As if by magic, Christopher appeared.

“Chris, you will escort His Majesty downstairs.”

“Ah, Mr. Dart!” The King was pleased to be gracious. “I fear you have a

difficult patient.”

Christopher smiled, bowing.

“No, Sir. My lord is quite tractable.”

“I have never found him so,” said Charles. “I charge you very straitly

to have a care for him.” He flung a glance at Roxhythe, brimful of

mischief. “’Twas a grievous accident!”

“Yes, Sir,” said Christopher grimly.

The King bent over Roxhythe again.

“Fare ye well, Davy. I shall come again within a day or two.”

Roxhythe kissed his hand.

“I can find no words wherewith to thank you, Sir. You are very good.”

Christopher accompanied the King downstairs, nearly bursting with pride.

“Is the surgeon satisfied with him?” asked Charles, his hand on the

baluster.

“Yes, Sir. But he urges complete rest. My lord must not move this week.”

“See to it that he does not, Mr. Dart. He is very dear to me.”

“He is very dear to me, Sir.”

Charles looked at him kindly.

“That is very well. You have been with him some time, I think?”

“Yes, Sir. Close on eight years.”

“He has been with me for thirty. There is not his equal on this earth.”

Christopher blushed in anticipation of what he was going to say.

“Except Your Majesty, Sir.”

Charles laughed.

“Very good, Mr. Dart!”

As they crossed the hall, he spoke again.

“I think you were his would-be champion some time ago?”

Christopher met his quizzical glance and flushed to the ears.

“Why, Sir, I--he would not have it so--but--”

“I was much entertained to hear of it. I commend your action,

Mr. Dart.” His two equerries joined him. He extended his hand to

Christopher, who went on one knee to kiss it. In that moment he would

have laid down his life for the King.

CHAPTER VII

THE HAND OF FATE

THE wound was slow in healing, and Roxhythe grew impatient. Then,

unexpectedly, came the King. As before, he was ushered into the sick

room, but this time he barely waited for Roxhythe to speak before he

broke out.

“David, the devil is in it this time, and no mistake!”

Roxhythe supported himself on his elbow, wincing at the pain the

movement gave him.

“What’s amiss, Sir?”

“Dimcock is down with the fever!” Charles could still laugh, albeit a

trifle ruefully.

“The hand of fate,” said Roxhythe.

“It would appear so. Yet am I determined that this letter shall go.”

“Who will you send to take it?”

“Plague seize it, I do not know! I trust no one. So I came to you.”

“Give me three days, Sir! I’ll do it.”

“No, that was not my meaning. You will stay where you are. I thought

mayhap you know of a trustworthy man?”

“Not I, Sir, alack! Oh, devil take Crewe and his works! That I should

fail you when you most need me!”

Charles forced him back on to his pillows.

“Gently, Roxhythe! Is there no one whom you can call upon?”

“No one.”

Charles threw himself into a chair.

“The luck is against me. I had thought of Louise, but we are at

variance for the moment on account of poor Nelly. Oddsfish, but Louise

can be very spiteful when she likes! I’ll not approach her.”

“Sire, take it as an omen! The Fates are against it. Negotiate through

Barillon.”

Charles was superstitious by nature, but the appeal failed.

“Damme, no! I am determined. Think, David! Is there no one?”

“Justin?”

“I believe him to be in Shaftesbury’s pay.”

“Cherrywood?”

“I would send him but that he is in Flanders with Monmouth.”

“Then there is no one. Buckingham would have done it, but you have cast

him off.”

“I’d not trust him. Think again, David!”

There was a long silence. Roxhythe lay staring before him, his brain

working swiftly. Charles, watching him anxiously, saw his lips tighten

suddenly, and his brows draw together. He seemed to be considering.

“Roxhythe, do not fail me in this!” besought the King.

Roxhythe looked at him wistfully. He sighed.

“I will not fail you, Sir. I know of a man.”

“Ah! His name?”

“Dart.”

“Your secretary? I’d not thought of that. But will he do it?”

“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “He will do it for my sake.”

“And he may be trusted?”

“Implicitly.”

“Why, David, it could not be better!”

“There is a drawback.”

“Always the pessimist!”

“Perhaps. Christopher will serve you very well provided that he does

not know what it is that he does.”

“Oho!” Charles pursed his lips. “Sits the wind in that quarter?”

“Christopher believes you to be impeccable. He has no notion of French

intrigue. He trusts me wholly.”

“He would not trust either of us did we send him to Paris,” said

Charles gloomily.

“We shall not send him to Paris.”

“Roxhythe, let me have no riddles! What is it that you propose?”

“Send him with your letter to Flanders, with another writ by you to

Cherrywood. You can rely on him?”

“Ay.”

“He will deliver the packet to Cherrywood, who will journey with it to

Paris. Chris need do no more. It’s very simple.”

“It is well thought out,” admitted Charles. “But what will you tell

Dart? There must be no shadow of suspicion.”

“I will say that the packet contains private orders for Monmouth. You

need have no fear.”

“If they are orders for Monmouth he will wonder why he is to take them

to Cherrywood,” objected Charles.

“No. I shall tell him that they are to be delivered into his hands and

not the Duke’s on account of the French spies that do watch Monmouth

very closely.”

“’Tis very intricate, David. Are you sure that you can vouch for Dart?”

“I am sure.”

“I would Dimcock were not ill,” sighed the King. “I mislike this

scheme.”

“Can you think of another, Sir?”

“No. It must suffice. You’ll pave the way with Dart?”

“Yes, Sir. When do you want him to start?”

“The letter is not yet writ. Can you spare Dart by Wednesday?”

“Sooner.”

“Wednesday is soon enough. I’ll bring both letters then.”

For a long time after the King had departed, Roxhythe lay still.

When he had engaged Christopher eight years ago, it had been because he

thought that the boy might prove useful in just such an affair as this.

Gradually he had come to see that Christopher’s standards of right and

honour were rigid and uncompromising. More than once he had sounded

him on the subject, and always he had struck against that Puritanical

streak that was at the bottom of his nature. He realised then that

Christopher would never serve him as he had intended. Because the boy

had become dear to him he had kept him at his side, taking great pains

to trick him into oblivion of the intrigues that went on in his house.

Looking back, he realised how much Christopher meant to him. He had

grown accustomed to his quiet adoration, had come to expect the little

attentions that the boy bestowed on him.

In some vague way Christopher’s presence was necessary to his happiness.

Until to-day he had relinquished all ideas of using him in his

machinations. But to-day Charles had called on him for help. It

was something in the nature of a struggle. If he chose to respect

Christopher’s scruples he must fail the King; if he came to the King’s

rescue he would perhaps destroy Christopher’s love for him. Secrets

often leaked out. For the present he could keep the boy in ignorance

of the real purpose of his mission, but one day it was possible that

Christopher might discover the truth.

The King’s cause had won. Roxhythe’s fondness for Christopher was as

nothing beside his love for Charles. Long, long ago he had made his

choice; had thrown in his lot with the King; all else had faded before

the one man. It was not likely that the tables would be reversed at

this stage.

Charles had called on him: it was enough.

When Christopher presently entered the room Roxhythe pointed to a chair.

“Sit down Chris.”

Christopher obeyed, somewhat mystified.

“His Majesty visited me again to-day while you were out,” began

Roxhythe.

“So soon? He was here a very short while since.”

“This time he came for a purpose. I can trust to your discretion,

Chris?”

“Of course, sir.” Christopher was interested.

“Yes. You probably know that the King has always to beware of

French spies; spies who would not scruple to interfere with his

correspondence.”

“I do suppose so, sir.”

“For this reason he hath about his person several men whom he can trust

implicitly. They are his private messengers. When he desires to send

dispatches privately these men bear them. But lately two have been

discovered to be untrustworthy, another is ill, and the fourth is with

Monmouth.”

Christopher assented vaguely. He did not perceive the drift of the

conversation.

“And I,” said Roxhythe, “am also ill.”

“Are you a messenger, sir?”

“No, but I have played the part ere now. The King dare trust so few

men.”

“I see. Somehow I did not think you--Go on, sir!”

“It so happens that the King wishes to send very private orders to

Monmouth, concerning various matters, warning him ’gainst certain men

that the King knows to be in French pay. My Lord Danby has couriers,

but he cannot vouch for them. You understand that ’twould be ruinous if

these dispatches fell into the hands of the French, or into those of

some of our number whom we believe to be also in French pay.”

Christopher began to see daylight.

“Yes, sir. Do you mean----”

“I mean that the King has appealed to me to find him a messenger who is

above suspicion, who will guard that packet with his life. There are

very few men to-day whom we can trust, but I think that there is one.”

“Sir--will you--speak plainly?” Christopher clasped his hands on his

knee.

“I told His Majesty that I could find him a courier. I had you in mind.”

“Oh--sir!”

“You will do it?”

“Oh--yes! I--I am all amazed! I--can scarcely believe that this honour

is to be given--to me!”

“It is a very great honour,” said Roxhythe gravely. “I assured His

Majesty that you were worthy of it.”

Christopher caught his hand to his lips.

“How kind you are! I owe it all to you! I--I cannot thank you enough! I

do swear that I will prove faithful.”

“I know that. You accept the task then?”

“Accept! I would do aught in the world for His Majesty--and you.”

“So I thought. You served me very well eight years ago. You are older

now, and wiser. I can trust to your discretion.”

“I do not know why you should, sir! Indeed, I have done naught for you

save the most trivial matters! I am overwhelmed.”

“You’ve no alarms?”

“Sir! When have I shown myself a coward?”

“You will be alone this time.”

“I do not fear.”

“You will need all your wits. Remember, you go in my stead.”

“I do remember it, sir. ’Tis because of that that I can scarce believe

mine ears! That His Majesty should deign to send me in your place!”

“His Majesty acts on my advice. If you fail--if you deliver those

letters wrongly--on me will fall the blame.”

“I will not! Oh, I swear that I will never give them up save to the

Duke himself!”

“You will not give them to the Duke. He also is surrounded by spies.

It needs a more seasoned head to give them to him without creating

suspicion. The King his fourth agent is in Monmouth’s train, as I told

you. You will give the packet to him, and he will do the rest.”

“Very well, sir. Who is this man?”

“You have never seen him. He is named Cherrywood--Frederick Cherrywood.

You will find him easily enough, for he is in Monmouth’s household.”

