Brilliana clasped and unclasped her hands.

"I care nothing for his son Henry or his son Richard."

"You care nothing for me?" Evander affirmed, slowly.

"I do care," she said, hotly. "We have broken bread together, played games together, masked at friendship till the sport became reality."

"Lady," said Evander, "I thank you for the kindness you imply. Our friendship has been brief, but passing sweet. I shall die on a divine memory."

"Why, sir," she gasped, "you do not think I could kill you now?"

"You vowed I should die if your cousin died," he reminded her. "I think you must keep your word. It is the fortune of war."

"The fortune of war!" Brilliana gave a bitter laugh. "I would not have you die to save—Oh, I must not say—but fly, sir, fly! Ride hot and hard to Cambridge, where you will be safe. You shall have the best horse in my stable. You are my prisoner. I give you back your parole. Only, for God's sake, go! My friends would kill you if they caught you here."

Evander begged a boon.

"May I kiss your hand before I go?"

Brilliana tried to smile.

"A Cavalier would not have asked."

"I am Puritan, ingrain," he asserted.

"You are a dear gentleman."

She sighed and held out her hand. As he stooped to salute it the door was dashed open and a man booted and spurred flung into the room. As he stood for a moment amazed at what he saw, Brilliana, turning, recognized Sir Rufus Quaryll. She disengaged her hand from Evander's and moved a little towards him. Evander instinctively felt for his sword. Sir Rufus's face was a great blaze of red.

"In the devil's name, what does this mean?" he shouted.

Brilliana drew herself up.

"You forget yourself," she said, haughtily. Rufus barked at her with rage.

"You have forgotten yourself; in the arms of a doomed traitor."

"Civil words, sir!" Evander cried, moving on him. Brilliana motioned him to hold back.

"This gentleman is no traitor."

An open letter lay at Rufus's feet. He pounced on it and read. He was pale now, the white heat of anger.

"Gentleman! Oh, I know much, guess all. Randolph is dead there yonder, and this rogue, who should be dead and ditched here, lives. Faugh! But he dies now."

On the word he had drawn his sword and advanced upon Evander, whose own sword was no less swiftly out. Brilliana came between the two men.

"If you kill him, you kill me," she said.

"By God, you deserve to die!" was Rufus's answer.

In the headiness of their brawl none of the party had noticed how the door had opened again and how a man stood at gaze in the doorway. A slender man of middle height, in travel-stained riding-habit of black; a man with a comely, melancholy face and sad eyes; a man who seemed very weary. He wore a jewelled George. For a moment the new-comer stood unheeded, then he advanced into the room. Sir Rufus heard him, turned, and cried, "The King!" Evander sent his sword back into its sheath. Brilliana knelt in reverence. This was the hero, almost the divinity, the monarch she worshipped, the sovereign she had never seen.

"Gentlemen, what is this?" the King asked. He turned to Brilliana.

"Lady, why did you not come to greet me?"

Brilliana rose.

"Your Majesty—" she began, but Rufus interrupted her hotly.

"Forgiveness, sire. I dashed ahead to warn her of the great honor you offered, halting here from Banbury, only to find her slobbering on a Roundhead gallows-bird."

Brilliana looked steadfastly at the King. She was very pale but not at all afraid.

"Your Majesty, this man slanders basely. This gentleman is honorable."

"Honorable!" Rufus repeated, in derision.

"Silence, sir!" Charles commanded. "Who are you?" he asked of Evander. Evander saluted.

"Captain Evander Cloud, of the Parliamentary army."

"How come you here?" the King inquired.

Brilliana answered for him.

"Your Majesty, he was taken prisoner treacherously, though the treachery was mine, three days ago. I offered his life in exchange for the life of Randolph Harby."

"And Randolph Harby is dead," said Rufus, "shot as a spy by the devilish rebel of Cambridge. See, sire—see!"

He offered the letter to Charles, but the King put it from him. His face was inscrutable as Evander urged his case.

"Your Majesty, I am no spy, and my life could not be pawned for a spy's life."

Charles's sad eyes travelled to Brilliana.

"Randolph Harby was no spy," he said. "You held this gentleman hostage for your cousin's life?"

"I did make that offer," Brilliana admitted. The King frowned now.

"And yet he still lives. I thought this was called Loyalty House."

"Disloyalty House it should be called now," Rufus taunted. Brilliana turned upon him fiercely.

"You lie! you lie! you lie!" she hurled the words at him, hating him. Charles held up his hand.

"Peace! This is not the welcome I expected here. We did not think to find rebels tendered so delicately. Sir Rufus, we give you charge of Harby and of this gentleman. We will consider his claim presently, for we would deal honestly even with our enemies."

He looked at Evander.

"But we can give you little hope, sir. Prepare to die."

Fretfully he addressed Rufus.

"I am very weary. I must break my fast." He glanced coldly at Brilliana.

"Lady, we shall not need your attendance."

Brilliana made her master a deep reverence.

"I take my leave, your Majesty." She went close to Evander.

"Can you forgive me?" she begged. Evander looked into her wet eyes joyously.

"Read in my heart that I thank God to have known you, loved you."

Brilliana laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder and spoke in a soft, even voice.

"You have been my enemy; you have been my friend; you are now the one man in all the world for me. Read in my heart that I thank God to have known you, that I thank God that I love you. Remember, I love you, Evander. Farewell."

Then she saluted the King and went slowly out of the room without looking back.



XXVI

RESURRECTION

Some hours later Rufus Quaryll sat alone in the garden-room, writing. It was coming on dusk; candles had been lit, the fire was ruddy on the hearth. Rufus, as he wrote, was well content with the turn of things. He raged at Brilliana, but she should marry him all the same when the Puritan dog was dead. He had, as he believed, convinced the King at meat that the plea Evander raised was valueless, that Evander's life was rightly forfeit. Evander was under close guard; so, indeed, was Brilliana, for he had stationed a sentry at the door of her apartments: he was determined that she should not see the King again. Now the King lay in the inner room, sleeping; when he rose it would be easy to get the order for Evander's death. Furious in his hate, furious in his love, he would neither spare Evander nor surrender Brilliana. She should be his wife, if he had to drag her before an altar.

As he thought and wrote, the door opened and Halfman entered the room. Rufus, lifting his head, faced him with a finger on his lips while with the other he pointed to the door of the inner chamber.

"Hush!" he whispered; "the King sleeps. But all is well. He has as good as promised the Puritan shall die."

