CHAPTER XI

UNREST

SUMMER. Christopher sat on the broad terrace at Bevan Court, looking

out across the gardens into the blue haze. Before him the great house

reared up its turrets, creeper-hung, against the cloudless sky.

Clipped yew hedges dotted the lawns at his feet; flowers grew in stone

pots around him. It was very still, very hot. Somewhere a bird was

twittering sleepily to its mate; lying on the ground beside Christopher

was a huge mastiff, his boon companion.

Christopher contemplated the scene restfully. He felt at peace with the

world. So much so that presently he closed his eyes.

Lady Frances came out of the old Gothic door on to the terrace. For an

instant she stood irresolute. Then she saw Christopher and smiled.

Christopher felt light hands across his eyes.

“Guess!” whispered my lady, behind him.

He jumped up.

“Lady Frances, of course!”

She came round the seat and sat down. The mastiff wagged his tail; then

he went to sleep again.

“How hot it is!” said her ladyship drowsily. “How beautiful!”

Christopher agreed.

“I came out to give you this,” continued Frances. She handed him a

packet. “The courier has just arrived.”

Christopher turned it over lazily.

“Roderick,” he said. “Have you any news of my lord?”

“A short note. He is escorting the King here in two days time. He

adjures you to have everything in readiness.”

“I don’t think there is anything more to be done,” said Christopher.

“I have racked my brains to discover something.”

“There is nothing. Do you read that letter! Perhaps your brother will

have news of the Prince.”

Christopher broke upon the seals.

It was late August of 1672. The past years had been fairly uneventful

at home except that in October of 1670 the Prince of Orange had

come home on a visit to England. Roderick had been in his train,

and the brothers had seen a great deal of one another. Roderick had

succeeded in annoying Christopher by regarding him in studied gloom,

and Roxhythe with scarce veiled disapproval. Christopher was thereby

made uncomfortable. He was grateful to my lord for asking Roderick to

Bevan House but at the same time he wished that he had not done it.

He felt that Roderick was not a credit to him. It afforded him some

satisfaction to see that Roderick was impressed by his standing in

society. It was very pleasant when Lord Buckhurst strolled into the

library where they were seated, and hailed him by his Christian name,

asking some questions concerning Roxhythe’s whereabouts. Roderick was

so disdainful and affected such superior airs that little incidents

such as that filled him with unholy joy.

Abroad much had taken place. In France Madame had died suddenly,

mysteriously, some said poisoned. In Holland, William Nassau had

gradually broken away from De Witt. Lately he had been made, at

twenty-one, Captain-General of the army, and was fighting Louis with

all the energy and indomitable courage of his race.

The French generals, Turenne and Condé, had over-run three of the Dutch

Provinces, spreading terror before them. Then had been the moment

for Nassau to rise. Many of the great cities clamoured for him. At

Middleburgh and Amsterdam the people grew unruly. De Witt had been

forced to consent to William’s rise. He exacted from him an oath that

he would observe the abolition of the Stadtholdership, and sent him to

the head of the army. Hope revived; Holland hailed the Prince their

preserver.

De Witt suspecting negotiations between England and France, had made a

treaty with Spain that broke off the last threads that bound the Triple

Alliance together. Charles seized the opportunity to induce his Cabinet

to declare war on Holland.

Christopher had watched these proceedings with intense interest. He did

not pretend to understand why Ashley headed the desire for war; it was

unlike him to wish to ally England with France. Christopher decided

that politics were very mysterious.

At home, Charles had introduced his Declaration of Indulgence,

permitting religious freedom. It had passed the Houses, and was greeted

with murmurous opposition. The Duke of York was publicly received into

the Roman Catholic Church. London was uneasy. The sudden closing of the

Exchequer caused a stir, and more unrest.

Now it was late summer, and Charles was coming to Bevan Court on a

visit. Lady Frances was acting hostess, and Christopher had been sent

on in advance to have all in readiness.

An exclamation from him made Lady Fanny start, and open her eyes.

“The De Witts have been murdered!”

Lady Frances sat up.

“Chris!”

Christopher referred to the letter.

“Roderick writes as though ’twere a natural happening! Oddsblood,

the man has the heart of a fish!... ‘Yesterday the news was brought

to us thatt Jan and Cornelius De Witt have been done to Death by the

Mob at the Hague. Soe Perish all His Highness’ Enemies!’ ... Zounds!”

Christopher crumpled the parchment in his hand. “Murder! Foul murder! I

wonder....”

“What do you wonder? Not....”

“I wonder what part the Prince played in this dastardly deed.”

“Oh, no, Chris! No, no!”

“Roderick says no more than that ‘so perish all His Highness his

enemies.’ Great Heavens!”

Lady Frances took the letter from him.

“May I see?”

“Oh, you may read it! That I should have such a brother!”

She spread open the sheets on her knee.

“... All over the Country the People call for a Stadtholder. At

Rotterdam and Amsterdam they Growe unruly. The Prince His Oathe to De

Witt absolved by Deathe, taketh the Government into His Owne Hands.

Nowe he at last hath His Rightfull Place, after soe Many Yeares Patient

Waiting. Nowe he hath Command over All Things, and no Pensionary to

Oppose Him. He Hath Grate Plannes for the Repulsion of the Impudent

Frenchman, the which, Guided by His Supreme Courage and Steadfast

Purpose, He Goes shortly to put into Action. God Aide and Bless His

Endeavours! He is a very Upright, Grate Prince, Wise beyond His

Yeares, Knoweing not Despair. We of His Household, seeing Him Day by

Day Striving always for His Country, Knowe howe Iron is His Will,

howe Grate His Truthe. I do Counsel You, my Brother, to Leave thatt

Libertine His Service, and to Join me Here, under the Prince His

Glorious Standard. This do I Implore You to do for the Love I Bare

You, which Love Hateth to see You Working for the Truthless Servant of

a King who Lacks Honoure, Loyalty, and all those Things thatt a King

should have....”

“Bah!” snapped Christopher. “What more?”

“There’s little else. The rest concerns you alone.” She handed him the

parchment which he thrust angrily into his pocket.

Lady Frances sat with her chin in her hand.

“So that is what Roderick says? Warnings, Chris, warnings!”

“Ay! You are all very anxious for me to quit my lord! And I will not! I

know him as you do not! And I hold these warnings in contempt!”

She sighed.

“Don’t eat me, Chris. ’Tis very seldom that I speak to you on this

subject after all!”

He took her hand quickly, kissing it.

“Forgive me! I had no right to speak to you like that! You are so good

to me! so very good!”

“Oh, nonsense!” She patted his shoulder. “I wonder what they think of

this in London? The news will have reached them by now. I would give

much to know the inner workings of it.”

“Would you? I had rather not know. It must have been at the Prince’s

instigation.”

“It may have been. De Witt was a block in his path. Therefore it was

right that De Witt should go.”

“Right? How can you say that?”

Lady Frances’ eyes were narrowed.

“It seems to me that De Witt’s day has been ended some time since.

The one man who might save Holland is Nassau. We have seen how he was

hampered by De Witt’s cautious vetoes. Well, down with De Witt.”

“I cannot agree!”

“Quite right, dear boy. I hope you never will agree.”

He stared at her.

“You hope--but why?”

“Because it would mean that you had acquired a callous heart, even as

all we who have--never mind! Let’s take the news to Jasper.”

They walked slowly back to the house.

The tidings reached my lord at Bevan House as he was in the act of

penning an amorous note to Lady Crewe.

His servant came hurriedly into the room. He had been with Roxhythe

since his boyhood, and he was permitted these licenses.

“My lord, the De Witts are dead! Murdered!”

John felt more than a casual interest in the news. He had several times

seen the Grand Pensionary.

Roxhythe looked up.

“What of it?”

“But, my lord--!”

Roxhythe went back to his writing.

“You disturb me.”

He went later to Whitehall and found it seething with the tale. He was

very bored.

The visit to Bevan Court was in every way successful. The King was

fêted and feasted most extravagantly. Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, now

Duchess of Portsmouth, and mistress-in-chief, came in his train, and

was pleased to be very fascinating; the Duke of Monmouth, in high

spirits, could talk of nothing but the prospect of his journey to

Holland next year at the head of the English troops.

Christopher lived the few days in a positive whirl of excitement.

He was very busy, for Roxhythe paid no attention to any of the

arrangements, but this did not trouble him. He was helping to entertain

the most gracious King in the world; he had kissed this King’s hand;

the King had spoken to him several times; his cup was full.

All through the winter Roxhythe continued to make trifling and

spasmodic love to Lady Crewe. Christopher watched, troubled. He saw

that Millicent was taking his master very seriously, and he was sorry,

for he knew that Roxhythe was beginning to weary of her. He dared not

speak to him on the subject, but he was a tender-hearted boy, and he

wished that my lord would amuse himself with someone older, and more

accustomed to the game. He saw that Millicent was not treating it as a

game any longer. He saw also that Sir Henry Crewe was less and less at

his wife’s side, and had begun to look at her coldly. He wondered how

it would end.

Meanwhile, great changes were taking place in England. Ashley, now the

Earl of Shaftesbury, was Chancellor, and led the Cabinet. The long

recess of Parliament still went on. The Country party was more than

ever opposed to the Court party and dissension was growing apace.

From Harcourt Christopher learned that the Declaration of Indulgence

was becoming more and more unpopular. War with Holland was imminent;

the King continued to amuse himself.

Roxhythe still ignored the universal unrest. Christopher was more

than ever sure that he had no interest in politics, was of no party,

and was above all the petty jealousies and intrigues that went on

daily. Now and then he went to Paris, but mostly he was at Whitehall,

pursuing his brilliant course. Christopher no longer puzzled over these

visits to France. Roxhythe had assured him that his vague fears were

groundless; he trusted Roxhythe.

And so the year crept out, and the New Year was upon them.

BOOK III

QUO VADIS?

CHAPTER I

WHITEHALL

“NEVER was there a man so beset!”

Roxhythe looked amusedly across at his master.

“Was there not, Sir?”

“Never.” Charles spoke gloomily. “I swear I do not know why ever I came

back to such an importunate, ungrateful people.”

They were in the King’s private closet. It was late autumn and chilly.

A fire burned in the wide grate and the room was stuffy. One was aware

of the presence of dogs.

Charles crossed his legs and went on speaking.

“They would not have my Declaration of Indulgence; they insisted on

an act which should prevent Catholics from holding office under the

Crown. So I let them have their Test Act, thus enraging my brother. I

thought to have some peace. But no. Clifford resigns his office because

he cannot subscribe to the Test. And now they clamour and debate over

James his second marriage. _Mordieu_, what a thing it is to be

King!” He sighed.

“The Duke would do well to consider,” said Roxhythe. “A marriage

with the Catholic Mary of Este will only serve to gain him more

unpopularity.”