“Will he believe me to be the King’s messenger?” asked Christopher.

“The King will give you his ring as token. And he will recognize the

cypher. This evening I’ll outline your route and give you all minor

instructions. You start in two days.”

“Two days!” Christopher gasped. “But you, sir!”

“What of me?”

“You are ill! How can I leave you?”

“Strange as it may seem, I have been ill before, and there was no

Christopher. The King his will must be obeyed even though I were dying,

which I am not.”

“Yes, sir, of course! But I wish you were not ill. I do not like to

leave you.”

“If I were well you would not be asked to bear these dispatches,”

Roxhythe reminded him. “However, you need have no qualms concerning me.

I am under oath to His Majesty to obey the surgeon.”

“If that is so it is very well,” said Christopher.

“Yes. His Majesty will give the dispatches into your hands on

Wednesday. And remember this, Chris! There must be no talking to

Harcourt, or to Lady Fanny.”

“Of course not, sir.” Christopher spoke with dignity.

On Wednesday Burnest was so satisfied with my lord’s condition that

he allowed him, on pressure, to be dressed and carried down to the

library. There he reposed on a wide couch, rather exhausted, but

cheerful. Christopher arranged his cushions more comfortably.

“It has tired you, sir. You had best have kept your room.”

“My dear boy, I dislike my room. The hangings are so crude. I shall

have it seen to.”

“You were never used to object to them,” said Christopher, smiling.

“I was never in the room for so long at a stretch before. I believe

that green has retarded my recovery.” He ate a comfit. “You are very

smart to-day, Chris.”

Christopher blushed, conscious of his modish brown velvet with its gold

embroidery.

“I see you know how to please His Majesty,” said my lord. “And, I

think, here is His Majesty.”

Footsteps were coming across the hall; voices were heard, and then the

heavy curtain was swung back, and King Charles passed into the room.

The footmen straightened their beautifully curved backs and disappeared.

Christopher stood stiff. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that

Roxhythe was trying to rise. He cast an anxious glance in his direction

and another at the King. Charles was studying him calmly. He saw the

hurried glance at Roxhythe, and turned.

“David, I have never met a man so self-willed! Be still!” He clasped

Roxhythe’s hand affectionately. “You are better? The surgeon permitted

you to come downstairs?”

“Should I have dared to disobey Your Majesty’s commands?” smiled my

lord.

“I do not know!” Charles laughed. “I dare swear you bullied Burnest

into complying with your will.” He looked at Christopher. “Eh, Mr.

Dart?”

Christopher bowed.

“There was some slight coercion, Sir,” he replied. “But Burnest

consented very quickly.”

“I knew it!” said Charles. “Roxhythe, I am of a mind to send you back

to bed!”

“I beg you will not, Sir. The colour of the hangings has preyed cruelly

upon my nerves.”

Charles was amused.

“The hangings?”

“Green, Sir. They remind me of cabbage which I detest.”

“The contemplation of cabbages!” chuckled the King. “Is it a fruitful

topic?”

“Very, Sir. But wearisome. Will you not sit down?”

Charles sank into a chair. Again he addressed Christopher.

“It is his foible that no one must stand in his presence. It unnerves

him.”

Christopher was re-arranging my lord’s pillows which had fallen in his

struggle to rise. He laughed.

“I did discover that within a week, Sire.” He stood back, surveying

his handiwork. “Is it to your liking, sir?”

“Thank you, yes. Since you are acquainted with my foible, sit down!”

Charles nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Dart. And so to my errand. Roxhythe has informed you of my

will?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well?”

The King was grave now. Christopher had been conscious of his charm; he

now felt the force of his personality. It was overwhelming.

“I can scarce thank Your Majesty enough for the great honour you do me.

If I may I will serve Your Majesty faithfully.”

The far-famed Stuart smile touched the King’s lips.

“Very well spoken, Mr. Dart. You have considered everything?”

“Sire, I found nothing to consider save that Your Majesty had commands

for me.”

“A courtier, forsooth! We must see you at Whitehall. Then you will

undertake this charge, and swear to carry it through with all care and

discretion?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You understand that you must exercise the greatest care? You must

never allow the packet to leave your person; you must never allow any

man however harmless to suspect you of being my envoy; you must deliver

the packet into Cherrywood his hands. Whatever happens, none other must

see it or know of its existence. You understand?”

“I understand, Sir.”

“That is well. When you have given it to Cherrywood you will return at

once to London with his reply.”

“Your Majesty may trust me.”

“I do trust you, Mr. Dart. It will be in your power to betray me, yet I

believe that no temptation would be strong enough to induce you to do

so.”

“I swear Your Majesty shall not be disappointed in me! I would serve

Your Majesty till death itself!”

“I thank you. And I compliment you.” The King drew two sealed packets

from his bosom. “This one”--he held up the smaller of the two--“is for

Cherrywood’s perusal; the other you will give him to take to Monmouth.”

Christopher was on one knee now. Roxhythe flicked a speck of dust from

his sleeve.

Charles laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. His voice was almost

stern. His fingers gripped.

“I give them into your hands. See to it that they do not leave them

until you have found Cherrywood. It is my most strict command.”

Christopher took the letters. He spoke huskily.

“Your Majesty has my word.”

“Now swear to me by all that you hold most sacred that you will never

by word or sign divulge the secret of this mission.”

“I swear it.”

The hand left his shoulder. Charles smiled again.

“I can offer you no reward, Mr. Dart. But we shall be very pleased to

see you at Whitehall.”

“Your Majesty--is very good,” stammered Christopher.

Charles drew off his signet ring.

“You must show this to Cherrywood,” he said.

Christopher took it and carried it to his lips.

“On my head be it, Sir!”

The King’s eyes twinkled.

“Put it in a safer place, Mr. Dart,” he advised.

And so the interview ended.

CHAPTER VIII

THE AMIABLE MR. MILWARD AGAIN

CONTRARY to his expectations Christopher met with no opposition on his

journey to Flanders. He encountered but a single inquisitive gentleman,

and he was inquisitive only on one point. The point was whether he was

likely to be sea-sick on board ship. Christopher could not enlighten

him. He left him apprehensive and disconsolate.

He landed at Dunkirk and went by horse inland. The country interested

him greatly, and he was still more interested in the people that he

met. He travelled northward, over Dutch ground, and wherever he went he

heard nothing but praise of the Stadtholder. Every host of every inn

had something to say on the subject. Some were pessimistic, and doubted

that, in spite of his great courage and determination, the Prince was

too young for the task of expelling the French from the States. Others

were confident of his ultimate success. On all sides was hatred for the

French.

Christopher arrived at length at the little town near which Monmouth

had stationed his army. The Duke himself was not in camp, but stayed

with his household in one of the largest houses in the town. It had

been entirely given over to him, and he contrived, so the landlord

of the Setting Sun told Christopher, to while away his time very

creditably.

On the morning after his arrival Christopher caught sight of the Duke

riding out in the midst of a gay cavalcade to the chase. He saw very

little change in him. He was burnt by the sun and more developed, but

otherwise just the same joyous, carefree Prince who had left England a

few years before.

After watching the Duke out of sight, Christopher went through the town

on a voyage of exploration.

He heard a good deal of English spoken around him, and much French.

Rather to his surprise he found that the town was seething with

Frenchmen, and a few French officers. He was puzzled, but he remembered

that England was now a neutral country and might receive whom she

pleased in her camps.

Presently he arrived at the big market-place in the middle of the town,

and there to his dismay, he came across Mr. Milward, face to face.

Escape was impossible. Christopher felt as though his coat were

transparent and his precious packet in full view.

Milward stared at him. Then he gave a great laugh, and clapped him on

the shoulder.

“Oddsbody! My young friend of Flushing!”

Sick at heart, Christopher assented. He grasped Milward’s hand with an

assumption of cordiality. Arm in arm they walked across the square.

“What a surprise! I had not thought to see you here, Mr. Dart!”

“Nor I you,” said Christopher truthfully. “I am sight-seeing. On my

holiday, you understand.”

“So? You are still with Lord Roxhythe?”

“Yes. I have long been desirous of visiting the troops, so he hath

given me leave to come.”

“I am delighted! Another intrigue?”

Christopher stared at him.

“Intrigue? Not that I know of!”

Milward laughed again.

“Oh, you diddled me finely between you! ’Twas but lately that I found

out. Gad, but I was puzzled! I knew not what to think, and when I

reported to M. de Rouvigny he pulled the longest face I have ever seen!

However, naught came of it. The secret leaked out a little while since.”

“What secret?” demanded Christopher blankly.

“Tut-tut! There’s no need to feign innocence now. I fancy we work

together, eh?”

Christopher shook his head hopelessly.

“You speak of what I know nothing. We went to Holland because of my

lord’s disgrace.”

“Bah! You know ’twas not so.”

“Indeed, indeed, I know nothing! Pray tell me what you mean?”

“Oh, if you knew naught, well and good! What is it this time?”

Christopher saw that he was not believed. He sighed. “You speak in

riddles. I am on my holiday.”

“Oho? You know, you need not be afraid to speak. We are all one over

this.”

By now Christopher was genuinely perplexed.

“All one over what?”

“Why, your errand, to be sure!”

“But I am not come on an errand!”

“Soho! You know naught of--M. Barillon?”

“I have seen him several times, but----”

“But you do not come from him?”

“Of course I do not!”

Milward wagged his finger expressively.

“You are very cautious with me. It is the King, eh?”

“What is the King?”

“Your errand!”

“Milward, pray do not be ridiculous! I have not an idea in my head what

it is that you mean!”

“Have you not? Oh, I’m not squeezing you! We are one now. Barillon

warned us of something of this kind.”

“I do not pretend to understand,” said Christopher. “You talk like a

madman.”

“That’s good, ’pon my soul! Don’t be offended! I won’t question you any

further. Had you a fair crossing?”

“Very fair,” said Christopher. They went into a little inn.

When he at length shook off Mr. Milward he was hopelessly bewildered.

From that gentleman’s manner he would seem to be friendlily disposed,

but Christopher mistrusted his manner. It almost seemed as though

Milward believed him to be in French pay. Well, let him think so!

Just before sundown he went to Monmouth’s house. He had no difficulty

in entering, and on asking for Mr. Cherrywood, was shown into a small

room over-looking the garden.

Several gentlemen were strolling across the lawns. They all seemed in

excellent spirits; the sound of their laughter floated in at the open

window.

