A great hum broke out in the Hall, when Dugdale swore that he had heard

with his own ears my Lord Stafford and others who had been present, give

their assent one by one to the King's murder. His Majesty himself, I was

told later by Mr. Chiffinch, retired to the back of his box to laugh,

when he heard that said; for neither then nor ever did he believe a word

of it.

Next came Mr. Oates; and he too reaffirmed what he had said before, with

an hundred ingenious additions and particularities as to times and

places--and this, I think, as much as anything was the reason why so

many simple folk had believed him in the first event.

Then Turberville, who said falsely that he had once been a friar, and at

Douay, related how my Lord, as he had said, had attempted to bribe him

to kill the King, and suchlike nonsense. This, he said, had happened in

France.

My Lord Stafford questioned the prisoners a little; and shewed up many

holes in their story. For instance, he asked Turberville whether he had

ever been in his chamber in Paris; and put this question through the

High Steward.

"Yes, my Lord, I have," said Turberville.

"What kind of a room is it?" asked my Lord.

"I can't remember that," said Turberville, who before had sworn he had

been in it many times.

"No," said my Lord, "I dare swear you can't."

"I cannot tell the particulars--what stools and chairs were in the

room."

* * * * *

On the third day, which was Thursday, my Lord was bidden to call his

witnesses and make his defence; and I must confess that he did not do

this very well; for, first he made a great pother about this and that

statute, of the 13 Charles II. and 25 Edward--nothing of which served

him at all; and next his witnesses did him harm rather than good; and

Dugdale, whom he examined was so clever and quiet and positive in his

statements that it was mere oath against oath. Third, my Lord Stafford

himself did appear a little confused as to whether he had known Dugdale

or not, not being sure of him, as he said, in his periwig; for when

Dugdale was bailiff to my Lord Aston at Tixall, he wore no such thing.

All that he did, in regard to Dugdale, was to shew by one of his

witnesses that Dugdale, when bailiff at Tixall, had been a mean

dishonest fellow; but then, as the Lord High Sheriff observed, it would

scarcely be an honest man whom one would bribe to kill the King.

When he dealt with Turberville too, he did not do much better; for he

stood continually upon little points of no importance--such points as a

witness may very well mistake--as to where the windows of his house in

Paris looked out, and whether the Prince of Conde lodged to right or

left--such little points as a lawyer would leave alone, if he could not

prove them positively.

On the fourth and fifth day I was not present; for I had a great deal to

do in writing my reports for Rome; and on the sixth day--which was

Monday--I was not there above an hour, for I saw that the trial would

not end that day. But on the Tuesday I was there before ten o'clock; and

at eleven o'clock my Lords came back to give judgment. It was a dark

morning, as it had been at the trial of the Jesuits; and the candles

were lighted.

As soon as all were seated my Lord Stafford was brought in; and I

observed him during all that followed. He stood very quiet at the bar,

with his hands folded; and although, before the voting was over, he must

have known which way it was gone, he flinched never a hair nor went

white at all. (His bringing in while the voting was done was contrary to

the law; but no one observed it; and I knew nothing of it till

afterwards.)

The Lord High Steward first asked humble leave from my Lords to sit down

as he spoke, as he was ailing a little, and then put the question to

each Lord, beginning with my Lord Butler of Weston.

"My Lord Butler of Weston," said he, "is William Lord Viscount Stafford

guilty of the treason whereof he stands impeached, or not guilty?"

And my Lord answered in a loud voice, laying his hand upon his breast:

"Not guilty, upon my honour."

There were in all eighty-six lords who voted; and each answered, Guilty,

or Not Guilty, upon his honour, as had done the first, each standing up

in his place. At the first I could not tell on which side lay the most;

but as they went on, there could be no doubt that he was condemned.

Prince Rupert, Duke of Cumberland, voted last, as he was of royal blood,

and gave it against him.

The Lord High Sheriff, who had marked down each vote upon a paper on his

desk, now added them all up: and there was a great silence while he did

this. (I could see him doing it from where I sat.) Then he spoke in a

loud voice, raising his head.

"My Lords," said he, "upon telling your votes I find that there are

thirty-one of my Lords that think the prisoner not guilty, and

fifty-five that have found him guilty--Serjeant," said he; and then I

think that he was about to call for the prisoner, when he saw him

already there. Then, before he spoke again, I saw the headsman turn the

edge of the axe towards my Lord Stafford; and a rustle of whispering ran

through the Hall.

"My Lord Stafford," said the High Steward, "I have but heavy tidings for

you: your Lordship hath been impeached for high treason; you have

pleaded not guilty: my Lords have heard your defence, and have

considered of the evidence; and their Lordships do find you guilty of

the treason whereof you are impeached."

Then my Lord Stafford, raising his head yet higher, and flinching not at

all, cried out:

"God's holy name be praised, my Lords, for it!"

Then the Lord High Steward asked him why judgment of death should not be

given on him; and after saying that he had not expected it, and that he

prayed God to forgive those that had sworn falsely against him, he went

on, as before, upon a legal point--that was wholly without relevance--

that he had not been forced to hold up his hand at the beginning as he

thought to be a legal form in all trials; and when he had said that, my

Lords went out to consider their judgment.

It was above an hour before they came back. During that hour my Lord

Stafford was permitted to sit down in the box provided for him; but no

one was admitted to speak with him. He sat very still, leaning his head

upon his hand.

When all were come back again, he was made to stand up at the bar once

more; and his face was as resolute and quiet as ever.

Then, when the Lord High Steward had answered his point, saying that in

no way did the holding up of the hand affect the legality of the trial;

he began to give sentence.

"My part, therefore, which remains," said he, "is a very sad one. For I

never yet gave sentence of death upon any man, and am extremely sorry

that I must begin with your Lordship."

My Lord Nottingham was silent for an instant when he had said that,

seeking, I think, to command his voice: and then he began his speech,

which I think he had learned by heart; and it was one of the most moving

discourses that I have ever heard, though he committed a great indecency

in it, when he said that henceforth no man could ever doubt again that

it was the Papists who had burned London; and professed himself--(though

this I suppose he was bound to do)--satisfied with the evidence.

When he came to give sentence, I watched my Lord Stafford's face again

very hard; and he flinched never a hair. It was the same sentence as

that to which the Jesuits too had listened, and many other Catholics.

"You go to the place," said my Lord Nottingham, "from whence you came;

from thence you must be drawn upon a hurdle to the place of execution:

when you come there you must be hanged up by the neck there, but not

till you are dead; for you must be cut down alive, your bowels ripped up

before your face and thrown into the fire. Then your head must be

severed from your body; and your body divided into four quarters, and

these must be at the disposal of the King. And God Almighty be merciful

to your soul!"

There was a moment of silence; and then my Lord Stafford answered.

"My Lords," he said quietly, yet so that every word was heard, "I humbly

beseech you give me leave to speak a few words: I do give your

Lordships hearty thanks for all your favours to me. I do here, in the

presence of God Almighty, declare I have no malice in my heart to them

that have condemned me. I know not who they are, nor desire to know: I

forgive them all, and beseech your Lordships all to pray for me--" (His

voice shook a little, and he was silent. Then he went on again. All else

were as still as death.)

"My Lords, I have one humble request to make to your Lordships, and that

is, my Lords, that the little short time I have to live a prisoner, I

may not be a close prisoner as I have been of late; but that Mr.

Lieutenant may have an order that my wife and children and friends may

come at me. I do humbly beg this favour of your Lordships, which I hope

you will be pleased to give me."

His voice grew very low as he ended; and I saw his lips shake a little.

The Lord High Steward answered him with great feeling.

"My Lord Stafford," he said--(and that was an unusual thing to say,

for he had said before that since he was to be attainted he could not be

called My Lord again)--"I believe I may, with my Lords' leave, tell you

one thing further; that my Lords, as they proceed with rigour of

justice, so they proceed with all the mercy and compassion that may be;

and therefore my Lords will be humble suitors to the King, that he will

remit all the punishment but the taking off of your head."

And at that my Lord Stafford broke down altogether, and sobbed upon the

rail; and it is a terrible thing to see an old man weep like that. When

he could command his voice, he said:

"My Lords, your justice does not make me cry, but your goodness."

Then my Lord Nottingham stood up, and taking the staff of office that

lay across his desk, he broke it in two halves. When I looked again, the

prisoner was going out between his guards, and the axe before, with its

edge turned towards him in token of death.

* * * * *

I was at Mr. Chiffinch's again that night to hear the news; but he was

not there. When he came in at last, he appeared very excited. Then he

told me the news.

"They are at His Majesty already," he said, "that he cannot remit the

penalty of High Treason. But the King swears that he will, law or no

law, judges or no judges. I have never seen him so determined. He does

not believe one word of the evidence."

"Yet he will sign the warrant for the beheading?" I asked.

"Why," said Mr. Chiffinch, "His Majesty does not wish to go upon his

travels again."

CHAPTER VII

The night before I went down to Hare Street,--for I went on Christmas

Eve--I was present for the first time at the high supper in Whitehall,

which His Majesty gave to the Spanish Ambassador. I had never been at

such a ceremony before; and went out of curiosity only, being given

admission to one of the stands by the door, whence I might see it all.

It would have appeared very strange to me that the King could be so

merry, as he was that night, when so much innocent blood had been shed

upon his own warrant, and when such a man, as my Lord Stafford was, lay

in the Tower, expecting his death six days later;--had I not known the

nature of His Majesty pretty well by now. For, beneath all the

merriment, I think he was not very happy, though he never shewed a sign

of it.

I stood, as I said, upon a little scaffold to the right of the entrance;

and I was glad of it; for there was a great pack of people crowded in,

as the custom was, also to see the spectacle; and they were all about me

and in front, as well as in the gallery where the music was.

The Banqueting Hall had its walls all hung over with very rich tapestry,

representing all kinds of merry scenes of hunting and fighting and the

like, and there were great presses along the walls, piled with plate of

gold and silver. The music was all on the balusters above--wind-music,

trumpets and kettledrums, that played as Their Majesties came in, after

the heralds and Black Rod. I had not had before an opportunity of seeing

the Queen so well as I saw her now; and I watched her closely, for I was

sorry for the poor woman. She was very gloriously dressed in a pale

brocade, with quantities of Flanders lace upon her shoulders and at her

elbows, that set off her little figure very well. She was very handsome,

I thought, though so little; and her complexion and her face were both

very good, except that her teeth shewed too much as she smiled. She

had, however, nothing of that witty or brilliant air about her that

pleased the King so much in women; and she sat very quietly throughout

supper, beside the King, not speaking a great deal. But I thought I saw

in her at first a very piteous desire to please him; and he listened,

smiling, as a man might listen to a dull child; and, indeed, I think

that that was all that he thought of her. His Majesty himself appeared

very noble and gallant, in His Order of the Garter, and with the Golden

Fleece too, over his rich suit. Both Their Majesties wore a good number

of jewels.

Their Majesties sat at a little high table, under a state, with their

gentlemen and ladies standing behind them; and the Spaniards, with the

King's other guests at a table that ran down the middle of the hall, yet

close enough at the upper end for the Ambassador and the King to speak

together. My Lord Shaftesbury was there; and it was strange to see him,

I knowing how much he was privately under His Majesty's displeasure, and

Prince Rupert, very fat and pale and stupid; and Sir Thomas Killigrew

and a score of others. His Majesty was served by the Lords and

pensioners; and the rest by pages and the like, and gentlemen. About the

middle of the dinner toasts were drunk--and first of all His Majesty's,

and the trumpets sounded and the music played, all standing, and when

they were sat down again I heard the guns shot off at the Tower; and I

thought of him who lay there, and how he heard them near at hand, and

how he might have been here, supping with the Spaniards, had he not

fallen under the popular displeasure on account of his religion. It was

a wonderful thing to see the toast drunk, all that company standing upon

its feet, and shouting.