"All is not so well as you think," said Halfman, sardonically. "Here comes one more pleased to see you than you to see him."

He went to the door again and ushered in a man who had waited outside, a man muffled in a cloak, and his face hidden by the way his hat was pulled over it. The man advanced slowly towards the surprised Rufus, and suddenly dropping his cloak and throwing back his hat uncovered a youthful, jovial face. Rufus gaped at him in despair and gasped a name:

"Randolph!"

Randolph Harby dropped into a chair and chuckled.

"No wonder you stare as if you faced a spectre. But I'm flesh and blood, lad."

Rufus, trying to collect himself against this staggering blow, again raised a warning hand.

"For Heaven's sake speak lower! The King is asleep yonder. How do you come here?"

Randolph leaned over and whispered, giggling, into Sir Rufus's ear. Halfman watched with grim amusement. If he loved Evander little, come to think of it he loved Rufus less, all said and done; so he grinned at his discomfiture.

"A wonder," Randolph said. "When they had the time to try me, their fools' court-martial, thanks to that damned Cromwell, settled me for a spy and sentenced me to be shot. But the jailer where I lay had a daughter. Need I say more? We Harbys are invincible. Any way, there was no prisoner when the shooting-party came to claim me, and here I am, in time, I hope, to save the life of that poor Puritan devil."

Sir Rufus's wits were busy hatching mischief. He looked with aversion at the smiling, self-complacent ass whose resurrection tangled his plan. But his voice was very amiable as he asked:

"Do any in the household know of your return?"

"Devil a one," the youth answered, cheerily, and Sir Rufus would have liked to drive a knife into him for his mirth, though his spirits rose at his answer. "I thought to take my cousin by surprise, scare her with my ghost, maybe. So I came skulking through the park and ran on this good sir, who nabbed me." He indicated Halfman with a wave of the hand. "I explained to him, so that my joke should not spoil, and he smuggled me in here to surprise you. Where is Brilliana?"

Rufus looked at him thoughtfully.

"Are you fresh enough to ride?" he asked.

"If need be," Randolph replied, astonished.

Rufus talked rapidly, writing a letter as he spoke.

"Then you may save your Puritan yet. We sent your hostage to Oxford for safe-keeping. News came of your death, and but now the King sent an order to have the fellow shot. But you can overtake the order, outstrip it. Here is a reprieve for the prisoner."

Rufus folded the paper, sealed it, and handed it to the bewildered Randolph.

"Pick what horse you please, and ride for the honor of our cause."

Randolph gasped.

"May I not see the King?"

Rufus refused him firmly.

"Impossible. His Majesty sleeps."

"My cousin Brilliana?" Randolph asked. "What of my joke?"

Rufus spoke very solemnly.

"The one thing now is to save a man's life. Ride hard, and God speed you." Randolph yielded cheerfully.

"Well, well, I should be sorry the rebel dog should die wrongfully. You will justify me to the King for not attending him?"

Rufus nodded.

"I will justify you to his Majesty."

"And not a word to Brilliana," Randolph iterated. "I will have my joke on my return. Farewell."

He muffled himself again and went out quickly. Rufus sat biting the end of his quill. Halfman stepped forward and made him a series of extravagant salutations, which parodied the most elaborate congees of a dancing-master. Rufus glared at him.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked, savagely. Halfman leered apishly at him.

"You are a splendid scoundrel," he vowed. "Do not frown. I have lived with such and I speak in praise."

Rufus struck his hands upon the table.

"I will have this Puritan devil," he swore, "if the King do not play the granny."

Halfman winked at him, diverted by his heat and hate.

"Say that more softly, for I think I hear him stirring."

The two listened in silence. The curtains of the inner room were parted and Charles entered the room. He still looked haggard, ill at ease.

"Was any one here?" he asked, as the two men rose respectfully. Rufus answered, glibly:

"No, your Majesty. We spoke in whispers to respect your rest. Did your Majesty sleep well?"

"Ill, very ill," Charles answered, drearily. "I had bad dreams and could not wake from them. Leave me, sirs."

Rufus solicited his eyes.

"And the prisoner?"

Charles looked at him vaguely.

"The prisoner?"

"The rebel hostage for murdered Randolph Harby," Rufus reminded him.

Charles looked vexed.

"Oh yes, I suppose he must die. Surely he must die. His plea is specious, but Randolph Harby is dead."

"Brave, murdered Randolph." Rufus's regret was pathetic. "Shall I give order for the firing party?" He made as if to write. Charles frowned.

"You are over-zealous, sir; I have not made up my mind."

Rufus read obstinacy in the royal face and knew that it were useless to argue further then.

"As your Majesty please," he submitted.

The King seated himself heavily at the table and fixed his eyes upon an open map. Behind his back Rufus shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Halfman followed, a very Jaques of meditations, touched by the pathos of the tired King, grimly diverted by the ruffianism of Rufus. A mad world!



XXVII

THE KING'S IMAGE

The melancholy King sat in the great room alone. His eyes were fixed on the map, but his mind was far away, over yonder in Holland where she was—she, the Queen. The thought of her beauty troubled him; her soft voice seemed to be whispering at his ear in her pretty broken English. Some lines in a play he knew came into his mind, lines uttered by a king who, like himself, had known the horror of civil war, lines which said that it were better to be a shepherd and tend sheep than to be an English king. He sighed and his handsome head drooped upon his breast, and the brown hair that was graying so fast hid his cheeks. His eyes were wet and he could not see the map; it was all a blur of meaningless criss-cross lines. This would not do; he must think, he must plan, he must decide; but his head remained bent and the map remained a criss-cross puzzle.

The image of himself, which faced him as he sat, that picture of a king, royal, joyous, unchallenged, seemed to move a little, as if the bright figure on the canvas sought to approach and reassure the dejected man who crouched over the map of a divided kingdom. It did move, the serene Van Dyck portrait; it moved a little, and a little, and a little more; moved sideway as a door moves, yawned a foot of space between frame and wall, and through that foot of space Brilliana slipped into the room.

"Your Majesty," she said, softly.

The King gave a little start as he lifted his head and looked at her. She thought she had never seen so pitifully a weary face as the face of her King, and her heart ached for him, but it ached most for her lover.

Charles rose to his feet, flawlessly courteous, much wondering.

"How did you come here, mistress?" he asked, and she sighed at the tired sound of his voice. "I understood from Sir Rufus that you were for the time—"

He paused, and Brilliana calmly finished the sentence.