Mr. Cherrywood came briskly into the room. He was a short, dapper,

little man, with bright eyes and a quick speech.

“Mr.--Dart? You want me? Have I the honour of your acquaintance?” He

spoke courteously, but with a touch of surprise.

Christopher bowed.

“As yet, sir, you have not. I have something of a private nature to

impart.”

“Oh? Will you not be seated? We are quite private here. No, they will

not hear you from the lawn. What is it that you wish to tell me?” A

little of his cordiality had disappeared.

Christopher drew off his gloves unhurriedly. In all things he imitated

Roxhythe. From his finger he slipped the King’s ring and pushed it

across the table to Mr. Cherrywood.

Cherrywood picked it up, glanced at it, and rose. His manner underwent

a change.

“One moment, sir!” He went to the window, and shut it. “You come from

His Majesty?”

“I have that honour.”

“I did not know you were one of us?” The tone was searching.

“I am not,” said Christopher. “His Majesty’s envoy is ill. I am bidden

to tell you that Church and Justin are not to be trusted.”

“Well, well! Perhaps I knew that. You’ve a message? Or a dispatch?”

Christopher extricated the two dispatches from his coat. He handed

the smaller to Cherrywood, who broke the seal and spread the sheets

before him. When he had finished reading he looked rather strangely at

Christopher.

“Oh! May I have the dispatch--for Monmouth?”

Christopher gave it to him. He felt relieved that it was out of his

hands at last.

“I am to bear an answer to His Majesty, sir, as proof that I have

delivered the packet.”

“You shall have it. Excuse me for one moment!” He pocketed both

documents and hurried out.

Christopher picked up the King’s ring and put it on his finger. He felt

an odd thrill at wearing it.

An elegant, much-beribboned gentleman passed the window and looked in

curiously. With him was another still more elegant gentleman. He too

stared in. Then he shrugged, and they passed on. Christopher heard him

say something in French.

Presently Cherrywood returned. He gave Christopher a sealed packet.

“There is mine answer. You have the ring?”

Christopher held up his hand.

“That is well. Now, is there aught else you want of me?”

“No,” said Christopher. “But there is something that I would like to

tell you.”

Cherrywood sat down.

“Ah! Well?”

“I met a certain Milward to-day in the town. I know him to be in

Barillon’s pay. For reasons which we need not discuss he mistrusts me,

thinking me an intriguer. I wish to warn you that he may suspect.”

“Milward? Milward? Oh, ay, ay! Thank you Mr. Dart, that will be very

well.”

“He is a spy,” warned Christopher.

“I shall be careful, I assure you. Is that all?”

Christopher rose.

“That is all. What a quantity of Frenchmen you have in the town!”

Cherrywood followed him to the door.

“Yes. Well, we are not at war. We suffer all parties to visit us.”

“I have seen hardly any Dutchmen.”

“Oh, we have a few! Most Dutchmen are fighting, you understand.”

“I see,” said Christopher. “I am glad that we ceased war on Holland.”

“Certainly. Yes.” Mr. Cherrywood bowed him out. On the steps they

clasped hands for a moment.

“I compliment you, Mr. Dart; I compliment you. You would make a good

envoy. Perhaps we shall see you amongst us ere long.”

“I serve Roxhythe,” said Christopher. “I am no intriguer.”

Cherrywood favoured him with another hard stare.

“Oh! You serve Roxhythe. Well, well!”

Christopher was not desirous of meeting Milward again, and he arranged

to leave the town early next morning. He was both annoyed and disgusted

when his enemy walked into the Setting Sun inn while he was at dinner.

Milward espied him and came to sit at his table.

“A piece of luck!” he commented. “I thought you were staying at the

‘William’?”

“No,” said Christopher. “Are you?”

“Oh dear no! I am at”--he paused. “The Flag of Orange.”

Christopher disbelieved him on the spot.

“We were finely diddled over your master,” continued Milward,

presently. “I thought him naught but a court-darling. Dupont knew.”

“Really?” Christopher was studiously polite.

“Oh, indeed yes! Now, of course we know. Since ’70.”

“Why since then?”

“Why? Blister me, you’re a pretty young innocent!”

“I am glad I find favour in your eyes,” bowed Christopher.

“Is it possible that you don’t know? Didn’t you hear?”

“I never listen to gossip,” said Christopher.

Milward shook his head. He took a long drink.

“You puzzle me, you know,” he said.

“I am sorry,” said Christopher, and straightway changed the subject.

He arrived in London six days later. He drove at once to Bevan House

where he found the royal coach drawn up in the courtyard. The footman

who admitted him said that His Majesty was with my lord. Christopher

decided that nothing could have been more opportune. He gave the lackey

instructions to pay the coachman, and raced upstairs to his room. He

changed his travel-stained garments for his smartest suit, washed

his face, and combed out his fair hair. Then he assured himself that

Cherrywood’s letter was in his pocket, and walked downstairs as calmly

as he could. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes were very bright. He

felt himself a man of some account; his patriotism flared high.

Two lackeys stood before the thick curtain that shut off the library.

Christopher waved to them to draw it back.

“Sir,” expostulated one. “His Majesty is within, visiting my lord.”

“I am aware of it,” said Christopher.

Reluctantly the man held back the curtain. Christopher walked in.

The King was seated with Roxhythe by the window. My lord’s lazy voice

was the first thing that Christopher heard. Then Charles burst into a

great laugh.

“David, you rogue!” His eyes, wandering round the room, alighted on

Christopher, who bowed. The laugh died on his lips, and a look of

surprise came into his face.

“_Cordieu!_ ’Tis our young friend!”

Roxhythe turned his head. It was characteristic of him that he showed

no surprise.

“You arrive at a good moment, Chris.”

Charles laughed again.

“Thunder of God, but you are like your master! Do you imitate him, Mr.

Dart? I did not expect you yet, and here you are as spruce as though

you were off to a ball! I wonder, have you been to Flanders at all?”

Christopher came forward and dropped on his knee before the King. It

was one of the greatest moments of his life.

“I have the honour to inform Your Majesty that my mission has been

successful.” He offered Charles the packet.

The King took it. Roxhythe was contemplating Christopher with amusement.

Without a word Charles broke the seal and scanned what was written

on the parchment. He tossed it to Roxhythe and bent over the still

kneeling figure.

“Mr. Dart, I thank you. You have more than fulfilled my expectations.”

He said no more than that, yet Christopher, listening to the grave

voice, felt himself re-paid in full. He could not trust himself to

speak. Dumbly he held out the signet ring.

Charles slipped it on to his finger. Then he extended his hand.

Christopher held it to his lips as long as he dared.

“Sire--sire----” he stopped.

“Tell me,” said Charles, “is there aught I can do for you?”

Christopher looked up into the melancholy brown eyes that yet held such

a twinkle in their depths.

“Your Majesty--overwhelms me. It is enough to know--that I have pleased

Your Majesty--and that I have been--of some use to my country.”

Roxhythe regarded the trees outside.

“You are sure?” persisted Charles. “I would do aught that was within my

power to do.”

“There is nothing, Sir. I cannot thank you enough. I am very content.”

“Then we shall hope to welcome you at Whitehall. Roxhythe must bring

you.”

“Your Majesty does me great honour.” Christopher rose, and looked

across at my lord.

“You are better, sir?”

“I am very well, Chris. Were it not for His Majesty I had not remained

in this room for so long.”

“He thinks me a tyrant, Mr. Dart,” said the King. His solemnity had

vanished.

“I do,” sighed Roxhythe. “If you had not visited me so often, Sir, I

were in my grave to-day from sheer depression.”

“Poor Davy!” The King smiled at him. “I deliver him into your hands,

Mr. Dart.”

“Your Majesty may rest assured that I shall have a great care for him,”

said Christopher.

It was not until after dinner that he was alone with Roxhythe. When the

wine was before them and the servants had left the room, my lord leaned

back in his chair.

“Well, Chris, how fared you?”

“Very well, sir. My journey was quite uneventful until I arrived at the

camp.”

“Oh? What then?”

“You’ll never guess whom I met there!”

“Then I shall not try. Whom did you meet?”

“Milward.”

“The amiable one! But how charming!”

“It was not, sir. He--he bewildered me.”

“How?” Roxhythe re-filled his glass.

“He was very boisterous--by the way, sir, he knows now why we went to

Holland in ’68.”

“I suppose so. Go on.”

“He asked me what fresh intrigue I was busy with. I dissembled, and

then he said that he was not trying to squeeze me as he fancied we were

at one now. What could he have meant?”

“God knows. What else?”

“It was all to that tune. He asked me if I were the King his messenger,

and he said he was expecting ‘something of the kind.’ He seemed to

think that I was in French pay. And he said that I puzzled him.”

“The sun must have affected his brain.”

“It almost seemed so. He was very strange. He told me that he knew now

what manner of man you were. He spoke of 1670 and laughed heartily.

He was surprised that I ‘did not know.’ I can only suppose that he is

afflicted by Harcourt’s complaint. You remember how they suspected you

at the time?”

“Ay. Fools.”

“I think Milward is a bigger fool than any of them. I was glad to be

rid of him.”

Roxhythe sipped his wine.

“Take my advice, Chris; do not heed these gossipmongers.”

“I do not. I never have heeded them. They suspect every one of

disloyalty to the country. But I know!”

“Yes. You know. And you too love the country.”

“Above everything,” said Christopher simply.

“So you would never join certain of our respected friends in their

machinations behind the country’s back?”

“I, sir? How can you ask? I would sooner die!”

“Yet many people have warned you ’gainst my supposed nefarious

dealings. You remain with me in spite of all?”

“Why, sir, I laugh at them! Your nefarious dealings! Oh, ay, my lord!”

“And if their suspicions were true: what then?” He looked full into

Christopher’s clear eyes.

“I--think--it would break my heart, sir,” answered Christopher

unsteadily. “But then, it is not so, is it?”

Roxhythe touched his lips with his napkin.

“No. It is not so.”

“Of course it is not!” smiled Christopher. “Oh, sir, I am very, very

proud to-night!”

“Are you?” said Roxhythe.

CHAPTER IX

DISILLUSIONMENT

CHRISTOPHER settled down to his old life very quickly.

England was in a state of unrest. In February of the next year

Parliament met again. There was universal excitement, and some cries

were directed against the King. Harcourt told Christopher that Charles

was trying to dispense with a Parliament altogether. Christopher was

amused.

