WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY
Max's abrupt departure two days later was a great disappointment to
Win, who admired him greatly and coveted a closer acquaintance. That he
should cut short his stay on the plea of work to be done seemed
reasonable to the others but his going quite upset Win. Nor was this
disappointment lightened by a period of semi-invalidism when all
exertion was difficult and patience very far to seek. Not for some
weeks after Max left was Win able to take advantage of the Colonel's
prized invitation to use the Manor library.
He made his first visit, fully determined to broach the discovery of
Richard Lisle's letter to either the Colonel or his daughter, whichever
should appear, but Yvonne, who admitted him with a smiling welcome,
reported neither at home.
Nor did fortune favor his second attempt. The Colonel was in St.
Helier's and Constance entertaining a group of young people on the
lawn. Win dodged these visitors and from the library windows looked
down upon a lively set of tennis. Players and spectators alike seemed
to know one another extremely well. The inference Win drew was correct,
that for some reason, the little lady of the Manor chose just now to
crowd her life with social engagements and gay festivities.
Time had been when Win didn't care to watch others play games he could
not share, but Win was learning that every life has its compensations;
when one is debarred from one thing, he is sure to have another in its
place. Without envy Win watched them for a time before turning to the
books.
His third visit was made on a morning in early February when walking
was rather difficult owing to a penetrating rain. Wintry weather seemed
to have visited the Island, but the cold was deceptive, for though a
heavy coat was acceptable, plenty of flowers were in blossom, even a
number of surprised-looking roses.
On reaching the Manor, Win was admitted by cordial Yvonne, who at once
conducted him to his sanctuary. The room was empty, but a cheery fire
glowed on the hearth, and on the long bare black oak table stood an
enormous copper bowl full of fresh daffodils, making a spot of light
and beauty in the sombre room.
Win spent a few moments warming his hands at the fire and considering
thoughtfully the back of the old Psalter in which was shut Richard
Lisle's letter. Perhaps opportunity would favor him to-day, some chance
be provided to show that discovery to either Miss Connie or her father.
That its contents referred to Prince Charles was established beyond
doubt by the existing legend of his entertainment at the Manor, but the
letter said much more than that. Only some one thoroughly familiar with
the Manor and its possessions could interpret further. As the rain beat
on the terrace outside, Win chanced to look up at the portrait near the
fireplace, and instantly recalled that curious dream.
"I dreamed all that stuff just because I've always been crazy to go
treasure-hunting," he thought, "and because that old Cavalier was the
last thing I saw before I went to sleep. Well, I might go and read for
a while."
With a glance of admiration at some fine old armor passed on the way,
Win went into the farther room to settle himself on the comfortable
window seat with a fat history of the island of Jersey.
Fully an hour passed before the sound of low voices penetrated his
consciousness. Gradually he became aware that two people were now
occupying the seat before the smouldering fire. One was Constance
Lisle, the other some one Win had never seen before, a dark
distinguished-looking young man, evidently of foreign blood.
Connie was leaning back in the corner of the old settle, her white
dress and the neighboring bowl of daffodils standing out as high lights
in the shadowy surroundings. Her companion, beside her, was bending
slightly forward, his face turned eagerly toward hers.
Had he wished to listen, Win could not distinguish the low words. That
fact absolved him from the necessity of making his presence known, for
leave he could not without passing through the room. Presently the
young man raised his voice and Win realized that he was speaking in
Italian.
For the moment, interest in the present dismissed the past. Win had
heard the girls' chatter about their adored Miss Connie and the romance
attributed to her by Mrs. Trott, but boy-like, paid very little
attention to what he considered the foolish fancies of sentimental
kids. Now he was startled into sudden interest.
That stranger must be Miss Connie's Italian prince. Very handsome and
very much of a gentleman he looked and most earnest their conversation.
Yet even to an inexperienced observer, it was not that of two happy
young people, entering a sunny stretch of life, but of a boy and girl
confronted with some stern and very present problem. Connie's hands
were clasped too tightly, there was a sense of strain in the poise of
her head. Her companion's pose was one of perplexity and doubt.
Win remembered what else he had heard of that rumored engagement, not
much to be sure, save that strong pressure was being put upon the last
of the Santo-Pontes in order to secure the estates and title of a great
Roman house to the church of his ancestors.
Presently Win realized that he had no right even to look on. He turned
his face to the storm and again buried himself in his old volume.
