of thy dear self and England's glory. For shame! Ah, Sire, my
childhood-dreams were of sunny France, where I was born; at
Versailles--at Fontainebleau among the monarch trees--my early womanhood
sighed for love. France gave me all but that. It came not till I saw the
English King!"
The siren of the Nile never looked more bewitchingly beautiful than this
siren of France as she half reclined upon the couch, playing upon the
King's heart with a bit of memory. His great nature realized her sorrow
and encompassed it.
"And am I not good to thee, child?" he asked. He took her hand and
responded to her eyes, though not with the tenderness of love--the
tenderness for which she sought.
"You are good to none," she replied, bitterly; "for you are not good to
Charles."
"You speak enigmas," he said, curious.
"Have you forgotten your promise?" she asked, naively.
"Nay; the passport, pretty one?" he answered, amused at the woman's
wiles. "All this subterfuge of words for that! There; rest in peace. Thy
friend hath a path to France at will."
He smiled kindly as he took the passport from his girdle, handed it to
her and turned to take his leave.
"My thanks are yours. Stay, Sire," she said, hastily; for her mission
was not yet complete and the night was now well gone. "Passports are
trifles. Will you not leave the Dutch to Louis and his army? Think!"
She placed her arms about his neck and looked enticingly into his eyes.
"But," he replied, kindly, "my people demand that I intervene and stay
my brother Louis's aggressive hand."
"Are the people king?" she asked, with coy insinuation. "Do they know
best for England's good? Nay, Sire, for your good and theirs, I beseech,
no more royal sympathy for Holland. I speak to avoid entanglements for
King Charles and to make his reign the greater. I love you, Sire." She
fell upon her knee. "I speak for the glory of England."
His Majesty was influenced by her beauty and her arts,--what man would
not be?--but more by the sense of what she said.
"For the glory of England?" he asked himself. "True, my people are
wrong. 'Tis better we remain aloof. No wars!"
He took the seat by the table, which the Duchess offered him, and
scanned casually the parchment which she handed to him.
Nell peered between the curtains. Strings was close behind her.
"Bouillon's signature for France," mused the King. "'Tis well! No more
sympathy for the Dutch, Louise, until Holland sends a beauty to our
court to outshine France's ambassador."
He looked at Portsmouth, smiled and signed the instrument, which had
been prepared, as he thought, in accordance with his wishes and
directions. He then carelessly tossed the sand over the signature to
blot it.
The fair Duchess's eyes revealed all the things which all the adjectives
of all the lands ever meant.
"Holland may outshine in beauty, Sire," she said, kneeling by the King's
side, "but not in sacrifice and love." She kissed his hand fervently.
He sat complacently looking into her eyes, scarce mindful of her
insinuating arts of love. He was fascinated with her, it is true; but it
was with her beauty, flattery and sophistry, not her heart.
"I believe thou dost love England and her people's good," he said,
finally. "Thy words art wise."
Portsmouth leaned fondly over his shoulder.
"One more request," she said, with modest mien, "a very little one,
Sire."
The King laughed buoyantly.
"Nay, an I stay here," he said, "thy beauty will win my kingdom! What is
thy little wish, sweet sovereign?"
"No more Parliaments in England, Sire," she said, softly.
"What, woman!" he exclaimed, rising, half-aghast, half-humorous, at the
suggestion; for he too had an opinion of Parliament.
"To cross the sway of thy great royal state-craft," she continued,
quickly following up the advantage which her woman's wit taught her she
had gained. "The people's sufferings from taxation spring from
Parliament only, Sire."
"'Tis true," agreed Charles, decisively.
Portsmouth half embraced him.
"For the people's good, Sire," she urged, "for my sweetest kiss."
"You are mad," said Charles, yet three-fourths convinced; "my people--"
"Will be richer for my kiss," the Duchess interrupted, wooingly, "and
their King, by divine right and heritage, will rule untrammelled by
country clowns, court knaves and foolish lords, who now make up a silly
Parliament. With such a King, England will be better with no Parliament
to hinder. Think, Sire, think!"
"I have thought of this before," said Charles, who had often found
Parliament troublesome and, therefore, useless. "The taxes will be less
and contention saved."
[Illustration: BETWEEN TWO FIRES]
"Why hesitate then?" she asked. "This hour's as good for a good deed as
any."
"For England's sake?" reflected Charles, inquiringly, as he took the
second parchment from her hands. "Heaven direct my judgment for my
people's good. I sign."
The treaties which Louis XIV. of France had sent the artful beauty to
procure lay signed upon her desk.
Nell almost pulled the portieres from their hangings in her excitement.
"I must see those papers," she thought. "There's no good brewing."
Portsmouth threw her arms about the King and kissed him passionately.
"Now, indeed, has England a great King," she said, adding to herself:
"And that King Louis's slave!"
Charles smiled and took his leave. As he passed through the portal, he
wiped his lips, good-humouredly muttering: "Portsmouth's kisses and
Nell's do not mix well."
Portsmouth listened for a moment to his departing footsteps, then
dropped into the chair by the table and hastily folded and addressed the
papers.
Her mission was ended!
CHAPTER XIV
_He loves me! He loves me!_
Nell, half draped in the arras, had seen the kiss in reality bestowed by
Portsmouth but as she thought bestowed by the King. As his Majesty
departed through the door at the opposite end of the room, the colour
came and went in her cheeks. She could scarce breathe.
Portsmouth sat unconscious of all but her own grand achievement. She had
accomplished what shrewd statesmen had failed to bring about; and this
would be appreciated, she well knew, by Louis.
"'Sdeath!" muttered Nell to herself, hotly, as, with quite a knightly
bearing, she approached the Duchess. "He kisses her before my very eyes!
He kisses her! I'll kill the minx!" She half unsheathed her blade.
"Pshaw! No! No! I am too gallant to kill the sex. I'll do the very manly
act and simply break her heart. Aye, that is true bravery in breeches."
Her manner changed.
"Your grace!" she said suavely.
"Yes," answered Portsmouth, her eyes still gleaming triumphantly.
"It seems you are partial of your favours?"
"Yes."
"Such a gift from lips less fair," continued Nell, all in wooing vein,
"would make a beggar royal."
The hostess was touched with the phrasing of the compliment. She smiled.
"You would be pleased to think me fair?" she coyly asked, with the air
of one convinced that it could not well be otherwise.
"Fairer than yon false gallant thinks you," cried Nell, with an angry
toss of the head in the direction of the departed King. "Charles's kiss
upon her lips?" she thought. "'Tis mine, and I will have it."
In the twinkling of an eye, she threw both arms wildly about the neck of
the astonished hostess and kissed her forcefully upon the lips. Then,
with a ringing laugh, tinged with triumph, she stepped back, assuming a
defiant air.
The Duchess paled with anger. She rose quickly and, turning on the
pretty youth, exclaimed: "Sir, what do you mean?"
"Tilly-vally!" replied the naughty Nell, in her most winning way. "A
frown upon that alabaster brow, a pout upon those rosy lips; and all for
nothing!"
"_Parbleu!_" exclaimed the indignant Duchess. "Your impudence is
outrageous, sir! We will dispense with your company. Good night!"
"Ods-pitikins!" swaggered Nell, feigning umbrage. "Angry because I
kissed you! You have no right, madame, to be angry."
"No right?" asked Portsmouth, her feelings tempered by surprise.
"No right," repeated Nell, firmly. "It is I who should be outraged at
your anger."
"Explain, sir," said the Duchess, haughtily.
Nell stepped toward the lady, and, assuming her most tender tone, with
wistful, loving eyes, declared:
"Because your grace can have no appreciation of what my temptation was
to kiss you."
The Duchess's countenance glowed with delight, despite herself.
"I'faith, was there a temptation?" she asked, quite mollified.
"An overwhelming passion," cried Nell, following up her advantage.
"And you were disappointed, sir?" asked Portsmouth suggestively, her
vanity falling captive to the sweet cajolery.
"I only got yon courtier's kiss," saucily pouted Nell, "so lately
bestowed on you."
"Do you know whose kiss that was?" inquired the Duchess.
"It seemed familiar," answered Nell, dryly.
"The King's," said Portsmouth, proudly.
"The King's!" cried Nell, opening wide her eyes. "Take back your kiss. I
would not have it."
"Indeed!" said Portsmouth, smiling.
"'Tis too volatile," charged Nell, decisively. "'Tis here, 'tis there,
'tis everywhere bestowed. Each rosy tavern-wench with a pretty ankle
commands it halt. A kiss is the gift of God, the emblem of true love.
Take back the King's kiss; I do not wish it."
"He does not love the King," thought Portsmouth, ever on the lookout for
advantage. "A possible ally!"
She turned upon the youth, with humorous, mocking lip, and said
reprovingly: "A kiss is a kiss the world over, fair sir; and the King's
kisses are sacred to Portsmouth's lips."
"Zounds," replied Nell, with a wicked wink, "not two hours since, he
bestowed a kiss on Eleanor Gwyn--"
"Nell Gwyn!" cried the Duchess, interrupting; and she started violently.
