S PLEASAUNCE

The gardens of Harby were captain jewels in the crown of Oxfordshire. From the terrace they spread in spaces of changeful beauty over many acres of fruitful earth. Evander had seen to it that no further harm was done to these lovely spaces than was inevitable for the conduct of the siege. There were some in his company, hissing hot zealots, who were all for laying violating hands upon the temples of Baal and the shrines of Ashtaroth, by which Evander rightly interpreted them to mean the pleasaunces of clipped yews, the rose bowers, the box hedges, and the generous autumnal orchards. They were eager to show their scorn of the Amalekites by the lopping of ancient trees and the treading of colored blossoms under the heel of Israel. But Evander was as firm as these were frantic, and the gardens of Harby smiled through familiar process of sun and rain and dew, untroubled by the daily rattle of musketry and the nightly tramp of sentinels.

Evander reaped a reward for which he had not labored in his chivalry to a belligerent and besieged lady. For the gardens that a conqueror had preserved were now very fair indeed for a conquered man to walk in. The October sun shone as if the royal triumph, yonder at Edgehill and here at Harby, had rekindled summer on the chilling altar of the year, and the hues of the lingering flowers flamed in the celestial fires.

If Evander's thoughts were sable, he did not allow them to stain the fair day and his companion's gayety. Halfman swam now in the extravagance of admiration for so miraculous a Puritan. Halfman loved the apostles best on spoons of silver in a sea-bag swollen with loot, but of the men he had the best word for Peter, who could use a sword on occasion. And here was one of the saints on earth playing his rapier as bravely as if he had been a gentleman born or gentleman adventurer made, and had skimmed the seas and kissed and killed and pilfered.

He plied Evander, as they paced, with questions of swordsmanship and schools of arms and masters, of the Italian method and the Spanish method and the French method, and never caught his new Hector tripping over a push or a parade. They moved over danceable lawns or under the canopies of dim avenues, chattering of arms, till the soft October air tingled with the names of famous fencers, and Halfman was in fancy a lubber lad again at his first passado.

But his wonder grew with their wanderings. They paused at the bowling-green and played a game which Evander won. They visited the stables where the horses now were rallied, that had lived hidden in farm-yard and cottage garden during the siege. Here Halfman learned that Evander liked hawks and loved horses, and knew their manage better than himself. Had Evander proclaimed himself a whisperer, it would not now have astonished Halfman.

Again, as they passed by the orchard where Luke Gardener was busy, Halfman must needs bring Luke and Evander acquainted, whereupon the pair set straight to talking of garden talk and airing of weather wisdom in speech long since to him as unfamiliar as Hebrew. Here Evander's science wearied him, and he fairly dragged his captive away, declaring that there was yet much to see more honorable than herbs or brambles. Evander obeyed very contentedly, but they had not moved many paces when Luke came hobbling after, and, catching Halfman, drew him by the arm apart.

"Is yonder truly a damnable Roundhead?" he questioned. Halfman nodded his head.

"Well," continued Luke, "for that he deserves to be hanged, and yet he has taught me a trick of grafting roses which he says the Dutch use that might serve to save a worser man from the gallows."

Without a word Halfman shook his arm free and rejoined Evander, who was moving slowly along a pathway leading towards an enclosure of fantastically clipped yews. Hearing the footsteps behind him, Evander halted till Halfman joined him.

"How the devil came you to fathom flower knowledge?" Halfman asked. Evander smiled faintly.

"I would rather you unsaddled the devil from your question," he answered, rebuking in his mind a woman; "but I have always loved gardens. You have one here who is skilled in topiary," and he pointed towards the trim yew hedge they were approaching.

"Those are the green walls of my lady's pleasaunce," Halfman answered, "and the learned in such trifles call them mighty fine. But all I know of woodcraft is hatcheting me a path through virgin forest."

"Where, indeed, your topiarist would be ill at ease," Evander answered. "But I pray you let us retire, lest we intrude upon your lady."