When the banquet came in, and the French wines, a very curious scene of

disorder presently began--these gentlemen flinging the dessert about

and at one another, for they were beginning to be a little drunk: and I

saw Killigrew fling a bunch of raisins at one of the Spaniards, in

sport. His Majesty sat smiling throughout, not at all displeased; but

not drunk at all himself; and indeed he seldom or never drank to excess

nor gamed to excess, though he loved to see others do so.

At the end, when all was finished, a choir under the direction of the

King's Master of Music sang a piece very sweetly from the gallery, with

the wind music sounding softly; but no one paid the least attention; and

then we all stood up again, such as had seats on the scaffolds, to see

Their Majesties go out. But such a scene as it all was, when the fruit

and sweetmeats were flung about would not have been tolerated in Rome,

nor, I think in any Court in Europe.

The next morning, very early, James and I set out for Hare Street.

* * * * *

Now the determination had been forming in my mind for some weeks past,

that I would delay no longer in that which lay nearer to my heart by

now, I think, than all politics or missions or anything else; and that

was to ask my Cousin Dolly if she would have me or no; and all the way

down to Hare Street I was considering this and rehearsing what I should

say. I still had some hesitation upon the point, for I remembered how

strange and shy she had been when I had last been there, and had thought

it to be because perhaps she believed that she was being flung at me by

her father. But the memory of my jealousy had worked upon me very much

--that jealousy, I mean, that I had had when His Grace of Monmouth had

come and made his pretty speeches; and I was all but resolved to put all

to the test, one way or the other. I had thought of her continually: in

all that I had seen--in even the sorrowful affair in Westminster Hall

and the merry business a fortnight after at the supper--I had seen it,

so to say, all through her eyes and wondered how she would judge of it

all, and wished her there. The sting of my jealousy indeed was gone: I

reproached myself for having thought ill of her even for a moment; yet

the warmth was still there; and so it was in this mood that I came at

last to the house, at supper-time.

It was extraordinary merry and pretty within. Neither was below stairs

when I came; for my Cousin Tom was in the cellar, and my Cousin Dolly in

the kitchen; and when I went into the Great Chamber it was all

untenanted. But the walls were hung all over with wreaths and holly: and

there were wax candles in the sconces all ready for lighting the next

day. But the parlour, where were the hangings of the Knights of the

Grail was even more pretty; for there were hung streamers across the

ceiling, from corner to corner, and a great bunch of mistletoe united

them at the centre.

As I was looking at this my Cousin Dolly ran in, her hands all over

flour; and as I saw her--"Here," I said to myself, "is the place where

it shall be done."

She could not touch me or kiss me, because of the flour; but she

permitted me to kiss her, my cold lips against her warm cheek; and her

eyes were as stars for merriment. There is something very strange and

mystical about Christmas, to me--(which I think is why the Puritans were

so savage against it)--for I suppose that the time in which our Lord was

born as a little Child, makes children of us all, that we may understand

Him better.

"Well, you are come then!" said Dolly to me--"and we not ready for you."

"I am ready enough for home," said I. And she smiled very friendly at me

for that word.

"I am glad you call it that," said she.

* * * * *

There was but a little dried fish and rice for supper that night, as it

was a fast day; but the supper of Christmas Eve is always a kind of

sacramental for me, when midnight mass is to follow. There was no

midnight mass for us that Christmas, nor any mass at all; though I

suppose it was celebrated as usual in the Ambassadors' chapels, and the

Queen's: yet the supper had yet that air of mystery and expectancy about

it.

"We are all to dance to-morrow night," said Dolly.

"So that is why the floor is cleared in the Great Chamber," I said.

She nodded at me. She looked more of a child than I had ever seen her.

"Will you dance with me, Dolly?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "but my first is with my father."

I told them presently, though it was but a melancholy tale for Christmas

Eve, of my Lord Stafford's trial, and all that I had seen there; and of

the supper last night in Whitehall.

"My Lord is to be beheaded in five days," I said. "We must pray for his

soul. He will die as bravely as he has lived; I make no doubt."

"And you have no doubt of his innocence?" asked Cousin Tom.

I stared on him.

"Why no," I said, "nor any man, except those paid to believe his guilt."

He pressed me to tell him more of what I had seen in London; and whether

I had seen the Duke of Monmouth again.

"He is in Holland," I said, "under His Majesty's displeasure. But I saw

Her Grace of Portsmouth."

"Why, that is his friend, is it not?" asked Tom.

"Yes," I said, "and a poor friend to his father and the Duke of York."

* * * * *

The next night was a very merry one.

We had dined at noon as usual: and that was pretty merry too; for all

the servants dined with us, and the men from the farm and their wives.

It was sad to have had no mass at all; and all that we had instead of it

was the sound of the bells from Hormead, from the church that had been

our own a hundred and fifty years ago--which was worse than nothing. At

dinner we observed the usual ceremonial, with the drinking of healths

and the burning of candles; and Dolly and her father and her maid sang a

grace at the beginning and end--with a carol or two afterwards that was

a surprise to me. It was very homely and friendly and Christian; and I

saw my man James with his arm around one of the dairymaids--which is

pretty Christian too, I think. We kept it up till it was near time to

get supper ready, telling of stories all the while about the fire in the

old way. Some of them were poor enough; but some were good. Dick, the

cow-man, whom we had long suspected of poaching, exposed himself very

sadly, when the ale was in him, by relating a number of poaching tricks

I had never heard before. One was of how to catch stares, or shepsters,

when they fly up and down, as they do before lodging in a thicket. Then

you must turn out, said Dick, a quick stare with a limed thread of three

yards long, when she will fly straight to the rest, and, flocking among

them, will infallibly bring down at least one or two, and perhaps five

or six, all entangled in her thread. And another was how to take wild

ducks. Go into the water, said he, up to the neck, with a pumpkin put

over your head, and whilst the ducks come up to eat the seeds, you may

take them by the legs and pull them under quietly, one by one, till they

be drowned. But I would not like to do that in cold weather; and indeed

it seems to me altogether like that other method by which you take larks

by a-putting of salt upon their tails. I asked Dick, very serious,

whether he had tried that plan; and he said he had not, but that a

friend had told him of it; and the company became very merry.

There were other tales too, more grave than these, of sacrilege, and

suchlike. One, which my man James told, was of a man who took an altar

stone from an old church, to press cheeses with; but the cheeses ran

blood; so they took it from that and put it in the laundry to bat the

linen on. But at night, such a sound of batting was heard continually

from the laundry--and no one there--that the man took it back again to

the church, and buried it in the churchyard. And another was of two men

who had thrown down a village-cross upon a bowling-green; and when one

of them next day tried to move it from there, for the playing--he being

a very strong man, and lifting it on end--it fell upon him, backwards,

and crushed his breast, so that he never spoke again. And there were

many tales told of church-lands; and how my Lord Strafford, that was

beheaded, before his death told his son to get rid of them all, for that

they brought a curse always upon them that held them. And there was

another story told at the end by a man from the farm who had been in

London at the time, and had seen it for himself--how my Lords

Castlehaven and Arran, in St. James' Park, did, for a wager, kill a

strong buck in His Majesty's presence, by running on foot, and each with

a knife only. They took nearly three hours to do it in, but the wager

was for six, so they won that. They killed him at last in Rosamund's

Pond, having driven him in there with stones. I could well believe this

latter tale, and that the thing had been done in the king's presence,

having seen what I had at supper two nights before.

* * * * *

When we came into the Great Chamber after supper all was ready for the

dancing; and Mr. Thompson, who was the Hormead schoolmaster, and a

concealed Catholic--though he went to the church with the children and

did teach them their religion, for his living--was at the spinet to

which we were to dance. There was a fellow also to play the fiddle, and

another for a horn.

The dancing was very pretty to see; and we did a great number, beginning

as the custom is, with country dances; and it was in the first of these

that my Cousin Dolly did dance with her father, and I with Dolly's maid.

We were all dressed too, not indeed in our best, but in our second

best--with silk stockings, and the farm men and the maids were in

their Sunday clothes. But each one had put on something for the

occasion; one had a pair of buckled shoes of a hundred years old, and

another an old ring. My Cousin Tom and I wore our own hair, and no

periwigs. My Cousin Dolly was very pretty in her grey sarcenet, with her

little pearls, and her hair dressed in a new fashion.

It was all very sweet to me, for it was so natural and without

affectation; and it all might have been a hundred years ago before the

old customs went out and the new came in from France, in which men pay

dancers to dance, instead of doing it for themselves. The room was very

well decked, and the candles lighted all round the walls; and when some

of the greenery fell down and was trodden underfoot, the smell of it was

very pleasant. A little fire was on the hearth--not great, lest we

should be too hot.

We danced country dances first, as I have said; and then my Cousin Dolly

shewed us one or two town dances, and I danced a sarabande in her

company; but then as the rest of the folk liked the country dances the

best, we went back to these.

Presently I saw my Cousin Dolly go out, and went after her to ask if she

needed anything.

"No," said she, "only to get cool again."

"Come into the parlour," said I; and made her come with me. This too had

a couple of candles burning over the hearth, and a little fire, for any

who wished to come in; but it was empty, for even my Cousin Tom was

disporting himself next door in a round dance that had but just begun.

Then it was that all my resolution came to a point; for all

circumstances looked that way--my determination to speak, the blessed

time of Christmas, the extraordinary kindness of Dolly to me all day,

and the very place empty, yet lighted and waiting, as if by design.

For a moment after she had sat down on one side of the hearth, and I on

the other, I could not speak; for I seemed to myself all shaking, and

again she looked such a child, with her pale cheeks flushed with the

exercise, and her eyes alight with merriment. All went before me in that

moment--my old thought that I was to be a monk, my leaving the

novitiate, my mission from Rome, such as it was, and the work I had been

able to do for the King. To all this I must say good-bye; and yet this

price I should pay seemed to me scarcely to be considered as weighed

against this little maid. So it went by me like a picture, and was gone,

and I looked up.

There was that in my air, I suppose, and the way I looked at her, that

told her what my meaning was; for before I had spoken even a syllable

she was on her feet again, and the flush was stricken from her face.

"Oh! no! Cousin Roger," she cried. "No, no, Cousin Roger!

"It is Yes, Yes, Cousin Dolly," said I. "Or at least I hope so." (I said

this with more assurance than I shewed, for if I was sure of anything it

was that she loved me in return. And I stood up and leaned on the

chimney-breast.)

She stood there, staring on me; and the flush crept back.

"What have I said?" she whispered.

"You need say nothing more, my dear, except what I bid you. My dear

love, you have guessed just what it was that I had to say. Sit down

again, if you please, Cousin, while I tell you."

As I looked at her, a very curious change came across her face. I saw it

at once, but I did not think upon it till afterwards. She had been a

very child just now, in her terror that I should speak--just that

terror, I should suppose, that every maid must have when a man first

speaks to her of love. Yet, as I looked, that terror went from her face,

and her wide eyes narrowed a little as she brought down her brows, and

her parted lips closed. It was, I thought, just that she had conquered

herself, and set herself to hear what I had to say, before answering me

as I wished. She moved very slowly back to her chair, and sat down,

crossing her hands on her lap. That was all that I thought it was, so

little did I know women's hearts, and least of all hers.

I remained yet a moment longer, leaning my forehead on my hand, and my

hand flat upon the tapestry, staring into the red logs, and considering

how to say what I had to say with the least alarm to her. I felt--though

I am ashamed to say it--as it were something of condescension towards

her. I knew that it was a good match for her, for had not her father

drilled that into me by a hundred looks and hints? I knew that I was

something considerable, and like to be more so, and that I was

sacrificing a good deal for her sake. And then a kind of tenderness

came over me as I thought how courageous she was, and good and simple,

and I put these other thoughts away, and turned to her where she sat

with the firelight on her chin and brows and hair, very rigid and still.