"With oaths, mountains high," continued Nell, with pleasurable
harshness, "that his lips were only for her."
The Duchess stood speechless, quivering from top to toe.
Nell herself swaggered carelessly across the room, muttering
mischievously, as she watched the Duchess from the corner of her eye:
"Methinks that speech went home."
"He kissed her in your presence?" gasped Portsmouth, anxiously following
her.
"I was not far off, dear Duchess," was the quizzical reply.
"You saw the kiss?"
"No," answered Nell, dryly, and she could scarce contain her merriment.
"I--I--felt the shock."
Before she had finished the sentence, the King appeared in the doorway.
His troubled spirit had led him to return, to speak further with the
Duchess regarding the purport of the treaties. He had the good of his
people at heart, and he was not a little anxious in mind lest he had
been over-hasty in signing such weighty articles without a more careful
reading. He stopped short as he beheld, to his surprise, the Irish spark
Adair in earnest converse with his hostess.
"I hate Nell Gwyn," he overheard the Duchess say.
"Is't possible?" interrogated Nell, with wondering eyes.
The King caught this utterance as well.
"In a passion over Nelly?" reflected he. "I'd sooner face Cromwell's
soldiers at Boscobel! All hail the oak!"
His Majesty's eye saw with a welcome the spreading branches of the
monarch of the forest, outlined on the tapestry; and, with a sigh of
relief, he glided quickly behind it and, joining a group of maskers,
passed into an anteroom, quite out of ear-shot.
"Most strange!" continued Nell, wonderingly. "Nell told me but yesterday
that Portsmouth was charming company--but a small eater."
"'Tis false," cried the Duchess, and her brow clouded at the unpleasant
memory of the meeting at Ye Blue Boar. "I never met the swearing
orange-wench."
"Ods-pitikins!" acquiesced Nell, woefully. "Nell's oaths are bad enough
for men."
"Masculine creature!" spitefully ejaculated the Duchess.
"Verily, quite masculine--of late," said Nell, demurely, giving a
significant tug at her boot-top.
"A vulgar player," continued the indignant Duchess, "loves every lover
who wears gold lace and tosses coins."
"Nay; 'tis false!" denied Nell, sharply.
The Duchess looked up, surprised.
Nell was all obeisance in an instant.
"Pardon, dear hostess, a thousand pardons," she prayed; "but I have some
reason to know you misjudge Mistress Nell. With all her myriad faults,
she never loved but one."
"You seem solicitous for her good name, dear Beau?" suggested
Portsmouth, suspiciously.
"I am solicitous for the name of all good women," promptly explained
Nell, who was rarely caught a-napping, "or I would be unworthy of their
sex--I mean their friendship."
The Duchess seemed satisfied with the explanation.
"Dear Beau, what do the cavaliers see in that horrid creature?" archly
asked the Duchess, contemptuous of this liking of the stronger sex.
"Alack-a-day, we men, you know," replied Nell, boastfully, "well--the
best of us make mistakes in women."
"Are you mistaken?" questioned Portsmouth, coyly.
"What?" laughed Nell, in high amusement. "I love Nelly? Nay, Duchess,"
and her voice grew tender, "I adore but one!"
"And she?" asked the hostess, encouraging the youth's apparently
awakening passion.
"How can you ask?" said Nell, with a deep sigh, looking adoringly into
Portsmouth's eyes and almost embracing her.
"Do you not fear?" inquired Portsmouth, well pleased.
"Fear what?" questioned Nell.
"My wrath," said Portsmouth.
"Nay, more, thy love!" sighed Nell, meaningly, assuming a true lover's
dejected visage.
"My love!" cried Portsmouth, curiously.
"Aye," again sighed Nell, more deeply still; "for it is hopeless."
"Try," said the Duchess, almost resting her head upon Nell's shoulder.
"I am doing my best," said Nell, her eyes dancing through wistful
lashes, as she embraced in earnest the Duchess's graceful figure and
held it close.
"Do you find it hopeless?" asked Portsmouth, returning the embrace.
"Until you trust me," replied Nell, sadly. She shook her curls, then
fondly pleaded: "Give me the secrets of your brain and heart, and then
I'll know you love me."
The hostess smiled and withdrew from the embrace. Nell stood the picture
of forlorn and hopeless love.
"Nay," laughed Portsmouth, consolingly, "they would sink a ship."
"One would not," still pleaded Nell, determined at all odds to have the
packet.
"One!" The Duchess's eyes fell unconsciously upon the papers which she
had bewitched from the King and which lay so near her heart. She started
first with fear; and then her countenance assumed a thoughtful cast.
There was no time now for delay. The papers must be sent immediately.
The King might return and retract. Many a battle, she knew, had been
lost after it had been won.
That night, at the Rainbow Tavern, well out of reach of the town, of
court spies and gossips, Louis would have a trusted one in waiting. His
commission was to receive news from various points and transmit it
secretly to France. It was a ride of but a few hours to him.
She had purposed to send the packet by her messenger in waiting; but he
had rendered her suspicious by his speech and action in the late
afternoon, and she questioned whether she would be wise in trusting him.
Nor was she willing to risk her triumph in the hands of Buckingham's
courier. It was too dear to her.
Indeed, she was clever enough to know that state-secrets are often safer
in the custody of a disinterested stranger than in the hands of a
friend, especially if the stranger be truly a stranger to the court.
She glanced quickly in the direction of Nell, who looked the ideal of
daring youth, innocent, honest and true to the death.
"Why not?" she thought quickly, as she reflected again upon Rochet's
words, "to be trusted." "Of Irish descent, no love for the King, young,
brave, no court ties; none will suspect or stay him."
Her woman's intuition said "yes." She turned upon Nell and asked, not
without agitation in her voice:
"Can I trust you?"
Nell's sword was out in an instant, glistening in the light, and so
promptly that the Duchess started. Nell saluted, fell upon one knee and
said, with all the exuberance of audacious, loving youth:
"My sword and life are yours."
Portsmouth looked deeply into Nell's honest eyes. She was convinced.
"This little packet," said she, in subdued tones, summoning Nell to her
side, "a family matter merely, must reach the Rainbow Tavern, on the
Canterbury Road, by sunrise, where one is waiting. You'll find his
description on the packet."
Nell sheathed her sword.
"I know the place and road," she said, earnestly, as she took the papers
from the Duchess's hand and placed them carefully in her doublet.
A rustle of the curtains indicated that some one had returned and was
listening by the arras.
"Hush!" cautioned Portsmouth. "Be true, and you will win my love."
Nell did not reply, save to the glance that accompanied the words.
Snatching her hat from a chair on which she had tossed it, she started
eagerly in the direction of the great stairs that led to the hallway
below, where, an hour since, she had been at first refused admission to
the palace. Could she but pass again the guards, all would be well; and
surely there was now no cause for her detention. Yet her heart beat
tumultuously--faster even than when she presented herself with Rochet's
letter written by herself.
As she was hastening by the arras, her quick eye, however, recognized
the King's long plume behind it; and she halted in her course. She was
alert with a thousand maddening thoughts crowding her brain, all in an
instant.
"The King returned--an eavesdropper!" she reflected. "Jealous of
Portsmouth; his eyes follow her. Where are his vows to Nell? I'll defame
Nell's name, drag her fair honour in the mire; so, Charles, we'll test
your manliness and love."
She recrossed the room quickly to Portsmouth.
"Madame," she exclaimed, in crisp, nervous tones, loud enough for the
King's ear, "I have been deceiving, lying to you. I stood here,
praising, honouring Eleanor Gwyn--an apple rotten to the core!"
"How now?" ejaculated Charles, in an undertone.
His carelessness vanished upon the instant. Where he had waited for the
single ear of Portsmouth, he became at once an earnest listener.
Nell paused not.
"I had a friend who told me he loved Nell. I loved that friend. God
knows I loved him."
"Yes, yes!" urged Portsmouth, with eagerness.
"A man of noble name and princely mien," continued Nell, so standing
that the words went, like arrows, straight to the King's ear and heart,
"a man of honour, who would have died fighting for Nell's honour--"
"Misled youth," muttered Portsmouth.
Nell seemed not to hear the words.
"Who, had he heard a murmur of disapproval, a shadow cast upon her name,
would have sealed in death the presumptuous lips which uttered it."
"She betrayed his confidence?" asked Portsmouth, breathlessly.
"Betrayed--and worse!" gesticulated Nell, with the visage of a madman.
"A woman base, without a spark of kindliness--an adventuress! This is
the picture of that Eleanor Gwyn! Where is a champion to take up the
gauntlet for such a Nell?"
As quick as light, the King threw back the arras and came between them.
The Duchess saw him and cried out in surprise. Nell did not turn--only
caught a chair-top to save herself from falling.
"Here, thou defamer!" he called, his voice husky with passion. "Thou
base purveyor of lies, answer me--me, for those words! I am Nell's
champion! I'll force you to own your slander a lie."