"Never fear for that," said Halfman. "My lady is busy enough in-doors to-day, setting her house to rights, and you should not miss the comeliest nook in all the domain."

As he spoke he passed under an archway of clipped yew, and, Evander following, the pair came upon a grassy space entirely girdled with yew hedges, the sight of which instantly justified to Evander the praise of his companion. The enclosure made a circle some half an acre in size of the greenest turf imaginable, orderly bordered with seats of white marble and belted all about with the black greenness of the yew-tree hedge, which was fashioned like an Italian colonnade. The arches afforded vistas of different and delightful prospects of the park at every quarter of the card—woodland, savanna-like lawns, flower-gardens, kitchen-gardens, and orchards in their pride.

"This is a lovely place," protested Evander. "One might sit here and dream of seeing the shy wood-nymphs flitting through these aisles—if one had no better thoughts for one's idleness," he added. Halfman laughed.

"There peeped out the Puritan," he said. "I had lost him this long while, but run him to earth in my lady's pleasaunce. Yet you are a queer kind of Puritan, too. You can fence like a Frenchman, you can play bowls as Father Jove plays with the globes of heaven, and you can ride like Diomed, the jolly Greek, who knew that horses could be stridden as well as driven."

Evander, who had seated himself and had been tracing cabalistic signs on the grass with his staff, looked up into his companion's face.

"Are not you rather a queer kind of Cavalier," he asked, "if you think that a Puritan must needs be a fool?"

Halfman laughed back at him, and as he laughed he showed his teeth so seeming white by contrast with his sunburned cheeks, and he seemed to Evander more than ever like some half-tamed beast of prey.

"You are no fool, Puritan," Halfman shouted, "or Heaven would not have wasted its time in gracing you with such skill at sports. So great with the rapier, so wise on the bias. No, no; you are no fool. I am almost sad to think you quit us so soon, enemy though you be."

While Halfman had been babbling, Evander had again been busy with his staff. Halfman had paid no heed to his actions, being far too deep in his own phrases. Had he been attentive he might have noticed that at first Evander wrote on the green grass, as vainly as he might have written in water, a word, a name: Brilliana. Had he been attentive he might have noticed that Evander now wrote another word that was also a name and more than a name: Death. But he did not notice, and as he ended with his odd tribute to his enemy, Evander looked up at him with a calm face.

"I shall not quit you so soon," he said, in an even voice. "I have come to stay at Harby."

Halfman looked at him, puzzled.

"Stay at Harby," he repeated. "Nonsense, man; what are you thinking of? You will be riding hence in three days' time, when Sir Randolph is released."

Evander shook his head.

"Sir Randolph will not be released," he said. The quiet positiveness in his tone staggered Halfman. Stooping, with his hands resting on his knees, his unquiet eyes stared into Evander's quiet eyes.

"Sir Randolph will not be released! Why the devil will Sir Randolph not be released?"

Evander rose from his seat and rested his hand for a moment lightly on Halfman's arm, while he said, impressively:

"Say nothing of this to your lady, for Sir Randolph is her kinsman, and I think she holds him dear. Let ill news come late. But if Colonel Cromwell has taken a spy prisoner, that spy will very surely die."

Halfman stiffened himself. His eyes had never left Evander's, and he knew that Evander spoke what he believed. He gave a short laugh.

"And very surely if Sir Randolph be shot over yonder you will be shot down here."

"That," said Evander, still smiling, "is why I say that I have come to stay at Harby."

"You take your fate blithely," Halfman commented, scanning Evander with curiosity. He was familiar with the sight of men in peril of death; in most men he took courage for granted, but it was courage of a gaudier quality than the composure of the young Puritan, who had fenced with him and played bowls with him that very morning and talked so learnedly of roses with Luke, the gardener. Was there really something in the Puritan stuff that strengthened men's spirits? Evander answered his words and unconsciously his thoughts.

"I should not have taken up arms if I held my life too precious. It will need three days to get the answer, the inevitable answer, and in the mean time the autumn air is kind and these gardens delightful."