Roxhythe had lately fallen foul of His Grace of Buckingham, ever his

foe, and Buckingham proceeded to wage war on him, writing catchy

doggerels which circulated the coffee-houses, and sneering at the

favourite on every opportunity. Roxhythe complained that he was

becoming a nuisance. Then his Grace over-reached himself. He was very

vehement on the subject of prorogation. He joined Shaftesbury in the

popular cry that by the length of the prorogation the Parliament had

ceased to exist. He employed all his caustic wit in this cause, and

he grew excited. His section was out-voted, and he, Shaftesbury and

Wharton were consigned to the Tower. Gossip whispered and gradually

shouted that his imprisonment as one of the ring-leaders of the

movement was due to my Lord Roxhythe’s influence. Christopher listened,

observed my lord, and believed Gossip. My lord smiled and said nothing.

In March Christopher received one of Roderick’s rare letters. He found

it a bulky package and was surprised. Roderick was not wont to write at

length. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair and spread the

sheets before him.

There was very little preliminary. Roderick inquired after his health,

and after that wasted no time in giving vent to his feelings.

“... Ye knowe, my dear Chris, how I Do long to See You out of Roxhythe

His Service. Once more I Implore You to quit him. With him Ye Breathe

the Air of Intrigue, of all thatt is Vile. It is in no Peevish Spirit

thatt I Warn You, but in my Zeal for Yr. Welfare, which I have ever

to Heart. Ye are Young: it may be thatt Ye are Ignorant of the

Machinations of This Man for his Infamous Master. We in Holland have

learnt by Bitter Experience never to Trust to Charles His Word. Ye

in England must Surely knowe By Now the Truth concerning thatt most

Disgraceful Affair in 1670. We knew, very soone after, thatt Charles

had sold himself to France in a Shameful Treaty made Secretly with

Louis. We sawe how he contrived to Trick his Parliament into wishing

for War on Us. We knowe, for the Prince has Zealous Agents, what Partt

my Lord Roxhythe played in thatt Treaty. He did haggle with Louis on

Charles his Behalf, and did arrange a Secret Meeting for Both Parties.

Were Ye not so Blinded by Yr. Love for him, Ye would have seen the

Truth from the first. A Doubt Assails me thatt Ye did knowe, and did

Connive at the Deed. I tell my self thatt ye are too good a Patriot,

but the Doubt remains.

“Yr. King plays Fast and Loose with us. He did make Peace, Three Years

Since, in ’74. But we knew then thatt his Hand had been Forced, and

thatt he was not Desirous of Breaking from Louis. Else why did he Leave

his Troops under his Profligate Bastard on this Soil? He did Finely

Trick his Parliament, but he did not Deceive His Highness.

“Last Year we did Realise thatt he was in Need of Money to squander

on his Women, and his Pleasures, for he did send my Lord Roxhythe to

Traffic againe with His Highness, giving him Fair Words, and demanding

Tribute for his Master. His Highness would have None of it, for he doth

knowe how Perfidious is King Charles. We did Expect then to see the

English Troops Once More against us, and have not been Disappointed.

We do apprehend thatt Charles has Sold Him Self to Louis yet againe.

England, without the Knowledge of Her Government, stands against us.

The Prince His Agents have Grave suspicions thatt there have been

Secret Dispatches passing from Charles to Louis. They do knowe thatt M.

Barillon was closetted very Often with the King Last Yeare.

“And so I come to the Crux of the Matter. These same Agents who act for

His Highness in England do knowe thatt a man went to the English Camp

Last Yeare. This Man was You, Christopher.

“I do Pray Heaven thatt Yr. Mission was Innocent, and Indeed, we have

No Proof thatt it was not. We do but Knowe thatt Ye visitted the Camp

when My Lord Roxhythe was abed, Wounded. It is Possible thatt Ye did

but go as Many have Gone before You, but we Fear otherwise, knowing

You to be in Roxhythe his Service. Hardly a Month from thatt date, the

English Army had moved Secretly, to Join the French.

“Oh, my deare Brother, I do Implore You to have no Dealings with King

Charles! If Ye tell me Yr. Journey to Holland was Innocent I do Believe

you, but a Grate Fear hath me in its Grip thatt Ye have been won to

Roxhythe his Machinations by Yr. Infatuation for him. Christopher, pray

consider what it is thatt Ye do! Think of Our Father his Grief were

he Alive and knew thatt Ye were Working against the Country her Good,

behind her Back, for a King who hath Neither Honour nor Decency; who

does not Scruple to Betray his Country her Honour for a few Pounds!

“Ye have Refused to Believe thatt my Lord Roxhythe is not to be

Trusted; Ye have shut Yr. Eyes to his Perfidy, seeing only his

Fascination. Ye must knowe, however, thatt he Counts no Cost, and hath

no Moral Sense. He will gaine his owne, or his Master his Ends by Fair

Means or by Foul. Ye knowe his Vaunted Love for King Charles; the

Country Counts for naught with him. He setteth Love for Man Above Love

for Country.

“Christopher, I do fear thatt You too set Grater Store on Man than on

Country, and on Right. Be advised by me who have seen so much of the

Evils of the Day, do not let this be so. Remember Ye are Yr. Father his

Son! Have no Secret Dealings Either for Roxhythe or the King! Deal

openly Always, and do not Work against Yr. Country, for I do Earnestly

tell You thatt the Country in these Troublous Times Counts for more

than All Else. The Country needs True Patriots More than ever it did;

do not You join the ranks of those Unworthy Englishmen of whom the

King is one, and Roxhythe another! I pray You, do not lightly cast my

Warning aside, nor Sneer at it as Ye have sneered at all others. I

have no Spite against Roxhythe; I warn you because I knowe what manner

of man he is; because I will not have My Brother under his Influence.

Naught but Harm can come of it; I implore You, be warned by me!

“The Prince his Courage is undaunted by the Many Disasters thatt have

befallen him. He doth hold the French King in Check, Daily growing

Wiser in War, More Strong in Body. I would ye too might be Induced to

Join him who is the One Honest Man....”

Christopher read the letter through deliberately. When he came to the

end he laid it down with fingers that trembled slightly. Every word

rang true. At first his mind refused to grasp all that was set down

before him; then, when the first numbness had passed he argued hotly

with himself. Roderick had evidently believed the rumours of 1670.

How often had he, Christopher, laughed at these rumours? But Roderick

seemed to have proofs.... Bah! Were the Dutch spies wiser than all

others? They too had listened to rumour, and, because Roxhythe had

travelled frequently to the Louvre, had jumped to conclusions. It was

not possible that the gracious King who had allowed him to kiss his

hand, whom he believed in so implicitly, had descended to trafficking

secretly with France! And Roxhythe, the lazy courtier, in very sooth an

intriguer? Impossible! Yet.... How many times had he been warned? How

many people had questioned him concerning my lord’s movements?

He referred again to the letter.

“... for he did send my Lord Roxhythe to Traffic againe with His

Highness....”

Last year.... That must have been when Roxhythe went, ostensibly, to

Paris. Christopher had not known that he had gone to Holland. He had

been left in the dark.... Well! Why not? Was my lord bound to confide

in his secretary?... But how many more times had he been left in the

dark? If my lord could play the emissary to Holland, why not to France?

Why had he never thought of that before? Supposing the ’70 rumours were

true? Had my lord indeed haggled with Louis for the King’s private

ends? Had he been instrumental in selling England?

Again he took up the letter.

“... And so I come to the Crux of the matter....”

He read it through carefully. _Peste!_ Roderick was morbidly

suspicious!

“... Hardly a month from thatt Date the English Army had Moved,

Secretly, to Join the French....”

Something seemed to seize his throat; he felt as though he were

choking. These words of Roderick’s were based not on suspicion but

on hard facts. Roderick was not the man to prevaricate that he might

gain his own ends.... But it could not be! Roxhythe would never use

him so! Nor would the King stoop to sell his Country to Louis. It

was unthinkable, ridiculous! Charles was all that was most regal,

most upright! Christopher remembered how he had extended his hand;

he remembered the thrill that had run through him as he had kissed

that hand. Surely, surely Charles was honest? And Roxhythe! It was

impossible that he should have consented to use him deliberately,

against his convictions! He did not believe it! He would not believe

it! _Sangdieu!_ He laughed at such senseless tittle-tattle!...

“... You not belief’ me. You t’ink heem onselfish and ver’ good. Well,

I warn you, eet ees not so. You remember t’at always and you not get

hurt....”

De Staal.... And de Staal had loved Roxhythe.... The grave words were

ringing in his ears--he could see the whole scene. It was nine years

ago. How quiet the street had been! How peaceful was de Staal; how

pathetic his love for Roxhythe!...

“I--like you, Chris. I--don’t want you to get hurt.”

Lady Frances.... She had warned him repeatedly. What was it she had

said?

“... You think him very great, very good. Suppose--it were not so?

Suppose he were not so true?...”

Had he been blinded by his love for Roxhythe? Was my lord the ruthless

schemer they had all thought him? Even Ashley had warned him.

“... I fear he is not so indolent as he would have us believe.... I

mistrust him. I have always mistrusted him....”

Realisation was dawning on Christopher; doubts pulled him this way and

that. He would not believe--he did not believe ... but--oh, God, if it

were so!...

Roxhythe came into the room in his usual leisurely fashion. Christopher

ever afterwards remembered his appearance on that day. He was dressed

in pearl grey velvet, with soft pink facings and sword-knot. The

rosettes on his shoes were of pink satin; rubies sparkled in his cravat

and on his fingers. He was carrying a ruby-studded comfit-box, given

him by the King.

“Russell waxeth very wroth over Buckingham’s imprisonment,” remarked my

lord. He gave a twitch to his billowing shirt sleeve. “He and Coventry

inveigh against me.” He glanced up and saw Christopher’s face. “Oh.

Well, what now?”

Christopher handed him Roderick’s letter.

“Please--read that, sir--and deny--what is writ there! I--it has

disquieted my mind.”

Roxhythe sat down on the table-edge. He read the letter through in

silence. Then he handed it back to Christopher.

“May I ask why such nonsense should disquiet you?”

Christopher rose quickly.

“It is nonsense, sir? There’s no truth in it?” His voice trembled

relievedly. “And yet, sir----”

Roxhythe shrugged.

“There is a certain amount of truth interwoven, I grant you. The

rest--bah!”