“So I think. Next the Commons will demand his exclusion from the

succession. I see it coming very plainly. He is so unwise.... And he

was a damned good admiral,” he added with another sigh. “Odso! It meant

so little. He might have been as Catholic as he pleased to himself if

only he would have conformed outwardly to the Test. However, he’d none

of it, and gave up his post. And now he is so chafed and irritable that

he plagues all and sundry and affects them against him. He won’t listen

to my sage counsel; he goes his own foolish way. I know the Commons

will demand his exclusion sooner or later. And then what’s to do?”

Roxhythe knew that on this one point his master was likely to remain

adamant. He had some affection for his brother.

“I really don’t know, Sir. I doubt you’ll manage to confound the

Commons when that time comes--if it comes.”

“Oh, it will come, sure enough, unless he mends his ways, which he will

not.”

“Then you will skilfully circumvent the Commons,” smiled Roxhythe.

“But what unpleasantness! What fatigue!” said Charles. “I was not born

for this strenuous life.” He shut his eyes wearily. Then he opened them

again. “David, I am satiated with Ashley.”

Ashley now led the Cabinet.

Roxhythe laughed softly.

“You were like to be that, Sir. ’Tis a dull dog.”

“My dear David, ’tis the wickedest dog in Christendom--all on a sudden.

He must go.” He said this quite calmly.

“Very well,” said Roxhythe. “Though I mislike the idea of Ashley’s hand

against us.”

“I cannot help it. He must go. He opposes me at every turn while

pretending to aid me.”

“And so?”

“And so I have another man in mind.” Charles looked at him quizzically.

“I might guess his name, Sir,” drawled the favourite.

“You might, Davy, but I think none other would.”

“Perhaps not. Doth he hail from Yorkshire?”

Charles nodded.

“If you ever go over to the opposition, Davy, I shall be undone. You

would foresee all my intentions. Do you like my choice?”

“Osborne,” pondered Roxhythe. “A tool. Therefore untrustworthy.”

“I had thought of that. He must be bribed.”

“So others may think.”

“Davy, why will you always play the pessimist? You try your best to

dishearten me!”

My lord rose, and walked over to the window.

“My heart’s not in it, Sir.”

Charles stirred uneasily.

“In what, Roxhythe?”

“In all this bribing and duping and double-dealing.”

“Why, David, do you then yearn to tread the straight and narrow path?”

Roxhythe stood silent, gazing out of the window. There was a hint of

bitterness in the cool eyes; even a little sadness.

Charles studied his profile concernedly.

“What is it, Davy?” he asked gently.

Roxhythe smiled.

“I was just thinking, Sir. Perhaps we were happier in the old days,

across the water.”

“We plotted then and bribed,” said Charles quickly.

“It was rather different. Then we were a few against the world. We had

only ourselves to think of. Now we have the whole of Britain depending

on us, and we plot and trick, and lower her honour.”

“Davy, I do her no harm! Surely you have seen that? You did not like

the Treaty of Dover, but what ill has come of it?”

Roxhythe shrugged.

“Naught save the lowering of the King his honour.”

Charles bit his thick underlip.

Roxhythe continued, in that same level, passionless voice.

“I believe I have a desire to run straight once more, Sir. Sometimes I

think I would give much to be with my regiment again--no intriguer, but

just a soldier.”

“David!” The King’s eyes were full of pain. “You think that?”

The smile crossed Roxhythe’s lips again.

“Until I remember you, Sir.”

The King flung out his hand.

“Ah!--and then?”

“And then I know that had I to choose again I would follow you.” He

came back to the King’s chair, and knelt. “Don’t let this distress you,

Sir. These are but idle regrets, that are not even regrets. I am your

man until I die, or until I fall.”

Charles’ hand was on his shoulder.

“Roxhythe, what is this talk of falling?”

“I hardly know, Sir, save that no man trusts my word. They suspect my

every movement. Because of the Dover treaty, which they guess at.”

“Can you think that I would ever desert you?”

“Not I, Sir. I am turned pessimist to-day. I do crave your pardon.”

Charles pressed his shoulder. He was troubled.

“Regrets--regrets. I did not think you had any, Roxhythe.”

My lord rose, shaking back the heavy curls of his peruke.

“Nor have I, Sir. ’Tis the autumn dampness has entered my bones. Forget

it! I chose long ago which path I should tread, and I’ve no regrets. I

would not lose your friendship for all the world.”

Charles was still troubled.

“Which path you would tread.... What mean you, David?”

“Once I thought them one and the same path. Then they diverged, and I

followed you. The choice lay between King and Country.”

“It was a struggle then?”

Roxhythe hesitated.

“A little, Sir. But I decided to kiss my hands to Country, and here am

I!”

“And you are happy, Roxhythe?”

“Despite these moments of gloom, Sir, yes. I have all a man wants;

money, power, the King his favour.”

“And friends?”

“Say rather popularity, Sir.”

“No; friends.”

Roxhythe was silent for a moment.

“Then, Sir, not counting yourself, one. Perhaps two.”

“Who are they?”

“My fair cousin Frances, and my secretary.”

“A strange couple. They are all you can name?”

“They are all.”

Charles nodded slowly.

“You sacrificed much for me, eh, David?”

Roxhythe’s egotism leapt to the fore.

“No. I gained all. I have everything. Friends? Bah! A name, no more.

Not a doubt on it but those sycophants below,” he waved a contemptuous

hand, “would not hesitate to call me that.”

“Yet you said you had but one?”

“Two. The rest hate me covertly. I am too powerful.”

Again Charles nodded.

“You do not seek to make them like you. I think you are foolish,

Roxhythe.”

“Maybe. They do not understand me, and for that reason distrust me.”

Charles smiled irrepressibly.

“Why, I do not think that many men trust me,” he said. “But all men

love me.”

Roxhythe swept a bow.

“Sire, I am no Stuart.”

“No, you are Roxhythe, which is perhaps even better. _Mordieu!_

The great Roxhythe! _A propos_, David, what’s this I hear took

place at Jeremy’s?”

Roxhythe sat down. He drew out his comfit-box.

“Yes, it was diverting,” he admitted.

“Tell me your version. I heard it from Sedley yesterday, but I’d sooner

have it from your own lips.”

“What did Sedley say? I hardly know what happened at the beginning.”

The King chuckled.

“Oh, Sedley was full of the tale! He tells me that that young secretary

of yours was at Jeremy’s on Thursday, and fell to gaming with

Fortescue. Sedley draws a picture of them both in their cups. Then

Fortescue speaks sneeringly of the great Roxhythe, and the next thing

they knew was that his face was all dripping wine, and young Dart was

half across the table in a black fury. Sedley falls a-laughing at this

point, but I gather that the two young cockerels were held apart by

main force, and Dart was spluttering out challenges. It seems the rest

of the party enjoyed the situation vastly, and there was great uproar.

Fortescue--Sedley tells me he was most unsteady on his legs--hiccuped

out _his_ challenge, and called on Digby to second him. Then the

pother was that no one liked to be embroiled in a quarrel against my

Lord Roxhythe. So more uproar. Dart called on Fletcher to serve him.

Fletcher thinks himself best out of that boys’ quarrel. Others were of

his opinion. So then we have young Dart offering to fight the whole

room, and Fortescue drinking more Burgundy to steady himself. Sedley

says by now the whole room was in a roar, and the most of them arguing

what was to be done. Then--Sedley is very fine at this point--the

door opened. In strolled the unwitting cause of all the turmoil: Lord

Roxhythe. He was becomingly languid; he desired to know the reason of

all the noise. Six people explain it to him. My lord looks round with

interest. Fletcher tells him that no one will second the children. My

lord is pained. He looks at Fortescue. ‘You must apologize,’ says he.

‘No,’--hiccup--‘Be--damned an I will!’ ‘Then you must apologize,’ says

my lord, turning to his secretary. Dart was not so far gone in his

cups. ‘Never!’ says he. ‘Then I will apologize,’ says my lord. ‘Your

pardon, gentlemen, for being the cause of so much trouble.’ Then Sedley

grows incoherent. Tell me the rest, Roxhythe.”

Roxhythe touched his lips with his handkerchief.

“My young Chris was mighty valiant. He sneered. ‘If a glass of wine in

the face is not enough,’ says he, and left an elegant pause. Fortescue

caught him up. ‘No--damme--,’ says he. ‘I’ll fight you!’ Chris bowed. I

have a fleeting suspicion that he emulates my style. ‘I am relieved,’

says he. ‘Mr. Fletcher, again I ask: will you serve me?’ Fletcher

nodded. ‘Who’s to serve Fortescue?’ asks that rogue Sedley. Then they

all looked uncomfortable, and shuffled. I conceived that it was time

to introduce a light note. I made my best leg to Fortescue, who was

hanging on to the table. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I shall be honoured to second

you.’ He had arrived at the polite stage. He returned my bow, and

managed not quite to fall over. ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I thank you. Y--You’re

a--g--gentleman!’

“My Chris was in such a rage that he was fit to slay me there and then.

He turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. I went away.

“And there the matter really ended. I was hoping for an amusing duel,

but evidently Fortescue was talked to very seriously. At all events he

visited me next day, all the pot-valiance knocked out of him. Odso,

but he was ashamed! He had come to offer me his apologies! He had not

known what he was saying; he begged I would excuse him. Then he grew

very red, and told me that he could not have me as a second in the

circumstances. So I sent for Chris. Fortescue was all for fighting, but

I made them shake hands. That is all. My name is now safe.” He smiled a

little.

“No wonder it is the talk of town!” cried Charles. “Oddsblood, I would

I had been there!” Then he became grave. After a moment he said:

“Roxhythe, this Dutch war is becoming vastly distasteful to my people.”

Roxhythe was amused.

“Now what ails you?” demanded Charles. “Is it a laughing matter?”

“Certainly not. I laughed at the sudden change of topic. And have you

but just discovered that the people do not like it?”

“No. They grow hot. What is more to the point is that the Commons also

grow hot. I think I must have a respite.”

“How?”

“I have had enough of Parliament,” said Charles, looking at him. “For

the present.”

“Prorogation!” smiled Roxhythe. “I admire your consummate daring, Sir.”

CHAPTER II

THE HUSBAND

LADY Crewe was disconsolate. Out of the corner of her eye she watched

my Lord Roxhythe paying his respects to Mlle. Charlotte d’Almond.

Charlotte was of the Duchess of Portsmouth’s household, something of a

virago, but undoubtedly fascinating. Lady Crewe hated her cordially.

Lady Crewe sat alone, playing with her fan. Presently Mr. Dart

appeared. His hostess, Fanny Montgomery, greeted him with affection.

She told him to make himself useful. So he went across the room to

Millicent’s side and swept her a bow.

“All alone, Lady Crewe?”

She forced a smile.

“No, Mr. Dart; you are here.”

Christopher was fond of Millicent. He sat down beside her.

“Shall we stay on this very pleasing couch, or shall we dance?” he

asked.

“I--I don’t think I will dance, thank you,” she answered. She was

young, and she did not conceal her emotions well.

Christopher glanced round the room.

“All the world is here to-night,” he remarked. “What a gathering! I

don’t see Sir Henry?”

“He is here,” she said listlessly. “Gaming belike.”

A year ago Sir Henry Crewe was never from his wife’s side. Christopher

regarded Roxhythe across the room with tightened lips. He attempted

another remark.