"Dolly, my dear," I said, "I think you know what I have to say to you.

It is that I love you very dearly, as you must have seen--"

She made a little quick movement as if to speak.

"Wait, cousin," I said, "till I have done. I tell you that I love you

very dearly, and honor you, and can never forget what you did for me.

And I am a man of a very considerable estate and a Catholic; so there is

nothing to think of in that respect. And your father too will be

pleased, I know; and we are--"

Again she made that little quick movement; and I stopped.

"Well, my dear?"

She looked up at me very quietly.

"Well, Cousin Roger; and what then?"

That confused me a little; for I had thought that she had understood.

And then I thought that perhaps she too was confused.

"Why, my dear," I said very patiently as I thought, as one would speak

to a child, "I am asking you if you will be my wife."

I turned away from the fire altogether, and faced her, thinking I should

have her in my arms. But at first she said nothing at all, but sat

immovable, scrutinizing me, I thought, as if to read all that was in my

head and heart. But it was all new to me, for what did I know of love

except that it was very strange and sweet? So I waited for her answer.

That answer came.

"Cousin Roger," she said in a very low voice, "I am very sorry you have

spoken as you have--"

I straightened myself suddenly and looked at her more closely. She had

not moved at all, except her face. A kind of roaring murmur began to

fill my ears.

"Because," said she--and every word of hers now was pain to

me--"because there is but one answer that I can give, which is No."

"Why--" cried I.

"You have spoken very kindly and generously. But--" and at this her

voice began to ring a little--"but I am not what you think me--a maid to

be flung at the head of any man who will choose to take her."

"Cousin!" cried I; and then she was on her feet too, her face all

ablaze.

"Yes, Cousin!" cried she; "and never any more than that. You have acted

very well, Cousin Roger; and I thank you for that compliment--that you

thought it worth while to play the part--and for your great kindness to

a poor country maid. I had thought it to be all over long ago--before

you went away; or I would not have behaved as I have. But since you have

considered it again carefully, and chosen to--to insult me after all; I

have no answer at all to give, except No, a thousand times over."

"Why, Cousin--" I began again.

She stamped her foot. I could not have imagined she could be so angry.

"Wait till I have done," she said--"I do not know what my father thinks

of me; but I suppose that you and he have designed all this; and led me

on to make a fool of myself--Oh! Let me go! let me go!"

Oh! the triple fool that I was! Yet who had ever taught me the ways of

love, or what women mean, or what their hearts are like? If I had been

one half the man that I thought myself, I would have seized her there,

and forced back her foolishness with kisses, and vowed that, conspirator

or not, she must have me; that we knew one another too well to play

false coin like this. Or I should have blazed at her in return; and told

her that she lied in thinking I was as base as that. Why, I should have

just borne myself like a lover to whom love is all, and dignity and

wounded pride nothing; for what else is there but love, sacred or

profane, in the whole world that God has made? If I had done that! If

only I had done that then! But I suppose that I was no lover then.

So I drew back, smarting and wounded; and let her go by; and a minute

later I heard the door of her chamber slam behind her, and the key turn.

* * * * *

For myself I went out very slowly, five minutes after, and upstairs to

my own chamber, and began to consider what things I must take with me on

the morrow; for I would not stay another day in the house where I had

been so insulted and denied.

CHAPTER VIII

Pride is a very good salve, when one has no humility; and it was Pride

that I applied to myself to heal the wounds I had.

I came down again to the Great Chamber, half an hour later, very cold

and dignified, and danced again, like the solemn fool that I was, first

with one and then with another; and all the while I told myself, like

the prophet that "I did well to be angry"; and that I would shew her

that no man, of my ability, could depend upon any mere woman for his

content. Yet the pain at my heart was miserable.

It is very near incredible to me now how I, who truly knew something of

the world, and of men and of affairs, could be so childish and ignorant

in a matter of this sort. In truth this was what I was; I knew nothing

of true love at all; how therefore should I be a proper lover? I saw my

Cousin Tom, who mopped himself a great deal, eyeing me now and again;

and he presently came up and asked me where Dolly was.

"In her chamber, I think," said I, with my nose in the air; and with

such a manner that he said no more.

It was enough to break my heart to continue dancing; but it was the task

I had set myself upstairs; and till near ten o'clock we continued to

dance--but no Dolly to help us. I had even determined how I should bear

myself if she came--and how superb should be my dignity; but she did not

come to see it. We ended with singing "Here's a health unto His

Majesty"; and I took care that my voice should be loud so that she

should hear it. (I had even, poor fool that I was! walked heavily past

her chamber-door just now, that she might hear me go.)

When all were gone away at last, I waited for my Cousin Tom, and then

went with him into the parlour; where I told him very briefly all that

had passed, with the same dignity that I had set myself to preserve. I

even spoke in a high sort of voice, to shew my self-command and

detachment. My Cousin Tom appeared as if thunderstruck.

"Good God!" said he. "The minx! to behave like that!"

"It is no longer any concern of mine," I said. "For myself I shall go

back to town to-morrow."

"But--" began he.

"My dear Cousin," I said, "it is the only thing that I can do--to set to

work again. Mistress Dorothy must recover herself alone. I could not

expect her to tolerate such a personage as I must appear in her eyes."

"But you will came back again," said Tom. "And I'll talk to the chit as

she deserves."

I preserved my lofty attitude.

"That again," said I, "is no concern of mine. And as for coming back,

when Mistress Dorothy has found her a husband whom she can respect--we

may perhaps consider it."

He sat very silent for a while after that; and I know now, though I did

not know then, what was the design he was considering--at least I

suppose it was then that he saw it clear before him. At the time I

thought he was giving his attention to myself; and I wondered a little

that he did not press me again to stay, though I would not have done so.

It was a very desolate morning when I awakened next day, and knew what

had happened, and that I must go away again from the house I had learned

so much to love; but there was no help for it; and, as I put on my

clothes, I put on my pride with them; and came down very cold and

haughty to get my "morning" as we called it, in the dining-room before

riding; and there in the dining-room was my Cousin Dolly, whom I had

thought to be in her chamber, as the door was shut when I came past it.

We bade one another good morning very courteously indeed; but we gave no

other salute to one another. She knew last night that I was going, as my

Cousin Tom had told her maid to tell her; and I was surprised that she

was there. Presently I had an explanation of it.

"Cousin Roger," said she, "I was very angry last night; and I wished to

tell you I was sorry for that, and for the hard words I used, before you

went away."

I bowed my head very dignifiedly.

"And I, too," I said, "must ask your pardon for so taking you by

surprise. I thought--" and then I ceased.

She had looked a little white and tired, I thought; but she flushed

again with anger when I said that.

"You thought it would be no surprise," she said.

"I did not say so, Cousin," said I. "You have no right to interpret--"

"But you thought it."

I drank my ale.

"Oh! what you must think of me!" she cried in a sudden passion; and ran

out of the room.

* * * * *

I think that was the most disconsolate journey I have ever taken. It was

a cold morning, with a fine rain falling: my man James was disconsolate

too (and I remembered the dairy-maid, when I saw it), and I was leaving

the one place I had begun to think of as my home, and her who had so

much made it home to me. I had not even seen her again before I went;

and our last words had been of anger; and of that chopping kind of

argument that satisfies no one.

I tried to distract myself with other thoughts--of what I was going

to; for I had determined to go straight to Whitehall and ask for some

employment; yet back and back again came the memories, and little scenes

of the house, and the appearance of the Great Chamber when it was all

lit up, and of the figure of that little maid who had so angered me, and

the way she carried her head, and the turns of her hand--and how happy

we all were yesterday about this time. However, I need not enlarge upon

that. Those that have ever so suffered will know what I thought, without

more words; and those who have not suffered would not understand, though

I used ten thousand. And every step of all the way to London, which we

reached about six o'clock, spoke to me of her with whom I had once

ridden along it. As we came up into Covent Garden I turned to my man

James and gave him more confidence than I had ever given to him

before--for I think that he knew what had happened.

"James," said I, "this is a very poor home-coming; but it is not my

fault."

* * * * *

Though fortune so far had been against me, I must confess that it

favoured me a little better afterwards, for when I went in to Mr.

Chiffinch's on the next morning, he gave me the very news that I wished

to hear.

"Mr. Mallock," he said, "you are the very man I most wished to see.

There is a great pother in France again. I do not know all the ins and

outs of the affair; but His Majesty is very anxious. He spoke of you

only this morning, Mr. Mallock."

My heart quickened a little. In spite of my pain it was a pleasure to

hear that His Majesty had spoken of me; for I think my love to him was

very much more deep, in one way, though not in another, than even to

Dolly herself.

"Mr. Chiffinch," said I, "I will be very plain with you. I have had a

disappointment; and I came back to town--"

He whistled, with a witty look.

"The pretty cousin?" he said.

I could not afford to quarrel with him, but I could keep my dignity.

"That is my affair, Mr. Chiffinch. However--there is the fact. I am come

to town for this very purpose--to beg for something to do. Will His

Majesty see me?"

He looked at me for an instant; then he thought better, I think, of any

further rallying.

"Why I am sure he will. But it will not be for a few days, yet. There is

a hundred businesses at Christmas. Can you employ yourself till then?"

"I can kick my heels, I suppose," said I, "as well as any man."

"That will do very well," said Mr. Chiffinch. "But I warn you, that I

think it will be a long affair. His Majesty hath entangled himself

terribly, and Monsieur Barillon is furious."

"The longer the better," said I.

On the twenty-ninth I went down to see my Lord Stafford die. I was in so

distracted a mood that I must see something, or go mad; for I had heard

that it would not be until the evening of that day that His Majesty

would see me, and that I must be ready to ride for Dover on the next

morning. Mr. Chiffinch had told me enough to shew that the business

would be yet more subtle and delicate than the last; and that I might

expect some very considerable recognition if I carried it through

rightly. I longed to be at it. One half of my longing came from the

desire to occupy my mind with something better than my poor bungled

love-affairs; and the other half from a frantic kind of determination to

shew my Mistress Dolly that I was better than she thought me; and that I

was man enough to attend to my affairs and carry them out competently,

even if I were not man enough to marry her. It must be understood that I

shewed no signs of this to anyone, and scarcely allowed it even to

myself; but speaking with that honesty which I have endeavoured to

preserve throughout all these memoirs, I am bound to say that my mind

was in very much that condition of childish anger and resentment. I had

a name as a strong man: God only knew how weak I was; for I did not even

know it myself.

* * * * *

There was a great crowd on Tower Hill to see my Lord Stafford's

execution; for not only was he well known, although, as I have said, not

greatly beloved; but the rumours were got about--and that they were true

enough I knew from Mr. Chiffinch--that he had said very strange things

about my Lord Shaftesbury, and how he could save his own life if he

willed, not by confessing anything of which he himself had been accused,

but by relating certain matters in which my Lord Shaftesbury was

concerned. However, he did not; yet the tale had gone about that perhaps

he would; and that a reprieve might come even upon the scaffold itself.

When I came to Tower Hill on horseback, about nine o'clock, the crowd

covered the most of it; but I drove my horse through a little, so that

I could have a fair sight both of the scaffold, and of the way, kept

clear by soldiers, along which the prisoner must come.

I had not been there above a few minutes, when a company went by, and in

the midst the two sheriffs, on horseback, whose business it was to carry

through the execution; and they drew up outside the gate, to preserve

the liberties of the Tower. While they were waiting, I watched those

that were upon the scaffold--two writers to take down all that was said;

and the headsman with his axe in a cloth--but this he presently

uncovered--and the block which he laid down upon the black baize put

ready for it, and for the prisoner to lie down upon. Then the coffin was

put up behind, with but the two letters W.S. as I heard afterwards: and

the year 1680.