“Sir, this secret treaty with France that he writes of--it is a lie?”

“My dear Chris, best ask His Majesty.”

“Ah, don’t evade me! Roderick says that you were implicated in it!

Harcourt feared it; Ashley too.”

“Your memory is not of the longest, Chris. Did we not discuss this

question at the time?”

“Ay, sir. You told me then that it was a lie.”

“Am I likely to tell you that it was the truth now?”

“Tell me again, sir! You are not intriguing?”

“I was not.”

“I knew it! I knew it! But----”

“Well?”

“Roderick says that you acted envoy to the Prince of Orange last year.

Roderick would not lie to me!”

Roxhythe seemed to consider.

“Why not?” he said at last. “I have done it before, and you too.”

“It was different then! We acted for the country; Ashley was privy to

it. Roderick says that this time you acted for King Charles’ private

ends--to gain money for him!”

“I admire your brother’s imagination, Chris.”

“I would I could think it only that! But he writes so earnestly.”

“Yes. I had noticed that he seemed concerned,” nodded my lord.

“He is concerned. And, sir, if you can intrigue with the Stadtholder

for the King, I suppose you can intrigue for him with Louis. You told

me naught of your journey to Holland; I cannot help wondering how many

times you have plotted without my knowledge.”

“I wish you would sit down,” murmured my lord.

Christopher ignored him. He was controlling himself with difficulty.

“And now I wonder if it was indeed to Monmouth that I took that letter.

At the time I thought--it strange--that I should give it to Cherrywood.

I--oh, my lord, my lord! Tell me that my suspicions are without

foundation! It is not possible that you should have used me as a tool!

You could not have done it! You would not!”

“My dear Chris, why all this excitement? I could not have done it. I

would not! _Voilà!_”

“I wish--oh, how I wish that I could believe you!” cried Christopher.

“Oh? Why can you not?”

“Sir, forgive me if I malign you, but you have so often journeyed to

France--I--and then when you were ill, I had to go--and--oh, I have

been warned so many, many times!” He spoke very bitterly. “De Staal

told me not to trust you; Harcourt, Ashley, Lady Frances, Roderick! And

I--thought--them--fools.”

“Belike they were.”

“You mean?” There was suppressed eagerness in his voice.

“Why, I mean that I have done you no harm nor am not like to.”

“It was in truth a letter to Monmouth?”

Roxhythe looked at him haughtily.

“Is His Majesty’s word not enough?”

“I wish I might be convinced! But you see what Roderick says! The army

stands against Holland now. Everything comes back to me! Milward’s

strange words which I did not understand; the presence of so many

Frenchmen in the camp. Oh, my lord, don’t evade me! Or--” he stopped.

“Is it possible that you too work in the dark? Do you know naught?”

Roxhythe stiffened. His eyes expressed blank amazement.

“I? _Cordieu_, Christopher, do you take me for a catspaw?”

Christopher took an uneasy pace across the room.

“I suppose not. You were then privy to the whole affair. The King sold

himself to France in very truth! You can deny it if you will, but

something tells me that it is so.”

Roxhythe twisted his rings.

“It seems that I must explain. Sit down.”

Christopher sank into the nearest chair.

“First,” my lord spoke sternly, “I’d have you remember the oath you

swore to His Majesty.”

“Never to divulge by word or sign--oh, ay! I see it all now!”

“Endeavour to be less insane, Christopher. I did go to the Prince of

Orange last year. King Charles is in need of money as your brother so

sagely remarks. But the Prince is stubborn. He is imbued with the same

false views that Roderick holds. Again I failed with him. So perforce,

His Majesty turned to France. As to selling himself--pooh! He holds

King Louis in the palm of his hand. He does not intend to make serious

war on the Dutch, nor to further Louis’ interests abroad. He seeks

only to squeeze Louis of money. It is true that we had some sort of a

treaty, but you need not fear that Louis will profit by it.” He paused,

looking at his secretary.

“And this,” said Christopher, “is honour!”

“It is a game, Christopher, called Politics. You cannot hope to

understand the workings of the game; one must be bred up in it. You may

not condemn that which you do not understand.”

“I had sooner not understand,” replied Christopher. “It is too black,

too dishonourable!” He laughed strangely. “Politics! To keep faith with

no one! To try to trick your fellows!”

“It is the law of life, my child.”

“No, sir. I will never believe that. And it is not politic to work

behind the Country’s back.”

“The Country has not treated us exiles so well that we need consider

it,” answered my lord.

“The Country should stand first with every Englishman!”

“So you say who have had naught but good from the Country.”

“Nothing would make me alter my opinions!”

“Why, that is very noble! We look on this from different standpoints. I

owe allegiance to none save the King.”

“And I--thought the King--Oh, I cannot bear it!”

“You thought the King more than human. He is as other men, save that he

has more brain than all your patriotic dunderheads clubbed together.

What you call love for Country is in reality love for blundering,

senseless policy which is not worthy of the name. Your honest statesmen

would bring the Country lower than ever King Charles would. Do you

think I have not experienced all your feelings? I thought the same as

you when I was young. But I was wiser than you are. I saw that King

Charles was the man to follow, not ‘the Country.’ I too had to choose

which path I would tread. I chose to serve the King. I have seen a

great deal in my time, Christopher, but never that the King worked harm

on the Country. I have learnt to place my trust in him. You would do

well to learn that lesson too. If you are to take an active part in

politics of to-day, you must follow the King, or those of our number

whom you believe to be ‘the Country.’”

“I would follow them! At least they are honest!”

“To what avail? What good is honesty in a world of vice? Is Louis

honest? You know that he is not. What weapons shall we fight him with

but his own?”

“You do not fight him! You play into his hands!”

“There speaks your ignorance. The King plays into no man’s hands.”

“Save his own!”

Roxhythe was silent.

Christopher clasped and unclasped his hands.

“I can understand that having chosen to follow the King you should

speak in this vein. I can understand that you would do aught for

him. But to trick me! to make me instrumental in selling England to

France!--ay, my lord, you may say what you will, but that is what has

been done!--I--it--oh, my lord, I trusted you so!”

The pent-up cry left Roxhythe unmoved.

“It was you or the King, Christopher. You should have followed your

brother’s advice and left me long ago.”

“I would I had! I would I had listened to Roderick in the first place!

But I thought you so good! so honourable! And all the time you were

deceiving me, lying to me as you lied to me in ’70 when I asked what

you did in Paris! My lord, it would have been kinder to have told me!”

A little hardness crept into my lord’s voice.

“Mayhap. But you were useful to me. You shielded me from suspicion by

your very ignorance.”

“I--thought you cared--for me--a little! I loved you--so greatly! I

would have done--anything in the world for you! And you--tricked me.”

“I do care for you, Chris.”

“Ah, no! You would never have treated me thus! I was--useful--to you.”

Roxhythe shrugged and opened his comfit-box.

“You make too much out of too little,” he said. “And you speak of

matters above your head.”

“It may seem a little to you, sir. You care naught for Country or

patriotism. But I, I have been bred to think only of that! You knew it!

You knew how I would have revolted from the task had I known the truth.”

The brown eyes narrowed. Still colder became that passionless voice.

“Exactly,” bowed his lordship.

“I see,” said Christopher wearily. “You are as ruthless as they said.

It did not matter what would be my feelings when I discovered the

truth. The only thing that mattered was that King Charles should have

his way.”

“Your sagacity is quite astounding,” said Roxhythe.

“And the King--I was so proud to be chosen for the task; so proud to

kiss his hand; I believed in him so implicitly. And he joined with you

in tricking me!”

Roxhythe ate another comfit.

Slowly Christopher picked up his brother’s letter. His mouth was very

set, his eyes bewildered, terribly hurt.

“I cannot as yet--quite realize--everything,” he said unsteadily.

“It--it takes time, my lord, to undo--the belief--of years. And it has

come so--suddenly.”

“When you have considered the matter you will think differently,”

replied Roxhythe, snapping his comfit-box. “There’s no harm done; only

a jar to a rather fanatic love for Country.”

“I shall not think differently. I--I must think what I shall do.

My--brain feels numbed. I--I can’t realize that you whom I loved and

respected so have done this thing.”

“‘This thing’ is so delightfully tragic,” remarked my lord.

Christopher walked to the door. His hand trembled as he pulled back the

curtain.

“You’ll--give me leave, sir.”

“Yes,” said Roxhythe.

Christopher went out.

For a long time after he had gone Roxhythe sat twisting his rings, and

staring out of the window. At last he gave the faintest of sighs, and

shrugged. The smile that came to his lips was not mirthful.

CHAPTER X

THE BITTER HOUR

ALL that day and the next Christopher avoided Roxhythe. He was battling

with himself, fighting against what he believed to be wrong.

The blow to his patriotism had been severe, the blow to his love for

Roxhythe severer, but what had been the severest of all was the blow

to his pride. He would not admit it, but it was true. At twenty-eight

pride is tender. It was not pleasant to think that he had been duped so

easily and used as a catspaw. It galled him unbearably.

Nothing could kill his love for Roxhythe. It had grown and deepened

during nine years; a single blow was not enough to quench it. But the

trust was gone. Never again could he believe in my lord. He might

pretend, but he knew that in his heart would always be suspicion. He

knew now that Roxhythe was the King’s chief adviser and negotiator.

When my lord disappeared again, mysteriously, he would know that he

was gone on secret business, nefarious business. Men would continue

to question him; how could he quiet their fears, knowing the truth?

If he assured these questioners of Roxhythe’s innocence he would be

acting for my lord, against all that was upright and good. Yet if he

left my lord, what else did life hold for him? All these years he had

been wrapped up in this one man, managing his affairs, accompanying him

almost everywhere, living for him alone. Everyone else had ceased to

count with him; Roxhythe was the beginning and the end.

Bitterly he reflected that he had learnt never to question my lord’s

actions, to trust in him always, to take up the cudgels on his behalf.

In return for this he had been tricked in cold blood. Roxhythe was

ruthless; Christopher saw that in his turn he was engrossed in one

man. All must give way before the King, even he who had served my lord

so faithfully for so long. Then came the still more bitter thought:

Roxhythe did not care how he had hurt him. He could not, even in the

moment of discovery, abandon his flippancy. He treated the whole affair

as an amusing episode; he laughed at Christopher’s discomfiture.