“It is quite an age since we last saw each other, Lady Crewe. I looked

for you at the Coventry rout last week but someone said you were in the

country. Was that so?”

“No,” she answered. “I was not well. I do not think town air agrees

with me. I tire so easily.”

Time was, reflected Christopher, when this had not been so. Her

ladyship’s cheeks had been rosy then, and less thin.

“Why, I am sorry!” he said. “You must make your husband take you to the

country for a while, though I vow we should miss you sadly.”

Lady Crewe was not attending. A lazy, cynical voice reached

Christopher’s ears. He turned sharply. Lord Roxhythe stood beside them.

“My very dear Millicent! I had not seen you till this moment. Pray

where have you been?” He kissed her hand. Christopher observed how the

colour flooded her face.

“You have been otherwise engaged, my lord,” she replied. “I have been

here some while.”

Christopher saw that he was not wanted. He faded away. Roxhythe took

his seat.

“Child,” he said, “where are all your roses?”

“Am I so pale?” she smiled. “Perhaps I have lost my rouge.”

“Evidently,” he said. “And what ails you?”

Her eyes were troubled.

“My lord ... my lord....”

“But why so aloof?”

The coaxing tone brought the tears to her lashes.

“David--I am very unhappy.”

He rose.

“My dear, we must examine this more closely. I know a room where we

shall not be disturbed.”

“Oh, no!” she cried. “Indeed, I must not!”

“Must not?”

“You--you know it is not seemly for me to be seen so much--with you.

My--my husband--”

“Fiend seize your husband. Come!”

“I ought not--I ought not--” Even as she said it she rose and laid her

hand on his arm. Together they went out.

Roxhythe led her into a small, dimly lighted parlour. He shut the door,

and took her in his arms.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

For a moment she tried to free herself; then her hands clung to his

broad shoulders.

“David, it is wrong! I--I am not this kind of woman! God help me, I

wish I had never met you!” The cry was broken.

Roxhythe bent his head till his lips met hers. It was Mrs. Diana

Shelton who had called Roxhythe’s kiss “divine intoxication.”

“Confess! ’Tis a lie?”

“No, no! Indeed, I wish it!”

He kissed her again.

“You do not love me?”

“Oh, yes!--No! oh, what am I saying?” She broke away from him to a

chair. “Before I--met you--before you--made love to me--I thought I

cared so much for Henry. Now--now we hardly speak. You fill all my

thoughts, and he looks at me--as though he hated me. I’m no court

beauty. I cannot--play at love as they do. ’Tis--not in my nature.”

My lord knelt at her side, holding both her hands.

“Do you then care so much for Henry? Am I nothing?”

“Have I not told you? Oh, my heart is nigh breaking! You do not really

love me; you only--pretend--and it means so much to me. I’m a fool; a

silly, hysterical miss! I--” She tried to laugh, but her voice broke,

and she buried her face on his shoulder, sobbing.

Roxhythe stared over her head at the wall. His expression was

rather curious. Suddenly he bent over the bowed figure, clinging so

desperately to his hands.

“My child, you distress yourself unduly. How old are you?”

“T-twenty-one. Why--why do you ask?”

My lord smiled whimsically.

“Twenty-one. And I am--forty-two.”

She lifted her head.

“What of it?”

“I seem to be rather too old for you, dear.”

“David--my lord--I do not--understand.”

“No? I think our little comedy has played itself out.”

Slowly she drew herself away from him.

“You--call it comedy. I--have another name for it. Mayhap ’twas indeed

a--comedy to you. To me--to me----” she stopped, twisting her fingers.

“Oh, no!” said my lord, calmly. “You delude yourself, my dear. It was a

pretty farce, and perhaps you were a little dazzled. But that is all.”

“You--make me--hate you.”

“Why, that is as it should be.”

“You--you made love to me; you--dazzled--me, and now you are tired of

the--farce--you cast me off.”

“Not a whit. I am not tired of it. I think you are.”

She shook her head. Slow tears were creeping down her cheeks.

“I love you. I cannot let you go.”

“Well, my dear, I do not see how you are to keep the both of us on a

tether if you take the matter so seriously.”

“I do not want both.”

“Then choose your husband, my child.”

“I can’t, I can’t! I want you!” It was the cry of a child. Roxhythe bit

his lip.

“It will pass.”

She raised her head.

“Are you saying--these things--for my sake, or is it--because

of--Charlotte d’Almond?”

“Oh lud!” said my lord. He rose to his feet. “Preserve me!”

She also rose.

“It is not? You love me, as you’ve so often vowed?”

Roxhythe looked at her serenely.

“My dear, I do not think I love anyone.”

Tragedy was in her blue eyes, and uncomprehending hurt.

“You thought me--just a--cheap woman!”

“No.”

“Then--then--Oh heavens, how dare you humiliate me so? And I--and

I--please take me back to the ballroom!”

She stepped forward into the full light of the candles, erect,

outraged. Roxhythe eyed her critically.

“Child, you must dry the tears.”

In spite of her forced calm something sparkled on the end of her long

lashes.

“Oh, tut, tut, Millicent! You will forget all this madness. Come, let

me wipe away the tears.”

Millicent pushed him from her with hands that trembled.

“No! Please--don’t try to--be kind to me! I cannot bear it. I have been

in heaven and hell this past year, and now--and now--” She choked back

a sob. “You were--very cruel, my lord. You made me play at love with

you, and then--when I am no longer playing--you turn away, and--call

it--a pretty comedy. And you talk to me--as if you were--my father!”

“Which I almost might be,” remarked his lordship. “My dear, you are too

young for the game. I ought to have known it. I am sorry. Now won’t you

let me dry your tears?”

His voice was very gentle; all his fascination was to the fore. It

swept over Millicent and would not be gainsaid. Pride was as nothing

before it; at that moment she felt that only one thing mattered, and

that was that he should not leave her. She allowed him to draw her

closer, and to wipe her eyes with his scented handkerchief. A small

pulse in her throat was throbbing madly; he was so inexpressibly dear,

so strong, so wonderful. The tears welled up afresh; she heard him

speak through a haze of misery.

“Dear child, I am not worth it. I am only an interlude.”

“That is all--to you. Oh, you are utterly, utterly ruthless! I amused

you for the time, so--you have--broken my heart--for your pleasure, and

brought me--as low as this! I was so happy before you came! So happy.”

“You will be happy again,” said Roxhythe philosophically. “Hearts are

easily mended. Tell that husband of yours to take you away for a time.”

“My husband! We scarcely speak! He despises me! He thinks me--what I

am--a cheap, faithless woman!”

“It seems your husband is a fool. There! The tears are gone?”

“Take me back to the ballroom, please. I--I have been mad. What

will--Henry think--if he finds me gone? Oh, please take me back.”

Roxhythe smiled faintly.

“Yes. I did not think the passion was real. Console yourself, my dear.

’Tis Henry you love.” He held out his arm.

The door opened.

“Just as I thought!” The words came furiously, hissed across the room.

With his back to the door, hands clenched at his sides, stood Sir Henry

Crewe.

Millicent sprang away from Roxhythe’s side, her cheeks flaming.

Roxhythe himself regarded the intruder pensively.

“Blue and rose-pink....” he murmured. “Marvellous!”

Crewe walked forward, his dark velvet cloak hushing against the table

as he brushed past.

“I have not sought you out to talk of my clothes, Lord Roxhythe!” he

said. He did not glance in his wife’s direction.

“No?” answered Roxhythe. He met the angry young eyes amusedly. “What

then?”

Crewe controlled his voice with difficulty. He was very pale, but his

eyes burnt.

“I have come to tell you that my friends will wait on yours, Lord

Roxhythe!”

“Thank you very much,” said Roxhythe. “But may I point out to you that

this is a somewhat inopportune moment?”

“I think not! I could scarce have chosen a more fitting time!” He

laughed bitterly. “I trust I make myself clear?”

“Not at all,” said Roxhythe. “I am at a loss.”

“You are singularly dense if you do not understand me! Things have

come to a pretty pass that you so brazenly take my wife apart! Is that

explanation enough?”

Roxhythe stared at him in great hauteur. Then he turned to Millicent

and bowed.

“Permit me to conduct you back to the ballroom, my dear.”

Crewe flung himself between them.

“Lady Crewe can stay to hear what I have to say! She will not again

require your escort!”

My lord’s voice became a shade more languid.

“My good youth, you rave. You have my permission to stand back.”

Few had ever dared to withstand that note. Sir Henry stood firm.

“’Tis you who shall stand back, sir! You shall not touch my wife!”

Millicent clasped and unclasped her hands. She was very near to

breaking point.

“You make a very fine melodramatic hero,” said Roxhythe. “But you

forget with whom you have to deal.”

“You might be the devil himself and I’d not let you pass!”

“Child’s talk,” said my lord. His hand descended on Crewe’s shoulder

and gripped hard. He gave a sudden twist, and Crewe fell back with a

smothered exclamation. Roxhythe took Millicent’s cold hand in his.

“I’ll return to you,” he informed the furious young man. “Open the

door.”

“Perhaps it is as well that Lady Crewe should withdraw,” sneered Sir

Henry. He flung the door wide.

Roxhythe did not answer him. He led Millicent, tearless now, a creature

of ice, to the deserted hall.

“Will you wait here, child? I’ll send my cousin to you.”

Her lips moved.

“Oh--no! I cannot! I----”

“My dear, you are in no fit state to go back to the ballroom. Sit down.”

She sank down, unresisting. Roxhythe kissed her hand. “Let me re-assure

you, sweetheart; there will be no scandal. You can trust my cousin.” He

strolled into the ballroom.

Lady Frances was not dancing. When she saw Roxhythe she came quickly

towards him.

“Where is Lady Crewe?”

“I want to take you to her. That young fool of a husband came plunging

in upon us, and she is nigh fainting with fright.”

“Good God, Roxhythe! In my house! Could you not be decent for one

evening? Where is the child?”

“In the hall. May I solicit your kindness for her? She should go home.”

Lady Fanny swept out. Roxhythe, following more leisurely, saw her bend

over the drooping figure in the chair. He half smiled, and went back to

the little parlour.

Frances took the girl’s hands.

“My dear! Will you come upstairs with me?”

The great shamed eyes looked up.

“I--think--I had best--go home,” whispered Millicent.

Frances drew her to her feet.

“Presently, dear. Come with me now and tell me all about it.”

“Lady Frances--I am indeed sorry--to be the cause of a--disturbance in

your house. I----”

“Nonsense! Come, we shall be private in my room.”

She bore the girl off to her boudoir, and put her into a chair.

“There! Poor little thing! Tell me what has happened.”

Millicent bowed her head.

“I’ve been so wicked--I suppose you know. And to-day--I let--Lord

Roxhythe--take me to another room--and--and--my husband found

us--and--oh, heavens, what must you think of me?”

“Why, that you are a silly child! No, no, don’t cry! There’s no harm

done. My cousin will see to it that there is no scandal. But mercy on

us, what induced you to play with Roxhythe, of all men?”