Then, as a murmur broke out in the crowd, I turned; and there was my

Lord coming along, walking with a staff, between his guards, with the

sheriffs--of whom Mr. Cornish was one and Mr. Bethell the other--and the

rest following after.

When my Lord was come up on the scaffold, the headsman had gone again;

but he asked for him and gave him some money at which the man seemed

very discontented, whereupon he gave him some more. It is a very curious

custom this--but I think it is that the headsman may strike straight,

and not make a botch of it.

When my Lord turned again I could see his face very plainly. He wore a

peruke, and his hat upon that. He was in a dark suit, plain but rich;

and had rings upon his fingers, which I could see as he spoke. He was

wonderfully upright for a man of his age; and his face shewed no

perturbation at all, though it was more fallen than I had thought.

He read all his speech, very clearly, from a paper he took out of his

pocket; but as he delivered copies of it to the Sheriffs and the

writers--(and it was put in print, too, on the very same day by two

o'clock)--I need not give it here. He declared his innocence most

emphatically; calling God to witness; and he thanked God that his death

was come on him in such a way that he could prepare himself well for

eternity; but he did not thank the King for remitting the penalties of

treason, as he might have done. He made no great references, as was

expected that he would, to disclosures that he might have made; but only

in general terms. He denied most strongly that it was any part of the

Catholic Religion to give or receive indulgences for murder or for any

other sin; and he ended by committing his soul into the hands of Jesus

Christ, by whose merits and passion he hoped to be saved. His voice was

thin, but very clear for so old a man; and the crowd listened to him

with respect and attention. I think all those Catholic deaths and the

speeches that the prisoners make will by and by begin to affect public

opinion, and lead men to reflect that those who stand in the immediate

presence of God, are not likely, one after another, to go before Him

with lies upon their lips.

When he was done he distributed the copies of his speech, and then

presently kneeled down, and read a prayer or two. They were in Latin,

but I could not hear the words distinctly.

When he rose up again, all observing him, he went to the rail and spoke

aloud.

"God bless you, gentlemen!" he said. "God preserve His Majesty; he is as

good a prince as ever governed you; obey him as faithfully as I have

done, and God bless you all, gentlemen!"

It was very affecting to hear him speak so, for he did it very

emphatically; but even then one of their ministers that was on the

scaffold would not let him be.

"Sir," he asked, speaking loud all across the scaffold, "do you disown

the indulgences of the Romish Church?"

My Lord turned round suddenly in a great passion.

"Sir!" he cried. "What have you to do with my religion? However, I do

say that the Church of Rome allows no indulgences for murder, lying and

the like; and whatever I have said is true."

"What!" cried the minister. "Have you received no absolution?"

"I have received none at all," said my Lord, more quietly; meaning of

the kind that the minister meant, for I have no doubt at all that he

made his confession in the Tower.

"You said that you never saw those witnesses?" asked the minister, who,

I think, must have been a little uneasy.

"I never saw any of them," said my Lord, "but Dugdale; and that was at a

time when I spoke to him about a foot-boy." (This was at Tixall, when

Dugdale was bailiff there to my Lord Aston.)

They let him alone after that; and he immediately began to prepare

himself for death. First he took off his watch and his rings, and gave

them to two or three of his friends who were on the scaffold with him.

Then he took his staff which was against the rail, and gave that too;

and last his crucifix, which he took, with its chain, from around his

neck.

His man then came up to him, and very respectfully helped him off with

his peruke first, and then his coat, laying them one on the other in a

corner. My Lord's head looked very thin and shrunken when that was done,

as it were a bird's head. Then his man came up again with a black silk

cap to put his hair under, which was rather long and very grey and thin;

and he did it. And then his man disposed his waistcoat and shirt,

pulling them down and turning them back a little.

Then my Lord looked this way and that for an instant; and then went

forward to the black baize, and kneeled on it, with his man's help, and

then laid himself down flat, putting his chin over the block which was

not above five or six inches high.

Yet no one moved--and the headsman stood waiting in a corner, with his

axe. One of the sheriffs--Mr. Cornish, I think it was--said something to

the headsman; but I could not hear what it was; and then I saw my Lord

kneel upright again, and then stand up. I think he was a little deaf,

and had not heard what was said.

"Why, what do you want?" he said.

"What sign will you give?" asked Mr. Cornish.

"No sign at all. Take your own time. God's will be done," said my Lord;

and again applied himself to the block, his man helping him as before,

and then standing back.

"I hope you forgive me," said the headsman, before he was down.

"I do," said my Lord; and that was the last word that he spoke; for the

headsman immediately stepped up, so soon as he was down, and with one

blow cut his head all off, except a bit of skin, which he cut through

with his knife.

Then he lifted up the head, and carried it to the four sides of the

scaffold by the hair, crying:

"Here is the head of a traitor," as the custom was. My Lord's face

looked very peaceful.

* * * * *

I rode home again alone, thinking of what I had seen, and the innocent

blood that was being shed, and wondering whether this might not be the

last shed for that miserable falsehood. But even after that sight, the

thought of my Cousin Dorothy was never very far away; and before I was

home again I was once more thinking of her more than of that from which

I was just come, or of that to which I was going, for I was to see His

Majesty that evening and so to France next day.

PART III

CHAPTER I

It was on a very stormy evening, ten months later, that I rode again

into London, on my way from Rome and Paris.

* * * * *

Now, here again, I must omit altogether, except on one or two very

general points, all that had passed since I had gone away on the day

after my Lord Stafford's execution on Tower Hill. It is enough to say

that I had done my business in Paris very much to His Majesty's

satisfaction, as well as to that of others; and that M. Barillon himself

had urged me to stay there altogether, saying that I could make a career

for myself there (as the Romans say), such as I could never make in

England. But I would not, though I must confess that I was very much

tempted to it; and I know now, though I did not know it altogether then,

that there were just two things that prevented me--and these were that

His Majesty and my Cousin Dorothy were in England and not France.

Of my Cousin Dorothy I had heard scarcely anything at all; for the last

letter I had had from Hare Street was at Eastertide; and Tom said not

very much about his daughter, except that she was pretty well; and that

he thought of taking her to town in the summer for a little. The rest of

his letter was, two-thirds of it all about Hare Street and the lambs and

how the fruit promised; and one-third of the affairs of the kingdom.

These affairs, of which I learned from other sources besides my Cousin

Tom, were, in brief, as follows.

His Majesty, for the first time, since he had come to the throne, had

shewn an extraordinary open courage in dealing with the country-party.

(I must confess that my success in France was not wholly without

connection with this. He was so much strengthened in French affairs that

he felt, I suppose, that he could act more strongly at home.)

First, in January, he had dissolved the Parliament that had threatened

the exclusion of the Duke of York, and that would vote him no money till

he would yield. First he prorogued it, though there was a great clamour

in his very presence; and then he dissolved it, coming in so early in

the morning that none suspected his design.

Then he summoned a new Parliament to meet at Oxford: for at Oxford he

knew he would have the support of the city, whereas at London he had

not. That Parliament at Oxford will never be forgotten, I think; for it

was more like an armed camp than a Parliament. Both parties went armed.

My Lord Shaftesbury, in order to rouse the feeling on his side, went

there in a borrowed coach without his liveries, as if he feared arrest

or even death. But His Majesty answered that by himself going with all

his guards about him, as if for the same reason. There were continual

brawls in the city, and duels too. The parties went about like companies

of cats and dogs, snarling and spitting at one another continually; and

so fierce was the feeling that nothing could be done. My Lord

Shaftesbury's creatures were still strong enough to hold their own; and

at last His Majesty did the bravest thing he had ever done. He caused a

sedan-chair to be brought privately to his lodgings, and his crown and

robes to be put in there. Then he went in himself, and away to where the

House of Lords was sitting, and before anyone could utter a word, he

dissolved the Parliament once more, and altogether, and never again

summoned another.

But that was not all.

First, it appeared as if even His Majesty himself was frightened at what

he had done, for he allowed my Lord Archbishop of Armagh, Dr. Oliver

Plunket, to be convicted and executed in London, clean contrary to all

evidence or right or justice--just because he was a Papist, and the

popular cry had been raised against him that he was conspiring to bring

the French over to Ireland, whereas he was a good and kindly old man,

who lived in the greatest simplicity and neither did nor designed harm

to any living creature. (I do not know whether it was the name _France_

that frightened the King; but certainly at that time I was engaged on

his behalf in some transactions with that country which would have

ruined him had they ever been known.) But then he recovered himself,

after the sacrifice of one more Catholic, and did what he should have

done a great while ago, and caused my Lord Shaftesbury to be arrested

and sent to the Tower on a charge of fomenting insurrection, which was

precisely what my Lord had been doing for the last two years at least.

But His Majesty's scheme fell through; for the sheriffs, who were Whigs,

and on my Lord's side, therefore, packed the grand jury of the City and

acquitted him.

Then there was another affair of which I, in my business in France, saw

something of the other side. My negotiations were coming to a successful

end, when news came over to Paris that the Prince William of Orange was

in England, and made much of by His Majesty. This last was a lie; but I

wrote across to His Majesty of what a bad impression such a rumour made;

and urged him to make amends--which he did very handsomely. The Duke of

Monmouth too was back again in London, and so was the Duke of York; so

the chess-pieces were all again for the present on the squares on which

the game had begun. It was also a little satisfaction to me to hear that

Her Grace of Portsmouth had urged the Duke of York's return; for I

thought myself not a little responsible for her change of face. Once

again, however, the Duke returned to finish affairs in Scotland, and

then came back to Court; and it was on his journey there that the

_Gloucester_ was wrecked, and His Royal Highness so nearly drowned.

The Duke of Monmouth however saw that affairs were moving against him;

so he determined on a very bold stroke; and, after returning to England

once more without His Majesty's leave, went through all the country as

if on a royal progress; and it was astonishing how well he was received.

It was then that Mr. Chiffinch wrote to me at length, telling me of the

spies he had sent to follow the Duke everywhere, and asking whether I

would not come over myself to help in it. But I was just considering

whether I would not go to Rome; and, indeed, before I could make up my

mind, another letter came saying that the Duke was to be arrested, and

then let out on bail, and that he could do no more harm for the present.

So I went to Rome, and there I stayed a good while, reporting myself and

all that I had done, and being received very graciously by those who had

sent me.

Since then, not very much of public import had happened, until in the

first week in November I received in Paris a very urgent letter from Mr.

Chiffinch telling me to return at once; but no more in it than that.

* * * * *

It was a very stormy night, as I have said, when I rode in over London

Bridge to where the lights of the City shone over the water.

I was very content at my coming; for in spite of all my resolutions, it

was a terrible kind of happiness to me to be in the same country (and so

near to her, too) as was my Cousin Dorothy. I had striven to put her out

of my head, I had occupied myself with that which is the greatest of all

sports--and that is the game that Kings play in secret--I had become

something of a personage, and rode now with four servants, instead of

one. Yet never could I forget her. But I was resolved to play no more

with such nonsense; to live altogether in London, and to send my men in

a day or two to get my things from Hare Street. It often appears to me

very strange, when I see some great man go by whose name is in all men's

mouths for some office he holds or for his great wealth or power, to

reflect that he has his secret interests as much as any, and is moved by

them far more deeply than by those public matters for which men think

that he cares. I was not yet a great personage, though I meant to be so;

and my name was in no men's mouths, for it was of the very essence of

what I did that it should not be; yet I was held in high consideration

by two kings. But for all that, as I turned westwards from London

Bridge, I looked northwards up Gracechurch Street, and longed to be

riding to Hare Street, rather than to Whitehall.

* * * * *

It was strange, and yet very familiar too, to go up those stairs again,

all alone--(for I had sent my men on to Covent Garden, where I had taken

two sets of lodgings now, instead of one)--to tell the servant that Mr.