The King was terribly in earnest.
"The guard! The guard!" called Portsmouth, faintly, almost overcome by
the scene. In her passion that the King so revealed his love for Nell,
she quite forgot that Adair was the bearer of her packet.
"I want no guard," commanded the King. "An insult to Nell Gwyn is my
cause alone."
Nell was in an elysium of ecstasy. She realized nothing, saw nothing.
"He loves me! He loves me!" her trembling lips breathed only. "He'll
fight for Nell."
"Come; draw and defend yourself," angrily cried the King.
Portsmouth screamed and fell upon his arm.
It is doubtful what the result would otherwise have been. True, Nell
ofttimes had fenced with the King and knew his wrist, but she was no
swordswoman now. Though she took up in her delirium the King's
challenge with a wild cry, "Aye, draw and defend yourself!" she realized
nothing but his confession of love for Nell.
The scene was like a great blur before her eyes.
She rushed upon the King and by him, she scarce knew how. Their swords
harmlessly clashed; that was all.
The cries had been taken up without.
"The guard! The guard!" "Treason!" "Treason!"
The air was alive with voices.
Nell ran up the steps leading to a French window, which opened upon a
tiny railed balcony. Below, one story only, lay a soft carpet of
greensward, shimmering in the moonlight. With her sword, she struck the
frail sash, which instantly yielded.
Meantime, the room had filled with courtiers, guards and gallants, who
had rushed in, sword and spear in hand, to guard the King.
As the glass shivered and flew wide, under the point of Nell's blade,
all eyes turned toward her and all blades quivered threateningly in the
air.
Buckingham was first to ascend the steps in pursuit. He was
disarmed--more through the superiority of Nell's position than through
the dexterity of her wrist.
Then for the first time, she realized her danger. Her eyes staring from
their sockets, she drew back from her murderous pursuers, and, in
startled accents, she knew not why, screamed in supplication, with hands
uplifted:
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!"
The storm was stayed. All paused to hear what the stranger-youth would
say. Would he apologize or would he surrender?
The suspense was for but a second, though it seemed an eternity to Nell.
The open window was behind.
With a parting glance at the trembling blades, she turned quickly and
with reckless daring leaped the balcony.
"T' hell with ye!" was wafted back in a rich brogue defiantly by the
night.
Astonishment and consternation filled the room; but the bird had flown.
Some said that the wicked farewell-speech had been Adair's, and some
said not.
How it all happened, no one could tell, unless it was a miracle.
CHAPTER XV
_I come, my love; I come._
One lonely candle, or to speak more strictly a bit of one, sputtered in
its silver socket in the cosy drawing-room; and a single moonbeam found
its way in through the draperies of the window leading to the terrace
and to St. James's Park.
Moll lay upon a couch asleep; but it was a restless sleep.
The voice of a town-crier resounded faintly across the park: "Midnight;
and all is well."
She started up and rubbed her eyes in a bewildered way.
"The midnight crier!" she thought; and there was a troubled expression
in her face. "I have been asleep and the candle's nearly out."
She jumped to her feet and hastily lighted two or three of its more
substantial mates, of which there was an abundance in the rich
candelabra about the room.
A cricket in a crevice startled her. She ran to the window and looked
anxiously out upon the park, then hastened to the door, with equal
anxiety, lest it might be unlocked. Every shadow was to her feverish
fancy a spirit of evil or of death.
"I wish Nell would come," she thought. "The ghosts and skeletons fairly
swarm in this old house at midnight; and I am all alone to-night. It's
different when Nell's about. The goblins are afraid of her merry laugh.
Boo! I am cold all over. I am afraid to stand still, and I am afraid to
move."
She ran again to the window and this time pulled it open. The moonlight
instantly flooded the room, dimming the candles which she had lighted.
She saw her shadow, and started back in horror.
"Some one glided behind the old oak in the park," she cried aloud, for
the company of her voice. "Oh, oh! Nell will be murdered! I begged her
not to go to Portsmouth's ball. She said she just wanted to peep in and
pay her respects to the hostess. Moll! You better pray."
She fell upon her knees and reverently lifted her hands and eyes in
prayer.
Something fell in the room with a heavy thud. She shut her eyes tight
and prayed harder. The object of her fear was a long gray boot, which
had been thrown in at the window and had fallen harmlessly by her side.
It was followed in an instant by its mate, equally harmless yet equally
dreadful.
A jaunty figure, assisted by a friendly shoulder, then bounded over the
balustrade and rested with a sigh of relief just within the
window-opening. It was Nell, returning from the wars; she was pale,
almost death-like. The evening's excitement, her daring escapade and
more especially its exciting finish had taken hold of her in earnest.
Her dainty little self was paying the penalty. She was all of a tremble.
"Safe home at last!" she cried wearily. "Heaven reward you, Strings."
From below the terrace, without the window, responded the fiddler, in
sympathetic, loving tones: "Good night, Mistress Nell; and good sleep."
"Good night, comrade," answered Nell, as she almost fell into the room,
calling faintly: "Moll! Moll! What are you doing, Moll?"
Moll closed her eyes tighter and prayed still more fervently.
"Praying for Nell," her trembling lips mechanically replied.
"Humph!" cried Nell, half fainting, throwing herself upon the couch.
"There's no spirit in this flesh worth praying for. Some wine, some
wine; and the blessing after."
The command brought Moll to her senses and she realized that it was
really Nell who had entered thus unceremoniously. She rushed to her for
safety, like a frightened deer to the lake.
"Nell, dear Nell!" she cried. "You are ill."
"Wine, wine, I say," again fell in peremptory tones from the
half-reclining Nell.
Moll glanced in dismay at her bootless mistress: her garments all awry;
her sword ill sheathed; her cloak uncaught from the shoulder and half
used, petticoat-like, as a covering for her trembling-limbs; her hair
dishevelled; her cheeks pale; her wild eyes, excitement-strained,
staring from their sockets.
"You are wounded; you are going to die," she cried. "Moll will be all
alone in the world again."
Her hands shook more than Nell's as she filled a glass half full of wine
and passed it to her mistress.
"To the brim, girl, to the brim," commanded Nell, reviving at the
prospect of the draught. "There!"
She tossed off the drink in gallant fashion: "I tell you, sweetheart, we
men need lots of stimulating."
"You are all of a tremble," continued Moll.
"Little wonder!" sighed Nell. "These braveries are a trifle chilly,
sweet mouse. Boo!" She laughed hysterically, while Moll closed the
window. "You see, I never was a man before, and I had all that lost time
to make up--acres of oats to scatter in one little night. Open my
throat; I cannot breathe. Take off my sword. The wars are done, I hope."
She startled Moll, who was encasing her mistress's pretty feet in a pair
of dainty shoes, with another wild, hilarious laugh. "Moll," she
continued, "I was the gayest mad-cap there. The sex were wild for me. I
knew their weak points of attack, lass. If I had been seeking a mate, I
could have made my market of them all and started a harem."
She seemed to forget all her dangers past in the recollection.
"Wicked girl," said Moll, pouting reprovingly.
"Oh, I am a jolly roisterer, little one," laughed Nell, in reply, as
with cavalier-strides she crossed the room. She threw herself upon the
table and proceeded to boast of her doings for Moll's benefit, swinging
her feet meanwhile. "I ran the gamut. I had all the paces of the truest
cavalier. I could tread a measure, swear like one from the wars, crook
my elbow, lie, gamble, fight--Fight? Did I say fight?"
She hid her curly head in her hands and sobbed spasmodically.
"You have been in danger!" exclaimed Moll, fearfully.
"Danger!" repeated Nell, breaking out afresh. "I taught the King a
lesson he will dream about, my sweet, though it near cost me my life. He
loves me, d'ye hear; he loves me, pretty one! Dance, Moll, dance--Dance,
I say! I could fly for very joy!"
With the tears still wet upon her cheeks, she seized Moll by both hands
and whirled the astonished girl wildly about the room, until she herself
reeled for want of breath. Then, catching at a great carved oaken chair,
she fell into it and cried and laughed alternately.
"Nell, Nell," gasped Moll, as she too struggled for breath; "one minute
you laugh and then you cry. Have you lost your wits?"
"I only know," exulted Nell, "I made him swear his love for Nell to
Portsmouth's face. I made him draw his sword for Nell."
"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Moll, aghast. "You did not draw yourself? A
sword against the King is treason."
"Ods-bodikins, I know not!" answered Nell. "I know not what I did or
said. I was mad, mad! All I remember is: there was a big noise--a
million spears and blunderbusses turned upon poor me! Gad! I made a
pretty target, girl."
"A million spears and blunderbusses!" echoed Moll, her eyes like
saucers.
"An army, child, an army!" continued Nell, in half-frantic accents. "I
did not stop to count them. Then, next I knew, I was in my coach, with
dear old Strings beside me. The horses flew. We alighted at the Chapel,
tiptoed about several corners to break the scent; then I took off my
shoes and stole up the back way like a good and faithful husband. Oh, I
did the whole thing in cavalier-style, sweetheart. But,'twixt us, Moll,"
and she spoke with a mysterious, confidential air,"--I wouldn't have it
go further for worlds--Adair is a coward, a monstrous coward! He ran!"