“I love him,” answered Millicent dully.

Lady Frances opened her eyes to their widest.

“Love--my dear, foolish girl, you cannot.”

“I love him. And it’s all over--all over.”

“And a good thing too!” thought my lady. But she did not say that. She

put her arms round Millicent.

“Won’t you tell me everything, dear?”

The girl flushed.

“You are very, very kind, Lady Frances, but--oh, I expect you know all

there is to know about me!”

“My child, I have seen Roxhythe often at your side, and I confess I

have wondered what you were at--playing with fire.”

“I was not playing! Oh, at first, three years ago, yes. No one minded;

my husband thought nothing of it. But lately--I have been so--unhappy,

and when he was with me--so very happy! And he meant nothing; he did

not love me. It was a--game. I suppose any other woman would have

known, but I--I--oh, I think my heart will break!”

“I am quite sure it will not,” replied Lady Frances. “’Tis all

midsummer madness. How could you think Roxhythe was in earnest? Was

there no one to warn you?”

“No. There is only Henry--and now he--hates me. What shall I do?”

“Start afresh,” said Fanny briskly. “Roxhythe is not worth one

tear-drop. You must forget him, and play no more with fire.”

“Forget! Ah, my lady, it is easy to speak so. I love him! I love him so

much that were he to lift one finger I would go with him--anywhere!”

Lady Frances nodded over the bowed head.

“Well, my dear, he’ll lift no finger. He lives for himself alone. This

is not his first _affaire_.”

Millicent shuddered.

“I thought he really cared for me. I knew there were--other

women--but----”

Lady Frances proceeded to be cruel for kindness’ sake.

“I have known Roxhythe for--I won’t say how many years--and I know how

much heart he hath. That is none. He has fascinated you until you think

that you love him. But you do not. Ah, no, my dear, you do not!”

Millicent was silent. After a moment Fanny patted her shoulder.

“Come! Cheer up! Oh, I know ’tis hard, but you must bear a brave front.

Never let him see that he has hurt you.”

“You do not know, Lady Frances.”

Fanny laughed irrepressibly.

“Why, do you think I have not been in love scores of times with those

whom I should not have loved? Child, I have experienced all your

feelings, and I assure you that you will recover.”

“I wish that I were dead!”

“Nonsense! You are over-wrought to-night; to-morrow you will think

differently. I am going to send you home now, and--if I may--I will

come and see you in a few days’ time.”

“You--you will not care to. There will be some dreadful scandal--oh, I

wish that I had never come to town!”

“There’ll be no vestige of scandal, my dear. Trust Roxhythe to see to

that.”

“Oh, yes, yes! They are going to fight, and one of them will be

killed--all for me who am--worthless!”

“I’ll wager my best necklet no one is killed,” said Lady Frances.

“Henry is so angry! I have never seen him look so terrible! He--he will

do my lord some injury.”

“Alas! There’s no likelihood of such a thing happening!” said Fanny,

tartly.

CHAPTER III

THE CHALLENGE

ROXHYTHE shut the door.

“And now what is it?”

Crewe was standing by the fire. At my lord’s words he swung round.

“It is this, sir! I’ll not have my wife’s name dishonoured by such as

you! For nearly three years it has gone on! At first I thought nothing;

she had her admirers, but she loved me. And then you gradually stole

her from me, until she thinks of naught save when she shall next be

with you! Oh, I’m not blind! I’ve watched and waited. But to-night I

could no longer contain myself! One of us dies, my lord!”

“Very fine,” applauded Roxhythe. “But you make a deal out of nothing.

Let us say that I fascinated Lady Crewe. We played at love, _bien

sûr_. Now we have agreed to end the game. As to her good name, no

harm is like to come to that.”

“No harm, you say? All the town will talk of this. How do I know that

there is not more between you?”

The fine lips curled contemptuously.

“Faith, you have a good opinion of your wife!” said Roxhythe. Then he

grew grave. “You foolish boy, what have you been about all this time?

You say you have watched us? Then why a-God’s name did you not act? By

heaven, I would let no man steal my wife’s heart!”

“If it can be stolen I do not want it! I’ll make no effort to win her

from you, my lord! She--she has earned my contempt! my hatred!”

“The tragic hero, egad! One would think there was more to this

_affaire_ than a series of very mild flirtations.”

“I do think it!”

“Then you are a foolish child. Strive to be wiser. I suggest you take

your wife away, and woo her afresh. She will very soon forget me.”

Crewe gripped a chair-back. His face was white with anger.

“How dare you mock me? One would think that I was to blame for all

this!”

“Most undoubtedly you are. Instead of freezing the girl you should have

shaken her soundly and taken her away. _Mordieu_, you drove her to

my arms, with your coldness and your scowls!”

“I thought her above--this kind of intrigue! I--heaven, what did I not

think her? I have found that she is no better than the commonest trull

that walks the streets!”

“La-la! What a fury! I begin to pity your wife.”

Two hectic spots of colour burned on Sir Henry’s cheeks.

“We’ll have done, if you please, sir----”

Roxhythe sighed with relief.

“Now God be thanked, here’s sense at last!”

“Will you name your friends?”

Roxhythe looked him up and down.

“Oh. You want satisfaction? Bethink you, you’ll damage your wife’s

reputation as I have not done all this time.”

“I will take care of that, I thank you. Will you name your friends?”

“No,” said Roxhythe. “I will not.”

It seemed that Crewe was dumbfounded. He stared in amazement.

“You will not? You will not? Am I to call you coward then?”

“My dear boy, you may call me what you will if it eases you at all.

Roxhythe does not fight with every fly that buzzes in his ear.”

Crewe sent a chair spinning across the room.

“Yet you will fight me, sir!”

“If you continue in this vein it seems very likely. I counsel you to

calm yourself. It is no light matter to fight Roxhythe.”

“I am not afraid! Right is on my side!”

“But in this world it is more often might that triumphs. My tragic

hero, do you not realize that I could pink you within--one minute?”

“I care not! And I believe that I can kill you!”

“The worse for you then. You were as effectually damned. You would have

to reckon with King Charles. I’d not envy you that task. No, I will not

fight you.”

“Then you are a coward! a coward! a coward! All the world will call you

one!”

“All the world will laugh at you for your pains, Crewe. The world knows

what manner of man I am.”

“You insult me! Am I unworthy of your sword?”

“By no means. But I do not murder babes.”

Crewe looked up into the mocking eyes. His hand fumbled in the breast

of his coat and came out. With one laced glove he struck my lord across

the face.

“Is that enough?” he panted.

The straight brows contracted swiftly.

“Almost enough to earn you a thrashing at my hands, Crewe,” said

Roxhythe, a hint of grimness in his smooth voice.

Sir Henry fell back. A sob tore at his throat.

“My God, are you made of stone? You’ll swallow that insult?”

My lord shrugged.

“I have already told you; I do not murder babes.”

“Damn you, am I to strike you again?”

Roxhythe smiled.

Crewe’s hand clenched on the glove, twisting it round and round.

“Can I say nothing to move you? What have I done that you should scorn

to fight me? Do you not owe me at least that much?”

“My good child, no. I have not damaged Lady Crewe’s reputation; I am

even preventing you from so doing.”

“I will cry this shame against you! All London shall know how you

refused to fight! were afraid to fight!”

“You would be very ill-advised. You would ruin your wife, and make

yourself a laughing-stock. Do you think I cannot afford to refuse to

fight without injuring mine honour?”

Crewe stood still, seething with rage and impotence.

“Why will you not fight me? What reason have you?”

“I thought that I told you that,” said Roxhythe.

“Bah! ’Tis not from any desire to spare my life, I know!”

“Why then, we will say that it is not my will.”

“Do you think to put me off with that excuse? You treat me as though

I were of no account! as though you had not ruined my happiness,

disgraced my wife!”

My lord re-arranged his cravat.

“I’ve no taste for heroics off the stage, my friend.”

The young man’s breath was coming short and quick. His hands trembled;

his eyes burned dark in his pale face.

“Don’t mock at me! You--you goad me to what I will not think of! I

could kill you where you stand, you smiling devil!”

My lord was still busy with his cravat. He stood with his back to Crewe

looking into the mirror.

“_Eh bien!_ Kill me.”

Crewe swung round on his heel. Up and down the room he paced, with

white lips and trembling hands. He came at last to a standstill, facing

my lord.

“Once more I ask: will you name your friends?”

Roxhythe studied his reflection pensively.

“I will not.”

Crewe was almost hysterical with rage. He tore at his sword, wrenching

it from the scabbard.

“You shall fight! If you will not have it in order, it shall be here

and now! On guard, my lord!”

Roxhythe gave a finishing touch to his laces, and turned.

“What have we now? _Corbleu!_ A sword! Am I to fling myself on its

point?”

“Draw, curse you!”

Roxhythe snapped his fingers scornfully.

“So much for that pretty plaything! I do not fight you now or at any

time. Body o’ me, am I to fight every young cockerel who fancies

himself injured by me? Put up your sword and be thankful that I do not

choose to take offence.”

The sword clattered to the ground.

“Devil! Devil!” gasped Sir Henry, and sprang at him.

There was a short struggle, a strangled oath from Crewe. Roxhythe had

both the boy’s wrists in a vice-like grip. He did not appear to exert

himself in the least, but Crewe could not break free. The pressure

tightened relentlessly.

“Fool!” said my lord evenly. “I could ruin you ten times over for this.

What madness has come over you that you dare to challenge me in such a

fashion?”

Sir Henry was silent, clenching his underlip hard between his teeth.

The grip on his wrists was agony. Roxhythe looked down at him

contemptuously.

“If you like I will swear that at my hands Lady Crewe has received no

ill, save, perhaps, a little heartache. Is that enough?”

“No, no! Damn you, let me go! I’ll allow no man--to make love to--my

wife--and go--unpunished!”

“I applaud you. But yours would be the punishment an I met you.”

“I’ll take my chance of that! Let go my wrists! Do you think I care

whether I live or die? Oh, name your seconds! Name them!”

“No.”

“For God’s sake forget that you are Roxhythe for one moment!”

“It is as well that one of us should remember it.”

“’Sdeath! Are you a creature of flesh and blood? I’ve struck you! I

have offered you every insult! Is it possible that you can still refuse

me satisfaction?”

“In truth, I am very forbearing,” sighed Roxhythe.

Crewe struggled to be free of him.

“Then again I call you coward! I’ll never rest until I have met you!”

Roxhythe released him.

“If you pester me it will be my painful duty to have you removed. I

repeat: neither now or at any other time will I fight you. That is my

last word.”

Crewe fell back. The marks of Roxhythe’s fingers were on his arms; dry

sobs shook him. He collapsed into a chair, resting his head in his

hands.

Roxhythe shook out his ruffles.

The door was opened; Sir Henry heard the snap as it was closed again.

He was alone.

Ten minutes later Roxhythe was at Mrs. Carthew’s side, drawling

witticisms.

Lady Frances came up with Mr. Fletcher at her elbow. She smiled sweetly.

“Mrs. Carthew, may I present Mr. Fletcher?”