Chiffinch looked for me, and to be conducted by him straight through to

the private closet where he awaited me over his papers. I was in my

boots, all splashed, and very weary indeed. Yet I had learned, ever

since the day when His Majesty had found fault with me so long ago,

never to delay even by five minutes, when kings call.

"Well?" I said; as I came in.

"Well!" said he; and took me by the hands.

Now it may seem surprising that I could tolerate such a man as was Mr.

Chiffinch, still more that I should have become on such terms with him.

The truth is, that I regarded him as two men, and not one. On the one

side he was the spy, the servant, the panderer to the King's more

disgraceful secrets; on the other he was a man of an extraordinary

shrewdness, utterly devoted to His Majesty, and very competent indeed in

very considerable affairs. If ever the secret memoirs of Charles II. see

the light of day, Mr. Chiffinch will be honoured and admired, as well as

contemned.

"First sup;" he said. "I have all ready: and not one word till you are

done."

He took me through into a little dining-room that was opposite the

closet; and here was all that a hungry man might desire of cold meats

and wine. He had had it set out, he told me ever since five o'clock (for

I had sent to tell him I would be there that night).

While I ate he would say nothing at all of the business on hand; but

talked only of France and what I had done there. He told me the King was

very greatly pleased; and there were rewards if I wished them--or even a

title, though he was not sure of what kind, for I was a very young man.

"He vows you have done a thousand times more than the Duchess of

Portsmouth in all her time. But I would recommend you to take nothing.

It will not be forgotten, you may be sure. If you took anything now, it

would make you known, and ruin half your work. If you will take my

advice, Mr. Mallock, you will tell the King, Bye and bye; and have a

peerage when the time comes."

Now of course these thoughts had crossed my mind too: but it was more to

hear them from a man like this. I nodded at him but said nothing,

feigning that my mouth was full; for indeed I did not quite know what to

say. I need not say that the thought of my Cousin Dorothy came to me

again very forcibly. At least I should have shewn her what I could do.

When I was quite done, Mr. Chiffinch carried me back to the parlour; and

there, having locked the door, he told me what was wanted of me.

When he had done, I looked at him in astonishment. "You are as sure as

that?" I said.

"We are sure, beyond the very leastest doubt, that at last there is a

plot to kill the King. There are rumours and rumours. Well, these are of

the right kind. And we are convinced that my Lord Shaftesbury is behind

it, and my Lord Essex, and Mr. Sidney; and who else we do not know. My

men whom I sent to spy out how Monmouth was received in the country,

tell me the same. But the trouble is that we have no proof at all; and

cannot lay a finger on them. And there is only that way, that I told you

of, to find it out."

"That I should mix with them--feign to be one of them!" said I.

The man threw out his hands.

"Mr. Mallock," he said, "I told the King you were too nice for it. He

said on the contrary that he was sure you would do it; that it was not a

matter of niceness, but of plot against counterplot."

"A pretty simile!" I said with some irony; for I confess I did not like

the idea; though I was far from sure I would not do it in the end.

"'If one army is besieging a castle or town,' said he, 'and mines

beneath the ground after nightfall secretly, is it underhand action to

do the same, and to countermine them?' But I said I was not sure what

you would think of it. You see, Mr. Mallock, I scarcely know a single

person who unites the qualities that you do. We must have a gentleman,

or he would never be accepted by them; and he must be a shrewd man too.

Well, I will not say we have no shrewd gentlemen: but what shrewd

gentlemen have we, think you, who are not perfectly known--and their

politics?"

"The Duchess of Portsmouth knows me," said I, beginning to hesitate.

"But she does not know one word of this affair; nor will they tell her.

She is far too loyal for that."

"But she will have told others what I am."

"It is not likely, Mr. Mallock. We must take our chance of it. Truly I

see no one for it but yourself. I would not have sent for you, if I had,

for you were very useful in France. But the difficulty is, you see, that

we can take no observable precautions. We have doubled the guards inside

the palace at night; but we dare not in the day; for if that were known,

they would suspect that we knew all, and would be on their guard. As it

is, they have no idea that we know anything."

"How do they mean to do it?"

"That again we do not know. If they can find a fanatic--and there are

plenty of the old Covenanting blood left--they might shoot His Majesty

as he sits at supper. Or they may drag him out of his coach one day, as

they did with Archbishop Sharpe. Or they might poison him. I have the

cook always to taste the dishes before they come into Hall; but who can

guard against so many avenues?"

* * * * *

I sat considering; but I was so weary that I knew I could decide nothing

rightly. On the one side the thing appealed to me; for there was danger

in it, and what does a young man love like that? And there was a great

compliment in it for me--that I should be the one man they had for the

affair. Yet it did not sound to me very like work for a gentleman--to

feign to be a conspirator--to win confidence and then to betray it, in

however a good cause.

What astonished me most however was the thought that the country-party

had waxed as desperate as this. Certainly their tide was going down--as

I had heard in France; but I did not know it was gone so low as this.

And that they who had lied and perjured themselves over the Oates

falsehoods, and had used them, and had kept the people's suspicions

alive, and had professed such loyalty, and had been the cause of so much

bloodshedding--that these men should now, upon their side, enter upon

the very design that they had accused the Catholics of--this was very

nearly enough to decide me.

"Well," said I, "you must give me twenty-four hours to determine in. I

am drawn two ways. I do not know what to do."

"I can assure you," said the page eagerly, "that His Majesty would give

you almost anything you asked for--if you did this, and were

successful."

I pursed my lips up.

"Perhaps he would," I said. "But I do not know that I want very much."

"Then he would give you all the more."

I stood up to take my leave.

"Well, sir," I said, "I must go home again and to bed. I am tired out. I

will be with you again to-morrow at the same time."

He rose to take me to the outer door.

"You will not want to go to Hare Street this time," he said, smiling.

"To Hare Street!" I said. "Why should I go there?"

"Well--the pretty cousin!" said he.

I set my teeth. I did not like Mr. Chiffinch's familiarities.

"Well, then, why should I not go?" I asked.

"Why: she is here! Did you not know?"

"Here!--in London."

"Aye: in Whitehall. I saw her only yesterday."

"In Whitehall! What do you mean, Mr. Chiffinch?"

I suppose my face went white. I knew that my heart beat like a hammer.

"Why, what I say!" said he. "Why do you look like that, Mr. Mallock?"

"Tell me!" I cried. "Tell me this instant!"

"Why: she is Maid of Honour to Her Majesty. The Duchess of Portsmouth is

protecting her."

"Where is she?"

"Why--"

"_Where is she?_"

"She is with the rest, I suppose.... Mr. Mallock! Mr. Mallock! Where are

you going?"

But I was gone.

CHAPTER II

When I was out in the air I stopped short; and then remembering that Mr.

Chiffinch would be after me perhaps, and would try to prevent me, I went

on as quick as I could, turned a corner or two in that maze of passages,

and stopped again. As yet I had no idea as to what to do; my brain

burned with horror and fury; and I stood there in the dark, clenching my

hands again and again, with my whip in one of them. It was enough for me

that my Cousin Dolly was in that den of tigers and serpents that was

called the Court, and under the protection of the woman once called

Carwell. There was not one thought in my brain but this--all others were

gone, or were but as phantoms--the King, the Duke, Monmouth, the

Queen--they would be so many wicked ghosts, and no more--before me--and

I would go through them as through smoke, to tear her out of it.

I suppose that some species of sanity returned to me after a while, for

I found myself presently pacing up and down the terrace by the river,

and considering that this was a strange hour--eight o'clock at night, to

be searching out one of Her Majesty's ladies; and, after that, little by

little, persons and matters began to take their right proportions on

them again. I could not, I perceived, merely demand where Mistress

Jermyn lodged, beat down her door and carry her away with me safe to

Hare Street. Their Majesties of England still stood for something in

Whitehall, and so did reason and commonsense, and Dolly's own good name.

I began to perceive that matters were not so simple.

I do not think I reasoned at all as to her dangers there; but I was as

one who sees a flower on a dunghill. One does not argue about the

matter, or question whether it be smirched or not, nor how it got there.

Neither did I consider at all how my cousin came to be at Court, nor

whether any evil had yet come to her. I did not even consider that I did

not know whether she were but just come, or had been there a great

while. I considered only that she must be got out of it--and how to set

about it.

I might have stood and paced there till midnight, had not one of the

sentinels at the water-gate--placed there I suppose, as Mr. Chiffinch

had told me just now, as an additional security, after nightfall--stepped

out from his place and challenged me. I had had the word, of course, as I

came in; and I gave it him, and he was contented. But I was not. Here,

thought I, is my opportunity.

"Here," said I, "can you tell me where Mistress Dorothy Jermyn is

lodged?"

He was a young fellow, plainly from the country, as I saw, by his look

in the light of the lantern he had.

"No, sir," he said.

"Think again," I said. "She is under the protection of Her Grace of

Portsmouth. She is one of the Queen's ladies."

"Is she a little lady, sir--from the country--that came last month?"

"Yes," I said, feigning that I knew all about it, and trying to control

my voice. "That is she."

"Why, she is with the others, sir," he said.

"She is not with the Duchess then?"

"No, sir; I know she is not. There is no lady with the Duchess beside

her own. I was on my duty there last week."

This was something of a relief. At least she was not with that woman.

Now I knew where the Queen's Maids lodged. It was not an hundred yards

away, divided by a little passage-way from Her Majesty's apartment, and

adjoining the King's, with a wall between. There were five of these;

besides those who lodged with their families--but they changed so

continually that I could not be sure whether I knew any of them or not.

I had had a word or two once with Mademoiselle de la Garde; but she was

the only one I had ever spoken with; and besides, she might no longer be

there; and she was a great busybody too; and beyond her I knew only that

there was an old lady, whose name I had forgot, that was called

Governess to them all and played the part of duenna, except when she

could be bribed by green oysters and Spanish wine, not to play it. Such

fragments of gossip as that was all that I could remember; as well as

certain other gossip too, as to the life of these ladies, which I strove

to forget.

However, I could do nothing at that instant, but bid the man good-night,

and go up into the palace again with a brisk assured air, as if I knew

what I was about. A bell beat eight from the clock-tower, as I went.

Then when I had turned the corner to the left, I stopped again to reckon

up what I knew.

This did not come to very much. Her Majesty, I knew, was attended always

by two Maids of Honour at the least; and at this hour would be, very

likely, at cards with them, if there were no reception or entertainment.

If there were, then all would be there, and Dolly with them; and even in

that humour I did not think of forcing my way into Her Majesty's

presence and demanding my cousin. These receptions or parties or some

such thing, were at least twice or three times a week, if Her Majesty

were well. The reasonable thing to do, I confess, was to go home to

Covent Garden, quietly; and come again the next day and find out a

little; but there was very little reason in me. I was set but upon one

thing; and that was to see Dolly that night with my own eyes; and assure

myself that matters were, so far, well with her.

At the last I set out bravely, my legs carrying me along--as it appears

to me now--of their own accord: for I cannot say that I had formed any

design at all of what I should do; and there I found myself after a

minute or two of walking in the rain, at the door of the lodgings where

all the ladies that had not their families at Court lived together.

There were three steps up to the heavy oaken door that was studded over

with nails; and in the little window by the door a light was burning. I

had come by the sentinel that stood before the way up to the King's

lodgings, and had given him the word; but I saw that he was watching me,

and that I must shew no hesitation. I went therefore up the steps, as

bold as a lion, and knocked upon the oaken door.

I waited a full minute; but there was no answer; so I knocked again,

louder; and presently heard movements within, and the sound of the bolts

being drawn. Then the door opened, but only a little; and I saw an old

woman's face looking at me.

She said something; but I could not hear what it was.

"Is Mistress Jermyn within doors?" I asked.

The old face mumbled at me; but I could not hear a word. "Is Mistress

Jermyn within?" I asked again.