"Confined to my apartments. Yes, that was Rufus's plan. But though Rufus calls himself captain of this castle he does not know it so well as I do. There are ways of getting hither and thither that he does not dream of."

"You are a determined young woman," the King said, with a faint smile, "if you think so lightly of the privacy of your King."

Brilliana flung herself on her knees in a moment, her hands clasped, her eyes shining with honest tears.

"Your Majesty!" she cried; "your Majesty, I would never have dared this if I were not a woman very deep in love, if my lover were not in danger, and if—"

She paused.

"And if?" Charles echoed, his fine, irresolute face neither smiling nor frowning. "Finish your sentence, lady."

"And if I had not heard that your Majesty was a very perfect, true lover," Brilliana went on. "Your Majesty's love for the gracious lady now in France is the admiration of your subjects."

A faint color glowed on the King's pale cheeks. He was indeed the perfect, true lover of Henrietta Maria, and the greatest sorrow of all the clustering sorrows that the civil war had brought him was her absence from his side.

"It would be strange indeed if I did not love such a lady," he said, gently; "but that lady is my queen, my wife, my comrade, my loyal friend, while he you plead for is but an acquaintance of a few days, and, moreover, in all thoughts and deeds your enemy—and mine."

Brilliana had now risen to her feet and she faced the king valiantly, for she knew that she would have to plead hard and well.

"Your Majesty," she answered, "as for the acquaintanceship, one of our poets has said, 'Whoever loves that loves not at first sight?' and though indeed at first sight I was far from giving this gentleman my love, I saw in him at once those qualities which in a man deserve love. As for his enmity, we are told that we should love our enemies."

A frown overspread the King's face and Brilliana faltered.

"I cannot claim for myself that wealth of charity," Charles said, "that would make me love those that by rebellion and contumacy have plunged poor England into war."

"Sire, sire," Brilliana sighed, "if you will but pardon this gentleman I will promise you that I will never love another of your Majesty's enemies."

Charles frowned.

"I do not like your loyalty. Why do you plead for the life of a rebel?"

"I am your servant, none loyaller," Brilliana answered, boldly; "but I am a woman, and I plead for the man I love."

"If you were truly loyal," Charles commented, "you could not love a traitor."

Brilliana pressed her hands tightly against her breast and her face flushed.

"Captain Cloud is not a traitor. He is honest before God."

Charles admired her pertinacity. Here was a woman who would not lightly lose heart or change purpose.

"I will not wrangle with you," he said. "I think the gentleman deserves death. But because I know very well what it is to love truly, why, I will let you save him if you can."

Brilliana's voice was charged with gratitude. "Oh, your Majesty is always noble. But how?"

Charles looked at her fixedly, touching his chin with the feather of his quill. "Thuswise—only thuswise. You will persuade Captain Cloud to return to his allegiance."

Brilliana's gratitude ebbed and her voice hardened. "I know he will never change sides."

An enigmatic smile passed over the fretful face of the King. "I think so, too," he agreed, and turned again to his papers. But Brilliana was not to be so rebuffed. Coming a little nearer to Charles, she fell on her knees and extended her hands in supplication. "Sire, my lover's life!"

Charles, who had lost nothing of her actions, though he affected to be wholly absorbed in his business, looked round and down at her with much assumption of surprise.

"You are still there? You are a pertinacious maykin."

"Sire, in the Queen's name!" Brilliana pleaded. The King sighed.

"Well, one more concession, this is the last—the very last." Charles prided himself on his firmness, and he struck the table as he spoke to emphasize his unalterable resolve. "If you win me his word of honor to take no more part in this war, to remain neutral till King humble Commons or Commons murder King, why, it is enough; he lives."

Brilliana shivered at the King's alternative. "Your Majesty cannot believe that the worst of your subjects would aim at your sacred life?"

The King's fine eyes were more than usual melancholy, and he opened and clasped his long fingers nervously.

"I cannot choose but believe it. Their words are wild—that is trifling. But long ago, when I was young, there was a man, one Arthur Dee, a wizard and the son of a wizard, he had a magic crystal—ah, Father in heaven!"

Charles gave a groan and hid his face in his hands, Brilliana thrilled with compassion. "Your Majesty!" she cried; "your Majesty!"

Charles drew his hands away from his face. He rose, and, as he spoke, he stared fixedly before him as if he saw the sight he was describing.

"In that sphere I saw a platform hung with black. On it I seemed to see myself staring at a sea of hateful faces. One with a mask stood by my side who carried an axe. I have never forgotten it."

He stood rigid, with clasped hands. Brilliana shuddered at his words.

"Sire! sire! this was some lying vision."

With an effort the King controlled himself; his features softened to their habitual melancholy, his hands relaxed their clasp, and he seated himself again by the table.

"Belike, belike; I am unwise to think upon it," he said, in a low voice. Leaning across the table, he struck a bell sharply. The door opened and the soldier in immediate attendance upon the King entered.

"Tell Sir Rufus to attend us," the King said. The soldier bowed and withdrew. Charles looked up at Brilliana. "Sir Rufus will be loath to lose his prey," he said. "He is a fierce hawk that clings to his quarry."

"He was once my friend," Brilliana said, sadly. The King smiled his melancholy smile.

"If I were in his place," he said, gravely, "I think I might be tempted to play his part. You are a very fair maiden."

Brilliana shook her head. "The love that makes a man base is no good love. He will never be my friend again."

"Here, as I think, he comes," Charles said. The door opened and Sir Rufus entered the room. He was so amazed at facing Brilliana that for a moment he forgot to render salutation to the King. Charles's eyes brightened as they used to brighten at the playhouse. Here was a living play being played before him, tragical, comical—man and woman fighting for a man's life.

"Sir Rufus," he ordered, "send to our presence the prisoner, the Parliament officer."

Rufus glanced at Brilliana's stern, averted face; he read something like mockery on the thin, royal lips. For an instant he ventured to protest.

"But, your Majesty—" he began, but he got no further. The King checked him with a frown and a raised hand. It was easy to make him obstinate in crossing a follower.

"You have heard my commands," he said, sternly.

Sir Rufus bowed his head and retreated. There was nothing else for him to do. He just glanced at Brilliana as he went out. If Brilliana had seen the glance she would have read his rage and hate in it. But she did not see it, for her head was still averted. The King saw it, however, and he felt that the situation was alive. He turned to Brilliana.