As if to prove the truth of her words, at a sudden, sharp, shrill sound
from the direction of the park, the sad remnant of Adair clutched Moll
frantically; and both girls huddled together with startled faces and
bated breaths.
"Hark! What is that?" whispered Nell.
"The men, perchance, I told you of," answered Moll; "they've spied about
the house for weeks."
"Nonsense, you little goose," remonstrated Nell, though none too
bravely; "some of your ex-lovers nailing their bleeding hearts to the
trees."
"No, no; listen!" exclaimed Moll, frantically, as the noise grew louder.
"They're in the entry."
"In the entry!" stammered Nell; and she almost collapsed at the thought
of more adventures. "I wish we were in bed, with our heads under the
sheet."
"Here is your sword," said Moll, as she brought Nell the sharp weapon,
held well at arm's length for fear of it.
"Oh, yes, my sword!" exclaimed Nell, perking up--for an instant only. "I
never thought of my sword; and this is one of the bravest swords I ever
drew. I am as weak as a woman, Moll."
"Take heart," said Moll, encouraging her from the rear, as Nell
brandished the glittering blade in the direction of the door. "You know
you faced an army to-night."
"True," replied Nell, her courage oozing out at her finger-tips, "but
then I was a man, and had to seem brave, whether I was or no. Who's
there?" she called faintly. "Who's there? Support me, Moll. Beau Adair
is on his last legs."
Both stood listening intently and trembling from top to toe.
A score of rich voices, singing harmoniously, broke upon the night.
The startled expression on Nell's face changed instantly to one of
fearless, roguish merriment. She was her old self again. She tossed the
sword contemptuously upon the floor, laughing in derision now at her
companion's fear.
"A serenade! A serenade!" she cried. "Moll--Why, Moll, what feared ye,
lass? Come!" She ran gaily to the window and peeped out. "Oh, ho,
masqueraders from the moon. Some merry crew, I'll be bound. I am
generous. I'll give thee all but one, sweet mouse. The tall knight in
white for me! I know he's gallant, though his vizor's down. Marry, he is
their captain, I trow; and none but a captain of men shall be captain of
my little heart."
"It is Satan and his imps," cried Moll, attempting to draw Nell from the
window.
"Tush, little one," laughed Nell, reprovingly. "Satan is my warmest
friend. Besides, they cannot cross the moat. The ramparts are ours. The
draw-bridge is up."
In a merry mood, she threw a piece of drapery, mantle-like, about
Adair's shoulders, quite hiding them, and, decapitating a grim old suit
of armour, placed the helmet on her head. Thus garbed, she threw the
window quickly open and stepped boldly upon the ledge, within full view
of the band beneath. As the moonlight gleamed upon her helmet, one might
have fancied her a goodly knight of yore; and, indeed, she looked quite
formidable.
"Nell, what are you doing?" called Moll, wildly, from a point of safety.
"They can see and shoot you."
"Tilly-vally, girl," replied Nell, undaunted now that she could see that
there was no danger, "we'll parley with the enemy in true feudal style.
We'll teach them we have a man about the house. Ho, there, strangers of
the night--breakers of the King's peace and the slumbers of the
righteous! Brawlers, knaves; would ye raise honest men from their beds
at such an hour? What means this jargon of tipsy voices? What want ye?"
A chorus of throats without demanded, in muffled accents: "Drink!"
"Drink!" "Sack!" "Rhenish!"
[Illustration: "I WAS THAT BOY!"]
"Do ye think this a tavern, knaves?" responded Nell, in a husky, mannish
voice. "Do ye think this a vintner's? There are no topers here.
Jackanapes, revellers; away with you, or we'll rouse the citadel and
train the guns."
Her retort was met with boisterous laughter and mocking cries of "Down
with the doors!" "Break in the windows!"
This was a move Nell had not anticipated. She jumped from the ledge, or
rather tumbled into the room, nervously dropping her disguise upon the
floor.
"Heaven preserve us," she said to Moll, with quite another complexion in
her tone, "they are coming in! Oh, Moll, Moll, I did not think they
would dare."
Moll closed the sashes and bolted them, then hugged Nell close.
"Ho, there, within!" came, in a guttural voice, now from without the
door.
"Yes?" Nell tried to say; but the word scarce went beyond her lips.
Again in guttural tones came a second summons--"Nell! Nell!"
Nell turned to Moll for support and courage, whispering: "Some arrant
knave calls Nell at this hour." Then, assuming an attitude of bravery,
with fluttering heart, she answered, as best she could, in a forced
voice: "Nell's in bed!"
"Yes, Nell's in bed," echoed the constant Moll. "Everybody's in bed.
Call to-morrow!"
"No trifling, wench!" commanded the voice without, angrily. "Down with
the door!"
"Stand close, Moll," entreated Nell, as she answered the would-be
intruder with the question:
"Who are ye? Who are ye?"
"Old Rowley himself!" replied the guttural voice.
This was followed by hoarse laughter from many throats.
"The King--as I thought!" whispered Nell. "Good lack; what shall I do
with Adair? Plague on't, he'll be mad if I keep him waiting, and madder
if I let him in. Where are your wits, Moll? Run for my gown; fly--fly!"
Moll hastened to do the bidding.
Nell rushed to the entry-door, in frantic agitation.
"The bolt sticks, Sire," she called, pretending to struggle with the
door, hoping so to stay his Majesty until she should have time to
dispose of poor Adair. "How can I get out of these braveries?" she then
asked herself, tugging awkwardly at one part of the male attire and then
at another. "I don't know which end of me to begin on first."
Moll re-entered the room with a bundle of pink in her arms, which turned
out to be a flowing, silken robe, trimmed with lace.
"Here is the first I found," she said breathlessly.
Nell motioned to her nervously to put it upon the couch.
"Help me out of this coat," she pleaded woefully.
Moll took off the coat and then assisted Nell to circumscribe with the
gown, from heels to head, her stunning figure, neatly encased in Adair's
habit, which now consisted only of a jaunty shirt of white, gray
breeches, shoes and stockings.
"Marry, I would I were a fairy with a magic wand; I could befuddle men's
eyes easier," Nell lamented.
The King knocked again upon the door sharply.
"Patience, my liege," entreated Nell, drawing her gown close about her
and muttering with personal satisfaction: "There, there; that hides a
multitude of sins. The girdle, the girdle! Adair will not escape from
this--if we can but keep him quiet; the rogue has a woman's tongue, and
it will out, I fear."
She snatched up a mirror and arranged her hair as best she could in the
dim light, with the cries without resounding in her ears and with Moll
dancing anxiously about her.
"Down with the door," threatened the King, impatiently. "The ram; the
battering ram."
"I come, my love; I come," cried Nell, in agitation, fairly running to
the door to open it, but stopping aghast as her eye caught over her
shoulder the sad, telltale condition of the room.
"'Sdeath," she called in a stage-whisper to Moll; "under the couch with
Adair's coat! Patience, Sire," she besought in turn the King. "Help me,
Moll. How this lock has rusted--in the last few minutes. My sword!" she
continued breathlessly to Moll. "My boots! My hat! My cloak!"
Moll, in her efforts to make the room presentable, was rushing hither
and thither, first throwing Adair's coat beneath the couch as Nell
commanded and firing the other evidences of his guilty presence, one
behind one door and another behind another.
It was done.
Nell slipped the bolt and calmly took a stand in the centre of the room,
drawing her flowing gown close about Adair's person. She was quite
exhausted from the nervous strain, but her actress's art taught her the
way to hide it. Moll, panting for breath, across the room, feigned
composure as best she could.
The door opened and in strode the King and his followers.
"Welcome, royal comrades, welcome all!" said Nell, bowing graciously to
her untimely visitors.
CHAPTER XVI
_Ods-pitikins, my own reflection!_
Upon the fine face of the King, as he entered Nell's drawing-room, was
an expression of nervous bantering, not wholly unmixed with anxiety.
The slanderous Adair and his almost miraculous escape had not long
weighed upon his Majesty's careless nature.
As he had not met Adair until that night or even heard of him, his heart
had told him that the Irish roisterer could scarcely be a serious
obstacle in the way of Nell's perfect faith, if, indeed, he had met Nell
at all, which he doubted. His command to the guard to follow and
overtake the youth had been more the command of the ruler than of the
man. Despite himself, there had been something about the dainty peacock
he could not help but like; and the bold dash for the window, the
disarming of the purse-proud Buckingham, who for many reasons displeased
him, and the leap to the sward below, with the accompanying farewell,
had especially delighted both his manhood and his sense of humour.
He had, therefore, dismissed Adair from his mind, except as a possible
subject to banter Nell withal, or as a culprit to punish, if overtaken.