Once again the face mumbled at me; and then the door began to close.

This would never do; so I set my foot against it, suddenly all overcome

with impatience--(for I was in no mood to chop words)--and with the same

kind of fury that had seized me in Mr. Chiffinch's rooms. I saw red, as

the saying is; and it was not likely that a deaf old woman would stop

me. She fluttered the door passionately; and then, as I pushed on it,

she cried out. There was a great rattle of footsteps, and as I came into

the little paved entrance, a heavy bald fellow ran out of the room where

I had seen the light--(which was the porter's parlour)--in his

shirt-sleeves, very angry and hot-looking.

He looked at me, like a bull, with lowered head; and I saw that he

carried some weapon in his hand.

"Is Mistress Jermyn within doors?" I asked, putting on a high kind of

air.

"Who the devil are you?" said he.

I was not going to argue that point, for it was the weakest spot in my

assault. So I sat down on the stairs that rose straight up to the first

floor. (It was a little oak-panelled entrance that I was in, with a

single lamp burning in a socket on the wall.)

"You will first answer my question," I said. "Is Mistress Jermyn within

doors?"

Then he came at me, thinking, I suppose that my sitting down gave him

an advantage, and he lifted his weapon as he came. I had no time to draw

my own sword--which was besides, somewhere between my legs; but I rose

up, and, as I rose, struck out at his chin with all my force, with my

whole weight behind.

He staggered back against the doorway he had come out by; and the same

moment two things happened. The old woman screamed aloud; and Dolly

sprang suddenly out on to the head of the stairs, from a door that

opened there, full into the light of the lamp.

"Why-" cried she.

"Oh! there you are," I said bitterly. "Then Mistress Jermyn is within

doors."

Then I turned and went straight upstairs after her; and, as I went heard

the ring of running footsteps in the paved passage out of doors, and

knew that the guard was coming up. The fellow still leaned, dazed,

against the doorpost; and the old woman was pouring out scream after

scream.

I went after Dolly straight into the room from which she had come. It

was a little parlour, very richly furnished, with candles burning, and

curtains across the windows. It looked out towards the river, I suppose.

Dolly was standing, as pale as paper; but I could not tell--nor did I

greatly care--whether it were anger or terror. I think I must have

looked pretty frightening--(but then, she had spirit enough for

anything!)--for I was still in my splashed boots and disordered dress,

and as angry as I have ever been in my life. I could see she was not

dressed for Her Majesty; so I supposed--(and I proved to be right)--that

she was not in attendance this evening. It was better fortune than I

deserved, to find her so.

"Now," said I, "what are you doing here?"

(I spoke sharply and fiercely, as to a bad child. I was far too angry to

do otherwise. As I spoke, I heard the guard come in below; and a clamour

of voices break out. I knew that they would be up directly.)

"Now," I said again, "you have your choice! Will you give me up to the

guard; or will you hear what I have to say? You can send them away if

you will. You can say I am your cousin?"

She looked at me; but said nothing.

"Oh! I am not drunk," I said. "Now, you can--"

Then came a thunder of footsteps on the stairs; and I stopped. I knew I

had broken every law of the Court; I had behaved unpardonably. It would

mean the end of everything for me. But I would not, even now, have asked

pardon from God Almighty for what I had done.

Then Dolly, with a gesture, waved me aside; and confronted the serjeant

on the threshold.

"You can go," she said. "This is my cousin. I will arrange with them

below."

The man hesitated. Over his shoulder I could see a couple more faces,

glaring in at me.

Dolly stamped her foot.

"I tell you to go. Do you not hear me?"

"Mistress--" began the man.

"How dare you disobey me!" cried Dolly, all aflame with some emotion.

"This is my own parlour, is it not?"

He still looked doubtfully; and his eyes wandered from her to me, and

back again. He was yet just without the room. Then Dolly slammed to the

door, in a passion, in his very face.

Then she wheeled on me, like lightning. (I heard the men's footsteps

begin to go downstairs.)

"Now you will explain, if you please--" she began, with a furious kind

of bitterness.

"My maid," said I, "that kind of talk will not do with me"--(for at

her tone my anger blazed up higher even than hers). "It is I who have to

ask Why and How?"

"How dare you--" she began.

I went up without more ado, and took her by the shoulders. Never in all

the time I had known her, had the thought ever come to me, that one day

I might treat her so. She struggled violently, and seemed on the point

of crying out. Then she bit her lip; but there was no yielding in me;

and I compelled her backwards to a chair.

"You will sit there," I said. "And I shall stand. I will have no

nonsense at all."

She looked at me, I thought, with more hate than I had ever seen in

human eyes; glaring up at me with scorn and anger and resentment all

mingled.

"Yes--you can bully maids finely--" she said. "You can come and

cringe for their protection first--"

I laughed, very short and harsh.

"That manner is of no good at all--" I said. "You will answer my

questions. How did you come here? How long have you been here?"

She said nothing; but continued to look at me. Then again my anger rose

like a wave.

"Do you think to stare me down?" I said. "If you will not answer me,

I'll begone to those who will."

"You dare not!"

"Dare not! Do you think to frighten me?--Dolly, my dear, I am not in

the mood to argue. Will you tell me how you came here, and how long ago?

I must have an answer before I go."

For an instant she was silent.

"Will you go straight home again if I tell you?"

"Yes--I will promise that," said I--for now that I had seen her with

my own eyes most of what I desired was done. The rest could wait twelve

hours.

"Well, then," she said, "I have been here a month; and my father put me

here."

"Your father!"

"Yes, my father. Have you anything to say against him?"

"No: I will say it to him."

I wheeled about to go to the door.

"You have done enough mischief then, you think!" sneered Dolly.

I turned about again.

"Mischief!"

"Why, you have ruined my name," said Dolly, with the savage look in her

eyes still there. "But you did not think of that! You thought only of

yourself. The whole palace will know to-morrow that you beat down the

porter to force your way in. And it will not lose in the telling."

I had nothing to say to that. It was true enough, and the very kind of

talk with which the Court continually diverted itself. But I would not

show my dismay. Indeed the very thought of any trouble to her had no

more occurred to my mind than the consequences to a charging bull.

"We will see about that," I said, "when I speak with His Majesty."

Dolly laughed again, but without merriment.

"Oh! you will do this and that, no doubt," she said. "And when shall you

see His Majesty?"

I took out my watch.

"It is nearly nine," I said. "I shall see His Majesty in thirteen hours.

You had best be packing your valises. We shall ride at noon."

I waited no more to hear her laugh, as she did again; but went out and

down the staircase. The porter's chamber had its door half open: I

pushed the door and went in. The fellow started up.

"Here is a guinea," said I, throwing one upon the table; "and my

apologies. But 'twas you that began it!"

Then I turned and went out.

As I came down the steps into the little lamplit way, a man was coming

swiftly up it from the direction of the court, with one of the guards

behind him. I stopped short, thinking I was to be arrested. But it was

the page.

"Good God!" he said. "You have done finely indeed!"

I was still all shaking; and I simulated anger without any difficulty.

"And whose fault is that?" said I, as if in a fury. "Do you think--"

"And His Majesty may come by at any instant!" he said.

"Why; that is what I wish. In any case I must see him at ten o'clock

to-morrow."

"You are mad!" he said. "You had best begone to the country before dawn:

and even that will not save you." He looked over his shoulder at the

young man who had fetched him, and who now stood waiting.

"Save me! What have I done? I have but been to visit my cousin." (I said

this very loud, that the guard might hear.)

Again Mr. Chiffinch looked over his shoulder, and back again. I could

see the shine of lanterns where others waited behind. We were just

outside the King's lodging.

"Well, sir," he said. "But you will go now, will you not?"

"Why, yes," I said. "And I will be with you at half-past nine

to-morrow."

He beckoned the young soldier up.

"See this gentleman to the gate," he said. "He will find his way home,

after that."

CHAPTER III

I spent a very heavy evening before I went to bed; and when I was there

I could not sleep; for it appeared to me that I had made a great fool of

myself, having injured my own prospects and done no good to anyone. I

understood perfectly that I had acted in an unpardonable manner; for Her

Majesty's Maids of Honour were kept, or were supposed to be kept, in

very great seclusion at home, as if they were Vestal virgins--which was

indeed a very great supposition. Tale after tale came back to my mind of

those Maids in the past--of Mademoiselle de la Garde herself, of Miss

Stewart, Miss Hyde, Miss Hamilton, and others like them--some of whom

were indeed good, but had the greatest difficulty in remaining so; for

the Court of Charles was a terrible place for virtue. It was astonishing

to me that the horror of the place had not before this affected me; but

it is always so. We are very philosophical, always, over the wrongs that

do not touch ourselves.

As to how my Cousin Dolly came to be in such a place, I began to think

that I understood. It must all have dated from that unhappy visit of the

Duke of Monmouth to Hare Street; my Cousin Tom must have followed up

that strange introduction, and the affair must have been worked through

Her Grace of Portsmouth. I think I could have taken my Cousin Tom by the

throat, and choked him, as I thought of this.

Meantime I had no idea as to what I should do the next day--except,

indeed, see His Majesty, and say, perhaps, one tenth of what I felt. I

had told Dolly we should ride at noon next day; I was beginning to

wonder whether this prediction would be fulfilled. Yet, though I had

begun to consider myself more than in the first flush, I still felt my

anger rise in me like a tide whenever I regarded the bare facts. But

mere anger would never do; and I set myself to drive it down. Besides,

it would be there, I knew, and ready, if I should need it on the next

day.

* * * * *

When I arrived at Mr. Chiffinch's the next morning, I found him in a

very grave mood. He did not rise as I came in, but nodded to me, only.

"Sit down, Mr. Mallock," said he. "This is a very serious affair."

"So I think," I said.

He waved that away.

"His Majesty hath heard every word of it, with embellishments. He is

very angry indeed. Nothing but what you have done for him lately could

have saved you; and even now I do not know--"

"Man," I said, "do not let us leave such talk as this. It is not I who

am in question--"

"I think you will find that it is," he answered me, with a quick look.

I strove to be patient, and, even more, to appear so.

"Well," I said, "what have I done? I am come back from France: I hear my

cousin is here; I go to see her; a fellow at the door is impertinent,

and I chastise him for it. Then I go upstairs to my cousin's parlour--"

"That is the point," he interrupted. "It is not your cousin's. It is the

lodging of the Maids of Honour."

Yes: he had me there. That was my weak point. But I would not let him

see that.

"How was I to understand that distinction? I knocked at the door as

peaceably as any man could."

"And after that," he said, smiling a little grimly, "after that, your

cousinly affection blinded you."

"Well, that will do," I said.

He smiled again.

"Well; that is your case," he observed. "We will see how His Majesty

regards it. For I must tell you, Mr. Mallock, that for five minutes last

night it was touch and go whether you were not to be arrested. And I

will tell you this too, that if you had not come this morning, you

would have been brought."

"As bad as that?" I said, laughing. (But I must confess that his gravity

dismayed me a little.)

"As bad as that," he said. "You must go to His Majesty at ten."

"As I arranged," I said.

"As His Majesty arranged," said Mr. Chiffinch, rising: "and it is close

upon the time."

And then he added, with the utmost gravity.

"If there is one thing His Sacred Majesty is touchy upon, it is the

reputation of the ladies of the Court. I would remember that, sir, if I

were you."

I observed a while ago that Pride is a good weapon if one has not

Humility. So is Anger a good weapon, if one has not Patience; and I do

not mean simulated Anger, but the passion itself, held in a leash, like

a dog, and loosed when the time comes. Now, so great was my feeling for

His Majesty, and that not only of an honest loyalty, but of a real kind

of respect that I had for his person and his parts--a real fear of

the very great strength of will that lay beneath his weakness--that I

understood that, unless my anger was fairly near the surface, I should

be beaten down when I came into his presence. So, as we went together

towards his lodgings, I looked to see that my anger was there, patted it

on the head so to say, and called it Good Dog: and was relieved to hear

it growl softly in answer.