"I am a complaisant monarch, as I think," he said. "Now, lady, do your best to make your sweetheart see reason. Honestly, I do not think he is worth so many words, but you think otherwise, and for your sake I wish you a winning tongue."

Brilliana bowed deeply. "I humbly thank your Majesty," she said, and felt that the King had done much for her. From offering the impossible he had come to offering the possible. It seemed a little task to persuade a lover committed to a wrongful cause to lay aside his sword and wait the issue.

The King's eyes had fallen on his papers again, and he did not lift them thence nor take heed of Brilliana again until the tread of feet was heard in the corridor. In another moment Evander, escorted by two royal troopers, entered the room. There was a sudden gladness in his eyes at the sight of Brilliana, but he at once saluted the King in a military fashion and stood quietly at attention waiting the royal word.

Charles rose from his chair, and for a moment his melancholy eyes travelled from the beautiful girl standing by the window to the gallant soldier standing by the door. The face of Evander pleased his scrutiny far more than the face of Rufus, and it came into his mind that he would gladly enroll Evander under his standard and hand over Rufus to the Crop-ears. Truly the Puritan soldier and the Lady of Loyalty House made a brave pair.

"Sir," he said, quietly, "this lady desires speech with you, and has persuaded me to permit an interview." He turned to the troopers.

"Wait outside the door, sirs," he commanded. When they had obeyed he looked again towards Brilliana, and there was a smile on his tired face, a smile partly whimsical, partly pitying, as if encouraging to an adventure yet doubtful of the result. Then he gave her a gracious salutation, and, without further notice of Evander Cloud, passed into the adjoining room and left the lovers alone.



XXVIII

LOVER AND LOVER

Evander turned to Brilliana with question in his eyes; Brilliana advanced towards Evander with question on her lips.

"Are you very sure you love me?" she queried. Evander made to take her in his arms, but she stayed him with a lifted hand of warning.

"Sure," he answered, fervently, and surety shone in his eyes.

Brilliana leaned against the table at which the King had sat and faced him gravely.

"More than life, more than all things in the wide world?"

Evander's answer came as flash to flint.

"More than life; more than all things in this wide world—" there was a momentary fall in his voice; then he added, "save honor."

A little sudden fear pricked at Brilliana's heart, but she tried to deny it with a little, teasing laugh.

"Oh, that wonderful word 'honor,'" she mocked. "I thought we should pull that out of the sack sooner or later."

Evander watched her with surprise. "What is coming next?" he wondered. He began to fear as he answered, simply:

"You would not have me neglect honor?"

Brilliana's face was set steadfastly towards him; Brilliana's eyes were very bright; Brilliana's cheeks were as red as the late October roses.

"Here is what I would have you do," she said, breathlessly, and then paused—paused so long that Evander, watching and waiting, prompted her with a questioning "Well?"

Brilliana still seemed to hesitate. That word "honor" had frightened her for Evander, had frightened her for herself. She now groped uncertain, who thought to tread so surely.

"Will you do as I wish if I tell you?" she asked, trying to mask anxiety with a jesting manner. And when Evander responded gravely, "If I can," she pressed him impetuously again.

"Nay, now, make me a square promise." She looked very fair as she pleaded.

"All that a doomed man can do—" Evander replied, smiling somewhat wistfully.

Brilliana shook her head vehemently and her Royalist curls danced round her bright cheeks.

"You are no doomed man unless you choose," she asserted, hotly. Evander moved a step nearer to her.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Brilliana was panting now. He knew she had somewhat to say, and newly found it hard in the saying. She spoke.

"His Majesty the King will grant you your life." Her words and looks told him temptingly that "your life" meant also "my life" to her.

"On what condition?"

He knew there must be a condition, knew that the condition troubled Brilliana. She answered him swiftly.

"Oh, no condition at all." There came a catch in her voice and then she ran on:

"Or almost none. All his Majesty asks is that you refrain from taking any further part in this unhappy war."

She paused and eyed him. Evander's face was unchanged.

"No more than that?" he commented, so quietly that, reassured, she rippled on, volubly:

"No more than that. We can be wed, dear love. We can go away together to France, Italy, where you please. I have always had a mind to see Italy. And when England is quiet again we can come home, come here and be happy."

She felt as if she were flinging herself at his feet, shamelessly offering herself, to tempt him, to dazzle him, conquer him that way; to witch his promise out of him before he had time to think. Yet for all her vehemence there was a chill at her heart and a cloud seemed to hover over her sunny words. Unwillingly she looked away from him, but she held out her hands in appeal.

"Hush, Brilliana!"

The grave, sweet voice sounded on her ears as the knell of hope. But she faced him again with a useless, questioning glance.

"Why talk of what cannot be?" Evander asked, sadly.

Brilliana denied him feverishly.

"What can be—what must be!" she cried. "The King has promised."

"I am a soldier of the Parliament," Evander asserted. "I cannot abandon my cause."

Brilliana almost screamed at him in her anger and despair.

"You are a prisoner under sentence of death. If you die, what gain has the Parliament of you, and I must live a widowed woman." She was close to him now and very suddenly she flung her arms about him, clasping him to her, her eager face close to his.

"Promise," she panted; "promise, dear love, promise. Your Parliament loses nothing, you gain your life, my love. Promise, promise!"

Evander's flesh fought with his spirit, but his face was calm and the arms that yearned to enfold his lover lay by his side. He turned his face away lest he should kiss her on the mouth, and, kissing, surrender his soul.

"I cannot," he said, as if from a great silence. He would not see the passionate, beautiful face; he sought to fix his mind upon the faces of those whose faithful soldier he was sworn. The girl unloosed her arms and swayed away from him, wild anger in her eyes.

"Do you call this true love," she sneered, "that is so scrupulous?"

"The truest love in the world," Evander answered, looking full at her. He could look at her now; he had no fear to fall. He was losing a joy beyond all thought, but at least he would die with a white soul.

"Do you think it is nothing to me to die thus losing you? But you have served soldier; you have a soldier's spirit; you would not have me do other than I am doing. You do not understand my cause, to think it should be easy to persuade me from it. But if I were of the King's party and in such peril so tempted, would you wish me to abandon my royal master to win life or love?"

Brilliana's cheeks flamed a furious scarlet; then the fierce blood ebbed and left her face very pale, but her eyes were shining very bright. She steadied herself against the table and tried to speak with a steady voice.

"You are in the right. You could not do other than you are doing. But it is very hard to bear."