Halfman stared at him in an ecstasy of admiration, and then dealt him an applauding clap on the shoulder.

"Come to the kitchen-garden, philosopher," he cried. "A fellow of your phlegm should find pleasure in the contemplation of cabbages."

"It is a sage vegetable," Evander answered. "But I fear I tax your time. There must be much for you to do."

"I have done much already," Halfman replied. "But, indeed, these be busy times."

"Then," protested Evander, "when I have stared my fill at your meditative cabbage I shall entreat no more of your kindness but that you convoy me to the safe port of the library, where I shall be content enough."

"As you please," Halfman responded. "I was never a bookish man; I care for no books but play-books and these I carry here," and he beat his brown forehead. "But you may nose out some theologies in odd corners, as a pig noses truffles."

"I shall rout out something to fill my leisure I doubt not," Evander answered.

"Then hey for the kitchen-garden," cried Halfman, taking Evander's arm, and the two men, passing through a yew arch opposite to that by which they had entered, left my lady's pleasaunce as solitary as they had found it.



XVI

A PURITAN APPRAISED

It did not remain solitary long. Unawares, the steps of Halfman and Evander had been dogged ever since they crossed the moat and set out on their pilgrimage through the gardens. Crouching behind hedges, lingering in coppices, peeping through thickets, two persistent trackers had pursued the unconscious quarry. Scarcely had the shadows of Evander and his companion vanished from the grasses of the pleasaunce than the pursuers emerged from the shelter of a yew screen and ran into the open, staring after the departing pair. Yet these pursuers were no stealthy enemies, but merely creatures spurred by an irresistible curiosity. One was stout and red faced and inclined to breathe hard after the fatigues of the chase. The other was slim and smooth, with ripe cheeks and bright eyes, lodgings for the insolence of youth. In a word, the hunters were Mistress Satchell and pretty Tiffany, who had found their Puritan prisoner and visitor a being of considerable interest.

Mistress Satchell turned a damp, shining face and a questioning eye upon Tiffany.

"Is not he a dashing lad for a Puritan?" she gasped, patting her ample chest with both hands as if to fondle her newly recovered breath. Tiffany, who was bearing her mistress's lute, shrugged and pouted.

"I see little to like in him," she snapped. This was not at all true, but she was not going to admit as much to Mistress Satchell, or, for that matter, to herself. Mistress Satchell snorted fiercely, like an offended war-horse.

"Because he has not clipped you round the waist, pinched you in the cheek, kissed you on the lips—such liberties as our rufflers use. But he is a man for my money."

She spoke with vehemence. Pretty Tiffany made a dainty grimace as she answered:

"I think I am pleasing enough to behold, yet he gave me no more than a glance when he gave me good-day."

Mistress Satchell's ample bulk swayed with indignation.

"He is a lad of taste, I tell you. Why should he waste his gaze on such small goods when there was nobler ware anigh? He smiled all over his face when he greeted me."

Tiffany was sorely tempted to smile all over her face as she listened, but Mistress Satchell's temper was short and her arm long, so she kept her countenance as she answered, shortly:

"He is little."

This Mistress Satchell swiftly countered with the affirmation:

"He is great."

Tiffany thrust again.

"He is naught."

Again Dame Satchell parried.

"He is much," she screamed, and her face was poppy-red with passion, but Tiffany, retreating warily and persistent to tease, was about to start some fresh disclaimer of the Puritan's merits when she caught sight through a yew arch vista of a gown of gold and gray, and her tongue faltered.

"Our lady," she whispered to Mistress Satchell, who had barely time to compose her ruffled countenance when Brilliana came through the yew arch and paused on the edge of the pleasaunce surveying the belligerents with an amused smile.

"What are you two brawling about?" she asked, as she moved slowly towards the marble seat. Tiffany thrust in the first word.

"Goody Satchell will vex me with praise of the Parliament man."

By this time Brilliana had seated herself, observing her vehement shes with amusement. She turned a face of assumed gravity upon the elder.