His restless spirit had chafed under the Duchess's lavish
entertainment--for the best entertainment is dull to the lover whose
sweetheart is absent--and he had turned instinctively from the ball to
Nell's terrace, regardless of the hour and scarce noticing his constant
attendants.
The night was so beautiful that their souls had found vent in song.
This serenade, however, had brought to Nell's window a wide-awake
fellow, who had revealed himself in saucy talk; and the delighted
cavaliers, in hope of fun, had charged jeeringly that they had outwitted
the guard and had found Adair.
It was this that had brought the anxious look to the King's face; and,
though his better judgment was still unchanged, the sight of the knave
at the window, together with the suggestions of his merry followers, had
cast a shadow of doubt for the moment upon his soul, and he had
reflected that there was much that the Irish youth had said that could
not be reconciled with that better judgment.
With a careless shrug, he had, therefore, taken up the jest of his
lawless crew, which coincided with his own intended purpose, and had
sworn that he would turn the household out of bed without regard to
pretty protests or formality of warrant. He would raise the question
forthwith, in jest and earnest, and worry Nell about the boaster.
"Scurvy entertainment," he began, with frowning brow.
"Yea, my liege," explained Nell, winsomely; "you see--I did not expect
the King so late, and so was unpresentable."
"It is the one you do not expect," replied Charles, dryly, "who always
causes the trouble, Nell."
"We were in bed, Sire," threw in Moll, thinking to come to the rescue of
her mistress.
"Marry, truly," said Nell, catching at the cue, "--asleep, Sire, sound
asleep; and our prayers said."
"Tilly-vally," exclaimed the King, "we might credit thy tongue, wench,
but for the prayers. No digressions, spider Nell. My sword is in a
fighting mood. 'Sdeath, call forth the knight-errant who holds thy
errant heart secure for one short hour!"
"The knight of my heart!" cried Nell. "Ah, Sire, you know his name."
She looked at his Majesty with eyes of unfailing love; but the King was
true to his jest.
"Yea, marry, I do," laughed Charles, tauntingly, with a wink at his
companions; "a pretty piece of heraldry, a bold escutcheon, a dainty
poniard--pale as a lily, and how he did sigh and drop his lids and smirk
and smirk and dance your latest galliard to surpass De Grammont. Ask
brother James how he did dance."
"Nay, Sire," hastily interceded the ever-gallant Rochester, "his
Highness of York has suffered enough."
York frowned at the reference; for he had been robbed of his lady at the
dance by Adair. He could not forget that. Heedless of his royalty,
bestowed by man, she, like the others, had followed in the train of the
Irish spark, who was royal only by nature.
"Hang the coxcomb!" he snarled.
"'Slife, I will," replied Charles, slyly, "an you overtake him,
brother."
"His back was shapely, Sire," observed Rochester, with quaint humour.
"Yea, and his heels!" cried the King, reflectively. "He had such dainty
heels--Mercury's wings attached, to waft him on his way."
"This is moonshine madness!" exclaimed Nell, with the blandest of bland
smiles. "There's none such here. By my troth, I would there were. Nay,
ask Moll."
Moll did not wait to be asked.
"Not one visitor to-night," she asserted promptly.
"Odso!" cried Charles, in a mocking tone. "Whence came the Jack at the
window--the brave young challenger--'Would ye raise honest men from
their beds at such an hour?'"
A burst of laughter followed the King's grave imitation of the
window-boaster.
"Sire!" sighed Rochester, in like spirit. "'Do you think this a
vintner's? There are no topers here.'"
Another burst of merry laughter greeted the speaker, as he punctuated
his words by catching up the wine-cups from the table and clinking them
gaily.
Nell's face was as solemn as a funeral.
"To your knees, minx," commanded James, grimly, "and crave mercy of your
prince."
"Faith and troth," pleaded Nell, seriously, "'t was I myself with helmet
and mantle on. You see, Sire, my menials were guests at Portsmouth's
ball--to lend respectability."
"Saucy wag," cried the Merry Monarch. "A ball?--A battle--which would
have killed thee straight!"
"It had liked to," reflected Nell, as she tartly replied: "A war of the
sex without me? It was stupid, then. The Duchess missed me, I trow."
"Never fear," answered Charles, with difficulty suppressing his mirth;
"you were bravely championed."
"I am sure of that," said Nell, slyly; "my King was there."
"And a bantam cock," ejaculated Charles, sarcastically, "upon whose lips
'Nell' hung familiarly."
"Some strange gallant," cried Nell, in ecstasy, "took my part before
them all? Who was he, Sire? Don't tantalize me so."
She smiled, half serious, half humorous, as she pleaded in her charming
way.
"A chip from the Blarney Stone," observed the King at length,
ironically, "surnamed Adair!"
"Adair! Adair!" cried Nell, to the astonishment of all. "We spent our
youth together. I see him in my mind's eye, Sire, throw down the
gauntlet in Nell's name and defy the world for her. Fill the cups. We'll
drink to my new-found hero! Fill! Fill! To Beau Adair, as you love me,
gallants! Long life to Adair!"
The cups were filled to overflowing and trembled on eager lips in
response to the hostess's merry toast.
"Stay!" commanded the King, in peremptory tones. "Not a drop to a
coward!"
"A coward!" cried Nell, aghast. "Adair a coward? I'll never credit it,
Sire!"
She turned away, lest she reveal her merriment, as she bethought her:
"He is trembling in my boots now. I can feel him shake."
"Our pledge is Nell, Nell only!" exclaimed the King, his cup high in
air.
With one accord, the gallants eagerly took up the royal pledge. "Aye,
aye, Nell!" "Nell!" "We'll drink to Nell!"
"You do me honour, royal gentlemen," bowed Nell, well pleased at the
King's toast.
She had scarce touched the cup to her lips, however, with a mental
chuckle, "Poor Adair! Here's a health to the inner man!" when her eye
fell upon one of Adair's gray boots, which Moll had failed to hide, in
her excitement, now revealing itself quite plainly in the light of the
many candles. She caught it adroitly on the tip of her toe and sent it
whizzing through the air in the direction of poor Moll, who,
fortunately, caught it in midair and hid it quickly beneath her apron.
The King turned at the sound; but Nell's face was as woefully
unconcerned as a church-warden's at his hundredth burial.
The wine added further zest to the merry-making and the desire for
sport.
"Now, fair huswife," continued Charles, his thoughts reverting to Adair,
"set forth the dish, that we may carve it to our liking. 'Tis a dainty
bit,--lace, velvet and ruffles."
"Heyday, Sire," responded Nell, evasively, "the larder's empty."
"Devil on't," cried Charles, ferociously; "no mincing, wench. In the
confusion of the ball, the bird escaped my guard by magic. We know
whither the flight."
The King assumed a knowing look.
"Escaped the guard?" gasped Nell, in great surprise. "Alas, I trow some
petticoat has hid him then."
"I'll stake my life upon't," observed James, who had not been heard from
in some time but who had been observing the scene with decorous dignity.
"Sire, you would not injure Adair," pleaded Nell, now alert, with all
her arts of fascination. "You are too generous. Blue eyes of heaven, and
such a smile! Did you mark that young Irishman's smile, Sire?"
Her impudence was so bewitching that the King scarce knew whether it
were jest or earnest. He sprang to his feet from the couch, where he had
thrown himself after the toast to Nell, and, with some forcefulness,
exclaimed:
"Odsfish, this to my teeth, rogue! Guard the doors, gallants; we'd gaze
upon this paragon."
"And set him pirouetting, Sire," sardonically suggested James.
"Yea, to the tune of these fiddle-sticks," laughed Charles, as he
unsheathed his rapier. "Search from tile to rafter."
"Aye, aye," echoed the omnipresent Rochester, "from cellar to garret."
Before, however, the command could be obeyed, even in resolution, Nell
moved uneasily to a curtain which hung in the corner of the room and
placed herself before it, as if to shield a hidden man.
"Sire," she pleaded fearfully, "spare him, Sire; for my sake, Sire. He
is not to blame for loving me. He cannot help it. You know that, Sire!"
"Can he really be here?" muttered Charles, with clouding visage. "Saucy
wench! Hey! My blood is charging full-tilt through my veins. Odsfish,
we'll try his mettle once again."
"Prythee, Sire," begged Nell, "he is too noble and brave and handsome to
die. I love his very image."
"Oh, ho!" cried Charles. "A silken blind for the silken bird! Hey, St.
George for merry England! Come forth, thou picture of cowardice, thou
vile slanderer."
He grasped Nell by the wrist and fairly dragged her across the room.
Then, rushing to the curtain, he seized its silken folds and tore it
completely from its hangings--only to face himself in a large mirror.
"Ods-pitikins, my own reflection!" he exclaimed, with menacing tone,
though there was relief as well in his voice. He bent the point of his
blade against the floor, gazed at himself in the pier-glass and looked
over his shoulder at Nell, who stood in the midst of his courtiers,
splitting her sides with laughter, undignified but honest.
"Rogue, rogue," he cried, "I should turn the point on thee for this
trick; but England would be worse than a Puritan funeral with no Nell.
