The Touchstone of Fortune

by Charles Major

  CHAPTER VIII

  IN FEAR OF THE KING

  When Frances came downstairs, she and I started home, walking first downGracious Street, and then through Upper Thames Street toward Temple Bar.It was no time to scold her, since I was sure that she knew quite as wellas I could tell her the folly and the recklessness of what she had justdone. I also believed there must have been an overpowering motive back ofit all, and that being true, I knew that nothing I could say would in anyway induce her to repent at present or forbear in future. I might bringher to regret, but regret is a long journey from repentance. If her hearthad gone so far beyond her control as to cause her to seek Hamilton, asshe had done that day, it were surely a profitless task for me to try toput her right. If she, who was modest, honest, and strong, could notright herself, trying as I knew she had tried, no one else could do itfor her.

  Even my silence seemed to be a reproach, so I tried to think of somethingto say which would neither bear upon what she had done nor seem to avoidit.

  After a moment or two, Betty, that is, thoughts of her, came to myrelief, and I said: "If Betty were at court, she would rival the best ofthe beauties. There's a charm about the girl which grows on one. I haveknown her since she came from school in France, over a year ago, and themore I see of her the better I like her. She has grace of person andmanner, is well educated, tender of heart, honest, and has wonderfuleyes."

  "And dimples," suggested Frances. "You might win her, Baron Ned. I shouldlike to see you do something foolish to bring you down to my level."

  There was a distinct note of sarcasm in her voice, and I felt sure thatif I remained silent there was more to come. I was not disappointed, forpresently, after two or three false starts, she continued:--

  "I do not care to hear your comments on what I have just done. I knowquite as well in my simplicity as you in your wisdom the many goodreasons why I should not have visited the Old Swan to-day. I knew beforeI started, but I should have gone had the reasons been multiplied athousand fold in number and cogency. Therefore, I do not care to hearyour comments on the subject. I should have gone just the same had Ifeared that death awaited me. I had but one purpose in life, and forweeks have had but one--to see him. If I was willing to put aside thelove of my father and all other considerations dear to me, nothing thatyou can say will do you any good or be of advantage to me."

  "My dear Frances," I replied, "I find no fault with you. I am sorryyou had to do it, but I know it could not be avoided. You were helplessagainst an overpowering motive. I am sorry for you, yet I admire you morethan ever before, because of your recklessness. I have always thought youwere cold, or at least that you were wise enough to keep yourself cool,but now I know that beneath your beauty there is a soul that can burn, aheart that can yearn, and a reckless disregard of consequences that onoccasion may make a blessed fool of you. It is such women as you who keepalive the spark of Himself which God first breathed into man. I do notblame you. I pity you, and am lost in wondering what will come of itall."

  After a long pause, she spoke, sighing: "Although you may not understandwhat I mean, there was a great deal of right as well as wrong in what Idid. I owed to his love, which I knew to be true, an acknowledgment ofmine, but more, I had wronged him grievously, and it was right that Ishould make what poor amends I could. But right or wrong, I did what Ihad to do, and I do not intend to blame myself, nor to hear blame fromany one else. I am perfectly willing that the whole world should knowwhat I have done--that is, I should be were it not for father."

  "Again I say I do not blame you," I returned, "though I wish sincerelyyou had not gone."

  "Why did you follow me, and how did you know where I had gone?" askedFrances.

  I told her of my visit to her father's house and how, upon my failure tofind her there, I went to the Old Swan.

  "I thought it would be better that you should leave the Old Swan with methan alone," I said. "It would have been better had you taken me withyou."

  "Would you have gone with me, knowing my errand?" she asked.

  "Yes, gladly," I answered. "When a woman deliberately makes up her mindto do a thing of this sort, she does it sooner or later, despite heaven,earth, or the other place to the contrary. I should have gained nothingby opposing you; I could at least have given color of propriety by goingwith you."

  We walked up Thames Street till we came to the neighborhood of Baynard'sCastle, where we took boat and went to Whitehall, each of us in silentrevery all the way.

  While I was paying the waterman, Frances ran up the stairs to the garden,and when I followed I saw her talking to the king, so I stopped ten ortwelve paces from them and removed my hat. Being in their lee, the windbrought the king's words to me, and I imagined, from the loud tone inwhich he spoke, that he intended me to hear what he had to say. Perhapshe suspected that I had helped Frances in her morning's escapade.

  "I am greatly disappointed, my angel, my beauty," said the king, "thatyou have taken this morning's excursion."

  So he knew of her "excursion," and doubtless had instigated the visit ofthe sheriffs to the Old Swan.