Christopher tried to imagine what life would be if he continued in

Roxhythe’s service. It seemed impossible. His spirit rebelled against

working for one who plotted and schemed behind the Country’s back. In

time he might perhaps be drawn under by Roxhythe’s influence; he might

become as cynical as Roxhythe; he might lose all his patriotism, even

as Roxhythe had done.

Of the King he could scarcely bear to think. Charles had cast his spell

over him, had inspired him with enthusiastic loyalty. He had refused

to listen to ill of him; he had thought him all that was best and most

noble. Now that ideal was shattered and lay in the dust at his feet.

Seated by the open window, looking out into the dusk, a great

loneliness crept over Christopher. There was no one to whom he could

speak; no one who would listen to the unburdening of his heart. He had

sworn an oath to Charles that he would never disclose the secret of his

mission to Flanders. That secret must remain with him to the very end,

an everlasting shame to haunt him all his life.

He had wanted to serve his country. Instead, he had worked against her,

helped to lower her honour....

The wind blew in at the window, coldly, and moaned a little through the

trees without. Only a few embers burned in the grate; the candles were

unlit. Christopher did not care. He was cold through and through, but

he did not shut the window. He was facing the first big crisis in his

life, and he was terribly afraid lest he should play the coward’s part.

He knew that his mind was made up and that he must leave Roxhythe. No

argument was strong enough to convince him that it would be right to

remain. Perhaps Roxhythe would trick him again did the need arise.

There would never be trust in him now, and suspicion would surely kill

his love. And Roxhythe cared nothing for him. He was merely a useful

acquisition. He must leave Roxhythe. But it was hard. Love for man was

greater at this moment than love for Country. Right must in the end

triumph over wrong, but not without a struggle....

Christopher looked round the familiar room. It had been his for eight

years. A lump rose in his throat....

Another aspect presented itself. Roxhythe had been good to him before

this disaster. He had treated him more as a son than as a secretary.

Did he not owe something to him? Why had Roxhythe been so good to

him? Was it only that he might be of use to him? Christopher had set

many uneasy minds at rest in ’70, because he himself had believed in

Roxhythe. Nothing is so convincing as innocence. Now that he knew

the truth he could not set minds at rest. He could not pose and

counterfeit, even if he wished. It seemed likely that Roxhythe would no

longer have any use for him.

Then Christopher’s head went down on the hard sill, despairingly....

Roxhythe had a card-party that night. Christopher should have dined

with him, and seen that all was in order. He could not face the inane

gaiety, the senseless laughter, the foolish witticisms. He rose jerkily

and took up his hat and cloak. In a little while the visitors would

arrive; he would hear their voices floating up to his room; to-night he

could not bear it. He went quickly out of the room and down the stairs.

An amazed footman opened the door for him and watched him descend

the steps. Christopher did not care what he thought; only one thing

mattered, and that was that he should be out of the house before dinner.

He did not return until after eleven. The same footman admitted him and

afterwards remarked to his brethren that Mr. Dart looked for all the

world as though he had seen a ghost.

Christopher went slowly upstairs. A burst of laughter from the library

made him wince. He was very tired....

My Lord Roxhythe did not appear next morning until twelve o’clock. He

came downstairs then, hat in hand, and his gloves already on.

Christopher met him at the foot of the stairs, barring his passage.

“My lord, may I speak to you--privately?”

Roxhythe paused, his hand on the baluster. He stood just above his

secretary, looking down into the pale face with eyes that were quite

expressionless.

“My dear Chris, I am pressed for time. His Majesty expects me.”

“I can wait no longer, sir. His Majesty would not grudge me ten

minutes.”

The straight brows rose perceptibly.

“My lord,” said Christopher earnestly. “I think you owe me this.”

Roxhythe resumed his passage downstairs.

“It is never wise to take that tone with me,” he remarked.

Christopher laid a hand on his arm.

“Sir, I do beg you will speak to me now! I--I cannot wait!”

The hand was removed.

“Neither can I,” said his lordship. He went on calmly across the hall.

“You will not?” cried Christopher. His eyes flashed.

“I shall be in at three,” replied Roxhythe. The next moment he was gone.

It was the one thing needed to clinch the matter for ever. If Roxhythe

had acted differently, if he had exerted himself never so slightly to

placate Christopher, love for man might had triumphed. But that was not

Roxhythe’s way.

Christopher fretted and chafed under the added wrong. By three o’clock

there was no doubt left in his mind which way he should decide.

He went to the library to wait for my lord.

Punctual to the minute came Roxhythe. He surveyed his secretary coolly

and laid his hat on the table.

Christopher came forward. He was holding fast to his decision. At the

sight of Roxhythe it threatened to slip away. No slight that my lord

could inflict would ever destroy the magic of his presence.

“I--suppose you--you have guessed why I want to speak to you, sir,”

said Christopher unsteadily.

Roxhythe drew off his gloves.

“No. May I ask why you were not present last night?”

The old flush rose to Christopher’s cheeks.

“I--could not. I was in no mood for it.”

“I am sorry,” said Roxhythe. “Perhaps you will inform me next time you

feel like that.”

“There will be no next time,” answered Christopher very quietly.

“I am relieved to hear you say so.”

“You do not take my meaning, sir. I desire to--to offer you my

resignation.” His voice trembled in spite of all his efforts to control

it.

There was a long silence.

“Oh!” said Roxhythe. “Very well.”

So this was the end. Christopher walked slowly to the door. There was

a buzzing in his ears, his feet were like lead. He put out his hand

to draw back the curtain. He must hold his head high; he must not let

Roxhythe see his misery.

“Chris?”

The drawling voice reached him, full of caress. He wheeled about, saw

my lord’s outstretched hand, and stumbled back to where he stood,

falling on his knees beside him, the hand pressed to his lips. There

was a choking lump in his throat; desperately he clung to that strong,

white hand. The fingers closed on his.

“So you’ll leave me, Chris?”

“I must, I must! My lord, how can I stay after--after--” he broke off

hopelessly.

“I see no reason why you should not.”

“It--is impossible. I could--never--trust you again. If you went on

King Charles his business--I should know, and--feel that I was helping

to plot against my country.”

“You rate yourself high,” said that even voice. “And I thought I told

you that it is France, not England that we trick?”

“It is almost as bad. Oh, my lord, I have been taught to act honestly

always--heaven knows I am wavering--but it is no honourable thing to

trick any man by fair words! I cannot, cannot remain with you! There

would always be suspicion; I should be of no further use to you, and--I

should be wretched!”

“Where is your vaunted love for me?” asked my lord sadly.

Christopher kissed his hand.

“It will always be there sir! Nothing could kill it--I--I would give my

life for you.”

“Yet when I ask you to stay with me you refuse.”

“Do not--oh, do not! It means--sacrificing my honour--my pride--I--oh,

cannot you see that it is impossible?”

“Honour and pride count for more than Roxhythe?”

“Sir, it is right against wrong! You might persuade me to remain with

you, but always I should know that I was doing wrong. I--it is--oh, do

you think it is not breaking my heart to leave you?”

“Chris, try to look at the matter in a more sensible light. You assume

that I am the greatest villain unhanged. In fact, you are melodramatic.”

“I cannot look at it in what you call a sensible light. I can only see

that you intrigue for His Majesty’s private ends, breaking treaties,

selling England--and--I--I cannot be privy to it!”

“Have I asked you to be privy to it?”

“I have eyes, sir. I should know when you went to France what was your

mission. I--could not--shield you from suspicion. People have always

tried to squeeze me concerning you. How could I re-assure them, knowing

the truth?” He did not look up; he dared not.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Roxhythe. He sighed. “I am sorry.”

“I--I cannot make evasive replies; I cannot counterfeit. It might even

be that I should--all unwittingly--betray you.”

“You could not do that. I am not a clumsy intriguer. But I suppose you

must have your own way.” Again he sighed. “We tread different paths.”

“Yes--sir. You choose to follow King; I--I cleave to--Country.”

“But mine, Chris, is the better part.”

“No, sir, no. Yours is the--tempting part--but I believe that mine is

the right.”

“We shall not agree on that score,” answered Roxhythe. He looked round

the room. “Oddsblood, I shall miss you, Chris. You have been with me

for so long.”

“Nine--years,” said Christopher, little above a whisper. “I, oh, my

dear lord, why did you do it? Why did you trick me? I had never found

out else! Why, why did you do it?”

Roxhythe smiled.

“Is that the way the wind blows? I believe I could persuade you very

easily if I tried.”

Christopher shook his head.

“No--do not try!”

“I shall not. I’ll not have you here against your will. Nine years! You

must have become a habit, Christopher.”

“Yes--that is all. You will not--miss me for long. You will have

another--secretary--you will forget that there ever was--a Christopher.

’Tis I who--shall not forget.”

“Another secretary.... It seems strange.”

Christopher’s hold on his hand tightened.

“Don’t speak of it, sir! I--can’t--bear it!”

Roxhythe bent over him.

“Look at me, Chris!”

The grey, almost blue eyes met his.

“You mean it, Chris? You’ll leave me?”

Christopher tried to wrench his gaze away but the steady brown eyes

held his. He drew a deep breath.

“Yes, sir. I--must.”

Roxhythe straightened. He drew his hand away.

“I thought I could bend you to my will, Chris,” he said. “It seems I

was wrong. Well, what now?”

Christopher rose.

“I shall stay until you have--found a--secretary, sir--of course.”

“Thank you. And then?”

“Then--I do not know. I cannot think of the future--as yet.”

Roxhythe looked at him thoughtfully.

“One thing, Chris, I want you to remember always. Whatever happens,

whenever you will, you may return to me. Don’t forget it, child. I

shall welcome you back no matter when you come. And if you ever want

help, call upon me.”

“You--are very good, sir. I--will--remember.”

Roxhythe nodded. He watched Christopher go out of the room. Then he

picked up his hat and gloves.

“So ends the one friendship,” he said aloud. “I wonder--is it worth

it?”

BOOK IV

THE ONE PART

CHAPTER I

THE NEW MASTER

IN April of 1677 Christopher left Roxhythe after nine long years

and took rooms in Cheapside. After the first struggle he seemed to

sink into a state of apathy. He hardly stirred from his rooms and he

received no one. At present he was living in some horrible nightmare;

he could not even now realise all that had happened.

In May of the same year Lady Frances returned from Scotland where she

had been staying. She made her curtsey to the King at Whitehall and

stayed by his side for some time, laughing and talking with him in

a reminiscent vein. After that she exchanged frivolities with Lord

Buckhurst. It was at that moment that Roxhythe appeared on the scene.