She reeled a little, and he, thinking her about to faint, made to support her, but she stiffened again, and he stood where he was. She bent forward, speaking scarcely above a whisper.

"There is a way of escape from this chamber, a secret passage. You can get from it to the park, and so into the open country and safety. You are my prisoner. I release you from your parole. Fly, while there is time."

The loyal lovers were so absorbed in their honorable contest that they did not heed how the door of the King's apartment opened, first a little inch, then, slowly, wider and wider, allowing Charles Stuart to see and hear. A curious smile reigned over the delicate face as Brilliana made her proposal, and lingered in whimsical doubt for the response.

The response came quickly. Again Evander was saying Brilliana nay.

"I cannot that, neither, dear woman, for to do this would be to make you disloyal to your King."

"Oh, you split straws!" she cried, wildly. "A plague upon your preciousness which drives you to deny and die rather than admit my wisdom! You are no prisoner to the King. You are my prisoner. I took you, I hold you, and as my prisoner I command you to follow me, that I may convey you to some place of surety more pleasing to my mind than this mansion."

From behind the door ajar there came a clap of hearty laughter which made harassed maid and man jump more than if their discussion had been interrupted by volleying musketry. The door was wide open now, and the King was in the room, his face irradiated with honest mirth.



XXIX

THE KING MAKES A FRIEND

"Oh, good sir," he gasped, dabbing with his kerchief the merry tears from his smiling eyes, "you had better do as this lady urges, for, by St. George! she employs the most irresistible logic."

Evander and Brilliana, blown apart, as it were, by the breath of the King's merriment, regarded the monarch with very different feelings. Though he stood upon the edge of peril's precipice, at the threshold of death's temple, Evander could not scrutinize without vivid and conflicting emotions the face of the man because of whom the solid realm of England seemed to be dissolving into anarchy. This was the King of ship-money, the heart's-brother of Buckingham, the betrayer of Strafford, the doer to death of Eliot, the would-be baffler of free speech, the baffled hunter after the five members. To Brilliana he was simply the King, not even the whole hero and half-martyr King for whom she had held Loyalty House so sturdily, but simply the only man living graced with power to save the man she loved. She turned to him at once with a petulant expression of impatience.

"Your Majesty," she sighed, "I wish you would speak to this proud gentleman. I cannot make him listen to reason."

The almost infantile simplicity of her address stirring the King to renewed merriment, served her cause better, in its very inappropriateness to the situation, than the most impassioned or the most calculated appeals to pity or to justice. The audacity with which the Loyalty lady coolly enlisted the King as her advocate against the King's interests seemed to the sovereign so exquisite, so grotesque, as to merit calling irresistible.

"Truly," he said to her, smiling that sweet Stuart smile which made all who ever shone in it adore him, "the man must be named Felicissimus who is loved by such a lady."

Then he turned his gaze upon Evander, and the smile grew graver, the eyes more imperious.

"So, sir," he said, "you are so certain sure of the righteousness of your side in this quarrel that you cannot, for your life's sake, for your love's sake, consent to stand neuter and look on, Captain Infallibility?"

Evander faced the slightly frowning interrogation bravely. He saluted soldierly, conscious of the subtle Stuart charm, understanding it would conquer men and women, glad to find himself unconquered.

"Your Majesty," he said, "let me answer you as I answered this dear lady. If one of those gentlemen, those Cavaliers who rallied to your flag at Nottingham and drew their swords for you at Edgehill, were made prisoner of the Parliament, and accepted his life on the condition that he stood aside and left you to fight without his aid, would you count him a loyal subject, would you call him a faithful friend, could you admit that he was an honest soldier?"

Charles looked at Evander curiously. There were some of his friends, he thought, who might not stand the trial too well. He brushed the thought aside, for he knew that most of the Cavaliers would act as gallantly as the young Puritan before him, and he could not but applaud, even while he wondered at so stiff a constancy in one whom he regarded as a rebel.

"Well, well," he said, "if this incomparable lady could not persuade you, how could a poor King hope to succeed? We must not break this lady's heart, sir, between us, for 'tis something of a rare jewel, and so you shall go back to your own people, and when I win the day I shall remember to be clement to you. Try and come out of the scuffle alive, for the sake of your sweetheart."

The King was so winning in his grace, in his dignity, in his tenderness, that Evander felt his heart in his mouth and he tried not to falter in his words.

"I humbly thank your Majesty."

As for Brilliana, she fell on her knees with tears in her eyes, but the King would not have her kneel. In his courtliest manner he lifted her, raised her right hand to his lips and kissed it, and then signifying to her with a gesture to go to Evander, he seated himself at the table and wrote rapidly for some seconds, while the two lovers stood side by side, silent in hope and joy.

When the King had finished writing he shook the powder over the paper and let it slide back into the standish, drying the ink as it slid. Then he turned and held the paper to Evander, who advanced and took it kneeling.

"This safe-conduct," said Charles, "will insure you from ill treatment or delay at the hands of any loyal subjects, in arms or otherwise." He leaned forward and struck upon the bell. To the soldier on guard who entered he gave order that he wished to see Sir Rufus Quaryll immediately. When the soldier had left, he turned in his chair a little, so as to survey Evander and Brilliana standing before him in silence, and there was a light of mockery in his eyes.

"Young people," he said, affecting mirthfully an exhortatory manner, "you have played the first act of your love-play. How it is to go with you hereafter it is for all to hope, albeit for none to guess with discretion. But in a little while this land distracted will be calm again, and it may well be, Mr. Cloud, that I shall be glad to see you at Whitehall."

The King's manner was mild, the King's voice benign; he was really very well pleased with himself for his clemency, and very well pleased with the man and woman for affording him an opportunity of justifying his character of benevolent autocrat. He would have said more, but at this moment the door opened and Sir Rufus entered the room, looking as fierce and angry as he dared to look in the presence of his royal master. He knew well enough that Brilliana's interview with the King was likely to mean mischief to his schemes, and his rage and hate tore at his life-strings like wild beasts.

An impish malice lurked on Charles's lips. This discomfiture of the truculent Rufus supplied for him the comic element of his entertainment, and came just in the nick of time to prevent its heroics and its sentimentalities from palling.

"Sir Rufus," said the King, gravely, "we ride at once to Oxford, our loyal, loving Oxford. Take order for this on the instant. The Lady Brilliana resumes her command of Loyalty House, with our royal thanks for her man's spirit and our royal sympathy for her woman's heart. As for the stranger within our gates, we have of our clemency given him full leave to go hence in all freedom, not without some private supplications that Heaven may be pleased to lift a misguided gentleman into a better way of life."