  "What has your angel done this morning to displease her king?" askedFrances, with a laugh so merry that one might well have supposed itgenuine.

  "What has she done this morning?" repeated the king. "She has been tovisit the man who seeks the king's life. That is what she has done."

  He had hit the nail squarely on the head at the first stroke, but whetherhis accuracy was a mere guess, or the result of knowledge, I did notknow. I trembled, awaiting the outcome of my cousin's conference.

  At first Frances appeared to be horror-stricken, and her surprise seemedto know no bounds, but after a moment of splendid acting, her mannerchanged to one of righteous indignation, touched with grief, because theking had so wrongfully accused her.

  "Your Majesty horrifies me!" she exclaimed, stepping back from the king."Is there a man in all England who would seek his king's life?"

  "There is," returned his Majesty. "And you have been to visit him."

  Frances denied nothing. She was simply stunned by grief and benumbed by asense of outrage put upon her by the king. So after a moment ofinimitable pantomime, she answered, speaking softly:--

  "I fear a gentle madness has touched your Majesty's brain, else you wouldnot so cruelly accuse me. You have so many weighty affairs to trouble youand to prey on your mind that it is no wonder--"

  "Did you not set out this morning with the avowed purpose of going toyour father's house?" asked the king.

  "Yes, your Majesty," she answered soothingly, almost pityingly. "Whatthen?"

  "Did you go there?" asked Charles.

  "No, your Majesty."

  "Where did you go?"

  "Am I a prisoner in Whitehall that I may not come and go at will?" sheasked indignantly, knowing well the maxim of battle that the best way tomeet a charge is by a countercharge. "If so, I pray leave to go home tomy father, where I shall not be spied upon and suspected of evil if I butgo abroad for an hour."

  Her grief had changed to indignation, and she turned her face from theking, drying the supposed tears and exhibiting her temper in irresistiblepantomime. The king was but a man, so of course Frances's tears and herjust anger routed him. A brave man may stand against powder and steel,but he must flee before fire and flood.

  Immediately the king became apologetic: "I do not suspect you of evil,but of thoughtlessness, my beautiful one," he said, trying to take herhand, but failing. "Nor have I spied upon you. I heard that you had goneto the Old Swan to see Hamilton, whom it is said you love."

  Pantomime to show great grief and a deep sense of cruel injury, but thetears ceased to flow because of the fact that she was past tears now.

  "I'll leave Whitehall this day!" she said, shaking her head dolefully. "Iam not strong enough to bear your Majesty's unjust frown. I have tried todo right, tried to please you and the duchess--everybody, and this is myreward! I know little of Master Hamilton, having seen him only a fewtimes in al
l my life. If I had no other cause to shun him, his characterwould be sufficient."

  Again the handkerchief was brought to the eyes effectively, for thepurpose of giving the king a little time in which to see how grievouslyhe had wronged her. It required but little time for him to realize howcruel he had been, and in a moment he said pleadingly:--

  "Your king asks your forgiveness. I do not suspect you of having goneto see Hamilton. I am convinced that I was wrong. But won't you tellme, please, why you visited the Old Swan? It is a decent tavern, Iunderstand, but a public place of the sort should not be visited by onesuch as you unescorted."

  "Your Majesty is right, and I thank you for the reprimand," returnedFrances, drying her eyes. "But Pickering, who is the host of the OldSwan, has a daughter, Bettina, who is a good girl, far above her station.She is my friend. I went to see her this morning to drink a cup ofwormwood wine with her. Now you know my reason for going."

  Wormwood wine was considered a toper's drink.

  Her confusion and modest hesitancy in confessing to the wormwood winewere so pretty and so convincing that the king laughed and seized her bythe arm affectionately:--

  "Ah, at last it is out!" he cried. "I have discovered your sin! I knewyou must have one tucked about you somewhere. Wormwood wine! Absinthe!The drink of our depraved French friends! Who would have suspected you ofusing it?"

  "Yes," murmured Frances, glad to be found guilty of the wrong sin.

  "Ah, well, we'll have it together here at home," said the king, "so thatyou need not go abroad for it hereafter."

  "No, no, I shall never again drink wormwood," protested Frances. "BettyPickering tells me it causes vapors in the head, horrid waking dreams,and in the end incurable spasms."

  "Your resolution is well taken," returned the king. "We shall seek aharmless substitute."

  At this point in the conversation his Majesty looked toward me, whispereda word to Frances, and they walked down the garden path to the fountain,while I waited at Bowling Green for Frances's return. When she came back,she told me in detail all that passed between her and the king.

  After they had left me, the king began to talk, and Frances seldominterrupted him save to draw him out, knowing that a talking man sooneror later tells a great deal that he should have left unsaid. This isespecially true if a shrewd listener reads between his words.