Thou shalt suffer anon."
"I defy thee, Sire, and all thy imps of Satan," laughed the vixen, as
she watched the King sheathe his jewelled sword. "Cast Nell in the
blackest dungeon, Adair is her fellow-prisoner; outlaw Nell, Adair is
her brother outlaw; off with Nell's head, off rolls Adair's. Who else
can boast so true a love!"
"Thou shalt be banished the realm," decided the King, jestingly; for he
was now convinced that her Adair was but a jest to tease him--a Roland
for his Oliver.
"Banished!" cried Nell, with bated breath.
"Aye; beyond sea, witch!" answered the King, with pompous austerity.
"Virginia shall be thy home."
"Good, good!" laughed Nell, gaily. "Sire, the men grow handsome in
Virginia, and dauntless; and they tell me there are a dearth of women
there. Oh, banish me at once to--What's the name?"
"Jamestown," suggested York, recalling the one name because of its
familiar sound.
"Yea, brother James," said Nell, fearlessly mimicking his brusque
accent, "Jamestown."
"Savages, wild men, cannibals," scowled Charles.
"Cannibals!" cried Nell. "Marry, I should love to be a cannibal. Are
there cannibals in Jamestown, brother James? Banish me, Sire; banish me
to Jamestown of all places. Up with the sails, my merry men; give me the
helm! Adair will sail in the same good ship, I trow."
"Adair! I trow thou wert best at home, cannibal Nelly," determined the
King.
"Then set all the men in Britain to watch me, Sire," said Nell; "for,
from now on, I'll need it."
The King shook his finger warningly at her, then leaned carelessly
against the window.
"Ho there!" he cried out suddenly. "A night disturbance, a drunken
brawl, beneath our very ears! Fellow-saints, what mean my subjects from
their beds this hour of night? Their sovereign does the revelling for
the realm. James, Rochester and all, see to 't!"
CHAPTER XVII
_The day will be so happy; for I've seen you at the dawn._
The room was quickly cleared, the King's courtiers jostling one another
in their efforts to carry out the royal bidding.
Charles turned with a merry laugh and seized Nell in his arms almost
fiercely.
"A subterfuge!" he cried eagerly. "Nell, quick; one kiss!"
"Nay; you question my constancy to-night," said Nell, sadly, as she
looked into his eyes, with the look of perfect love. "You do not trust
me."
"I do, sweet Nell," protested the King, earnestly.
"You bring me Portsmouth's lips," said Nell, with sad reproof.
"I left her dance for you," replied the King, drawing her closer to him.
"At near sunrise, Sire," sighed Nell, reprovingly, as she drew back the
curtain and revealed the first gray streaks of the breaking light of
day.
"Nay, do not tantalize me, Nell," besought the King, throwing himself
upon the couch. "I am sad to-night."
The woman's forgiving heart was touched with sympathy. Her eyes sought
his sadly beautiful face. She ran to him, fell upon her knees and kissed
his hand tenderly.
"Tantalize my King!" she cried. "The day will be so happy; for I've seen
you at the dawn." There was all the emotional fervour and pathetic
tenderness which the great composer has compressed into the love-music
of "Tristan and Isolde" in her voice.
"My crown is heavy, Nell," he continued. "Heaven gives us crowns, but
not the eye to see the ending of our deeds."
"God sees them," said Nell. "Ah, Sire, I thank the Maker of the world
for giving a crown to one whom I respect and love."
"And I curse it," cried the King, with earnest eyes; "for 'tis the only
barrier to our united love. It is the sparkling spider in the centre of
a great web of intrigue and infamy."
"You make me bold to speak. Cut the web, Sire, which binds thy crown to
France. There is the only danger."
"Thou art wrong, Nelly, wrong!" He spoke in deep, firm accents. "I have
decided otherwise."
He rose abruptly, his brow clouded with thought. She took his hand
tenderly.
"Then, change your mind, Sire," she pleaded; "for I can prove--"
"What, girl?" he asked eagerly, his curiosity awakened by her manner.
Nell did not respond. To continue would reveal Adair, and she could not
think of that.
"What, I say?" again asked Charles, impatiently.
"To-morrow, Sire," laughed Nell, evasively.
"Aye, to-morrow and to-morrow!" petulantly repeated the King.
He was about to demand a direct reply but was stayed by the sound of a
struggle without.
It befell in the nick of time for Nell, as all things, indeed, in life
seemed to befall in the nick of time for her. The impious huswives shook
their heads and attributed it to the evil influence; the pious huswives
asserted it was providential; Nell herself laughingly declared it was
her lucky star.
"Ho, without there!" Charles cried, impatiently--almost angrily--at the
interruption. "Whence comes this noisy riot?"
James, Rochester and the others unceremoniously re-entered.
"Pardon, Sire," explained the Duke of York; "the guard caught but now an
armed ruffian prowling by the house. They report they stayed him on
suspicion of his looks and insolence."
"Adair! Adair! My life upon't!" laughed the King, ever ready for sport.
"Set him before us."
An officer of the guard departed quickly to bring in the offender. The
courtiers took up the King's cry most readily; and there was a general
cackle of "Adair!" "Adair!" "A trial!" "Sire!" "Bring in the coward!"
Nell stood in the midst of the scene, the picture of demure innocence.
"They've caught Adair!" she whispered to Moll, mischievously.
"Aye, gallants," cried the Merry Monarch, approvingly, "we'll form a
Court of Inquiry. This table shall be our bench, on which we'll hem and
haw and puff and look judicial. Odsfish, we will teach Radamanthus and
Judge Jeffreys ways of terrorizing."
He sprang upon the table, which creaked somewhat beneath the royal
burden, and assumed the austere, frowning brow of worldly justice.
"_Oyer, oyer_, all ye who have grievances--" cried the garrulous
Rochester in the husky tones of the crier, who most generally assumes
that he is the whole court and oftentimes should be.
"Mistress Nell," commanded the royal judge, summoning Nell to the bar,
"thou shalt be counsel for the prisoner; Adair's life hangs upon thy
skill to outwit the law."
"Or bribe the judge, Sire?" suggested Nell, demurely.
"Not with thy traitor lips," retorted Charles, with the injured dignity
of a petty justice about to commit a flash of true wit for contempt of
court.
"Traitor lips?" cried Nell, sadly. "By my troth, I never kissed Adair. I
confess, I tried, your Majesty; but I could not."
"Have a care," replied the King, in a tone which indicated that the
fires of suspicion still smouldered in his breast; "I am growing
jealous."
Nell fell upon one knee and stretched forth her arms suppliantly.
"Adair is in such a tight place, Sire, he can scarcely breathe," she
pleaded, with the zeal of a barrister hard-working for his first fee in
her voice, "much less speak for himself. Mercy!"
"We will have justice; not mercy," replied the court, with a sly wink at
Rochester. "Guilty or not guilty, wench?"
"Not guilty, Sire! Did you ever see the man who was?"
The King laughed despite himself, followed by his ever-aping courtiers.
"I'll plead for the Crown," asserted the grim James, with great
vehemence, "to rid the realm of this dancing-Jack."
"Thou hast cause, brother," laughed the King. "Rochester, thou shalt sit
by us here."
Rochester sprang, with a contented chuckle, into a chair on the opposite
side of the table to that upon which his Majesty was holding his
mock-court and seated himself upon its high back, so poised as not to
fall. From this lofty bench, with a queer gurgle, to say nothing of a
swelling of the chest, and with an approving glance from his Majesty, he
added his mite to the all-inspiring dignity of the revellers' court.
"Judge Rochester!" continued the King, slapping him with his glove,
across the table. "Judge--of good ale. We'll confer with the cups,
imbibe the statutes and drink in the law. Set the rascal before us."
In obedience to the command, a man well muffled with a cloak was forced
into the room, a guard at either arm.
Behind them, taking advantage of the open door to appease their
curiosity, crowded many hangers-on of courtdom, among whom was Strings,
who had met the revellers some distance from the house and had returned
with them.
"Hold off your hands, knaves," commanded the prisoner, who was none
other than Hart, the player, indignant at the detention.
"Silence, rogue!" commanded the King. "Thy name?"
"Sire!" cried Hart, throwing off his mantle and glancing for the first
time at the judge's face. He sank immediately upon one knee, bowing
respectfully.
"Jack Hart!" cried one and all, craning their necks in surprise and
expectation.
"'Slife, a spy upon our merry-making!" exclaimed the displeased monarch.
"What means this prowling, sir?"
"Pardon, pardon, my reply, your Majesty," humbly importuned the player.
"Blinded by passion, I might say that I should regret."
"Your strange behaviour and stranger looks have meaning, sir," cried the
King, impatiently. "Out with it! These are too dangerous times to
withhold your thoughts from your King."
"No need for commands, Sire," entreated Hart. "The words are trembling
on my lips and will out themselves in spite of me. At Portsmouth's ball,
an hour past, I o'erheard that fop Adair boast to-night a midnight
rendezvous here with Nell."