"So, so, Mistress Satchell, have you turned Roundhead all of a sudden?"

Mrs. Satchell shook her head at Brilliana and her fist at Tiffany.

"Tiffany is a minx, but I am an honest woman; and as I am an honest woman, there are honest qualities in this honest Puritan."

Brilliana knew as much herself and fretted at the knowledge. It cut against the grain of her heart to admit that a rebel could have any redemption by gifts. But she still questioned Mistress Satchell smoothly, thinking the while of a man intrenched behind a table, one man against six.

"What are these marvels?" she asked.

Mistress Satchell was voluble of collected encomiums.

"Why, Thomas Coachman swears he is a master of horse-manage, and he has taught Luke Gardener a new method of grafting roses, and Simon Warrener swears he knows as much of hawking as any man in Oxford or Warwick."

She paused, out of breath. Brilliana, leaning forward with an air of infinite gravity, commented:

"It were more to your point, surely, if the gentleman had skill in cook-craft."

Mistress Satchell was not to be outdone; she clapped her hands together noisily and shrilled her triumph.

"There, too, he meets you. After breakfast this morning, when I asked him how he fared, he overpraised my table, and he gave me a recipe for grilling capons in the Spanish manner—well, you shall know, if you do but live long enough."

The ruddy dame nodded significantly as she closed thus cryptically her tables of praises. Brilliana uplifted her hands in a pretty air of wonder.

"The phoenix," she sighed, "the paragon, the nonpareil of the buttery." Instantly her smiling face grew grave.

"Well, it is not for us to praise him or blame him while he is on our hands. See that you give him good meals, Mistress Satchell."

Dame Satchell stared at her mistress in some amazement.

"Will he not dine in hall, my lady?"

Brilliana frowned now in good earnest.

"Lordamercy! do you think I would sit at meat with a rebel? Have I not set him a room apart, to spare myself the sight of him? Serve him in his own rooms, but look you serve him well."

Dame Satchell wagged her head with an air of the deepest significance.

"I warrant you," she muttered, "he commended my soused cucumbers."

And so nodding and chuckling she moved like a great galleon over the green, and soon was out of sight. The moment her broad back was well turned, Tiffany permitted herself to utter the protests which had been boiling within her.

"To listen to Dame Satchell, one would think that no man had ever seen a horse or known one dish from another before this."

Brilliana gave her handmaid a glance of something near akin to displeasure.

"I think you all talk and think too much of the gentleman. I see little to praise in him save a certain coolness in peril. Let us have no more of him. We must use him well, but he will soon be gone, and a good riddance. Is my lute tuned, Tiffany?"

Tiffany answered "Ay," and her lady took up the lute and picked at a tune, yawning. The world seemed to have grown very tedious all of a sudden, and it did not seem so pleasant as she deemed it would prove to sit again in the yew circle and sing. She began a song or two, to leave each unfinished with a yawn, and, because yawning is contagious, Tiffany yawned too, discreetly behind her fingers. It was while Tiffany looked away to conceal a vaster yawn than its fellows, too vast for masking with finger-tips, that she saw a soldierly figure coming across the garden towards the pleasaunce.

"My lady," she cried, turning to Brilliana, "here comes Captain Halfman. Let us ask him his mind as to the Parliament man."

Brilliana's face brightened. Here was company, and good company. She had believed him too busy to be seen so soon, for she had bade him see about raising a troop of volunteers in the village, and she turned round readily to greet her companion of the siege.

Through the yew portal Halfman came, gravity reigning in his eyes and slaking their wild fire. He saluted Brilliana with the deep reverence he always showed to his fair general. Brilliana turned to her adjutant eagerly:

"Master Halfman, Master Halfman," she cried, "how do you measure our rebel?"

Halfman's gravity lightened amazingly at the thought of his prisoner.