  "Nelly Gwynn tells me that you love George Hamilton," said the king, "andin my eyes, that is his greatest crime."

  Already his Majesty had told a great deal.

  "I am surprised at Mistress Gwynn's imagination and her lack oftruthfulness," returned Frances. "I told her I hated him, and she herselfheard me deny that I knew him when he offered to speak to me two monthsago or more at the Old Swan. Mistress Gwynn kissed him. I refused torecognize him. I should say that the evidences of affection were againsther rather than me."

  "She says, also," continued the king, "that you believe Master Hamiltonkilled Roger Wentworth; that you recognized him the night of thetragedy."

  "I said nothing of the sort," answered Frances, emphatically. "I saw butone man's face distinctly. Here at court I have often seen the man whokilled Roger Wentworth, and I shall tell you his name if you insist. Heis near of kin to your Majesty."

  The king knew that she meant his son Crofts, so he hastened away from thesubject.

  "Yes, yes, I have suspected as much, but I beg you, Frances, to spare methe pain of hearing the truth."

  "Yes, the truth is a frightful thing," sighed Frances. "Why cannot theworld be made up of pleasing lies? But tell me, does your Majesty mean tosay that the wretch, Hamilton, seeks your life?"

  She was seeking information.

  "He does, he does," returned the king. "While he was sick at the OldSwan, one standing outside his door heard him declare his intention tokill the king. When I heard of the threat, I summoned his physician, oneDoctor Lilly, who, being questioned, admitted that while in a deliriumHamilton had made threats against the king's life, but that he, Lilly,had supposed the French king was meant. Lilly is a good faithful subject,and I often use his astrological knowledge, which is really great, but inthis case I suspect he is trying to shield Hamilton, believing, perhaps,that the threats meant nothing because they were made in delirium."

  "It is horrible to think upon," answered Frances, shivering. "But he hasgone to France, and, thank Heaven, your Majesty is safe. Perhaps he hasgone to kill King Louis."

  "How do you know he has gone to France?" asked the king, much interested.

  "I had a letter from him. He imagines he is in love with me," answeredFrances, speaking in the letter of truth and with a fine air of calmness.She had received a letter from George in France, but it was before hisreturn to England.

  "Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the king. "Your news contradicts your avowal thatyou are not in love with him."

  "Shall I be in love with all who say they are in love with me?" askedFrances, glancing up to the king.

  "God forbid!" he answered. "I would have you in love with but one--onewho loves your voice, your beauty, your goodness."

  "Your Majesty may at least rest easy so far as Hamilton is concerned,"she returned.

  "But I am glad that he is out of the country, and shall see to it that hedoesn't come back," said the king.

  His Majesty had talked too long, for Frances had learned that hissuspicions of her love of Hamilton were not allayed, despite his pretenseto the contrary.

  "I care not where he be so long as he doesn't trouble me," answeredFrances, sighing.

  "But if it is not one it is another," said the king, ruefully. "I hearthat the Duke of Tyrconnel is mad for love of you."

  This was a welcome opportunity to Frances, and she quickly used it. "Yes.At least, he says he is. What does your Majesty advise? Shall I marry himor not?"

  "By all means, not!" returned the king, with strong emphasis. "He wouldtake you from court. Do you return his love?"

  "Well--" answered Frances, drooping her head and pausing to allow theking to fill the blank.

  "But you shall not marry him," insisted the king.

  "But you would not have me live a maid? Think of the humiliation ofhaving graven on my tombstone: 'Mistress Frances Jennings, Age 85.' I'mgoing to marry the richest man that asks me."

  "Odds fish! that's Tyrconnel!" exclaimed the king.

  "I'll find a pretext for sending him to the Tower at once."

  "If you do," returned Frances, laughing, "there is Little Jermyn. He willbe rich and an earl when his uncle dies."

  "I'll send him along with Tyrconnel," declared the king.

  "And there is--" began Frances, laughing.

  But the king interrupted her, "I'll send every man to the Tower thatwants to marry you, if I depopulate the court."

  "But here comes old Lady Castlemain," said Frances, turning to leave theking. "I can't quarrel with her, because I can't swear with her. May Itake my leave, your Majesty?"

  "I am sorry to grant it, but good-by," returned the king.

  "Good-by, your Majesty, and thank you," returned Frances, grateful formuch that the king did not know he had told her. Then she came to me andtold me what the king had said, not omitting her conclusions based onwhat he had left unsaid.