Nell placed her hands upon her heart.
"This--my old friend," she reflected sadly.
"Our jest turned earnest," cried Charles. "Well? Well?" he questioned,
in peremptory tones.
"I could not believe my ears, Sire," the prisoner continued, faltering.
"I watched to refute the lie--"
"Yes--yes--" exhorted the King, in expectation.
"I cannot go on."
"Knave, I command!"
"I saw Adair enter this abode at midnight." Hart's head fell, full of
shame, upon his breast.
"'Sblood," muttered the King, scarce mindful that his words might be
audible to those about him, "my heart stands still as if't were knifed.
My pretty golden-head, my bonnie Nell!" He turned sharply toward the
player. "Your words are false, false, sir! Kind Heaven, they must be."
"Pardon, Sire," pleaded Hart; "I know not what I do or say. Only love
for Nell led me to this spot."
"Love!" cried Nell, with the irony of sadness. "Oh, inhuman, to spy out
my ways, resort to mean device, involve my honour, and call the motive
love!"
"You are cruel, cruel, Nell," sobbed Hart; and he turned away his eyes.
He could not look at her.
"Love!" continued Nell, bitterly. "True love would come alone, filled
with gentle admonition. I pity you, friend Hart, that God has made you
thus!"
"No more, no more!" Hart quite broke beneath the strain.
"Dost hear, dost hear?" cried Charles, in ecstasy, deeply affected by
Nell's exposition of true love. "Sir, you are the second to-night to
belie the dearest name in England. You shall answer well to me."
"Ask the lady, Sire," pleaded Hart, in desperation. "I'll stake my life
upon her reply."
"Nell?--Nell?" questioned the King; for he could scarce refuse to accept
her word when a player had placed unquestioned faith in it.
Nell hid her face in her silken kerchief and burst into seeming
spasmodic sobs of grief. "Sire!" was all the response the King could
hear. He trembled violently and his face grew white. He did not know
that Nell's tears were merry laughs.
"Her tears convict her," exclaimed Hart, triumphantly.
"I'll not believe it," cried the King.
Nell became more hysterical. She sobbed and sobbed, as though her heart
would break, her face buried in her hands and her flying curls falling
over and hiding all.
"Adair's sides are aching," she chuckled, in apparent convulsions of
sorrow. "He's laughing through Nell's tears."
Meanwhile, Moll had been standing by the window; and, though she was
watching eagerly the exciting scene within the room, she could not fail
to note the sound of galloping horses and the rattling of a heavy coach
on the roadway without.
"A coach and six at break-neck speed," she cried, "have landed at the
door. A cavalier alights."
"Time some one arrived," thought Nell, as she glanced at herself in the
mirror, to see that Adair was well hidden, and to arrange her curls, to
bewitch the new arrivals, whosoever they might be.
As the cavalier dashed up the path, in the moonlight, Moll recognized
the Duke of Buckingham, and at once announced his name.
"Ods-pitikins!" exclaimed Charles, angrily. "No leisure for Buckingham
now. We have other business."
He had scarce spoken, however, when Buckingham, unceremoniously and
almost breathless, entered the room.
"How now?" cried the King, fiercely, as the Duke fell on his knee before
him; for his temper had been wrought to a high pitch.
"Pardon, your Majesty," besought his lordship, in nervous accents. "My
mission will excuse my haste and interruption. Your ear I crave one
moment. Sire, I am told Nell has to-night secreted in this house a
lover!"
"Another one!" whispered Nell to Moll.
"'Tis hearsay," cried the King, now at fever-heat, "the give-and-take of
gossips! I'll none of it."
"My witness, Sire!" answered Buckingham.
He turned toward the door; and there, to the astonishment of all, stood
the Duchess of Portsmouth, who had followed him from the coach, a lace
mantilla, caught up in her excitement, protecting her shapely shoulders
and head.
As the assembled courtiers looked upon the beautiful rivals, standing,
as they did, face to face before the King, and realized the situation,
their faces grew grave, indeed.
The suspense became intense.
"The day of reckoning's come," thought Nell, as she met with burning
glances the Duchess's eyes.
"Speak, your grace," exhorted Buckingham. "The King attends you."
"Nay, before all, my lord?" protested Portsmouth, with pretended
delicacy. "I could not do Madame Gwyn so much injustice."
"If your speech concerns me," observed Nell, mildly, "out with it
boldly. My friends will consider the source."
"Speak, and quickly!" commanded Charles.
"I would rather lose my tongue," still protested the Duchess, "than
speak such words of any one; but my duty to your Majesty--"
"No preludes," interrupted the King; and he meant it, too. He was done
with trifling, and the Duchess saw it.
"My servants," she said, with a virtuous look, "passing this abode by
chance, this very night, saw at a questionable hour a strange cavalier
entering the boudoir of Madame Gwyn!"
"She would make my honour the price of her revenge," thought Nell, her
eyes flashing. "She shall rue those words, or Adair's head and mine are
one for naught."
"What say you to this, Nell?" asked the King, the words choking in his
throat.
"Sire,--I--I--" answered Nell, evasively. "There's some mistake or
knavery!"
"She hesitates," interpolated the Duchess, eagerly.
"You change colour, wench," cried Charles, his heart, indeed, again upon
the rack. "Ho, without there! Search the house."
An officer entered quickly to obey the mandate.
"Stay, Sire," exclaimed Nell, raising herself to her full height, her
hot, trembling lips compressed, her cheeks aflame. "My oath, I have not
seen Adair's face this night."
Her words fell upon the assemblage like thunder from a June-day sky. The
King's face brightened. The Duchess's countenance grew pale as death.
"_Mon Dieu!_ Adair!" she gasped in startled accents to Lord
Buckingham, attendant at her side. "Could it be he my servants saw? The
packet! Fool! Why did I give it him?"
Buckingham trembled violently. He was even more startled than
Portsmouth; for he had more to lose. England was his home and France was
hers.
"The scales are turning against us," he whispered. "Throw in this ring
for safety. Nell's gift to Adair; you understand."
He slipped, unobserved, upon the Duchess's finger the jewelled ring the
King had given to Almahyde among the roses at the performance of
"Granada."
"Yes! Yes! 'Tis my only chance," she answered, catching at his meaning;
for her wits were of the sharpest in intrigue and cunning, and she
possessed the boldness too to execute her plans.
She approached the King, with the confident air possessed by great women
who have been bred at court.
"Your Majesty recognizes this ring?" she asked in mildest accents.
"The one I gave to Nell!" answered the astonished King.
"The one Adair this night gave to me," said Portsmouth, calmly.
"'Tis false!" cried Nell, who could restrain her tongue no longer. "I
gave that ring to dear old Strings."
"A rare jewel to bestow upon a fiddler," said the Duchess,
sarcastically.
"It is true," said Strings, who had wormed his way through the group at
mention of his name and now stood the meek central figure at the strange
hearing. "My little ones were starving, Sire; and Nell gave me the
ring--all she had. They could not eat the gold; so I sold it to the Duke
of Buckingham!"
"We are lost," whispered Buckingham to Portsmouth, scarce audibly.
"Coward!" sneered the Duchess, contemptuously. "I am not ready to sail
for France so soon."
The King stood irresolute. Events had transpired so quickly that he
scarce knew what it was best to do. His troubled spirit longed for a
further hearing, while his heart demanded the ending of the scene with a
peremptory word.
Before he could decide upon his course, the Duchess had swept across the
room, with queenly grace.
"Our hostess will pardon my eyes for wandering," she said, undaunted;
"but her abode is filled with pleasant surprises. Sire, here is a piece
of handiwork."
She knelt by the couch, and drew from under it a coat of gray, one
sleeve of which had caught her eye.
Nell looked at Moll with reproving glances.
"Marry, 'tis Strings's, of course," continued Portsmouth, dangling the
coat before the wondering eyes of all. "The lace, the ruffle, becomes
his complexion. He fits everything here so beautifully."
As she turned the garment slowly about, she caught sight of a package of
papers protruding from its inner pocket, sealed with her own seal. For
the first time, the significance of the colour of the coat came home to
her.
"_Mon Dieu_," she cried, "Adair's coat.--The packet!"
Her fingers sought the papers eagerly; but Nell's eye and hand were too
quick for her.
"Not so fast, dear Duchess," said Nell, sweetly, passing the little
packet to his Majesty. "Our King must read these papers--and between the
lines as well."
"Enough of this!" commanded Charles. "What is it?"
"Some papers, Sire," said Nell, pointedly, "given for a kiss and taken
with a kiss. I have not had time to read them."
"Some family papers, Sire," asserted the Duchess, with assumed
indifference, "stolen from my house."
She would have taken them from his Majesty, so great, indeed, was her
boldness; but Nell again stayed her.
"Aye, stolen," said Nell, sharply; "but by the hostess herself--from her
unsuspecting, royal guest. There, Sire, stands the only thief!" She
pointed accusingly at Portsmouth.