Sir Rufus opened his lips as if to speak, and then closed them again without speaking. He knew well enough how stubborn the King could be on occasion, and that there was no hope for him to win his game with the King's help. He saluted the King and left the presence with fury in his heart.

The King turned to Evander.

"Go, sir," he commanded, "and make ready for your departure, which should follow promptly upon mine, for I do not think the atmosphere of Oxford will be sweet breathing for gentlemen of your inclining from this out. I give you half an hour from my riding to say your adieus to your sweet saint here. Farewell."

Evander fell on one knee.

"Your Majesty," he pleaded, "permit me to kiss your hand." The King smiled whimsically, yet a thought wistfully.

"You are a gentle rebel," he said, and held out his fine, white hand for Evander's salutation. Then the young soldier rose, and with one look of love to Brilliana, left the room. Charles stood with his grave eyes fixed on his hostess, smiling.

"What a thing is civil war!" he sighed. "How it rips through the pretty web of workaday life, dividing sire from son, sundering brother from brother, parting lover from lass! But I was forced to it—I was forced to it."

"It will end soon, sire," Brilliana suggested, tears in her eyes at the sadness in his. The King seemed to catch at her speech.

"Ay," he agreed, more cheerily. "That's it, that's true. 'Tis but a walk to loyal Oxford, 'tis but a march on disloyal London, and all's done."

"London will prove loyal when your Majesty enters in triumph," Brilliana cried. A bright look came over the King's worn face. As in a dream he saw himself, the rose of that triumphant entry, flowers at his feet, flags in the air, loyalty abroad in its bravest, huzzaing its loudest, and all grim, sour-hearted fellows safe out of sight under lock and key. Exultantly he held out his hand for Brilliana to salute.

"Farewell, Lady of Loyalty."

"Nay," Brilliana protested, "I must bring your Majesty to the gate. If the fitting welcome were missing, you shall not lack the ceremonial 'God speed you.'"

"I thank you, madam," gravely answered Charles. Brilliana dipped him a reverence, and then, opening the door, conducted her royal guest out of the chamber. In the corridor they found Halfman waiting to kiss the King's hand. Charles felt for a moment for his purse, and then swiftly and regally changing his mind, he drew a ring from his finger.

"Wear this for me, friend," he requested, graciously, "in memory of old days."

Halfman rose from his knees and drew himself up as if on parade.

"God save the King!" he thundered, and with that loyal music in his ears the King followed Brilliana down the great staircase over which the carven angels kept watch and ward. Halfman, leaning over the rail-way, saw the pair pass through the hall, then he turned and entered the apartment that Charles had left, and stood there, rigid in meditation.



XXX

RUFUS PROPOSES

Rufus stepped stealthily out of the dusking garden into the lighted room, and moving noiselessly across the floor, laid his hand on Halfman's shoulder. Halfman did not look round.

"Well, Sir Rufus," he asked, as calmly as if the sudden touch had been some recognized, awaited signal.

"You are not to be taken by surprise, my good friend," Sir Rufus said. Halfman shrugged his shoulders.

"It would need more than the clap of a man's paw on my back to take me by surprise; and, besides, I saw you coming. There is a mirror near, good Sir Rufus, and even in yonder owl-light I could pick you out of the mist. Moreover, I thought you would come."

"Why did you think I would come?" Sir Rufus asked, with a frown.

"Just because I thought it," Halfman answered, indifferently. "And, you see, my thoughts were true thoughts."

Sir Rufus came closer to him, speaking in his ear.

"I hope you hate all Roundheads," he said. "All damned rebels."

Halfman's only answer was to whistle very softly the first few bars of a roaring Cavalier ballad. The grasp on Halfman's shoulder tightened.

"There is one damned Roundhead here who vexes me," Sir Rufus said, fiercely.

"I think his name is called Cloud," said Halfman.

Sir Rufus swore a round oath.

"I wish he were dead," he said.

"If wishes were coaches," Halfman observed, sententiously, "beggars would ride."

"He would have been dead ere this if she had not wheedled the King out of his wits. His Majesty is in a forgiving disposition to-day, and forgets his friends at the prayer of a pretty face. I wish this rebel were dead, friend."

"He will die in time," Halfman commented, philosophically. Sir Rufus growled.

"You are as dull as mud. It would be money in your pocket, friend Halfman, ay, money running over your pocket-holes, if this rebel were to be your quarry."

Halfman shook his head, and a knowing smile twisted his mouth awry.

"Nay, Sir Rufus, with your favor, you must do your own killing," he said.

"Why, so I will," Rufus answered, angrily. "I will call up the household, lay hands on the rascal, back him to the wall, and bang a fusillade into him."

Halfman laughed derisively.

"Call up the household!" he crowed. "Do you think they would come at your call? Do you think they would serve you against my lady? Why, they would fling you into the fish-pools if she bade them do so."

The face of Sir Rufus showed that through all his fury he still retained sufficient command of his reason to know that what Halfman said was more than true. Halfman went leisurely on:

"You cannot employ your own men on the business, neither, for they must march to Oxford with the King. In little it comes to this: if you want a thing done, do it yourself."

"You are in the right," Sir Rufus agreed, gloomily. "This fellow was doomed long since. It is no more than common justice to put him out of the way. But I ride with the King."

"You need not ride very far," Halfman suggested. "A little way on the road you can slip aside unseen and get back here by a bridle-path. Watch at the western gate of the park. His horse will be waiting for him there to carry him to Cambridge. After his tender leave-taking he will come to his exit a clear mark on the white garden-path for a steady hand holding a pistol. So you can whistle 'Good-night, cuckoo,' as you haste to o'ertake the King."

"'Tis an ingenious scheme," Sir Rufus mused. Halfman laughed grimly.

"Oh, I am a pattern of strategy; this is but a simple ambuscado, a tame trap. You are a sure shot, I know; you cannot miss your bird. You need waste no time in making sure that he is stark. I shall be at hand to make sure, and will soon stick him in a ditch to wait for judgment."

Sir Rufus clapped Halfman on the shoulder.

"Your wit has a most pleasant invention," he approved. "She will soon forget this whining wry-face."

Halfman disengaged himself from the pressure of his companion's hand.