The lady bowed.

“Will you dance, Madam?” simpered Fletcher.

Madam was uncertain. Plainly she liked Roxhythe’s company. But her

hostess was already engaging his attention.

“Thank you, sir.” She was led away.

Lady Frances sat down beside my lord.

“Roxhythe, why have you tampered with that poor child?” Her voice was

very calm.

“My dear Fanny, need we pursue the subject? I do not care to dwell on

my mistakes.”

“You admit that it was a mistake? David, I implore you, let it end

here!”

“It ended an hour since. I found myself growing paternal.”

“I am thankful for’t. The girl fancies herself in love with you. I pray

heaven ’tis but a fancy. I have told her what manner of man you are.”

“Really? What manner of man am I?”

She disregarded him.

“David, it was not right; it was not fair. I’d say naught if she were

a Court miss, versed in these ways. She is not. She knew no harm until

you came into her life. And now--God and you know what harm has been

wrought.”

“None.”

“That is true, Roxhythe?”

“As I live. I believe I must always have felt paternal towards her. It

was a very mild intrigue.”

Lady Frances heaved a sigh of relief.

“I feared--she was so very over-wrought--If you say it is not so, I

believe you. But, oh, David, why? Why try to break her poor, foolish

little heart? Were there not enough women besides her? Women who knew

you and your ways?”

“It was her sweet simplicity that attracted me,” said Roxhythe.

“So you broke her for your pleasure. Sometimes I think that you are

utterly without heart, David.”

“Mayhap. However, you’ll agree that I am not without forbearance when I

tell you that for the past hour I have been closetted with the husband,

refusing to fight him.”

“Ah! You will not fight him?”

“Certainly not. Why should I?”

“I know why you should not! ’Twere Lady Crewe’s ruin an you did.”

“So I thought. Unhappily he did not. He did all in his power to provoke

me to wrath.”

“He failed?”

“Can you ask? I have told him that I will not meet him now or at any

other time.”

“David, promise me that you will not go back on that!”

“I promise.”

She touched his hand, smiling a little tremulously.

“You’re not all bad, David. I believe that you are sorry for

this--mistake.”

“I regret it with all my heart. The child took me more seriously than I

knew.”

Lady Frances dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes.

“My dear,” said Roxhythe, “if you cry, I shall depart. I have had

naught but tears and ravings all the evening.”

“Poor David! Oh me! I should be angry with you, I suppose. Somehow I

cannot. You had best make love to me next time. Then neither of us will

be hurt.”

Roxhythe kissed her hand.

“Two women there are, Fanny, whom I esteem above all others. One is now

a memory.”

Frances looked up.

“Who was she?”

“She was Madame.”

“Madame! Roxhythe, you loved her?”

“I respected and admired her above all women. The other is your sweet

self. If ever I love, or have loved a woman, you are she.”

“How dear of you!” sighed my lady. “To how many women have you said

that?”

CHAPTER IV

PROGRESSION

AT Drury Lane Christopher met Harcourt. They sat side by side in the

Pit, and during the intervals, exchanged confidences. After the play

they went together to partake of supper. When the dishes had been set

before them Harcourt shook his head at Christopher.

“Oh, Chris, you are very wily!”

Christopher sampled a pasty.

“Am I? Why?”

“You led me to think that your master was no plotter.”

It was a bold attack, but it failed.

“Nor is he.” Christopher went on with the pasty.

Harcourt laughed long and low.

“Why, Chris, have you heard none of the rumours current in town?”

“I hear a good many lies. Which one is this?”

“That the King made a treaty with France some time back--secretly.”

“Oh, that!” Christopher was scornful. “I wonder you give ear to these

rumours, Harcourt.”

“But my dear boy, men say that it was for that reason that we went to

war with Holland!” He was watching Christopher closely.

“Men will say anything,” replied Dart. It was a very fair imitation of

Roxhythe’s style.

Harcourt’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you fencing with me, I wonder?”

Christopher looked up, smiling.

“Odso! I? No.”

It was impossible to look into his clear, honest eyes and to disbelieve

his word. Harcourt was puzzled.

“I have heard it said also that Roxhythe worked the intrigue. You

remember how often he was in Paris?”

“Ay. And I know why. It was not intrigue.”

“Oh! Then you do not think that the King allied himself with France

behind our backs?”

“Of course I do not. Is that a wild duck?”

Harcourt pushed the dish towards him. Christopher had a fine, healthy

appetite.

“I don’t trust the King,” said Harcourt profoundly.

“You must always be mistrusting someone, Sydney,” said Christopher,

amused. “What’s to do now?”

“Why were we deprived of Shaftesbury? Why have we this Danby?”

“God knows. I don’t meddle in politics. You had best ask Shaftesbury

himself. I hear he is much with your master.”

Harcourt frowned.

“Perhaps I shall. Is it possible that you can trust Danby?”

“I hardly know him,” said Christopher. He attacked the wild duck with

some vigour.

“But his policy! It is all cringing to the Court.”

“Is it?”

“I mislike his distribution of money. It smacks of bribery.”

“Sydney, I recommend this bird--oh, I beg your pardon! yes, bribery.

Certainly.”

“Associating with Roxhythe has made you very careless,” reproved his

friend.

“I have already told you that I do not meddle in what I do not

understand. I have abundant faith in His Majesty’s discretion--and that

is all there is to it. How is Madame Harcourt?”

Harcourt gave it up, and Christopher promptly forgot the conversation.

Later in the week he called on Lady Frances to whom he was more than

ever attached.

She greeted him gaily. With her was Lady Crewe, and Christopher saw

that Millicent had been crying.

“Do I intrude?” he asked, smiling.

“By no means!” answered Frances. “We are delighted to see you, are we

not, Millicent?”

Lady Crewe assented. Christopher kissed both their hands, and sat down.

For a short space he entertained them with snatches of gossip. Lady

Crewe was palpably ill-at-ease and anxious to be gone. Before very long

she rose, murmuring excuses.

Lady Frances took her hand.

“Must you go? Well, I’ll not press you to stay, as I know how busy you

are. Chris, wait for me!” She went out with Millicent.

When she returned, Christopher looked at her, one eyebrow raised

inquiringly.

“Well?”

“Well what?” asked her ladyship, swinging her brocades.

“I want to know.”

“Inquisitive child! Again what?”

“Is it all at an end between Lady Crewe and Roxhythe?”

Fanny sat down beside him.

“Thank heaven, yes! You noticed, then?”

“Since March he has hardly ever been at her side.”

“And she mopes and lies awake nights thinking of him. It’s a sad coil,

Chris.”

“So I always thought. Lady Crewe looks very sick.”

Frances tapped her fan against the table.

“Because she hath a fool for husband! ’Pon rep, Chris, I’ve no patience

with the man! Oh, I’ll tell you the whole story! You can be discreet,

I know. In March I gave a ball; you remember? Well, they were both

present. Roxhythe took Millicent into my little parlour and as far as I

can gather there was something of a fracas. He discovered that he felt

fatherly towards her and I suppose that he saw that she was too much in

earnest for peace and quiet. To do him justice, I believe he meant to

be kind then. They bade one another farewell, or some such nonsense,

and the child wept very grievously. Roxhythe is too fascinating. At

that moment in walked the husband! Conceive the tableau! Roxhythe

brought Millicent to me, and went back to Sir Henry. According to him,

Sir Henry was all for a duel, but he’d have none of it, and left the

poor man disconsolate. No doubt he was very rude. Since then he has

eschewed Millicent’s society. _Tant mieux._ All would then have

been well had it not been for Crewe’s heroics. So Roxhythe calls it.

Instead of treating the matter tactfully, he first raved at the child,

and then turned a cold shoulder to her. They scarcely speak; each goes

his own road, and each is very properly unhappy.

“I told Sir Henry he was a fool--yes, was it not brave of me?--and I

told him to take Millicent away and be kind to her. Oh, he could have

won her back! Instead he took her down into the country where she

fretted herself to death. Now she thinks that she hates Crewe. I’ve

talked to the man till I am tired, and to no avail. In fact, he sent

me about my business. And so they go their ways. Millicent yearns for

Roxhythe, because she wants love and Henry seems to have none for her.

She sees David at all the houses they visit, and in that way the wound

is kept open.”

“I see,” said Christopher. “I had some notion of this, of course, but I

did not know all. One does not question Roxhythe.”

“No,” agreed her ladyship. “One does not. I am very worried over this

_affaire_. I must say that since the fracas Roxhythe hath not paid

much heed to Millicent. But they meet everywhere--and Roxhythe is all

too magnetic. The child fancies herself madly in love with him.”

“I had not thought that. True, she does not look well, and she is less

gay, but she scarce glances in Roxhythe’s direction.”

“Oh, she hath her pride!” said Frances. She sighed a little, and fell

silent. After a few moments she smiled reminiscently.

“Chris, who do you think waited on me yesterday?”

Christopher shook his head.

“Who?”

“Our new Earl!”

“What, Danby?”

“No less. Was it not amusing? I barely know him, and now, suddenly, he

comes to see me!”

“Perhaps he has long been an admirer,” said Christopher, twinkling.

Her lightening smile flashed out.

“No such thing. He wanted to prove me concerning Jasper’s political

sentiments.”

“Did he? What are his sentiments?”

“If I knew I do not suppose that I should tell you, my dear boy.”

“As I am aware that you do know, I take that as a very decided snub!”

“_Soit!_ I’ll tell you: Jasper belongs to no party.”

“Wise man.”

“So I think. I mislike this Danby.”

“That is curious,” remarked Christopher. “I met Harcourt the other day

and he said much the same thing.”

“Harcourt is very often right. Why does he object to Danby?”

“I forget. Something concerning bribery, I think. He mistrusts

everyone. Even the King is not above reproach.”

“Oh?” Lady Frances studied her fan. “Of what does he suspect the King?”

“Some tittle-tattle about selling England to France. Harcourt swallows

every wild rumour that is current and firmly believes in it. ’Tis the

way of his party.”

“I don’t think that, Chris. Harcourt usually has grounds for his

suspicions.”

“Oh, he hath for this one, the war with Holland, and Shaftesbury’s

resignation.”

“Ah! By the way, Chris, is not Shaftesbury your friend?”

“Hardly. He was a friend of my father’s and he has been very kind to

me. Lately I have eschewed his company as he cannot meet me without

deploring my regard for Roxhythe.”

“I see. That regard is as strong as ever?”

“An hundred times more strong!” said Christopher warmly.

Lady Frances said nothing.

Not ten minutes after Christopher had departed, Montgomery came quickly

into the room. Lady Frances laid down her embroidery.

“Well, Jasper?”

Montgomery flung himself into a chair. His face was overcast.

“Has His Majesty been at the House to-day? Is the dispute ended?”

“He has ended it very summarily.”

“Oh? What has happened?”

“We are prorogued.”

Lady Frances started. Her eyes crinkled at the corners; she laughed

beneath her breath.

“My dear Jasper, he is a marvellous man!”

Montgomery shrugged despairingly.