  Frances and I walked over to the park, where we stood for a time watchingthe Duke of York and John Churchill playing pall-mall, but the daygrowing cold, we soon continued our walk over to the Serpentine, where wefound Tyrconnel and several other gentlemen riding. Tyrconnel dismountedand, leading his horse, came to us. He took no notice of me, but bowed toFrances, saying:--

  "I hear it from the king himself that Mistress Jennings has been callingon her friend, George Hamilton, at his lodgings in the Old Swan."

  "And if so, is it a matter of which you have any right to speak?" askedFrances, smiling.

  "I have a right to withdraw the proposal of marriage I so foolishlymade," he retorted.

  "Yes, my lord," answered Frances, laughing softly. "But you need not beangry if I am no
t. How fortunate for me that I had not accepted." Thenturning to leave and looking back at him: "May we not still be friends,my lord? You have friends at court who are as bad as I, even if what yousay be true. You say it is true; the king says it is true; therefore itmust be true. Two men so wise and honest could not be mistaken in sosmall a matter, nor would they lie solely for the purpose of injuring awoman. No, it must be true, my lord, and I congratulate you on yourtimely withdrawal."

  We had not taken fifty steps till Tyrconnel gave his horse to a boy andcame running after us, infinitely more eager to retract the withdrawalthan he had been to withdraw his proposal. He protested by all thingsholy his total disbelief in the scandalous story, and begged Frances notto remember what he had said in jealous anger.

  "Be careful, my lord. Do not make another mistake," said Frances,laughing in his face. "I did visit the Old Swan this morning, and theking told me less than thirty minutes ago that Master Hamilton livesthere. It is said by those who claim to know that he is in France, butthey must be wrong, and I must have seen him. The king says I did, andhe can do no wrong. I neither deny nor affirm, though I fancy that myreal friends will not believe me guilty of the indiscretion."

  "I do not believe it," protested Tyrconnel. "I know you are all that isgood."

  "Thank you, my lord," returned Frances. "If I am good, I remain so for myown sake. As for the gossips, they may think what they please, talk aboutme to their hearts' content, and go to the devil for his content, if hecan find it in them."

  Seeing that Tyrconnel wanted to speak with Frances alone, I drew to alittle distance for the purpose of giving him an opportunity to press hissuit, in which I so heartily wished him success.

  It is uphill work making love to a woman whose heart is filled tooverflowing with love of another man, and I was sorry for poor earnestTyrconnel as I watched him pleading his case with Frances. He was not aburning light intellectually, but he entertained a just estimate ofhimself and was wise enough not to take any one of the daintily baitedhooks that were dangled before him by some of the fairest anglers inEngland. But manlike, he yearned for the hook that was not in the water.

  I followed Frances and Tyrconnel back to the palace, and when they partedat the King's Street Gate, he asked me to go with him to the sign of theKing's Head and have a tankard of mulled sack and a breast of Welshmutton right off the spit.

  Tyrconnel's speech was made up of an amusing lisp grafted on the broadestIrish brogue ever heard outside of Killarney. It cannot be reproduced inprint; therefore I shall not attempt it. But it was so comical that onecould never rid one's self of a desire to laugh, be his Lordship ever soearnest. As a result of this amusing manner of speech, his most seriouswords never produced a thoughtful impression on his hearers. It is saidthat the king once laughed when Tyrconnel, in tears, told him of thedeath of his Lordship's mother.

  Arriving at the King's Head, Tyrconnel chose a table in a remote alcoveof the dining room. After the maid had brought us the mulled sack and hadgone to fetch the mutton, his Lordship began earnestly, but laughably, totell me his troubles, and I did my best to listen seriously, though withpoor result.

  "I want to marry your cousin, baron," he said. "Yes, yes, go on. Laugh! Idon't mind it. I know you can't help it. But listen. I want to marry herbecause she is beautiful and because I know she is good. But if she is inlove with Hamilton, as report says she is, I should not want to inflictmy suit upon her. I know that at best I am no genius, but I am not sogreat a fool as to seek an opportunity to make myself appear more stupidthan I am. Of course she can never marry Hamilton, but a hopeless loveclings to a woman as burning oil to the skin and is well-nigh asimpossible to extinguish. Therefore I beg you tell me. Shall I beat aretreat and take care of my wounded, or shall I continue the battle?"

  "I should not trouble myself about the wounded," I answered, reluctant toevade the truth, for he was an honest soul, very much in earnest.

  "But do you speak honestly?" he asked, mopping the perspiration from hisface with the tablecloth. "She laughs when I speak seriously, but I havehoped that it was because of my damnable manner of speech rather than mysuit. Tell me, what do you think about it? Is she in love with Hamilton?"