"It is so to be hoped," he said, drearily; "it is so to be believed. Woman's love-memory is a kind of quicksand that can swallow a score or so of gallant gentlemen and show no trace of their passage."

"A curse on your poppycoddle," Sir Rufus grumbled. "I must be stirring. I should like him to know that I killed him."

"If I find any breath in him I will tell him," Halfman affirmed. "Your honor over-refines your pleasant purpose. The pith is that he be killed. Remember the western gate."

In another moment Halfman was alone, listening to the sound of spurred heels on the stairway, as Sir Rufus hastened to join the King.

"Love of woman leads us to strange issues," he said to himself, with a wintry smile. "Cavalier, Puritan, and poor Jack here, we all love the same lady, and here be two of us clapping palms together to kill the third."



XXXI

HALFMAN DISPOSES

Brilliana came in from the garden. Halfman heard her step and turned. She was pale with many emotions; he never had seen her more beautiful.

"The King has gone, friend," she said; "God bless him for his clemency."

"My heart does not sing because a Puritan lives," Halfman answered, sourly. He stared into the fire again and saw burning towns between the dogs. Brilliana paused for a moment and then came a little closer to him.

"We have ever been friends," she said, softly. There was a note of timidity in her voice, new to Halfman, and he turned in surprise.

"Indeed," he said, roundly.

"We have been fellow-soldiers," Brilliana went on, still with that curious hesitancy that sat so strangely upon her. "We have shared a siege. I have a secret to tell you."

Halfman felt a sudden uncanny warning of danger. "A secret," he repeated, staring at her.

Brilliana was outblushing all things red—peony, poppy, flamingo, anything.

"You have always loved me, Hobbin?" she asked, half timorously.

"I have always loved you," he answered, slowly, with a rigid face.

"Then you will be glad of what I have to tell," she said. "There will be no change here. For I love this gentleman even as this gentleman loves me, and we are to wed when this meddling war is ended."

"You love him?" Halfman echoed, dully. "You wed an enemy to the King?"

Brilliana sighed.

"Love is the greatest power in all the world," she said; "greater than kings, greater than emperors, greater than popes. But I will wed no enemy to the King. If these wars were to endure forever, then forever my dear friend and I would remain unwed and bear our single souls to heaven."

Her voice was low and dreary; suddenly it brightened.

"But these wars will not endure forever. The King will be in London in a few days; the Parliament will be at his feet; my friend will be no more a rebel, for all rebellion will have ceased to be."

"How if your friend be killed before the King reaches London?" Halfman asked her, hoarsely. "The wheels of war do not turn from the path of a lover."

"If he be killed," she said, simply, "I do not think I shall long outlive him. My heart does not veer like a vane for every breath of praise or passion. First and last, I have found my mate in the world; first and last, I will be loyal while I live. But if he die, I hope God will deal gently with me, nor suffer me to grow gray in sorrow."

She turned away from Halfman that he might not see the tears in her eyes, and so turning did not see the tears that stood in his. She moved towards the harpsichord and dropped into the chair that served it. Her fingers fluttered over the keys and a tinkling music answered them and underlined the words she sang:

"You ride to fight, my dearest friend, I bide at home and sigh; God only knows what God may send, To test us, by-and-by. If 'tis decreed that you must die, So comes my world to end; And I will seek beyond the sky The features of my friend. Come back from fight, my dearest friend, The idol of my eye, That hand in hand ourselves may bend Before God's altar high. If death consent to pass you by, How sweetly shall we wend To the last home where we shall lie Together, friend and friend."

As Brilliana sat at the harpsichord playing the brave Cavalier ballad, Halfman, watching her, found his eyes dim with most unfamiliar water. Fierce memories of his life seemed to come before him sharply, vivid succeeding pictures, rich in evil. In a flash he tramped across forests, sack and battle and rapine new painted themselves upon his brain; deeds long dead and forgotten suddenly became instant agonies. He seemed like a prisoner before an invisible judge, and his startled spirit sought wildly and vainly for some good deed it might offer in plea for pity. If only he had spared that girl, that child unripe for love, who never dreamed of brutal hands. He seemed to see her in the room where he ran her down, her staring eyes; he seemed to hear her screams; he remembered how hot his blood was then, though now it ran like ice at the memory. If only he had not helped to torture the old Jew in San Juan; if only he could blot out his share in all those acts of lust and blood. And through all his horrid thoughts came the sweet voice of Brilliana singing the sweet, brave words, and he saw her curls sway as she sang, and he thought of her love for her kinsman which she had told him so simply, and he thought of his own mad love for her, which she would never know, which no one would ever understand. And then he thought of that grim sentry at the western gate whose hate was black, whose aim was fatal.

A fantastic purpose came into the man's thought. His mind was ever like a stage with the lights lighted and the curtains drawn, upon whose boards himself played a thousand parts and played them to the top. Here was the part he had never played, the noblest, the most heroic, chiefly perhaps in this, that it was also the loneliest. The purpose had hardly pricked before he seized it, hugged it to his breast, made it incorporate with his being. Mingled with his tender pity for Brilliana there was now a splendid pity for himself, the noblest Roman of them all. But the purpose must not cool. His thoughts were all a-jumble. One of them seemed to assert to his feverish fancy that this way meant atonement; the quenching of his torch some measure of compensation for the candles he had puffed out.

Unseen he stretched his hands as if in benediction towards Brilliana, and then went noiselessly out of the room. On the stairs he met Evander descending to say farewell to his hostess, his hat in his hand and his cloak over his arm. Halfman stopped him. "She waits you in the garden-room," he said; "I will hold your cloak and hat for you here while you make your adieus. A lover should not be cumbered." Evander thanked him, surrendered cloak and hat, and entered the garden-room. He did not hear what Halfman said, though Halfman spoke it aloud, with all the lovers of all time for audience: "There goes the blessedest man in all the world." Then, with Evander's cloak about him and Evander's hat upon his head, Halfman went out into the garden.

At the sound of Evander's step Brilliana turned and rose to greet him.

"My dear!" she cried, her eyes luminous, her breast heaving.

"My riding-time has come," he said, sadly. He stood apart, but she came near to him and put her hands on his shoulders.

"You found me in tears, but you must think of me as smiling—smiling for joy in my lover, smiling at the thought of his return."

He caught her in his arms, clasped her close to him, and kissed her lips. It seemed to him as if that moment consecrated him forever. She was simply glad that the man she loved had kissed her.

"These are evil days," he said. "Who knows when we shall meet again."