Plainly we were expected; because the two guards at the door stood aside

as soon as they saw us, and one of them called out something to a man

above. There were two more at the door itself; and we went in.

As we came in at the door of the private closet, having had no answer to

our knock, His Majesty came in at the other with two dogs at his heels.

He paid no attention to me at all, and barely nodded at my companion.

Then he sat down to his table, and began to write; leaving us standing

there like a pair of schoolboys.

Again I stroked the head of my anger. I could see the King was very

seriously displeased; and that unless I could keep myself determined, he

would have the best of the interview; and that I was resolved he should

not have.

Suddenly he spoke, still writing.

"You can go, Chiffinch," said he. "Come back in half an hour."

He looked up for a flash and nodded; and I thought, God knows why, that

he had in mind the guards outside, and that they should be within call.

I knew precisely what my legal offence would be--that of brawling within

the precincts of the palace; and the penalties of this I did not care to

think about; for I was not sure enough what they were.

When the door closed behind Mr. Chiffinch I felt more alone than ever. I

regarded the King's dark face, turned down upon his paper; his dusky

ringed hand with the lace turned back; the blue-gemmed quill that he

used, his great plumed hat. I looked now and again, discreetly, round

the room, at the gorgeous carvings, the tall presses, the innumerable

clocks, the brightly polished windows with the river flowing beneath. I

felt very little and lonely. Then, in a flash, the memory came back that

not fifty yards away was Dolly's little parlour, and Dolly herself; and

my determination surged up once more.

Suddenly His Majesty threw down his pen.

"Mr. Mallock," he said very sternly, "there is only one excuse for

you--that you were drunk last night. Do you plead that?"

He was looking straight at me with savage melancholy eyes. I dropped my

own.

"No, Sir."

"You dare to say you were not drunk?"

"Yes, Sir."

His Majesty caught up an ivory knife and sat drawing it through his

fingers, still looking at me, I perceived; though I kept my eyes down. I

could see that he was violently impatient.

"Mr. Mallock," said he, "this is intolerable. You come back from France

where you have done me good service--I will never deny that--and you

win my gratitude; and then you fling it all away by a piece of

unpardonable behaviour. Are you aware of the penalties for such

behaviour as yours?--brawling in the Palace itself, knocking my men

down, forcing your way into the lodgings of Her Majesty's Ladies? Have

you anything to say as to why you should not go before the Green Cloth?"

A great surge of contradiction and defiance rose within me; but I choked

it down again. It was there if I should need it. The effort held me

steady and balanced.

"Do you hear me, sir?"

"Yes, Sir," said I.

"Well--what have you to say?"

He glanced past me towards the door; and I thought again that the guards

were in his mind.

"Sir; I have a very great deal to say. But I fear I should offend Your

Majesty."

The King jerked his head impatiently.

"It is of the nature of a defence?"

"Certainly, Sir."

"Say it then. You need one."

I raised my eyes and looked him in the face. He was frowning; and his

lips were moving. Evidently he was very angry; and yet he was perplexed,

too.

"Sir, this is precisely what took place. I returned from France last

night, where, as Your Majesty was good enough to remark, I was able to

be of some little service. Upon my return I heard from Mr. Chiffinch

that my 'pretty cousin' as he was kind enough to call her, was in

Whitehall, as one of Her Majesty's ladies. I went to see my cousin,

perhaps a little precipitately, but I went peaceably, first inquiring of

one of Your Majesty's guards where her lodgings were. I knocked,

peaceably, upon the door. An old woman opened to me, and would give me

no intelligible answer to my--peaceable--inquiry as to whether my

cousin were there. I prevented her closing the door in my face, but

peaceably; then a fellow ran out, and asked me who the devil I was.

Again, peaceably, I inquired for my cousin. I even sat down upon the

stairs. Then he made at me; and in self-defence I struck him once, with

my hand. My cousin looked out of a door, and I went up into what I

understood was her parlour. When the guard came, she sent them away,

telling them I was her cousin. The serjeant was impertinent to her; and

she shut the door in his face. I remained five minutes, or six, with my

cousin, and then went peaceably away, and to my lodgings. That is the

entire truth, Sir, from beginning to end."

The King laughed, very short and harsh.

"You put it admirably," he said. "You are a diplomat, indeed."

"That is my defence to Your Majesty; and it is perfectly true--neither

less nor more than the truth. But I am not only a diplomat."

He did not fully understand me, I think, for he looked at me sharply.

"Well?" he said. "What else?"

"I have another defence for the public--Sir--not so courteous to Your

Majesty."

He remained rigid an instant.

"Then for the public," he said, "you do not think the truth enough?"

"No, Sir; it is for Your Majesty that I think the truth too much."

"I will have it!" cried the King. "This moment!"

Interiorly I licked my lips, as a dog when he sees a bone. His Majesty

should have the truth now, with a vengeance. All was falling out exactly

as I had designed. He should not have kept me waiting so long; or I

might not have thought of it.

"Well, Sir," said I, "you will remember I should not have dared to say

it to Your Majesty, had I not been commanded."

He said nothing. Then, once more, I ruffled my growling dog's ears, so

that he snarled.

"First, Sir; to the public I should say: If this is counted brawling,

what of other scenes in Whitehall on which no charge was made? What of

the sun-dial, smashed all to fragments one night, in the Privy Garden,

by certain of the King's Gentlemen whom I could name? What of the broken

door-knockers--not only in the City, but upon certain doors in Whitehall

itself--broken, again by certain of the King's Gentlemen whom I could

name? What of a scene I viewed myself in the Banqueting Hall last

Christmastide in Your Majesty's presence, when a Spanish gentleman

received full in his face a bunch of raisins, from--"

"Ah!" snarled the King. "And you would say that to the public?"

"Sir--that is only the exordium "--(my voice was raised a little, I

think, for indeed I was raging again by now). "Next, I would observe

that Mistress Jermyn is my own cousin, and that the hour was eight

o'clock in the evening--not nine, if I may so far correct Your Majesty;

whereas very different hours are kept by some members of the Court, and

the ladies are not their cousins at all."

I had never seen the King so angry. He was unable to speak for fury. His

face paled to parchment-colour under his sallow skin, and his eyes

burned like coals. This time I lashed my anger, deliberately, instead of

tickling it merely.

"Sir; that is not nearly all; but I will miss out a few points, and come

to my peroration. My peroration would be after this fashion. Such, I

would say, is the charge against one who has been of service to His

Majesty; and such is the Court (as I have described) of that same King.

There is not a Court in Europe that has a Prince so noble as our own can

be, of better parts, or of higher ambitions, or of so pure a blood. And

there is no Prince who is served so poorly; no Court that so stinks in

the nostrils of God and man, as does his. He is capable," I cried (for

by now I was lost to all consideration for myself; my loyalty and love

for him had come to the aid of my anger; and I saw that never again

should I have such an opportunity of speaking my mind), "He is capable

of as great achievements, as any Prince that has gone before him; for he

has already won back the throne which his fathers lost. Would it be of

service, I would say, to such a Prince as this, to punish a man who

would lay down his life for him to give him even a moment's pleasure;

and to let go scot-free men and women who have never done anything but

injure him?"

I ceased; breathless, yet triumphing; for I knew that I had held His

Majesty with my words. How he would take it, when he recovered, I did

not know: nor did I greatly care. I had spoken my mind to him at last;

and what I had said was no more than my conviction. That blessed gift of

anger had done the rest: and, having done its work, retired again to

chaos; and left me clear-headed and master of myself.

When I looked at him he was motionless. He was still very pale, but the

terrible brightness of his eyes was gone.

Then he roused himself to sneer; but I did not care for that; for there

was no other way for him just then, consonant with his own dignity.

"Very admirably preached!" said he; "even if a trifle treasonous."

"I am pleased Your Majesty is satisfied," I said, with a little bow.

Then he broke down altogether, in the only way that he could; he gave a

great spirt of laughter; then he leaned back and laughed till the tears

ran down. Presently he was quieter.

"Oddsfish!" he cried, "this is a turning of tables indeed! I sent for

you, Mr. Mallock--"

The door opened softly behind me; and a man put his head in.

"Go away! go away!" cried the King. "Cannot you see I am being preached

to?"

The door closed again.

"I sent for you, Mr. Mallock, to reprimand you very severely. And

instead of that it is you who have held the whip. Little Ken is nothing

to it: you should have been a Bishop, Mr. Mallock."

Again he spirted with laughter. Then he drew himself up in his chair a

little; and became more grave.

"This is all very well," he said. "But I think I must get in my

reprimand, for all that. You will not be sent to the guard-room, or the

Green Cloth--(or whatever it is that would meet your case)--this time,

Mr. Mallock; I will deal with you myself. But it is a very serious

business, and your distinctions would not serve you in law. A sundial is

not so important as a Christian lady; and a bunch of raisins is not,

legally, a blow in the face. Still less are all the sundials and

Spaniards in the world, equal to one of Her Majesty's Maids of Honour.

You understand that?"

I bowed again; reminding myself that I was not done with him, even yet.

"Yes, Sir."

"Consider yourself reprimanded severely, Mr. Mallock."

I bowed; but I stood still.

"You have my leave--Oh! by the way, Mr. Mallock; there are just ten

words I must have with you on the French affairs."

He motioned to a seat.

"I may kiss the hand that has beaten me?" said I.

He laughed again. He was a very merry prince when he was in the mood.

"It should be the other way about, I should think," he said. But he gave

me his hand; and I sat down.

* * * * *

All the while we were talking, still, with one-half of my mind I was

considering what was to be done next. It was a part, only, of my

business that had been done; yet how to accomplish the rest without

spoiling all? Presently His Majesty himself repeated that which Mr.

Chiffinch had already said to me; and spoke of some kind of recognition

that was due to me. That gave me my cue.

"Your Majesty is exceedingly kind," I said. "But I trust I am not to be

dismissed from the King's service? Mr. Chiffinch appeared to think--"

"Why, no," said he; "not even after all your crimes. Besides we have

something for you. Did he not tell you?"

"Any public recognition, Sir," I said, "would effectually do so. The

very small value that my services may have would wholly be lost, if they

were known in any way."

"Chiffinch said the same," observed the King meditatively. "But--"

"Sir," I said, "might I not have some private recognition instead? There

is a very particular favour I have in mind, which would be private

altogether; and which I would take as a complete discharge of that which

Your Majesty has been good enough to call a debt of the King's."

"Not money, man! Surely!" exclaimed the King in alarm.

"Not in the least, Sir; it will not cost the exchequer a farthing."

"Well, you shall have it then. You may be sure of that."

"Well, Sir," said I, "it is a serious matter. Your Majesty will dislike

it exceedingly."

He pursed his lips and looked at me sharply.

"Wait!" he said. "It will not affect my honour or--or my religion in

any way?"

I assumed an air of slight offence.

"Sir; I should not be likely to ask it, if it affected Your Majesty's

honour. And as for religion--" I stopped: for one more opening

presented itself which I dared not neglect. From both his manner and his

words I saw that religion was not very far from his thoughts.

"Well--sir," he said. "And what of religion?"

"Sir, I pray every day for Your Majesty's conversion--"

"Conversion, eh?"

"Conversion to the Holy Catholic Church, Sir. I would give my life for

that, ten times over."

"There! there! have done," said His Majesty, with a touch of uneasiness.

"But I would not ask a pledge, blindfold, Sir; even to save all those

ten lives of mine."

"One more than a cat, eh? Do you know, Mr. Mallock, you remind me

sometimes of a cat. You are so demure, and yet you can pounce and

scratch when the occasion comes."

"I would sooner it had been a little dog, Sir," I said, glancing at the

spaniels that were curled up together before the fire.