  His appeal was hard to resist, but I answered evasively in the spirit ifnot the letter of a lie: "Thus much I know. My cousin has seen verylittle of Hamilton--so little that it appears almost impossible for oneof her sound judgment and cool blood to have fallen in love with him. Ican swear that she has not, nor ever has had, a thought of marrying him.She had better kill herself."

  "Ah, that's all true enough," he answered. "And now that he is indisgrace, with a noose awaiting him on Tyburn, it is of course impossiblefor her to marry him. But you see, my dear fellow, she may love him.Nelly Gwynn says she does."

  "Yes," I replied. "Nelly set the story afloat. Her tongue is self acting.But she had no reason to do so save in her imagination and her love oftalking. Half the troubles in life are caused by your automatic talkers."

  I then told him of my cousin's visit with Nelly to the Old Swan, layingemphasis on Frances's refusal to recognize Hamilton, but saying nothingof the fight that followed.

  "I am glad to learn the truth, if it is the truth," lisped his Lordship,musingly.

  "If you would know the real danger to Frances, you must look higher,"I said, cautiously refraining from being too explicit. "There is onewhom my cousin scorns, but from whom she is in hourly peril. There is nolength to which he would not go, no crime, however dastardly, he wouldnot commit to gain his end. I watch over her constantly, and although myfear may be groundless, still I believe that her only safety is to marryat once and to leave court with her husband."

  "But you say she despises him?" he asked.

  "Yes, she even hates him. Still she is in great danger; perhaps in dangerof her life. We all know that crimes have been committed by this person--crimes so horrible as to be almost past belief. You remember the parson'sdaughter who jumped from a high wall and killed herself to escape him."

  "You are her guardian, baron. Let me be her watchdog," said Tyrconnel,leaning eagerly across the table toward me. "And if I am so fortunate asto win her love by constant devotion, she shall be my wife."

  I offered my hand as a silent compact, and we finished our mutton almostwithout another word.

  Two days after my interview with Tyrconnel, George Hamilton's _NewsLetter_ appeared, containing a vicious attack on the king, which angeredhis Majesty greatly and seemed to arouse anew his suspicion that Hamiltonwas not in France, some one having told him on a mere suspicion thatGeorge was the editor of the _News Letter_. His Majesty accused Francesof falsehood in having told him that she had not seen Hamilton and thatshe believed he was in France, but she becoming indignant, he againapologized.

  Frances's account of the king's state of mind alarmed me, and Idetermined to see George as soon as possible and advise him to leaveEngland at once. I was delayed in going, but on a cold, stormy day at theend of a fortnight I found my opportunity, and took boat for the OldSwan, not minding the snow and sleet, because I was very happy knowingthat I should see Betty. I had of late done all in my power to keepaway from her, but the longing had grown upon me, and I was glad to havean honest excuse to visit Gracious Street.

  I have spoken heretofore of my engagement to marry Mary Hamilton, andmy passion for Betty may indicate that my heart was susceptible, if notfickle. But aside from Betty's Hebe-like charms of person and sweetnessof disposition, there were other reasons for my falling off respectingMary. While she had promised to marry me, still there was a coldness,perhaps I should say a calmness, in her manner toward me, and acautiousness in holding me aloof which seemed to indicate a desire on herpart for a better establishment in life than I could give, if perchancea better offered. My suit had not prospered, though it had not failed,since she was to be my wife provided she found no more eligible husbandwithin a reasonable time.

  Dangling blunts the edge of ardor; therefore I soon found myself noticingbeauty e
lsewhere and discovered none that could be compared with that ofBetty Pickering of the Old Swan. It is true she was, in a sense, abarmaid, and equally true that I had no thought of marrying her. Still itwas significant even at that early time that my mind reverted to the factthat Edward Hyde, Lord Chancellor of England and Earl of Clarendon, hadmarried an innkeeper's widow, whose daughter became the mother of twoqueens.

  While this was true, still I respected Betty less than I admired her andfar less than she deserved, never entirely forgetting her station in lifenor ceasing to recognize the great distance between us.

  When I entered the Old Swan, Betty greeted me with a smile amid a nest ofdimples, and led me upstairs to her parlor, so that we might talk withoutbeing overheard. I sat down on a settle, and Betty took her place besideme. Her hands rested on her lap, giving her an air of contentment as sheturned her face toward me and asked:--

  "Have you come to see Master Hamilton?"

  "Yes," I answered, "and you."

  "And me?" she asked, looking up with a curious little smile. "In what waymay I serve you?"

  "By sitting there and permitting me to look at you," I answered.

  "Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing softly.

  "And by smiling once in a while," I suggested.

  "Who shall smile? You or I?" she queried, glancing slyly up to me.