"At least we have met," she answered. "I shall thank God for that, morning and night. Nothing can change that, if we do not meet for months, for years, if we never meet again."

"These wars must end soon," Evander said, confidently. Brilliana caught at his hands.

"You will never hurt the King," she cried. "Promise me that. You will never hurt the King."

"I will never hurt the King," Evander promised. "And now, dear love—"

He could not say farewell.

There was a moment's silence as they stood facing each other, holding hands, the woman trying to smile. The silence was suddenly, brutally broken by the loud, clear report of a shot. Brilliana stiffened with the start.

"What was that?"

"It seemed a pistol-shot in the garden," Evander answered.

"Who should fire now?"

"I will go see," Evander said, turning towards the open space. Brilliana restrained him.

"Oh no, dear love, my heart misgives; there may be danger."

Evander gently released himself.

"And when are you or I afraid of danger?"

Brilliana accepted this.

"Then I go with you."

Instantly Evander paused.

"No, no," he said.

Brilliana repeated his words.

"Why, when are you or I afraid of danger?"

There was a noise of running feet in the garden, and then Thoroughgood sped across the moat and into the room.

"Captain Halfman has been shot," he gasped.

"Oh, by whom?" Brilliana wailed, her eyes wide with horror.

"Is he killed?" Evander asked.

Thoroughgood answered both in a breath.

"Badly wounded. They bring him here."

As he spoke, Garlinge and Clupp entered from the garden, bearing Halfman between them, wrapped in Evander's mantle.

The man of gallant carriage, of swaggering alacrity, seemed to lie horribly limp in the men's arms. Evander hurriedly made a couch of chairs and bade them lay their burden on it, that he might examine the wound. Brilliana bent over him.

"Oh, my dear friend," she sobbed.

The sound of her voice seemed to awaken Halfman. He opened his eyes.

"Lift me up," he said, feebly, to his supporters. He looked at Brilliana. "Lady, you have been deceived. Sir Randolph escaped from his enemies. A snare was set for Captain Cloud—" he paused.

"By whom?" cried Brilliana, the woman eager for her lover.

Something like a smile came to Halfman's face.

"That I may not say. I was privy to the plot. But I walked into the trap myself. I fear, sir, you will find a hole in your mantle."

"You wore my cloak?" Evander asked, in wonder. "You died for me?"

"Ah, why did you not warn?" Brilliana cried.

Halfman moved his head feebly.

"I did not want to live."

"But you shall live," Brilliana insisted, prayed.

Halfman laughed very faintly.

"I do not think so. I am an old soldier, and—ah!"

He gave a great gasp. Then suddenly lifted himself a little and saluted Brilliana as if on parade.

"Here, my sweet warrior," he said, clearly. He looked fixedly at Brilliana and declaimed, "I did hear you speak, far above singing." Then his chin dropped; his head fell back on the supporting arms. Evander touched him, turned to Brilliana.

"Alas! he's sped."

The only sound in the silent room was the weeping of Brilliana in Evander's arms.



EPILOGUE

Master Marfleet in his "Diurnal" hides in his prolixities some particulars interesting to us. Thus we learn incidentally from some reflections on the wickedness of the great, that while the King reigned in Oxford—to Master Marfleet he is always the "Man of Blood" when he is not Nebuchadnezzar—Lady Brilliana Harby was in such favor at the court and with the Queen as to obtain patents of knighthood for two neighbors of hers, one Paul Hungerford and one Peter Rainham. We further learn that Brilliana accompanied the Queen—in whom Mr. Marfleet traces a remarkable likeness to Jezebel—to France in 1644, after which "flight of kites, crows, and other carrion fowl"—the words are Mr. Marfleet's—the estate of Harby came, through the good offices of General Cromwell, into the hands of Colonel Evander Cloud, much to Mr. Marfleet's satisfaction, a satisfaction which the school-master did not live long enough to lose.

Of Colonel Cloud's honorable military career we find a brief but eminently satisfactory account in Corporal Blow-the-Trumpet-against-Jericho Pring's pamphlet—now more than scarce—entitled "The Roll-Call of the Regiments of Zion."

From a letter of Colonel Cloud's, preserved in the Perrington Papers (Historical Manuscripts Commission, vol. XCIX., B), we learn that after Naseby the writer found among the dying the person of Sir Rufus Quaryll.

"As God may forgive me," he writes, "I had sought for this man in encounter after encounter, with black thoughts of vengeance in my bosom. But as he lay there I felt constrained by divine impulse to forgive him, though he made me no answer but to curse horribly at me and at the fool who took my place; and so passed away, as I fear, very impenitent."

After the surrender of the King by the Scots, and the end, as it seemed, of the civil war, Colonel Cloud, with the permission of his great chief, retired from active affairs and made his way to France, to Paris, where, in the early spring of 1647, he was married to Lady Brilliana Harby. Some of the French writers of the time make rather merry over this romantic union and the five years fidelity of squire and dame—Strephon and Chloe, as they are pleased to call them. But the laugh is rather on the wrong side of the face, for it is well known that there was bitter disappointment in the hearts and on the lips of many French gallants who had tried their best to win the beautiful English girl, and greatly resented her reservation for this solemn gentleman. One or two efforts, however, to make this resentment plain to the English soldier resulting uncomfortably, after a brisk morning's work, in the temporary disablement of one aggressor and the repeated disarming of another, in the end the "homme a Cromwell" was left to wed in peace. Oddly enough, his best man was his old acquaintance Sir Blaise Mickleton, who, having realized his property in good time, had settled in Paris since 1644 and had almost forgotten his native tongue, which he spoke, when he did speak, with a little broken French accent, very pretty to hear. He had once tried to renew his pretensions to the hand of Brilliana, and had been so startlingly rebuffed that he never repeated the effort and was content to remain her very good friend. Evander was in England once or twice during the years 1647 and 1648, but after the death of the King, against which he vainly protested, with his famous friend he settled down in France, in the Loire country, for many happy years.

After the Restoration, Harby Hall passed by mutual arrangement into the hands of Sir Randolph Harby, who had cheerfully ruined himself in the service of his King. Through him the name still persists in Maryland, in America. Harby itself was destroyed by fire early in the eighteenth century. It was not rebuilt; the moat was filled up, and no trace of Loyalty House remains to-day. In Harby church-yard there is an ancient stone, set there by Brilliana's order. It bears the name of Halfman, the date of his death, and after that date the words, "I did hear you speak, far above singing."

THE END