"Well--well; we are wandering," smiled the King. "Now what is this

favour?"

I supposed I must have looked very grave and serious; for before I could

speak he leaned forward.

"It is to count as a complete discharge, I understood you to say, Mr.

Mallock, for all obligations on my part. And there is no money in it?"

"Yes, Sir," said I. "And there is no money in it."

He must have seen I was serious.

"Well; I take you at your word, sir. I will grant it. Tell me what it

is."

He leaned back, looking at me curiously.

"Sir," I said, "it is now about half-past ten o'clock. What I ask is

that my cousin, Mistress Dorothy Jermyn, receives an immediate dismissal

from Her Majesty's service; and is ordered to leave London with me, for

her father's house, at noon."

His Majesty looked at me amazed. I think he did not know whether to be

angry, or to laugh.

"Well, sir," he said at last. "That is the maddest request I have ever

had. You mean what you say?"

"Certainly, Sir."

"Well: you must have it then. It is the queerest kindness I have ever

done. Why do you ask it? Eh?"

"Sir; you do not want my peroration over again!"

His face darkened.

"That is very like impudence, Mr. Mallock."

"I do not mean it for such, Sir. It is the naked truth."

"You think this is not a fitting place for her?"

"I am sure it is not, Sir," I said very earnestly, "nor for any

country-maid. Would Your Majesty think--"

He jerked his head impatiently.

"What my Majesty thinks is one thing; what I, Charles Stuart, do, is

another. Well: you must have it. There is no more to be said."

I think he expected me to stand up and take my leave. But I remained

still in my chair.

"Well; what else, sir?" he asked.

"Sir; it is near a quarter to eleven. I have not the order, yet."

"Bah! well--am I to write it then?"

"If Your Majesty will condescend."

"And what shall I say to the Queen? It is not very courteous to dismiss

a lady of hers so abruptly."

"Sir; tell Her Majesty it is a debt of honour."

He wheeled back to his table, took up a sheet and began to write. When

he had done he scattered the sand on it, and held it out to me, his

mouth twitching a little.

"Will that serve?" he said.

I have that paper still. It is written with five lines only, and a

signature. It runs as follows:

"This is to command Mistress Dorothy Jermyn, late Maid

of Honour to Her Majesty, now dismissed by the King,

though through no fault of her own, to leave the Court at

Whitehall at noon to-day, in company with her cousin Mr.

Roger Mallock, and never to return thither without his consent.

"CHARLES R."

Then followed the date.

I had a criticism or two; but I dared not make them.

"That is more than I could have asked, Sir. I am under an eternal

obligation to Your Majesty."

"I daresay: but all mine are discharged to you, until you earn some

more. It might have meant a peerage, Mr. Mallock."

"I do not regret it, Sir," I said.

As I rose after kissing his hand, he said one more word to me.

"You are either a very wise man, or a fool, Mr. Mallock. And by God I

do not know which. But I do know you are a very brave one."

"I was a very angry one, Sir," said I.

"But you are appeased?"

"A thousand times, Sir."

CHAPTER IV

I knew I could never carry the matter through alone; so, upon leaving

the King's presence, I sought out Mr. Chiffinch immediately and told him

what had passed.

He whistled, loud.

"You are pretty fortunate," he said. "Many a man--"

"I have no time for compliments," said I. "You must come with me to my

cousin at once. We must ride at noon; and it is close upon eleven."

"You want me to plead for you, eh?"

"Not at all," said I. "There will be no pleading. It is to certify only

that this is the King's writing, and that he means what he says."

"Well, well," said Mr. Chiffinch. "And what of the matter I spoke to you

of last night? Have you decided? There is not much time to lose."

"You must give me a day or two," I said.

* * * * *

It was he who knocked this time; and it was not until the old woman had

opened, and was curtseying to the King's page, that he called me up.

"Come, Mr. Mallock. Your cousin is within."

We went straight upstairs after the old lady; and upon her knock being

answered, she threw the door open.

My Cousin Dolly was sitting over her needle, all alone. She looked, I

thought, unusually pale; but she flushed scarlet, and sprang up, so soon

as she saw me.

"Good-day, Mistress Jermyn," said the page very courteously. "We are

come on a very sad errand--sad, that is, to those whom you will leave

behind."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Dolly, very fiercely. She did not give me

one look, after the first.

He held out the paper to her. She took it, with fingers that shook a

little, and read it through at least twice.

"Is this an insult, sir; or a very poor pleasantry?" (Her face was gone

pale again.)

"It is neither, mistress. It is a very sober fact."

"This is the King's hand?" she snapped.

"It is," said Mr. Chiffinch.

"Dolly," said I, "I told you to be ready by noon; but you would not

believe me. I suppose your packing is not done?"

She paid me no more attention than if I had been a chair.

"Mr. Chiffinch," said she, "you tell me, upon your honour, that this is

the King's hand, and that he means what is written here?"

"I give you my honour, mistress," he said.

She tossed the paper upon the table; she went swiftly across to the

further door, and opened it.

"Anne!" she said.

A voice answered her from within.

"Put out my riding-dress. Pack all that you can, that I shall need in

the country. We have to ride at noon." She shut the door again, and

turned on us--or rather, upon Mr. Chiffinch.

"Sir," she said, "you have done your errand. Perhaps you will now

relieve me of your company. I shall be awaiting my cousin, Mr. Roger

Mallock, as the King requires, at noon."

"Dolly--" said I.

She continued, looking through me, as through glass.

"At noon: and I trust he will not keep me waiting."

There was no more to be done. We turned and went out.

"Lord! what a termagant is your pretty cousin, Mr. Mallock!" said my

companion when we were out of doors again. "You could have trusted her

well enough, I think."

I was not in the mood to discuss her with him; I had other things to

think of.

"Mr. Chiffinch," I said, "I am very much obliged to you; but I must be

off for my own packing." And I bade him good-day.

* * * * *

When I rode into the court, five minutes before noon, a very piteous

little group awaited me by the inner gate. Dolly, very white and angry,

stood by the mounting-block, striving to preserve her dignity. Her maid

was behind her, arguing how the bags should be disposed on the

pack-horse, with the fellow who was to lead it. Dolly's own horse was

not yet come; but as I rode up to salute her, he came out of an archway

led by a groom.

I leapt off, and stood by the mounting-block to help her. Again it was

as if I were not there. She jerked her head to the man.

"Help me," she said.

He was in a quandary, for he could not leave the horse's head.

"I am very sorry, Dolly," said I, "but you will have to put up for me

for once. Come."

She gave a look of despair round about; but there was no help.

"It is on the stroke of noon," I said.

She submitted; but it was with the worst grace I have ever seen. She

accepted my ministrations; but it was as if I were a machine: not one

word did she speak, good or bad.

By the time that she was mounted, her maid was up too, and the bags

disposed.

"Come," I said again; and mounted my own horse.

As we rode out through the great gate, the Clock Tower beat the hour of

noon.

* * * * *

I am weary of saying that my journeys were strange; but, certainly, this

was another of them.

* * * * *

Through the narrow streets I made no attempt to ride beside her. In the

van went three of my men; then rode I; then, about ten yards behind,

came Dolly and her maid. Then came two pack-horses, led by a fellow who

controlled them both; and my fourth man closed the dismal cavalcade. So

we went through the streets--all the way down the Strand and into the

City, wheeled to the left, and so out by Bishopsgate. It was a clear

kind of day, without rain: but the clouds hung low, and I thought it

would rain before nightfall. I intended to do the whole journey in a

day; so as to be at Hare Street before midnight at least. A night on the

way, and Dolly's company at supper, all alone with me, or even with her

maid, appeared to me too formidable to face.

When we were out in the country, I reined my horse in. I saw a change

pass over Dolly's face; then it became like stone.

"We have a long ride, for one day," said I.

She made no answer. My anger rose a little.

"My Cousin," I said, "I had the honour to speak to you."

"I do not wish to have the dishonour of answering you," said Dolly.

It was a weakness on her part to answer at all; but I suppose she could

not resist the repartee.

"A very neat hit," I said. "Must all our conversation run upon these

lines?"

She made no answer at all.

"Anne," I said, "rein your horse back ten yards."

"Anne," said Dolly, "ride precisely where you are."

"Very good," said I. "I have no objection to your maid hearing what I

have to say. I thought it would be you that would object."

"Anne," said Dolly, "did you pack the sarcenet?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Then tell me again the tale that you were--"

I broke in with such fury that even Dolly ceased.

"My Cousin," I said, "I have a louder voice than either of you; and I

shall use it, if you do not listen, so that the whole countryside shall

hear. I have to say this--that some time or another to-day I have to

have a private conversation with you. It is for you to choose the time

and place. If you give me no opportunity now, I shall make it myself,

later. Will you hear what I have to say now?"

There was a very short silence.

"Anne," said Dolly, "now that we can hear ourselves speak, will you tell

me again the tale that you began last night?"

She said it, not at all lightly, but with a coldness and a distilled

kind of anger that gave me no choice. I lifted my hat a little; shook my

reins; and once more took up my position ten yards ahead. There was a

low murmur of voices behind; and then silence. It appeared that the tale

was not to be told after all.

* * * * *

We dined, very late, at a little inn, called the _Cross-Keys_, between

Edmonton and Ware. I remember nothing at all, either of the inn or the

host or the food--nothing but the name of the inn, for the name struck

me, with a dreary kind of wit, as reflective of the cross-purposes which

we were at. We three dined together, in profound silence, except when

Dolly addressed a word or two to her maid. As for me, she took the food

which I carved, all as if I were a servant, without even such a

thank-you as a man gives to a servant.

We took the road again, about three o'clock; and even then the day was

beginning to draw in a little, very bleak and dismal; and that, too, I

took as a symbol of my heart within, and of my circumstances and

prospects. Certainly I had gained my desire in one way; I had got Dolly

away from Court; yet that was the single point I had to congratulate

myself upon. All else, it appeared, was ruined. I had lost all the

advantage, or very nearly all, that I had ever won from the King--(for I

knew, that although he had been merry at the end of the time, he would

not forget how I had worsted him)--and as for Dolly, I supposed she

would never speak to me again. It had been bad enough when I had left

Hare Street nearly a twelvemonth ago: my return to it now was a hundred

times worse.

Although Dolly, however, would not speak to me, I was entirely

determined to speak to Dolly. I proposed to rehearse to her what I had

done, and why; and when that was over, I would leave it in her hands

whether I remained at Hare Street a day or two, or left again next

morning. More than a day or two, I did not even hope for. I had insulted

her--it seemed--beyond forgiveness. Yet, besides my miserableness, there

was something very like pleasure as well, though of a grim sort. I had

spoken my mind to her, pretty well, and would do so more explicitly;

and I was to speak my mind very well indeed to her father. There was a

real satisfaction to me in that prospect. Then, once more, I would shut

the door for ever on Hare Street, and go back again to town, and begin

all over again at the beginning, and try to retrieve a little of what I

had lost. Such then were my thoughts.

We supped, at Ware--at the _Saracen's Head_, and the same wretched

performance was gone through as at the _Cross-Keys_. Night was fallen

completely; and we had candles that guttered not a little. Dolly was

silent, however, this time, even to her maid. She did not give me one

look, all through supper.

When I came out afterwards to the horses, the yard was all in a mist: I

could see no more than a spot of light where the lamp should be by the

stable-door. The host came with me.

"It has fallen very foggy, sir," he said. "Would it not be best to stay

the night?"

I was considering the point before answering; but my cousin answered for

me, from behind.

"Nonsense," said she. "I know every step of the way. Where are the

horses?"

(Even that, I observed, she said to the host and not to me.)

"The lady is impatient to get home," I said. "Is the fog likely to

spread far?"

"It may be from here to Cambridge, sir," he said--"at this time of the

year."

"Where are the horses?" said Dolly again.