"I take him," he answered, emphatically, "for as proper a fellow as ever I met in all my vagabond days. Barring his primness he would have proved a gallant"—he was going to say "pirate," but paused in time and said "seaman." "God pardon him for a Puritan," he went on, "for he has in him the making of a rare Cavalier."

Brilliana turned to Tiffany, whose cheeks were very red.

"Hang your head, child," she cried; "for you are outvoted in a parliament of praise. Beat a retreat, maid Tiffany."

The crimson Tiffany fled from the pleasaunce.

"Where is your prisoner?" Brilliana asked.

"I have envoyed him over park and garden," Halfman answered, "and brought him to port in the library."

"Alas! I pity him," sighed Brilliana; "it holds few books of divinity. But come, recruiting-sergeant, what of our volunteers?"

"So pleases you, my lady," Halfman said, "our troop is swelling fast, and the sooner we clap them into colored coats the better."

Brilliana's curls danced in denial.

"Alas! friend, I have sad news for you. Of cloth for coats I can indeed command a great plenty"—she paused doubtfully.

"Why this is glad news, not sad news," Halfman said. "So may you serve it out with all despatch."

Brilliana dropped her hands to her sides and her lids over her eyes, a pretty picture of despair; but, "Alas! 'tis all white," she confessed—"wool white, snow white, ermine white. You must needs have patience, good recruiting-sergeant, till I can have it dyed the royal red."

Halfman pushed patience from him with outspread palms.

"Shall the King lack hands for lack of madder?" he questioned, with humorous indignation. "Not so, I pray you; let us cut our coats from your white cloth. I promise you we will dye it ourselves red enough in the blood of the enemy." Brilliana sprang to her feet rejoicing.

"Bravely said; so shall it be bravely done. I will give orders at once for the cutting and sewing. I will back our white coats against Master Hampden's green coats, or Essex's swarm in orange-tawny. Have you conveyed my message to my two miserly neighbors?"

"I sent Clupp to Master Hungerford," Halfman answered, "and Garlinge to Master Rainham, bidding them to your presence peremptory. But I warn you, my lady, from all I hear, that if you hope to raise coin for the King's cause from either of the skinflints you will be sadly at a loss."

"At least I must try," Brilliana declared. "Am I not the King's viceroy in Oxfordshire, and are not the two money-bags my proclaimed adorers? It will go hard with me but I compel them to swell the King's exchequer."

"You have done marvels," Halfman admitted. "Can you work miracles? With all due reverence, I doubt. But we shall soon see, for here comes Tiffany tiptoe through the trees. I'll wager it is to herald one of the vultures."

As he spoke, Tiffany tripped in pink and grinning.

"My lady," said she, "Master Paul Hungerford has ridden in and seeks audience."

Brilliana clapped her hands.

"Go, bring him in, Tiffany; and, Tiffany child, if Master Peter Rainham comes, as I shrewdly expect, keep him apart, on your life, till I know of his coming."

Tiffany vanished. Brilliana turned to Halfman.

"Stay with me, captain, and aid me to trap these badgers."

Halfman smiled delight. "I will help you extempore," he promised. "I will eke out my part with impromptus."

He stood a little apart, grim mirth in his eyes, as Tiffany ushered into the circle a lean, shabby country-gentleman, whose habit would have shamed a scarecrow. Tiffany disappeared and the new-comer made Brilliana an awkward bow. "Sweet lady, you sent for me and I come, love, quickly."



XVII

SET A KNAVE TO CATCH A KNAVE

Brilliana had much ado to keep from laughing in the face of the uncouth genuflector, but she kept a grave face and uttered grave complaint.

"Master Hungerford! Master Hungerford! They tell me sad tales of you. Though you are as wealthy as wealthy you will not mend the King's exchequer."

Master Paul gave vent to such a wail as a dog makes when one treads unaware upon his tail, and clapped his hands about piteously.

"I wealthy! Forgive you, lady, for listening to such tales. I am not so graced. I am little bigger than a beggar."

Brilliana wagged her curls.

"Why, now, Master Hungerford, you have a great estate."