“It passes all bounds. We were all in a turmoil over this question of

privilege--Shaftesbury’s doing, of course. Had it to do with the Test,

or had it not? The Houses were at one another’s throats; the King could

do naught to settle the dispute. So he prorogued us. I tell you, Fanny,

he’ll o’er-reach himself ere long. First we had Danby foisted upon us.

By sheer force we made peace with Holland. That was February of last

year. Did Charles recall the troops? No! He gives us shuffling answers.

’Tis my belief he is in French pay. There was dissension. Then Danby

employs a little bribery, and all is quiet. The House turns against

Lauderdale, as well it might. There was talk of impeachment. More

bribery. No more talk of impeachment. Next we have the No-Popery cry,

Danby heading it, the King--ostensibly--seconding.

“Then the bill offered to the Lords--no person to sit in either House,

or to hold any office without declaring all resistance to the King’s

power criminal, or without swearing never to attempt to alter the

government of Church or State. Pretty, was it not? Well, the opposition

arose and debated. So we have next a standing order attached: no oath

should ever be imposed the refusal of which should deprive a peer of

his seat or vote. Shaftesbury evidently thought it would pass, so what

must he do but pick a quarrel with the Lords on Privilege. So were

we all in a turmoil. Whereupon Charles prorogues Parliament. ’Tis a

scandal, Fanny!”

She nodded.

“And the Bill?”

He pulled down the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll swear we have heard the last of that.”

“So it is ended. At least ’tis no triumph for Danby.”

“No.” He fell silent, watching her moodily.

“What of Scotland?” asked Frances at length.

“No decision; matters drift on. ’Pon honour, Fanny, the country is in a

grievous state! A dissolute King, and a sycophant for minister! I had

sooner have Shaftesbury for all his faults.”

“Yes....” Lady Frances was frowning. “But Shaftesbury was not to be

trusted.”

“As we have seen. I think no one is to be trusted save it be my Lord

Halifax.”

“Oh, Halifax!” she laughed. “He’ll do naught because he cares not

enough one way or the other. He hath the wit, though.”

“I have a great opinion of him.... Who has been here to-day?”

“No one of any moment. Millicent, and later, Chris Dart.”

“Dart. Fanny, have you ever learnt anything from that young man?”

“He knows nothing.”

“He could throw no light on these suspicions concerning the King and

France?”

“He spoke of it to-day. He is quite in the dark.”

“So Roxhythe was not in any intrigue in that quarter?”

“I do not say that.”

“My dear Fan! If his private secretary knows naught----?”

Lady Frances laid down her needle.

“Roxhythe works alone. I believe that when Madame came to England in

’70, it was to negotiate with Charles for Louis. I believe also that

Roxhythe was the King’s agent.”

Montgomery was worried, but still unconvinced.

“I do admire your intelligence, my dear, and true it is that all men

eye Roxhythe askance since those rumours began. And yet....”

“Wait,” said Lady Frances. “My instinct never errs.”

A servant came into the room, holding the door wide.

“My Lord Roxhythe, your ladyship.”

“Speak of the devil...!” muttered Montgomery. He rose.

Roxhythe entered. He was dressed in shades of mauve and silver.

Lady Frances laughed at him.

“Roxhythe, you are like an autumn evening!” she told him.

“Then I am inappropriately clad,” he replied, bowing over her hand.

“Montgomery, ye seem mighty solemn.”

“Ay.” Jasper forced a smile. “You’ve heard the latest news?”

“I believe so. Fitzjoyce is engaged to fight Digby out at Islington. On

account of Digby’s fair spouse.”

“I referred to State affairs,” said Montgomery stiffly. “The King has

prorogued Parliament.”

“So he has. I remember now.”

“I fear he will go too far if he continues to behave in this wise.”

“Oh? His move is not approved of?”

“Hardly.”

Roxhythe handed Lady Fanny to a seat, and sat down beside her.

“Well, well. He will be distressed.”

Montgomery spoke boldly.

“Roxhythe, you possess more influence than does anyone. Why do you not

exert it?”

Lady Frances looked quickly from one to the other.

“Why should I?” asked my lord blandly.

“’Twere in the interests of the country.”

“Um,” said Roxhythe profoundly. “But I never meddle in what concerns me

not.”

Fanny saw the colour rise to her husband’s cheeks. She gave a little

gurgle of laughter.

“There’s for you, Jasper! And now we’ll talk of something else, an it

please you.”

“I’ll not stay then,” answered Montgomery brusquely. “I am like to cast

a blight on my Lord Roxhythe’s conversation.” He left the room with a

slight bow to Roxhythe.

Lady Frances looked troubled. Roxhythe regarded her amusedly.

“I seem to have upset your worthy husband,” he remarked.

CHAPTER V

THE MOST NOBLE THE MARQUIS

’76 dawned softly. In England there was no Parliament, for in November

of ’75 it had refused Charles a grant of money; had even dared to

insinuate that he should be in possession of a surplus. It was

importunate, and it was straightway prorogued.

On the continent Louis still waged war on Holland, but Turenne was

dead at Saltzbach, and De Ruyter dead in Italy. A congress was held at

Nimeguen, but the war continued, the Prince of Orange doggedly holding

his enemy in check. Seldom was he successful in battle. At St. Omer

he suffered great losses, but ever he managed just to hold back the

French. So Louis approached his cousin Charles tentatively.

Negotiations were opened and carried on through M. Barillon, the French

ambassador; the Duchess of Portsmouth; and my Lord Danby. Into the

negotiations strolled my Lord Roxhythe.

Charles was dissatisfied. Louis showed a tendency to meanness. Charles

held counsel with his favourite.

“David, it is like squeezing money from a stone.”

“Is it, Sir?”

Charles was petulant. He repulsed one of the spaniels which was trying

to leap on to his knee.

“It is unsatisfactory, trafficking through Barillon. I do not know King

Louis his real mind. As before, we are fenced round with vague terms.

I’ll do the thing direct or not at all.”

“Ah!” Roxhythe sighed, for he perceived whither this led.

Charles shook back his curls. In his eyes was a brooding melancholy

look that the favourite knew well.

“Barillon speaks me fair and offers little. Louise----” he shrugged.

“She leaves me in the dark. Before I enter into a second treaty with

Louis I’ll know where I stand. He seeks to trap me.”

“Naturally. So the whole matter lies in one short sentence:--Roxhythe

must go to France.”

The King half smiled.

“It seems so, David.”

“To discover King Louis his mind?”

“Ay. Roxhythe, I have no notion how much I may with safety demand. I

would ask--the same as before. Louis would try to beat me down. If I

know not what is the maximum sum he will pay I dare not stand adamant.

I must know. And there is none like unto you for discovering these

matters. I want the thing done quickly; I am tired of all this haggling

and bargaining.”

Roxhythe nodded.

“And when I have discovered this: what then?”

“I will have you take a letter to King Louis setting forth my mind.”

“But, Sir, why not negotiate then through Barillon?”

“Because I dislike the oily-tongued rascal! I’ll lay the matter bare

before Louis--he shall know my wants from me alone; not as translated

and modified by his own servants.”

“Very well, Sir.”

“You must go to Monmouth. You have been a-many times, so it will not

give rise to suspicion. And from thence to Paris.”

Roxhythe cast up his eyes.

“Have a little mercy, Sir! Employ one of the Duchess her creatures.”

“No. I trust no one save you.”

“I am flattered, Sir, of course.”

Charles stretched himself, laughing. Some of the shadows had gone from

his eyes.

“David, ye grow ungallant!”

“I grow weary, Sir, and old,” retorted my lord.

“Nevertheless, ye will go?”

“I suppose I must, Sir.”

Charles smiled, full of affectionate understanding.

So Roxhythe went again to Paris.

During his absence Lady Crewe came one evening to Bevan House, closely

veiled. She was ushered into the library where Christopher received

her. When he saw who it was who had come to see Roxhythe at such an

informal hour, he was horrified.

My lady moved agitated hands.

“Mr. Dart, I must see my Lord Roxhythe.” Her voice was carefully

controlled, but Christopher could detect the flutter beneath her calm.

“I am very sorry, Lady Crewe, but--”

“Please--do not--make excuses! I must see him.”

“Madame, it is impossible. He is not here.”

She stared at him, blankly.

“Not--here! Oh--I--did not know! I--” She broke off twisting her hands.

Christopher watched her. He saw pride struggling with desire, and

wondered. Suddenly she turned to him.

“Mr. Dart, I want so much to ask my lord not to--not to--go to Lady

Claremont’s rout next week!”

Christopher looked at her steadily. The reason sounded much like an

excuse. He bowed.

Millicent read the doubt in his face; she drew herself up proudly.

“Will you please deliver that message to my lord as soon as he returns?”

Christopher decided that his suspicions were unjust. He came forward,

taking her hand.

“Will you not be seated, Madame? Of course I will deliver your message,

but--forgive me--is it not rather a strange one?”

“I--yes, I suppose you must think so. Perhaps he--will not

understand--I--oh, promise me you will tell this to--”

“Whatever you impart to me I shall treat as a strict confidence.”

“Thank you. It is just that--people are talking still about--my

lord--and me. And last week--we--I was at Lady Bletchley’s and she

presented--Roxhythe--to me, and we had to dance--and my husband was

very angry. Now he watches my every movement. He heard my lord ask

me if I was to be at the Claremont rout--next week. And then at a

coffee-house there was some vile talk--and oh, I don’t know how it

is, but he hath it firmly fixed in his head--that we--that I have

arranged to meet--my lord--there, because Henry is not going. He--he

is mad with jealousy. He won’t believe--that it is not so. I feel he

means to arrive at the rout--later in the evening--and--if my lord is

there--and I am there--he--he--is so wild I fear a scene--or that he

will challenge my lord. You see, of late--Lord Roxhythe has been at all

the balls--and--oh, I dare not stay at home, for then Henry suspects me

more than ever! Please, please do not let Roxhythe go to the Claremont

rout!”

“I will certainly try to prevent it,” soothed Christopher. “But are

you sure that your husband is quite as mad--as you think?” He spoke

apologetically.

“You do not know how wild he is! And--and because I go to Lady Frances’

house who is Roxhythe’s cousin, he thinks--he thinks--oh, it is all too

horrible!”

“It must be,” said Christopher with feeling. “Will it comfort you if I

promise that Roxhythe shall not go to this ball?”

“Oh, yes!” she sighed. “Thank you very much!”

He showed her out, anxious that she should leave as soon as might be.

Hysterical women filled him with nervousness.

When he came back to the library his lips pursed.

“Thunder of God, what a household! And how indiscreet of her to come

here!” He shook his head wisely.

When Roxhythe returned two days later, Christopher told him of my

lady’s visit.

“Little fool,” commented my lord.

“Sir, she is naught but a child, and--I believe I am sorry for her.”

Roxhythe poured himself out a glass of burgundy.

“She behaves so foolishly. I have but to enter the room for her to go

pale and then red. They are a melodramatic pair. I wish them joy of

each other.” He drained the glass and lounged out.