  "Oh, you, by all means," I returned. "There is no beauty in my smile,while yours--"

  "Come, come, Baron Ned," she interrupted, looking up to me pleadingly."My smiles are honest, and that is all that is needful in my case. Sodon't try to make me believe they are anything more. Don't make a fool ofme by flattery."

  "Don't you like flattery, Betty?" I asked.

  "Yes, of course I do," she returned, smiling and dimpling exquisitely."But it is not good for me. You know I might grow to believing it andyou."

  "But it is true, Betty, and you may believe me," I answered, veryearnestly, taking her hand from her lap.

  She permitted me to hold her hand for a moment, and said:--

  "I am so desirous of keeping my regard for you and of holding your regardfor me that I am tempted to tell you I fear it will all change if I findyou inclined to doubt that I am an honest girl."

  "I do not doubt it, Betty," I answered. "I know you and respect you, andyou shall have no good cause to change your regard for me, if you haveany."

  "Frequently gentlemen are rude to me in the tap-room, and I submit ratherthan make trouble by resenting it, but you have always been respectful,and--and I have appreciated it, Baron Ned. Father says I need not go tothe tap-room hereafter, but may direct the maids in the house, now that Iam growing old--near twenty."

  "Twenty?" I asked. And she nodded her head proudly.

  "Yes."

  "I thought you were still a child," I remarked.

  "No, no," she returned, looking up to me open-eyed and very serious. "Iam a woman."

  "Yes, a beautiful child-woman--the most beautiful in all the world," Isaid, grasping her hand and holding it a moment till its flutteringceased. "And I am jealous of every other man who comes near you."

  I saw that my remark had offended her, so I continued earnestly: "I meantit, Betty; I meant it. I was not jesting."

  Betty sighed, looked quickly up to me, half in doubt, half in inquiry,and was about to speak, but closed her lips on her words and leanedforward, her head drooping eloquently. Her gentleness, her sweetness, andher beauty were so tempting that I could not resist their charm. Again Icaught her hand, and it trembled in mine as she tried faintly to withdrawit. I tried to check myself but failed, and I put my arm about her waist.Then, after a mighty effort to stay my words, I said pleadingly:--

  "Ah, Betty, I love you. Please, please, Betty, believe me, and--and--justone kiss."

  "No, no," she cried pleadingly, trying to draw away from me. "Itcould not be honest between us. You are a nobleman--I, a barmaid. Yourfriendship is very dear to me. Please let me keep it, Baron Ned, andlet me keep my regard for you. Let there be at least one man whom I donot fear. You know there can be nothing honest between us, and if itbe possible that one so lowly as I can deserve your respect, let me haveit, Baron Ned, let me have it. Let me keep it, for it is the dearestthing in life to me."

  There was such deep entreaty in her voice that it touched me to theheart, and I drew away from her immediately, saying:--

  "I do know there can be nothing honest between us, Betty, and knowing it,have suffered. What I have said to you is little compared to what I feeland to what I would say. I can't help it that I love you, Betty, but youshall never have cause to fear me. Do you believe me and do you trust me,Betty?"

  For answer she held up her lips to me. What she had refused on myrequest, she gave of her own accord, saying:--

  "There, Baron Ned. Now, if you really respect me, you will know thatI trust you, for I am not a girl to do this thing wantonly. Perhaps Ishould not have done it at all, but you must know that I could not helpit. If you care for my friendship or are concerned for my happiness, Ibeg you never tempt me to repeat my folly. There is no other man, but nowyou must know after what I have done, that there is one--yourself. Butthere can be nothing but friendship between us, Baron Ned, and oh, thatis so much to me! Let me have what happiness I can find in it!"

  "But I love you, Betty, and I know that you love me," I answered, unableto restrain my tongue.

  She did not speak, so I asked, "Do you not, Betty?"

  "No," she answered, shaking her head dolefully. But I knew she did nottell the truth.

  Presently she asked. "Do you want to see Master Hamilton?"

  I answered that I did, and she said I might go to the printing shop,where she was sure I should find him.

  She rose and started toward the door. I called to her, but she did notstop, so I ran after her, saying:--

  "Have I offended you, Betty?"

  "No," she answered, drooping her head. "But I am very unhappy, and I wantto be alone so that I may cry. You know it is much harder to forego thething one wants but may not take, than it is to do without the thing onewants but cannot take. Yearning for the impossible brings longing, forthe possible anguish."

  And I remained silent, almost hating myself.

  I went to the tap-room with Betty, and the courtyard being vacant for amoment, I ran across and down the steps to see Hamilton.