Master Hungerford's whine rose higher, and he paddled at the air as if he sought to come to some surface and breathe free.

"Great land, lady—great land, if you will, but little cash. My land holds every penny I get together. Why, 'tis well known in the country that I buy land for a thousand pound every year, wherefore I can never boast more than a guinea in ready money."

Brilliana frowned on the floundering squire.

"This is a sad business, Master Hungerford, for the King is in need and will oblige hereafter those that oblige him now. His Majesty has made me a kind of viceroy here in Oxford. I begin to think that you incline to the Parliament, Master Paul. If I thought that, I would hold you a traitor and make perquisitions at your place."

Master Hungerford groaned dismally:

"Lordamercy!" he moaned. "I am the loyalest knight in England. Nay, now, if you talk of perquisitions there is my neighbor Peter Rainham. I know him for a skinflint who will deny the King. Yet I know of a chest of his that is stuffed with gold pieces. Were he a true man he would shift his treasure into the King's sack, as I would if I had such a store."

A fantastic possibility danced into Brilliana's brain. She glanced to where Halfman stood moodily ruminating on the method he would employ to loosen Master Hungerford's purse-strings if he had him at his mercy in a taken town. Brilliana could not read his thoughts, which was as well, but she gave him a glance which stirred him to alertness as she resumed her interrogatory of her niggardly neighbor.

"Why, then, Master Hungerford, if he be as you say, he is little better, if better at all, than a Parliament man, and, therefore, our common enemy."

Master Paul rubbed his lean hands in delight.

"It is indeed as you say," he affirmed, with a sour smile that sat very vilely on his yellow face. Brilliana leaned forward, and, governing his shifty eyes, spoke very impressively.

"Now meseems you might win great credit in the King's eyes, at no cost to yourself, if you were to lay hands on this treasure in the King's name."

Master Paul's alarm asserted itself in a shriek.

"Lordamercy, lady, what of the law of the land? Would you have me turn footpad, house-breaker?"

His jaws shook, his joints twitched, he was abject in alarm. Springing to her feet, Brilliana spoke impatiently.

"A Parliament man is outside the King's law; his goods are forfeit, and to confiscate them as legal as loyal. I thought you might choose to serve the King and please me." This last was said with an accent of disdain which made the unhappy squire shiver. "I was in error, so no more words of it. Good-day to you."

And my Lady Brilliana made Master Paul a courtesy so contemptuous and a gesture of dismissal so decisive that Master Hungerford's terror deepened. If the King's cause were to go well, if the lady indeed had favor with his Majesty, to offend her would be verily a piece of mortal folly. He came nigh to falling on his knees as he pleaded.

"Nay, nay, never so hot, now; I am your suitor, in faith, I am your very good servant. I would serve your will in this if I could but march with the law."

Brilliana jumped at his concession. She saw Tiffany in the distance crossing the garden towards her and guessed that she came to announce the arrival of the other miser; so she was eager to clinch the business with Master Hungerford.

"Why, so you ever shall, with the King's law. What more easy? I represent the King in this district; this fellow is a suspected rebel; I give you leave to search his house for arms."

Master Paul pricked his ears. "Ah, so, for arms, you say?"

Tiffany paused in the archway and jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the house. Brilliana shrugged her shoulders, impatient of Master Paul's denseness.

"If you find gold in your search for steel, so much the better. Come, come, this is your happy time, for I am told Master Rainham is abroad."

She gave a glance for confirmation at Halfman, who lounged forward.

"That he is," he asserted, briskly. "He has gone a-marketing."

"Then to it at once!" Brilliana cried, eying the waverer encouragingly. "Take such of my people as you will. You will find some at the stables yonder," and as she spoke she pointed in the direction opposite to the house. "Master Rainham's miserliness keeps but a small retinue. You will meet with no resistance. Go forth, my knight."

Master Paul almost skipped with delight and he cracked his fingers vigorously. He seemed even less pleasing merry than terrified.