A long time later he heard his name and Constance strolled alone
through the arch from the other room. She looked pale and tired but
otherwise composed.
"I didn't know you were here, Win," she said as she came to his chosen
window.
"I've been stuck in this book for ages. Miss Connie, I've found the
most interesting thing ever."
"What is it?" Connie inquired listlessly, wondering, but not
particularly caring whether Win knew of her interview with Louis di
Santo-Ponte. She looked sweet and wistful as she stood leaning against
the window seat, her mind down in the town where the boat for St. Malo
was getting up steam. "Tell me about it, Win," she added, recalling her
wandering thoughts. She liked Win as she liked most young people.
"Come and see," said Win, replacing his history in its case. Connie
accompanied him to the fireplace in the main room.
"Did you ever look at that book?" he inquired, indicating the worn old
Psalter.
"There are several thousand books here that I never looked at," said
Connie promptly. "Max is the one who browses in this part of the
library. Ah, he's been here lately, reading his horrid old German
philosophers." With an air of disgust she pointed to the blue-bound
modern volumes.
"What is this book that interests you so much!" she went on, taking It
from the shelf. "Oh, an old copy of the Psalms. Look at its odd type."
"It isn't the book that interests me," said Win, "but this paper. I
found it accidentally. Do read it, Miss Connie, and see what you make
of it."
After her first perusal, Constance grew as excited as Win. With the
deliberate purpose of putting her troubles from her mind, she
concentrated her attention on this discovery.
"The prince of course refers to Charles, because it is an historical
fact that he took refuge in Jersey," began Win.
"Yes, and there's the legend that he was entertained here at the
Manor," exclaimed Connie. "Why Dad will be crazy about this, for it
proves that story!"
"I hoped he'd be pleased," said Win happily.
"Oh, he will!" replied Connie. "Charles was just a boy, only sixteen,
at the time he fled from England."
"Ever since I saw two letters in the British Museum, Charles the Second
has seemed a very real person to me," said Win smiling. "Do you know
them, Miss Connie? One is from Queen Henrietta Maria to Prince Charles,
expressing great regret that the prince has refused to take the
'physick' prescribed for him, and hoping that he will consent to do so
on the following day, for if he didn't she should be obliged to come to
him and she trusted he would not give her that 'paine.' She had also
requested the Duke of Newcastle to report to her whether he took it or
not and so she 'rested.'
"But what I liked best," Win went on, "was the letter Prince Charles
wrote. He evidently didn't reply to his mother, but sent a note to the
Duke of Newcastle in which he flatly refused to take the 'physick' and
advised the Duke not to take any either!"
Connie laughed. "That does seem a touch of real boy nature, doesn't it?
But I'm afraid Prince Charles was rather a rotten young cub, not worth
the affection expended on him nor the good lives laid down in his
cause. The Richard Lisle who wrote this letter was my great-great--oh,
I don't know how many times removed--grandfather! It's plain that
Prince Charles came here to the Manor, was fed and provided with a
change, and escorted to the castle, probably Orgueil. But what the
'relicks' are and what the 'safe place,' I can't tell. Nor do I know
what is meant by the Spanish chest. If there was anything of that
description around the Manor I'd jolly well know it."
"Would Colonel Lisle know?" asked Win eagerly.
"I wonder, will he?" mused Connie after a pause spent in close scrutiny
of the document. "We'll ask. Anyway, he'll be awfully interested
because here it is in black and white that Prince Charles was brought
to the Manor. Win, it's storming desperately and I'm bored to death.
I'm going to send Pierre to St. Aubin's to tell your mother that you
won't be back for luncheon. We'll show Dad your find and bring our
united minds to bear on the problem."
Win was sorely tempted. The walk through the storm had taxed his
strength. Should he struggle back, the chances were that he would be
too tired for any lessons after his arrival.
"Your tutor won't matter, will he?" asked Connie. "You're not expected
to be so regular as Roger."
Wingate grinned. "I was thinking how angry Roger will be if he finds
himself the sole object of Bill Fish's attention this afternoon. Thank
you, Miss Connie. I want mightily to stay. I ought not to have come up
here today when it was storming, but since I'm here the wisest thing is
to wait for a time. And I'm wild to know what your father thinks of
this paper. I will send a note to Mother if I may."
"I'll write, too," said Constance, "and I shall tell her that we'll
keep you all night if the rain continues. I need somebody to play with
me, Win. I'm jolly glad you did brave the storm."