  I had tried to see Frances that morning at Whitehall, but failed, beingtold that she had gone to visit her father. I had stopped at SirRichard's house, but Frances was not there, and I half suspected I mightfind her with Hamilton.

  I found Hamilton at his printing-press, and after I had told him of therisk he ran by remaining in London, he said:--

  "I have been making an honest living from my _News Letter_ and am sorryto give it up, but I fear trouble will come very soon if I continue topublish it. The king has a score of human bloodhounds seeking me. It israther odd, isn't it, to hear a man of the house of Hamilton talkingabout making money by work, but of all the money I have ever touched,that which I have made honestly from the _News Letter_ has been thesweetest. The work has been a delight to me, even aside from the factthat it gives me an opportunity to abuse the king. Lilly tells me thatthe king asked him to consult the stars concerning my threats against theroyal life. The result was favorable to me."

  "It is strange that the king should be duped by a palpable humbug," Iremarked, supposing that George would agree with me. But, no! He turnedon me almost fiercely:--

  "Lilly is not a humbug! Of course he humbugs the king, but everybodydoes. I have known him to do some wonderful things by the help of hisastrological figures, conjunctions, constellations, and calculations."

  "Nonsense! All humbug, I tell you!" I asserted, somewhat disgusted.

  "No, it is not all nonsense," he insisted. "A poor woman lost a sum ofmoney ten days ago. Lilly set a figure and told her where to find it."

  "And of course she found it?" I inquired incredulously.

  "Yes, she found it," return
ed George. "And Lilly would not accept afarthing for his service. Two months ago a child was stolen from its homein Devonshire, and the parents came all the way to London to consultLilly."

  "And of course they found the child?" I asked.

  "They did. It was with a band of gypsies who made their headquarters at aplace called Gypsy Hill, Lambeth," returned Hamilton, provoked by myscepticism. "He learns some very curious truths from the stars."

  "The stars!" I exclaimed contemptuously. "He is a shrewd observer of menand of things about him, and when he guesses right, I venture to say hefinds his inspiration much lower than the stars."

  "Perhaps he does," returned Hamilton. "Of that I cannot say. But this Iknow. He can put two and two together and make a larger sum total than Ihave ever seen come from any other man's calculations. He is learned inevery branch of knowledge, and I respect his wonderful conclusions,asking no questions about his methods."

  "Very well, I'll not dispute with you if you admit that he receives evena part of his knowledge from substellar sources. But while we are alone Iwant to ask you, and I want you to tell me the truth: has Frances beenhere to-day?"

  "No! Tell me, for God's sake, tell me quickly! Why do you ask?" heexclaimed, turning to me in alarm. "Of late I have been haunted with thefear that she is in danger of violence from the king. He is capable ofcommitting any crime--has committed many, as we all know! Why do you askabout Frances, Baron Ned?"

  "Because she is not at Whitehall nor at her father's house, where theduchess said she was going. She never goes any place else, and it onlynow occurs to me to be alarmed."

  "Only now?" he demanded angrily. "What have you been doing? I supposedyou were watching over her. A fine guardian, upon my word! Where is she?Carried off by the king, of course! What else have you expected from ourfriend at Whitehall? If harm comes to her, I'll kill him!"

  He threw off his printer's cap and apron, hastily cleansed his face andhands, put on the gray beard and wig, took his broad hat and long coatfrom the chest, and started toward the door, bidding me follow.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "To Whitehall," he replied. "You to learn, if you can, where Frances is;I to form my plans what to do in case you do not find her. You must go tothe river ahead of me and take a boat. I'll follow in another. We shouldnot be seen together. You stop at Sir Richard's house, and if she is notthere, go to Whitehall. Then come to me at the house of Carter, theQuaker. You know where it is--just off King's Street, not far from theCross."

  I followed Hamilton's suggestion. I did not find Frances at Sir Richard'shouse, so I hastened to Whitehall, where I learned that she had leftshortly before noon, saying that she was going to spend the afternoon andnight at home. It was near the hour of three o'clock when I had startedup the river, from the Old Swan, and a snowstorm was raging which becameviolent before I reached the palace.

  While I was talking to one of the maids in the parlor of the duchess, apage came to me and whispered, "A lady is waiting for you at Holbein'sGate, and wishes you to go to her as soon as possible."

  I suspected that the lady was Frances, so I hastened to the gate andfound, not my cousin, but Betty. I knew her the moment I saw her, despitethe fact that she wore a full vizard and a long cloak. I also knew thatnothing less than a matter of great urgency would have induced the girlto call for me at the palace.