Shortly after noon on the following day Roxhythe was in his private

room attending to some affairs. To him came a lackey who announced that

Sir Henry Crewe was downstairs and desired to see him at once.

One haughty eyebrow rose.

“I do not receive,” said my lord.

“I thought not,” said a deadly calm voice. “So I followed your servant.”

The scandalized footman threw a deprecatory glance at his master.

Roxhythe nodded. Sir Henry came firmly into the room; the door closed

behind the lackey.

Roxhythe looked his visitor up and down.

“May I know to what I owe this honour?” he drawled.

Crewe was very pale, with determination writ upon his face.

“A year ago, sir, you refused to fight me. Since then I have watched

you closely. I have seen you at every ball, sometimes in attendance

with my wife. I have remarked how many evenings she spends with your

cousin. I am not a fool; neither am I blind.”

My lord’s mouth twitched.

“I am glad to know that,” he said.

“Perhaps it surprises you!” sneered Crewe.

“I confess I had not given you credit for much brain. Of course if you

assure me that I was wrong I have no choice but to believe you.”

“You may mock as much as you please, my lord, but you will not evade

the point any longer. It has come to my knowledge that my wife came to

your house three nights since. I have borne much, but this goes beyond

all bounds. One of us dies, my lord. Will you meet me?”

Roxhythe balanced his quill on one finger.

“I gave you the answer to that question a year ago, my friend.”

“You still refuse?”

“Certainly.”

“Perhaps--” Crewe laughed derisively. “--perhaps you’ll deny that my

wife came to your house?”

“I am not in a position to deny it. You see, I was not in London.”

Crewe laughed again.

“A lie!”

Roxhythe bowed.

“I have called you coward; I now call you liar. Do you still refuse to

meet me?”

“I do.”

An unpleasant smile hovered about Crewe’s mouth. He strode to the door,

turned the key in the lock, and pocketed it. Roxhythe watched, mildly

interested.

“Very well, my lord. You force my hand.” Sir Henry produced a case of

pistols. He laid them on the table. “You will find them ready primed,

sir, and alike in every respect. You may take your choice. We will

stand at opposite ends of the room. It is now two minutes to the hour.

When the clock strikes for the third time we fire.”

“It doesn’t strike,” said Roxhythe apologetically.

Crewe reddened.

“Then you may count.”

“You are very kind,” murmured my lord.

“Have you chosen your weapon, sir?”

Roxhythe pushed them away.

“My dear, impetuous fool, do you seriously think that I am going to

fight you?”

“If you do not I’ll shoot you like the dog you are!”

“Not in this coat,” said Roxhythe. He stroked its velvet surface

lovingly.

Crewe curbed his temper with difficulty.

“I think you will have no need of coats after to-day, sir.”

“Oh, I trust so,” answered Roxhythe placidly.

Crewe picked up one of the pistols.

“Do you fire from where you sit, sir?”

“No,” said Roxhythe.

Light sprang to the angry eyes.

“At last! From where, my lord?”

“From nowhere,” said Roxhythe.

The nervous hands clenched.

“I could strangle you in your chair, you mocking devil!”

“I doubt it,” smiled Roxhythe, unruffled. He rose, and came towards

the furious young man. “In a very few moments I shall have lost my

patience,” he said. “So I advise you to go.”

The pistol was raised.

“If you call for help I fire!” threatened Crewe.

“What I dislike about you is your deplorable manner,” complained

Roxhythe. “Don’t wave that thing in my face!”

“Pick up that pistol! By God, if you goad me much further I will shoot

you out of hand!”

“I thought you proposed doing that in any case. I suppose you have not

the courage.”

Crewe’s finger was on the trigger. His eyes blazed.

“’Tis not I who lack courage, my lord! ’Tis you!”

Roxhythe smiled.

“Do you doubt me?” cried Sir Henry.

“You are labouring under a delusion,” replied Roxhythe. “I am not deaf.”

“Damn you, pick up that pistol!”

The smile became insufferable.

“Damn you, pick it up yourself,” said Roxhythe, very urbane.

Crewe looked in the handsome, laughing face, saw that my lord was

playing with him, would continue to play with him, and went white. In

that moment all semblance of sanity left him. He raised the pistol. His

hand was trembling, but he controlled it; he had no thought for the

consequences; he only knew that Roxhythe was laughing at him, jibing at

him. He fired....

The report was deafening; smoke flooded the room. As soon as he had

pulled the trigger Crewe realized the enormity of his act, and came

violently to his senses. He dropped the pistol, shuddering.

The smoke cleared. Lord Roxhythe was lying inert upon the floor. Below

his right shoulder a great red patch was growing, growing.

Crewe stared numbly. The patch was creeping over my lord’s coat, soon

it would trickle down on to the carpet. It seemed a pity. Crewe tried

to imagine what it would look like when the steadily flowing blood

should have reached the floor. It would spoil the carpet; he thought

that blood-stains never came out, but he was not sure.

Along the passage came the sound of footsteps, running. The door was

tried; voices called; someone was trying to burst open the lock.

The noise dispelled some of the mists that were gathering about Crewe’s

mind.

“Wait! wait!” He fumbled in his pocket for the key, and finding it,

thrust it into the lock with cold, trembling fingers....

The room seemed full of people. They were gathered about my lord’s

body, talking excitedly. No one noticed him. How foolish they were! Why

try to staunch that blood? Roxhythe was dead. He, Crewe, had killed

him.... How still Roxhythe lay! He could not look at him. He leant

against the wall, sick and cold.

Into the confusion came Christopher, swiftly.

“What is it? I thought I heard--” he stopped short seeing the agitated

group at one end of the room. Like a flash he was across the floor and

had thrust two of the men aside.

Crewe watched covertly. The red patch was growing and growing; it had

reached the carpet. What fools they were! Why did they not stop it?

Christopher gave a strangled cry. He was down beside my lord, agonized,

feeling for his heart.

“My God, no!” he whispered. “Not dead! Not dead!”

Those around grew suddenly quiet.

Christopher lifted his head from my lord’s breast.

“He is alive. James, run for the nearest surgeon! Quickly!”

The man hurried out.

“John?” He was staunching the blood with deft, tender fingers, as he

spoke.

Roxhythe’s old servant stood before him, shaking.

Christopher looked up.

“Get me linen and water!”

John fled.

“The rest of you, go!” said Christopher. His eyes fell on Crewe,

leaning against the wall, face averted.

“_Crewe!_”

A footman pushed forward.

“Ay, sir! He came an hour since, and forced himself into the room. I

thought that he was queer-like then--”

“Fool! Why did you let him in?”

“But, sir! My lord said--”

“Oh ay, ay! See that he does not escape now. My God, if Roxhythe

dies--!”

Two lackeys seized Sir Henry’s arms and stood holding him. The rest, in

obedience to Christopher’s commands, drifted away.

John came running with linen and water. Between them, he and

Christopher bound the wound tightly, and straightened my lord’s limbs.

Then, after what seemed an interminable time, Mr. Burnest, the surgeon,

appeared, and attended to the wound.

Christopher watched breathlessly as his hands moved about my lord.

Burnest finished his examination.

“By God’s mercy it has not touched the lung. He will live.”

The colour came flooding back to Christopher’s cheeks. John fell on his

knees beside the writing-table, sobbing thankfully.

Crewe’s voice, hoarse, unlike himself, cut across the room.

“He’ll live, you say?”

Christopher swung round fiercely.

“No thanks to you, you damned scoundrel!”

Burnest looked up quickly.

“What’s that?” he said sharply.

Before anyone had time to answer Roxhythe stirred. Christopher was

beside him in a moment, and knelt down on the floor holding one of the

beautifully shaped hands in his.

The deep brown eyes opened. They were puzzled; then the bewilderment

faded, and amusement took its place. My lord regarded the surgeon

silently. Then he looked at Christopher. Lastly he frowned.

“God’s Body! My new coat!”

At the sound of the faint voice, Christopher gave vent to a shaky laugh

of relief and pressed my lord’s hand to his lips. Roxhythe saw the

blood on his sleeve.

“Ruined!” he said. He showed a tendency to rise, and was suppressed.

“My lord, you must be still!” commanded Burnest.

“If you think I shall continue to lie on this devilish hard floor, you

are mistaken,” said Roxhythe faintly. “Chris!”

Christopher bent over him.

“I implore you to lie still, sir. If you move you will start the

bleeding again.”

“Send for James and another. I’ll be lifted to the couch.” He saw

Christopher glance at the surgeon. “I mean it, Chris.”

Burnest knew Roxhythe of old. He shrugged.

In five minutes my lord was reposing on the sofa, his wig straight, his

side neatly bandaged. Burnest gave him a restorative and his voice grew

stronger.

John was standing by his side, holding the empty glass. There was a

look of dumb agony in his eyes.

Roxhythe stretched out his hand.

“My dear John, I am not like to die this time.”

John kissed his hand. Tears were running down his cheeks.

“My lord--my lord--”

“Yes. Go and get some canary for Mr. Burnest. Take it into the

library.” He turned his head and saw Crewe, standing between the two

footmen. He surveyed his servants coldly.

“What do you think you are doing?”

One of them fidgetted uncomfortably.

“My lord, Mr. Dart said--”

“You have my permission to go.”

They glanced at Christopher, irresolute.

“I gave an order.” Roxhythe’s voice was icy.

Both men left the room hastily.

“Mr. Burnest, Chris will take you into the library. You must be thirsty

after your run.”

“No, I thank you, sir. I am waiting to bleed you.”

“You are very kind,” said Roxhythe. “You will have to wait quite half

an hour.”

“Indeed, no! It is imperative!”

“My good friend this is not the first time that I have been wounded.

Chris, take him away.”

“I cannot, sir. I beg you will be reasonable.”

“You fatigue me,” sighed his lordship. “I am in the middle of a

discussion with Sir Henry. I cannot be interrupted in this fashion.”

“There has already been an interruption! I want to know what it was!”

cried Christopher.

“You always were inquisitive. Sir Henry has been showing me his pistols

which are of a very exquisite workmanship. Unhappily they have a tricky

way of exploding--as you see.”

“That will not suffice, sir. You cannot put me off with such an

explanation!”

The brown eyes were like stones.

“That is my explanation. Any who doubt my word may come and tell me.”

“Sir, I know something of what lies behind! I--”

“Take Mr. Burnest to the library.”

“My lord--”

“You hear me?”

Christopher flushed.

“Very well, sir.” He rose sullenly. “Mr. Burnest, will you--”

“It is impossible! Lord Roxhythe, you cannot--”

“You waste time,” said Roxhythe wearily.

“You had best come,” advised Christopher. “It will do no good to argue.”

“But--! Heavens, Mr. Dart, he should be put to bed at once! He cannot

stay talking to his friends! ’Tis madness! I--”

“You heard him. He will ever go his own way.”

Burnest knew this. He turned to my lord.

“Sir, if I leave you, will you promise not to move, nor to exert

yourself in any way?”

“Aught you please.”

“Then I will go. Against my wish!”

“I thank you.”

Burnest followed Christopher out.

There was silence. Roxhythe pressed his handkerchief to his lips. His

face was rather drawn.