"You call me your knight." He turned and took Halfman to witness. "She calls me her knight. I'll do it. I'll do it," he voiced, exultingly.

Brilliana, with strenuous self-restraint, seemed to applaud his antics.

"Bravely said, Chivalry!" she cried. "Let it be done, and well done, ere dusk."

Master Paul quavered before her in an ecstasy of delighted obedience.

"I fly, enchantress—I fly!" he chirruped. Then, as he turned to go, another thought struck him, and he entreated, grotesquely languishing, "Prithee, your hand to kiss first."

Brilliana denied him affably.

"By-and-by, maybe, as the prize of your triumph. Farewell."

After sundry strange scrapings, Master Hungerford took his departure in the direction of the stables. As soon as his back was turned, Brilliana questioned her maid.

"Well, Tiffany, is it Master Rainham?"

"Ay, my lady," Tiffany answered, demurely. She knew there was some manner of mystification forward and yearned for the key to it. "He chafes in the music-chamber."

"Send him here top-speed," Brilliana commanded. With a whisk of flying skirts Tiffany scuttered back to the house, and Brilliana turned to Halfman, the laughter in her eyes seeking and finding the laughter in his.

"Well," she said, "our angling prospers blithely. We have tickled one fish. Now for the other chub."

Halfman, who had been swaying with silent merriment ever since the departure of Master Paul, suddenly grew steady again and looked warnings.

"He asks for another kind of angling, as I gather," he suggested. Brilliana looked daintily wise.

"As I bait the hook I believe I will land him. It will be rare if I can make Paul rob Peter while Peter plunders Paul. How dare they be so close-fisted while the King's flag is flying and England's honor in peril!"

If she said this with any idea of palliating the possible lawlessness of her action in the eyes of her companion, she wasted her words. Halfman had not been so happy since his return to England, not even in the briskest days of the siege, as he was now in the staging of this lawless comedy. The old pirate jigged in him at this fair maid's strategy.

"By St. Nicholas," he swore, "they should be bled white for a brace of knaves! This, I take it, is your other honor-bankrupt atomy."



XVIII

SERVING THE KING

It was indeed Master Peter Rainham whom Tiffany now brought into the presence of her mistress, and left there standing and staring. Master Peter, eyed and appraised by the searching scrutiny of Halfman, resolved himself into a thick-set, boorish fellow, whose flying forehead, little, angry eyes, and assertive, yellow teeth made him, to Halfman's mind, resemble nothing in the world so much as a boar's head on an ale-house sign. Yet the fellow stood his ground sturdily enough, and stared at Brilliana with no sense of distress at his dirty homespun or his dirty hands.

"You sent for me?" he challenged. "Have you changed your mood? I am ever of the same mind, and will wed when you will."

The wolf look leaped into Halfman's eyes, and the loutish squire's life was, all unawares, in the greatest peril it had ever fringed. But Brilliana, intent only on her purposes, beamed on her blunt suitor as if he had scattered flowers at her feet.

"You are a wonderful wooer," she protested. "But whatever admiration of your person I may, without unbecoming effrontery, confess, I would have you to know, plain and square, from this moment, that I will hearken to none but a King's man."

The boor's little eyes glinted and the boor's rusty fingers rasped at his stubble chin as he answered emphatically:

"Then I am a King's man, root and branch."

But his face showed less loyal confidence at Brilliana's next words.

"Then you must know his Majesty is in straits for ready money. Will you, who are reputed rich, come to his aid with a round sum?"

Master Peter showed his teeth in a snarl and flung up his hands.

"Reputed rich! Oh, what a bitter thing is a bad reputation. I am Job-poor; both ends will not meet, I tell you. If I had for lending-money a guinea in one pocket, why, I should lend it to the other pocket."

"Why do you woo me if you be so poor?" Brilliana asked, with a fine show of heat, and Halfman nodded his head as much as to say, "Ay, ay, answer me that, if you can."

Master Peter strove to answer, lamely enough.

"Poor in pennies, lady, poorer in shillings, poorest in guineas. I may own half the country-side and have no coin to clink against the other."