"My signature!" cried Charles, as he ran his eye down a parchment. "The
treaties! No more Parliaments for England. I agreed to that."
"I agree to that myself," said Nell, roguishly. "England's King is too
great to need Parliaments. The King should have a confidential adviser,
however--not French," and she cast a defiant glance at Portsmouth, "but
English. Read on; read on."
She placed her pretty cheek as near as possible to the King's as she
followed the letters over his shoulder.
"A note to Bouillon!" he said, perusing the parchments further. "Charles
consents to the fall of Luxembourg. I did not sign all this. I see it
all: Louis's ambition to rule the world, England's King debased by
promises won and royal contracts made with a clever woman--forgery mixed
with truth. Sweet Heaven, what have I done!"
"The papers have not gone, Sire," blandly remarked Nell.
"Thanks to you, my Nell," said Charles. He addressed Portsmouth sharply:
"Madame, your coach awaits you."
"But, Sire," replied the Duchess, who was brave to the last, "Madame
Gwyn has yet Adair to answer for!"
"Adair will answer for himself!" cried Nell, triumphantly.
She threw aside the pink gown and stood as Adair before the astonished
eyes of all.
"At your service," she said, bowing sweetly to the Duchess.
"A player's trick!" cried Portsmouth, haughtily, as a parting shot of
contempt.
"Yes, Portsmouth," replied Nell, still in sweetest accents, "to show
where lies the true and where the false."
"You are a witch," hissed Portsmouth.
[Illustration: "ONCE MORE YOU HAVE SAVED ME."]
"You are the King's true love," exclaimed the Merry Monarch. "To my
arms, Nell, to my arms; for you first taught me the meaning of true
love! Buckingham, you forget your courtesy. Her grace wishes to be
escorted to her coach."
"_Bon voyage_, madame," said Nell, demurely, as the Duchess took
Buckingham's arm and departed.
The King's eyes fell upon the player, Hart, who was still in custody.
"Away with this wretch!" he cried, incensed at his conduct. "I am not
done with him."
"Forgive him, Sire," interceded Nell. "He took his cue from Heaven, and
good has come of it."
"True, Nell," said the King, mercifully. Then he turned to Hart: "You
are free; but henceforth act the knave only on the stage." Hart bowed
with shame and withdrew.
"Sire, Sire," exclaimed Strings, forgetting his decorum in his
eagerness.
"Well, Strings?" inquired the King, good-humouredly; for there was now
no cloud in his sky.
"Let me play the exit for the villains?" he pleaded unctuously. "The old
fiddle is just bursting with tunes."
"You shall, Strings," replied his Majesty, "and on a Cremona. From
to-day, you lead the royal orchestra."
"Odsbud," cried Strings, gleefully, "I can offer Jack Hart an
engagement."
"Just retribution, Strings," laughed Nell, happily. "Can you do as much
for Nell, and forgive her, Sire?"
"It is I who should ask your pardon, Nell," exclaimed the King,
ecstatically, throwing both arms passionately about her. "You are
Charles's queen; you should be England's."
_So the story ends, as all good stories should, in a perfect, unbroken
dream of love._
EPILOGUE
Spoken by Miss Crosman for the first time in New York at the Bijou
Theatre on the evening of October 9, 1900:
_Good friends, before we end the play,
I beg you all a moment stay:
I warn my sex, by Nell's affair,
Against a rascal called Adair!_
_If lovers' hearts you'd truly scan,
Odsfish, perk up, and be a man!_
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S DRAMATIZED NOVELS
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MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with
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A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not
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BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.
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TARRY THOU TILL I COME or, Salathiel, the Wandering Jew. By George
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THE SKY PILOT, By Ralph Connor.
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THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance.
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CONJUROR'S HOUSE. Illustrated Theatrical Edition.
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Conjuror's House is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor is
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THE SILENT PLACES. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin.
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THE WESTERNERS.
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THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
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[Illustration]
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree
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THE HARVESTER
Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs
[Illustration]
"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who
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sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous
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FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford
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AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.
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self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return,
and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is
brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos
and tender sentiment will endear it to all.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. D.
Williams.
One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been
written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable
and thoroughly human.
JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious
mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which
is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows.
THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates. With four full page
illustrations.
This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children
whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom
seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A
charming play as dramatized by the author.
REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas Wiggin.
One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic,
unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of
austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal
dramatic record.
NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin. Illustrated by F. C.
Yohn.
Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that
carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.
REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth
Shippen Green.
This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque
little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a
pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing.
EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin, Illustrated by
Charles Louis Hinton.
Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She
is; just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. The book is
wonderfully human.
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Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
THE NOVELS OF CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
JEWEL: A Chapter in Her Life. Illustrated by Maude and Genevieve
Cowles.
A sweet, dainty story, breathing the doctrine of love and patience; and
sweet nature and cheerfulness.
JEWEL'S STORY BOOK. Illustrated by Albert Schmitt.
A sequel to "Jewel" and equally enjoyable.
CLEVER BETSY. Illustrated by Rose O'Neill.
The "Clever Betsy" was a boat--named for the unyielding spinster whom
the captain hoped to marry. Through the two Betsys a clever group of
people are introduced to the reader.
SWEET CLOVER: A Romance of the White City.
A story of Chicago at the time of the World's Fair. A sweet human story
that touches the heart.
THE OPENED SHUTTERS. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the background for this
romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with life, is brought to realize,
by her new friends, that she may open the shutters of her soul to the
blessed sunlight of joy by casting aside vanity and self love. A
delicately humorous work with a lofty motive underlying it all.
THE RIGHT PRINCESS.
An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island resort, where a
stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New England housekeeper to serve
in her interesting home. How types so widely apart react on each other's
lives, all to ultimate good, makes a story both humorous and rich in
sentiment.
THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young and beautiful
but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned the art of living--of
tasting life in all its richness, opulence and joy. The story hinges
upon the change wrought in the soul of the blase woman by this glimpse
into a cheery life.
Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
LOUIS TRACY'S
CAPTIVATING AND EXHILARATING ROMANCES
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur
whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery.
THE STOWAWAY GIRL. Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson.
A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating
officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS.
Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of
cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance.
THE MESSAGE. Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase.
A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a
buried treasure. A thrilling mystery develops.
THE PILLAR OF LIGHT.
The pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with
exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants.
THE WHEEL O'FORTUNE. With illustrations by James Montgomery
Flagg.
The story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars
of some of the treasures of the Queen of Sheba.
A SON OF THE IMMORTALS. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A young American is proclaimed king of a little Balkan Kingdom, and a
pretty Parisian art student is the power behind the throne.
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING.
A sort of Robinson Crusoe _redivivus_ with modern setting and a
very pretty love story added. The hero and heroine are the only
survivors of a wreck, and have many thrilling adventures en their desert
island.
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B. M. Bower's Novels
Thrilling Western Romances
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della
Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. Cecil
Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very
amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen
jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find
Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively
and exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners
who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana
ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and
the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited
action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet
courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull
page.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the
cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"
Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim
trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional city
life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with the
atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown
eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life a
mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of
life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to
finish.
Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
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NOVELS OF SOUTHERN LIFE
By THOMAS DIXON, JR.
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
THE LEOPARD'S SPOTS: A Story of the White Man's Burden,
1865-1900. With illustrations by C. D. Williams.
A tale of the South about the dramatic events of Destruction,
Reconstruction and Upbuilding. The work is able and eloquent and the
verifiable events of history are followed closely in the development of
a story full of struggle.
THE CLANSMAN. With illustrations by Arthur I. Keller.
While not connected with it in any way, this is a companion volume to
the author's "epoch-making" story _The Leopard's Spots_. It is a
novel with a great deal to it, and which very properly is going to
interest many thousands of readers. * * * It is, first of all, a
forceful, dramatic, absorbing love story, with a sequence of events so
surprising that one is prepared for the fact that much of it is founded
on actual happenings; but Mr. Dixon has, as before, a deeper purpose--he
has aimed to show that the original formers of the Ku Klux Klan were
modern knights errant taking the only means at hand to right intolerable
wrongs.
THE TRAITOR. A Story of the Fall of the Invisible Empire.
Illustrations by C. D. Williams.
The third and last book in this remarkable trilogy of novels relating to
Southern Reconstruction. It is a thrilling story of love, adventure,
treason, and the United States Secret Service dealing with the decline
and fall of the Ku Klux Klan.
COMRADES. Illustrations by C. D. Williams.
A novel dealing with the establishment of a Socialistic Colony upon a
deserted island off the coast of California. The way of disillusionment
is the course over which Mr. Dixon conducts the reader.
THE ONE WOMAN. A Story of Modern Utopia.
A love story and character study of three strong men and two fascinating
women. In swift, unified, and dramatic action, we see Socialism a deadly
force, in the hour of the eclipse of Faith, destroying the home life and
weakening the fiber of Anglo Saxon manhood.
Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
End of Project Gutenberg's Mistress Nell, by George C. Hazelton, Jr.