He stood for some while by the King, but presently he perceived his

cousin and came across the room towards her.

Lady Frances gave him her hand.

“Well, David!” She eyed Lord Buckhurst with her head on one side. “Dear

me, Charles, I believe Lady Finchley wants you!”

He laughed in answer to her twinkling glance.

“Which means that you do not? Very well! I’ll go!” He strolled off to

join Killigrew.

Lady Frances smiled up at Roxhythe.

“Charles is very charming, is he not?” she said. “Sit down, David. How

are you?”

“The same as ever,” he answered. “And you?”

“How do I look?” she parried.

“Marvellous!” he said lazily.

“Then that is how I feel. How is Chris?”

My lord regarded the rosettes on his shoes.

“I really don’t know. He has left me.”

Lady Frances gasped.

“Left you? Christopher? Good gracious, Roxhythe, what has happened?”

“We had a difference of opinion and he decided that our ways lay apart.”

Lady Frances to some extent recovered her composure. She laid a

compelling hand on his arm.

“Roxhythe, you must have shown yourself very vile! I insist on knowing

everything!”

“I am sorry to have to disappoint you, my dear. Suffice it that we

agreed to part.”

“It does not suffice! Something terrible must have happened to induce

Chris to leave you.”

“No, not at all.”

“Roxhythe, do not play with me! He is--disillusioned?”

“Thoroughly.”

“He knows that you are not--so idle?”

My lord raised his brows.

“Oh, pho! You know very well that I see through your pose! Others may

be blind, but I am not. You are the King his man.”

“Is not this a rather public spot wherein to discuss such matters?”

“Has Chris found out?”

“Why not ask him?”

“I shall! Have no fear of that! But I want it from your lips. Oh, come,

David! I too have lived in intrigue; I am not blameless myself. Chris

discovered that you were plotting?”

“Something of the sort!”

“And so he left you? No, that is not enough. You used him?”

“You should have been born a man, my dear.”

“My mother knew better. Did you use Christopher?”

“You weary me,” said Roxhythe. “You were never wont to do that. I did

use him.”

“Then you are utterly without a heart, without shame! You are

loathsome!” said my lady vehemently.

“You always knew that I had no heart. Shame is an unknown quantity.

But as to loathsome ... h’m!”

“It is true. Oh, David, why did you do it?”

“I forget. There was a reason.”

“For heaven’s sake don’t be flippant!” she snapped. “Where is

Christopher?”

“In rooms. 94, Cheapside.”

“I shall tell him to visit me. Perhaps he will be more explicit!”

“I doubt it.” My lord smiled insufferably.

“We shall see. I suppose you have killed his love for you?”

“On the contrary.”

“Do you mean to say that Christopher still adores you?”

“I believe so.”

“And you sit there and tell me that in that calm, disinterested way!

Roxhythe, I have never found you less to my taste!”

He looked into her flashing eyes. She was sitting very straight.

“Well, my dear, there is a remedy.” He rose. “Pray give me leave!”

She nodded angrily. My lord strolled back to the King.

Next day a note was brought to Christopher. The serving-maid bore it up

to his room.

Christopher was trying to write to his brother. The task was a

difficult one. It was hard to acknowledge himself to have been in the

wrong throughout.

The serving-maid gave a sniff and proffered the note. When he saw Lady

Frances’ handwriting a little colour came to Christopher’s pale cheeks

and he tore the letter open. It was very short.

“Deare Chris.--Come and See me this After Noon.--F.M.”

“Do they await an answer?” asked Christopher.

“No, sir.” The girl twisted her apron between her fingers and giggled

a little for no better reason than that she admired him. “The footman

went away at once.”

“Thank you.”

The maid departed, clattering across the floor in shoes two sizes too

large for her. She was something of a contrast to the well-trained

lackeys at Bevan House.

That afternoon Christopher surveyed his many suits deliberately. If he

was to wait on Lady Fanny he must be carefully dressed. At the back

of the cupboard hung a brown velvet suit, heavily laced with gold.

Christopher fingered it dreamily. He had worn this coat last when he

had returned from Flanders.... Then there was the blue cloth with

its cream facings. That had been bought for a garden-party at Lady

Pommeroy’s house. Roxhythe had worn apricot velvet.... He put it back

slowly. The lilac velvet? No.... That had been his summer suit down at

Bevan last year.... The grey cloth with the pale blue ribands?... Not

that. Roxhythe had approved of that dress. What was it he had said?...

Almost roughly Christopher thrust it back into the cupboard. From its

depths he drew a green coat laced with silver. He had seldom worn this,

thinking it ugly. Well, it should be worn now. He shut the cupboard.

An hour later he was ushered into Lady Fanny’s boudoir.

Frances looked up quickly, scanning his face as he made his leg. She

was shocked at the change that had taken place. There was no sparkle in

his eyes, no colour in his face. He had aged extraordinarily since last

she had seen him.

“My very dear Chris!” She came forward, hands outstretched.

He took them in his.

“How kind of you to invite me, Lady Frances! I did not know you were in

town.” His voice was graver than of old.

“Dear boy, it was more of a summons!” she smiled. “Now come and sit

down beside me and tell me everything.” She drew him to a couch.

“I don’t think that there is much to tell,” said Christopher, trying

hard to sound unconcerned. “You heard that I have left Roxhythe?”

“Yes, Chris. Tell me all about it.” She patted his hand as she spoke.

“You know that I can be discreet.”

“It’s nothing, Lady Fanny. I found that I wanted to leave--so I--left.”

He spoke with would-be lightness.

“Chris, that is not enough. I have seen Roxhythe, and I know that

something has happened.”

“Oh, no! I was tired of playing secretary. I am a man of leisure now!”

“And do you like it, Chris?”

He looked away.

“Tell me, dear boy....”

“I can’t!”

“You can. Roxhythe has treated you shamefully I know.”

A wry smile twisted his lips.

“Don’t say you warned me!”

“Of course I shall not! He used you in some way? tricked you?”

“That I cannot tell you. But you will be glad to know--that my eyes are

open--at last.”

“I am not glad, dear. I am very, very sorry. You thought he was----”

“I thought he was the soul of honour and truth. Well, I was mistaken.”

“He has hurt you badly, then. It was bound to happen. He lives only for

the King. It is his one good point.”

“Not at all. He has many good points. Don’t think that I have ceased

to care for him! I love him as much as before--but I--cannot live with

him. Shall we talk of something else?” His eyes pleaded.

“Yes, Chris. We will talk of what you contemplate doing.”

“I hardly know. I thought I would continue to be a man of leisure. I

find I must have some occupation.”

“Quite right. What have you thought of?”

“A secretaryship, I suppose.”

Lady Frances nodded briskly.

“You’ve someone in mind?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I know the very thing for you!”

Christopher looked apprehensive.

“What is it, Lady Frances?”

“Do you know Sir Richard Worth?”

“One of the Country Party?”

“Yes; under Cavendish.”

“I believe I have seen him. I do not know him.”

“It so happens that he is in need of a secretary. Jasper knows him. You

must apply for the post.”

“Oh--oh--I do not think so!”

“Indeed yes! It is the very thing for you. You want occupation, and it

had best be with a man very different from Roxhythe.”

“But I doubt--I am not fitted for--public work.”

“You will learn. Your name stands in your favour----”

“And my nine years’ service to Roxhythe stands well against me.”

“That is true, of course. However, I shall see what can be done. I have

bidden Sir Richard to dinner to-night. I shall talk gently to him.”

“Please do not, Lady Frances! Indeed, I do not think that I want to be

his secretary!”

“Whose then?”

“I don’t know--I----”

“Very well then! No, you must not argue! You do not want to do anything

but mope at home. And I say you are not to. Have you any objection to

Worth?”

“No. I know nothing about him.”

“Then apply for the post. Ah, Chris, please!”

“It’s very kind of you, Lady Fanny. I’ll apply for it. After all, what

odds does it make whom I serve?”

“There! I knew you would be sensible. And you’ll wait on him to-morrow?”

“If you like.”

“I do like. And Chris--don’t wear that dress! Indeed, green becomes you

not.”

He smiled.

“I’ll go clad in sober black.”

“No, nor that either. Wear that nice blue coat worked with cream.”

There was a slight pause.

“Yes,” said Christopher.

He did go, although against his inclination. When he arrived at Worth’s

house he was ushered into the study, which was severely furnished and

dark, and which looked out on to the backs of houses. Christopher

shivered. A single ray of sunlight contrived to squeeze in at the

window and showed a million specks of dust.

The door opened. A short, middle-aged man came into the room,

Christopher’s card in his hand.

“Mr. Dart?” The voice was fussy, slightly peevish.

Christopher bowed.

Sir Richard clasped his hand.

“Yours is an old name. I knew your father. A most noble gentleman.”

Again Christopher bowed.

“Yes. Well, will you be seated? Oh, there are papers on the chair!

Allow me!” He cleared the documents on to the table. Christopher

thanked him.

Worth sat down at the writing-table and rested his arms on it.

“Lady Frances Montgomery advised me of your coming to-day. A charming

lady! Charming!”

Christopher suppressed a smile. Evidently Fanny had exerted herself to

captivate Sir Richard.

Worth came back to earth.

“Charming, yes. I understand you have been secretary to my Lord

Roxhythe?”

“I have had that honour, Sir Richard, for nine years.”

“Well, well! May I ask why you left him? Do not think me impertinent!

But it is just as well to know everything, is it not?”

This was almost amusing. Worth was indeed a contrast to Roxhythe.

Christopher found himself thinking of another interview that had taken

place at eleven at night in rooms over-looking the river. How typical

of my lord that was!

“Er--certainly, sir. I left because I wanted a change. He will speak

for me, I know.”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course! That is excellent. You understand that this

is rather different work from what you have been accustomed to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t think that I mean to infer that you are not capable of

undertaking it! But I think it would be a great change. Is that not so?”

“Yes, sir. I have done little save manage the affairs of my lord’s

estate.”

“Just as I thought. Exactly. No matter. Of course I need hardly say

this to James Dart his son, but great discretion would be required of

you an you worked for me. Here we handle State affairs which must not

be talked of.”

“I understand that, sir.”

“Ah, yes, yes, naturally. I am sure that you would prove discreet. You

said, I think, that Lord Roxhythe would speak for you?”