Brilliana scoffed at his protest.

"Why, 'tis not so long ago Master Paul Hungerford told me you were a very Croesus."

Master Peter clinched and unclinched his horny hands as if he were coming to grips with his traducer.

"Master Hungerford told you that? I would I had my hands knotted about his lying throat. He that is as rich as a Jew, that has a treasure of gold plate in his sideboard that would keep the King in arms and men for a month of Sundays, he so to slander my poverty."

Brilliana heaved a sympathetic sigh.

"I fear he is but a bad man. Do you think he cherishes the King's cause?"

Master Peter flamed with virtuous indignation.

"He, the black heart! Never think it. He is a rank Parliament scoundrel and worships Mr. Pym."

"Is it so?" cried Brilliana. "A rebel, a renegade. Why, now, Master Rainham, I see a pretty piece of loyal work for you."

Master Peter glowered at her suspiciously.

"Anything for you, anything for the King; except give what I have none of—money."

"In the King's name," said Brilliana, heroically, "go forth and ransack this rebellious gentleman's house for arms."

Master Peter snorted sceptically.

"Arms! I think he hath none but an old rusty fire-lock and a breast and back that have seen better days."

Brilliana beamed on him, a yielding sphinx.

"But then, supposing you should pick up some plate on the way, some gold plate by chance—"

Master Peter rubbed his grimy hands.

"Why, it were fine," he admitted, gleefully; then added, with cunning, "Are you sure he is a Roundhead?"

"I am very sure he is your enemy," Brilliana answered, sharply, "for he makes you his daily jape."

The ugly boar-head looked uglier as it growled:

"Does he, the dog! I'd jape him if I gad my two hands upon him."

"Why," Brilliana asserted, now in the full tide of make-believe, "if you are a King's man, he will be of the other side, he hates you so. I cannot think how you have earned his hatred, unless, indeed—" and she broke off suddenly and looked aside. Halfman would have given a shilling for a lonely place to laugh his fill in.

"Well, madam, well?" Master Rainham questioned, eagerly.

Brilliana faltered her answer.

"—unless he believes you stand higher in the graces of a certain lady than he can ever hope to stand."

Master Rainham's smile gave Halfman the feel of goose-flesh. Brilliana's face was, happily, averted.

"Madam, assure me 'tis so," grunted boar's-head.

"I must not say much," Brilliana protested, "no more than this, that in this enterprise, if you but achieve it, you will win great credit with the King at no cost to yourself, you spoil a rival, and—but this is very private—you will give great pleasure to that same nameless lady."

Master Peter shouted, "Why, then, all's well. I will pick him as clean as a whistle." Again caution overcrowded cheer. "But I must pick my time, look you."

On this, Brilliana became emphatic.

"No time like the present. It is to my certain knowledge that Master Paul is away from home to-day." Again she looked to Halfman for support, and again Halfman yielded it blithely.

"Ay, he has gone hawking," he declared; "he will not be home this great while."

Halfman's confirmation decided Master Peter.

"Why, I go at once. When the cat's away—! I will be back within the hour."

"Then," said Brilliana, "pray you go to the house and gather in my name from the servants' hall such men as you may need for your enterprise. Use despatch, for indeed I long for your return."

Master Peter paid her what he believed to be a courtly bow.

"That same nameless lady shall praise me," he chuckled, and, turning, made for the house with all speed. When they were alone, Brilliana and Halfman looked at each other with the mirth of children who have successfully raided an orchard.

"I have netted them," Brilliana said. "If it do but happen pat, we shall have served the King and punished two cozening faint-hearts. For the best of it is that neither can complain. Each is neck-high in the mire of lies, each has plundered the other, and must be dumb for shame of his knavery."

"It will be brave to spy their faces," Halfman commented, "when they smell out the snare."

"Look to it," Brilliana suggested, "that they be kept apart when they come here. The jest must not spoil. How these old hawks will fly at each other when we unhood them."