  The snow, which had been falling all day, was now coming in horizontalsheets, laden with sleet. The wind was blowing half a gale, and theweather was turning bitterly cold, yet Betty had come to seek me, despiteweather and modesty. Eager to hear her errand, I led her toward CharingCross, and when we were away from the gate, asked:--

  "What brings you, Bettina? I know it must be a matter of great urgencythat has induced you to venture forth in this terrible storm. What can Ido for you?"

  "Nothing for me, Baron Ned," she answered, taking my arm and huddlingclose to my side for protection against the storm.

  "For whom, then? Tell me quickly," I asked.

  "I fear Mistress Jennings is in trouble," she answered. "Soon after youand Master Hamilton left the Old Swan, a girl came to me in my parlor andtold me that as she was passing a coach standing in front of Baynard'sCastle two hours or more ago, a lady called to her from the coach windowand told her to tell me that Mistress Jones was in great trouble; thatshe had been seized by two men who were carrying her away. She said thelady was bound hand and foot, and that immediately after she had spoken,two gentlemen came from Baynard's Castle, entered the coach, and drovetoward Temple Bar. The girl said she followed the coach till she saw itturn into the Strand beyond Temple Bar; then she came to see me."

  "Did the girl say at what hour she saw the lady, Mistress Jones?" Iasked. "She probably did not catch the name Jennings."

  "She said it was two hours or more before she saw me," answered Betty."That would make it perhaps between one and two o'clock. I ought to havequestioned her more closely, but I feared to delay telling you, so I lefther in my parlor and came to see you as quickly as possible."

  "Brave Betty! Sweet Betty!" I exclaimed, rapturously. "I could find it inmy heart to kiss you a thousand times as a reward for your wisdom."

  "And I could find it in my heart to be content with other reward," sheanswered, though her words took a different meaning from the gentlepressure she gave my arm.

  "But tell me," asked Betty, "do you know where Mistress Jennings is?"

  "She is not to be found," I returned. "Beyond a doubt the lady in thecarriage was my cousin. You say it was perhaps one o'clock when the girlsaw her?"

  "Yes."

  "It is after three now, nearly four, and will soon be dark. We musthasten."

  We fairly ran to the Quaker's house, where we found Hamilton, who,forgetting his sacred calling, lapsed into the unholy manner of formerdays and used language which caused Betty to cover her ears with herhands. We did not, however, allow his profanity to delay us, but hastenedto the Cross, expecting to take a coach for the Old Swan. But none was tobe found, so we went to the river, where we were compelled to take anopen boat with a steersman and one oarsman. We made poor headway, havingto beat against the wind and the tide, so George and I each took an oar.After a time the man at the steering oar said that he would row if Georgeor I would steer the boat, but neither of us knew the river and thereforecould not take his place.

  Betty said that she knew the river, having kept a small boat since shewas strong enough to lift an oar, so she took the steering oar, and withfour sweeps out we sped along at a fine rate. I shall never forget thatwater ride. We seemed to be pulling uphill every fathom of the way. Theblack, oily waves, with their teethlike crests of white, rose above ourbow at every stroke of the sweeps, and when I looked behind me it seemedthat we must surely be engulfed.

  The snow, driven by the wind, swirled in angry blasts, and the damp, coldair chilled us to the bone. Our greatest danger would be when we came toland at the Bridge stairs, for the tide was pouring in through the archesof the Bridge and was falling in a great cataract just below the foot ofthe stairs. One false stroke of Betty's steering oar when we came toland, and our boat would be swamped. But she clung to the oar and broughtus safely to the stairs within a fathom of the breakers.

  We ran up Gracious Street and found the girl waiting in Betty's parlor.But Betty had told us all there was to be learned, so we gave the girl afew shillings and sent her home.

  "What shall we do?" asked Betty, feeling that she had earned a right tocouple herself with Hamilton and me by the pronoun "we."

  "I'll go to see Lilly," said Hamilton. "He lives in the Strand, not farfrom Temple Bar."

  "Why do you wish to see him?" I asked.

  "He will tell us where Frances is and how to find her. Will you go withme?" asked Hamilton.

  "Certainly," I responded, though I considered the visit a waste of time.

  "May I, too, go?" asked Betty, with the double motive, doubtless, ofhelping and seeing. Lilly, engaged in his incantations, would be aninsp
iring sight to her.

  "No, no, you may not go with us," answered Hamilton.

  Betty's eyes looked up to me entreatingly, so I took up her cause, andsuggested:--

  "Lilly may want to question her about what the girl said."

  "You are right," returned George. "Wrap yourself up well, Betty, and comealong. We'll take a coach to Lilly's."

  A porter soon brought us a coach, and Betty, having explained to herfather where and why she was going, climbed in with George and me, and wewere off.