“Come and sit down, Crewe.”

Sir Henry spoke hoarsely.

“I’ll not take my life at your hands!”

“You will do exactly what I say. Sit down.”

Crewe obeyed limply. He had the look of one who is weary beyond words.

“Well, I compliment you,” remarked his lordship. “I did not think you

would do it.”

Crewe flung out his hands.

“Before God, I swear I never meant to! It was a sudden madness! I fired

before I had time to think! You must believe that! Oh--”

“As usual you spoil everything. Including my coat. I had hoped it was

your intention. I had thought the better of you.”

Crewe stared at him.

“You must be--crazed!”

“No. Luckily I am sane. So we may come to an understanding.”

The wretched man groaned, his head in his hands.

“Now, what is this nonsense about your wife?”

“You know! Oh, heaven, must you add to your devilry?”

“You would greatly oblige me by dropping the heroic pose. You raved

some nonsense about my meeting Millicent every day at my cousin her

house. I have never met her there.”

Crewe looked up.

“If I could believe that--!”

“You can. Our very harmless little _affaire_ ended last March.

I’ll swear to that if my word is not enough.”

“No--no. But she came here three nights ago! You cannot deny that!”

“I make no attempt to deny it. She had come to ask me not to appear at

the rout next week.”

“Not to--That seals her guilt!”

“Fool. She feared your mad jealousy would prompt you to make a scene.

You have so worked on her with your passions that she is well-nigh

crazed herself. There is naught between us.”

Crewe sprang up.

“Swear it! Swear it!”

“Very well, I swear it. You can ask her. She will tell the same tale.

Last year she was infatuated by me. _Soit._ It ended as you know.

Had you then behaved sensibly towards her all would have been well. You

preferred to enact the heroic husband. That too is ended. You’ll go to

her and ask her pardon on your knees.” Few had heard that lazy voice so

stern.

Crewe was silent, fighting himself.

“If you say naught concerning this afternoon’s work there will be no

scandal. I shall not allow any man to question my explanation. But....”

he paused.

“But?” Crewe stepped forward.

“But you must withdraw yourself for--a year. I suggest you take

Millicent away. I believe I suggested that before.”

“I see.” Crewe struggled for words. “You have treated me--better than

I--deserve, sir.”

“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “Good-bye.”

CHAPTER VI

THE KING HIS WILL

MY lord lay in bed, propped up on pillows, rather weak from copious

bleeding, but otherwise himself. The surgeon had been amazed at his

nonchalance, well as he knew him, for the wound was deep, and the

extraction of the bullet had been more than painful. My lord had

neither flinched nor swooned.

Christopher was seated by the bedside, entertaining him, when John came

into the room.

“My lord, the King is below.” He said it with the utmost unconcern. In

his eyes the King was as nothing beside Roxhythe.

Roxhythe picked up his mirror.

“Admit His Majesty,” he said. “Give me that comb, Chris.”

“Should I not go to escort His Majesty?” asked Christopher, flustered.

“No. Give me the comb.”

Christopher watched him rearrange two curls. He looked at the door,

wide-eyed.

John bowed His Majesty in. Roxhythe struggled up.

Charles went quickly to him, pressing him back on to the pillows.

“Don’t move, Davy! Ah, what a crime!”

Christopher withdrew discreetly.

Roxhythe kissed his master’s hand.

“Sire, you honour me very greatly. I scarce know how to thank you--”

Charles sat down.

“I came as soon as I heard the news. Some said you were dead; I have

been in a ferment! No one knew the truth concerning the matter. Davy,

how dared you scare me so?”

“I do crave your pardon, Sir. It was not my intention to be shot.” He

smiled faintly. His hand rested in the King’s. “It was an accident.”

“A curious accident!” said Charles. “I want the truth, David.”

“For what purpose, Sir?”

“I’ll not have your murderer go unpunished!”

“But I am not dead. I repeat--it was an accident.”

Charles was incredulous.

“’Tis not like you to play the magnanimous part, Roxhythe. Are you

shielding the man?”

“’Tis a new departure. A whim.”

“You’ll not be avenged?”

“By no means.”

“David, I will have the truth!”

“Sire, I will have your promise.”

“That I’ll not pursue the miscreant?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Charles frowned.

“Why, David?”

“Because it is my will.”

The King tried to keep back a laugh and failed.

“Oddsblood, you’re bold!”

Roxhythe smiled.

“Very well,” said Charles. “I promise--since it is your will. I suppose

you know that I can refuse you nothing?”

“You’ve said so, Sir. Crewe conceived himself injured by my attentions

to his wife. So he challenged me to fight him. I refused.”

“Challenged you! What presumption!”

“So I thought. The other day Lady Crewe came to my house--oh, quite

innocently! Crewe discovered it, and came to challenge me again. Again

I refused. Then the young coxcomb locked the door and laid two pistols

before me. It was most exciting. We were to stand at opposite ends of

the room and to fire. Oons, but he was furious!”

“David, do you tell me that you actually consented to such a proposal?”

Roxhythe was pained.

“Is it likely, Sir? I continued to refuse. The child was easy to bait.

In the end his wrath got the better of him and he threatened to shoot

me--er, like the dog I was.”

“Insolent!”

“Very. I did not think he had the courage to do it. Evidently he had,

for here am I.”

The King’s brow was very black.

“He should be strung up if I had my way!”

“Happily for him you have not, Sir. I did consider the matter, but I

decided to let him go.”

“But why? why?”

“There were several reasons. First, it was so damned amusing. And

Roxhythe does not descend to vengeance on gnats. He was altogether too

little. Lastly there is his wife.”

“_Sangdieu!_ Are you so infatuated by that chit?”

“No. On the contrary. I am so weary of meeting her and seeing her wan

looks cast at me that I am determined to make an end. I have sent them

away. Had I handed Crewe over to justice Millicent would have remained.

In all probability she would have expected me to marry her.”

The King’s lips twitched.

“So in this weird fashion you are rid of both?”

“That is it, Sir.”

“You are wonderful,” said Charles. “And quite unique.”

“I believe I am,” said his lordship modestly.

“You’ve still to combat the gossip,” warned Charles. “London is

shrieking the news that you have been murdered by Crewe. No one will

believe your tale of accidents.”

“Will they not, Sir! I think they will not dare to disbelieve--openly.”

“Perhaps you are right. But you cannot kill talk.”

“I shall not try. There will be no talk addressed to me. And Crewe will

be out of reach.”

“And so it ends! I admit that it is a wise finish. But I would have

liked to punish the wretch.”

“Sir, I have had enough of heroics. You’ll oblige me by treating the

affair as an accident.”

Charles laughed at him.

“You shall be obeyed, my lord. And now there is another matter.”

“I know, Sir. I have been cursing my ill-luck all day.”

“So have I. ’Tis not often that you fail me, David.”

“I humbly beg your pardon, Sir.”

“No, no, Davy! ’Twas not your fault. But devil take us all, what am I

to do?”

“May I make a suggestion, Sir?”

“Provided it bear sense.”

“I counsel you to continue your negotiations through Barillon.”

“I tell you I’ll not! You say fifty thousand is Louis’ price. It is not

enough. _Cordieu!_ the thing is hard to do as it stands. I’ll be

well paid.”

“Fifty thousand is a very fair price, Sir.”

“Before he paid two hundred thousand.”

“True. But since then you have played fast and loose with him, Sir.

You’ll not get that sum again.”

Charles bit his lip moodily.

“Does Louis think that it is an easy matter for me to trick my

Parliament?”

“He remembers that you did it before with great ease, Sir.”

“Ay, but now they suspect me. Body o’ God! I’ll not accept a paltry

fifty thousand for such a task!”

“What says Danby?” asked my lord.

“He is a fool.”

“I take it that he does not like the Bond?”

“Oh he likes it well enough until he is assailed by a fit of virtue.

And then he glooms and grumbles. I am sick to death of them all.”

“And His Highness?”

“As usual he objects to what he terms ‘the bribe.’ He hath no head.”

“And Lauderdale?”

“To hell with Lauderdale!”

“I’m with you there. Beware that man, Sir!”

“Pah! I have him in a vice. He fears impeachment.”

“So! And now what?”

“I’ll write to Louis.”

A shadow crossed Roxhythe’s face.

“Your Majesty is vague. If it is not an impertinent question, what will

you write?”

“Asking him for better terms.”

The firm lips curled.

“You’ll beg of Louis, Sir?”

Charles was silent.

Roxhythe stared before him. His face was hard, inscrutable.

Charles moved his hand wearily.

“I’ve no choice. I must have money. Last year I essayed the Commons.

You saw what came of it. What else can I do?”

Roxhythe turned his head.

“Well ... so be it. After all, what matter?”

“What indeed? I knew you would stand by me, Davy!” The King’s spirits

had risen. Quickly they clouded over again.

“I wanted you to bear the letter to Paris--to plead my cause with

Louis. And they tell me you’ll not be out of your room for a week.”

“They lie,” said my lord calmly. “But I fear I cannot travel for a

week.”

“I’ll not have you move from your bed until the surgeon permits.

Understand that, Roxhythe!”

“Is this an order, Sir?”

“An order that I will have obeyed.”

“Very well, Sir. And I do not think I should be an apt messenger.”

“I am sure you would,” smiled Charles.

“No. I am not versed in the art of--begging.”

“Roxhythe!”

The favourite lay back. There were grim lines about his mouth.

“I do not take that tone from any man alive, Roxhythe.”

My lord never said a word.

The King grew colder.

“I await your apology.”

“If I have offended, I ask your Majesty’s pardon. I but spoke my mind.”

Charles was very angry. He rose and put back his chair.

“It seems you want to quarrel with me, Roxhythe. You are under my

displeasure.”

He stood looking down at the drawn face for a moment. Then he bent,

laying his hand on Roxhythe’s.

“I had forgot how nigh I was to losing you, Davy. I’ faith, I cannot

find it in my heart to punish your rudeness.” His voice was very gentle.

Roxhythe’s fingers closed on his.

“Sir, you know how great is my love for you! If I have been impertinent

’tis because I cannot bear to have you beg of Louis.”

“I know, David, I know! Do you think it does not irk me? But needs must

when the devil drives.”

“If you say so, Sir, it is enough. Yet I am glad that I cannot bear

this letter.”

“Now that I know your mind, I’d not ask you. Dimcock must take it.”

Dimcock was the King’s private messenger.

“Or Church,” said Roxhythe.

“No. Church is not faithful.”

“When did you discover that, Sir?”

Charles smiled.

“I discern your triumph. A week ago. I remembered your warnings. Now

there is only Dimcock left. I dare not risk an unfaithful messenger

with this.” He drew his hand away as he spoke. “I must go, Davy. I

doubt I have tired you.”

“You have given me new life, Sir.”

“Have I? I will come again as soon as may be. And, Roxhythe!”

“Sire?”

“Promise me you will obey the surgeon! _Mordieu_, if I were to

lose you--!”

“I promise, Sir.” Roxhythe stretched out his hand to the bell at his

side. Charles rang it for him.