“I did.”

“Yes. You’ll forgive me, Mr. Dart, but I marvel that you stayed so long

in his service.”

Christopher stiffened.

“Indeed, sir?”

“I had thought that James Dart his son would not have been in the

company of such as Roxhythe.”

“Sir, I think it as well to tell you that Lord Roxhythe commands my

highest regards.”

“Dear, dear! Of course he has great fascination. I have heard of it. A

powerful man.”

“Very,” said Christopher.

“Forgive me again, but do you realize that the atmosphere of my house

is very different from Lord Roxhythe’s?”

Christopher glanced round the untidy room.

“Yes,” he said. The faintest of smiles flickered across his mouth.

“I live very quietly. I fear I am no brilliant courtier. I am but a

patriot. I do trust you are not imbued with Lord Roxhythe his views.”

“I regret, sir, I cannot tell you what are his views.”

“That is very well, very well. And so you desire to fill the post of

secretary to me?”

Christopher sighed.

“That is my desire, sir.”

“Yes. Well, Mr. Dart, I will not disguise the fact that good--above

all discreet--secretaries are not easily come by these days. Your name

stands greatly in your favour. And of course Sir Jasper Montgomery’s

recommendation is sufficient. With your permission I will write to Lord

Roxhythe. And then, if you are agreeable, I should suggest a week’s

trial.”

“Very well, Sir Richard. I shall try to satisfy you.”

“Of course, of course! Let me see--have you not an elder brother?”

“Roderick, sir. He is with the Prince of Orange.”

“Is that so? Very interesting to be sure. Though we cannot afford to

lose good patriots in these times.”

Christopher rose.

“Roderick has been with the Prince for many years, sir. He is very

devoted.”

“Ah yes, naturally. A remarkable young man, is he not? Remarkable.” He

ushered his visitor out.

Christopher walked slowly down Bishopsgate Street. Suddenly he laughed

mirthlessly, and his hand clenched on his glove. What a fool he was

not to return to Roxhythe! Why should he enter the service of this

uncongenial man? Why should he not go to his master and beg to be

allowed to come back? But he knew that he would never do that. A fool

he might be, but he knew that he was acting rightly. He thought how

Roxhythe would have enjoyed the interview with Worth, and laughed

again. There swept over him an overwhelming longing to see that tall,

graceful figure again, to hear the lazy voice, to feel the pressure of

those tapering fingers. He walked on, biting his lip.

Two days later came a letter from Roxhythe. Christopher’s hands

trembled as he broke the seal.

“MY DEARE CHRIS.--Who in God’s Name is Worth? Some

Psalm-singing Puritan, I’ll be bound. Eschew his Company. I spoke of

you Very Highly, though I was minded to Malign you when I saw who

your Future Master was to be.

“My secretary is a Fool. I implore you to take Pity on me. Or if Ye

will not, at least Visitt me Some Day.--ROXHYTHE.”

Christopher folded the missive tenderly and slipped it into his pocket.

Every nerve urged him to go to Roxhythe who wanted him, but his will

held him back. Once in my lord’s presence the spell would be cast over

him again, and all the old agony would return.

He answered the letter at length, and told my lord that as yet he could

not face an interview. He assured Roxhythe of his undying affection. It

was a pathetic, wistful letter that tried hard to be cheerful.

My lord read it and laid it aside.

“A pity,” he reflected. “He was so much more restful than this dolt.”

CHAPTER II

THE COMING OF WILLIAM

“MY dear David, it is a marvellous scheme.”

Roxhythe turned his hand so that the rings on it flashed in the

sunlight.

“It seems very well. But what says the Prince?”

He was walking with the King in the Privy Gardens at Whitehall.

Charles shrugged.

“He has refused hitherto, but this time I think he will consent.”

“Oh. And what says the Lady Mary?”

“She’s a child. Therefore foolish.”

My lord smiled.

“I thought so. And the Duke?”

“David, there are moments when ye would try the patience of a saint! Do

you expect me to listen to James his plaints?”

“After all, she is his daughter,” murmured Roxhythe.

“He should not count her above the nation,” returned Charles piously.

Roxhythe’s shoulders shook.

“Oh, lud!”

Charles bit his lip. Then he too burst out laughing.

“Fie on you, David! This time I have the nation’s good at heart.”

“Very well, Sir. So the Lady Mary must be sacrificed.”

“Sacrificed!”

“Sire, you have had but a fleeting glance of your nephew. And that was

seven years ago. You have not seen your nephew’s court.”

“No. Is it still so dreary?”

“Ineffably. I do pity the Lady Mary.”

“She will grow accustomed to it,” said Charles comfortably. “At all

events the thing must be done.”

“It is wise, I grant you. But you were never so set on it until now. Do

I see the hand of Danby?”

“Partly. He is mad for it. I think he is suffering from an attack of

patriotism. He is subject to them.”

“Sir, Danby is a waverer. He is greatly disliked.”

“He will last a little longer. He has his uses.”

Roxhythe frowned.

“True. But not much longer. When does the Prince land?”

Charles plucked a rose and twirled it between his fingers.

“Next week. Odds, I am anxious to see him again.”

“Does he know for what he is invited?”

“I suppose so. You say he is no fool.”

“No. Therefore I expect him to comply very readily with your desires. I

never understood why he refused before. He is very secret.”

Charles nodded. They pursued their way along the ordered walks.

Presently the King waved his hand towards the south side of the gardens

where were the Duchess of Cleveland’s apartments.

“Bab swears she is for Paris,” he remarked.

Roxhythe smiled.

“I gather her Grace of Portsmouth has annoyed her?”

“Bab was ever a termagant. I hope she will return, though I have been

worn to a shred by her passions. Mine is a hard lot.”

Roxhythe looked inquiringly.

“Why? Because two women quarrel?”

“Oons, no! I was thinking of this marriage.”

“I thought you were so eager for it?”

“On the one side I am; Louis is coming too close. But on the other side

I do not wish to offend him. He’ll take this very ill. However, I hope

for peace.”

Roxhythe was amused.

“What! Do you think that the dreary argufyers at Nimeguen will have

done at last?”

“I do trust so. I count on it.”

“You are grown sanguine, Sir,” said Roxhythe drily.

Across the lawn came Danby, hurrying. He bowed to the King.

“Sire, the latest news is that Buckingham, Salisbury, and Wharton

humbly submit, and plead your mercy.”

The King looked at his favourite.

“Very proper,” said my lord. “And Ashley?”

“Oh, Shaftesbury is obdurate, sir! He appeals to the law.”

“Does he so?” said Charles, amused. “What good does he think will come

of it?”

“Heaven knows, Sir! I think he hopes to raise an outcry.”

“Very likely. Well, let him appeal. He is out of harm’s way. What of

the others, Davy?”

“I should release them, Sir, an they are properly repentant.”

“You hear, Danby?”

“Yes, Sir. Will you sign the orders?”

“Not now. Some other time.”

“Very well, Sir.” Danby bowed and walked away.

“Vengeance is satisfied, Roxhythe?”

“Amply, Sir. He’ll not annoy me again.”

“If he knows whom he has to thank for his imprisonment.”

“Oh, he knows!” replied my lord. “He probably realizes the futility of

fighting against it.”

“I am glad that you are not my enemy,” grimaced Charles.

* * * * *

Next week, on the day of the Prince’s arrival, the great hall at the

Palace was crowded. The King stood by Lord Danby, talking gaily; a

little to his left sat the Queen, Roxhythe at her elbow, the Ladies

Mary and Anne behind her. Lord Dorset was near the door, in a knot of

courtiers; Killigrew stood by the window, one of another group. Near

the King was the Duke of York; his wife, Mary, sat beside the Queen.

The room was a riot of colour, and over all was a buzz of

conversation. Then, suddenly, fell a hush. The great curtain at one end

was swung back; into the hall came a slight, plainly dressed young man

with auburn curls falling about his hawk face. In his wake were some

half a dozen gentlemen.

The King stepped forward. As he moved his silks and velvets rustled.

“My dear nephew! We do give you welcome!”

Everyone was craning to see the Prince. Many remembered him, but there

were many who had never till this moment set eyes on him.

Roxhythe noticed very little difference in William. He had aged

somewhat; his face was keener and more lined. He dressed as soberly as

ever, and his manner lacked the courtier’s polish. He seemed strangely

out of place in the midst of this gay throng.

William bent the knee, kissing the King’s hand.

“I am honoured to be invited once more to Whitehall, Sir,” he said. He

spoke English well, but with a Dutch accent.

Charles patted his shoulder.

“’Tis we who are honoured,” he said. “Come, let me present you to Her

Majesty!” He led William forward. “You remember Prince William, madame?”

Catherine smiled lifelessly, extending her plump white hand.

The King’s eye roved round the room.

“I think you know most of us, William. I’ll not weary you with

introductions!” He bowed to the Duchess of York. “Permit me to present

to you Prince William, madame.”

Mary bent her head.

The King smiled at the fair, mischievous girl behind her.

“Come child!”

The younger Mary came to him, swaying her brocades. The King took her

hand.

“You have already met our niece, William.”

William looked at her searchingly as he bowed. The full lips pouted a

little, the big eyes were downcast. Mary curtseyed.

“Then we have your uncle, William. James, where are you?”

The Duke came forward and took the Prince’s hand.

“We give you welcome, William.”

Again the King looked round.

“I’ll not fatigue you, my poor nephew, with needless presentations.

Suffice it is that there stands Lord Dorset, whom you know; over there,

Lord Danby, whom you do not know; beside him, Killigrew; a little to

the right, our good Sedley. A worthless set, I assure you.”

A shout of laughter went up.

“They set me at naught,” complained the King, twinkling.

William smiled mechanically. He never approved of his uncle’s lack of

formality.

Charles beckoned to Roxhythe.

“David!... There is one here, William, whom you know better than us

all. Our very dear Roxhythe.”

William turned sharply. Roxhythe made his profoundest leg.

“I am delighted to see Your Highness in England again,” he said.

“Thank you, milor’. I too am delighted to be here. Sire” ... he made a

sign to his suite. “May I present my friend Bentinck?”

The King was graciously pleased to extend his hand. One by one William

presented his little court. Charles had some good-humoured word for

each. When Roderick made his bow, he detained him.

“Mr. Dart? We are very pleased to meet you. We do know your brother.”

Roderick bowed again, flushing. He disapproved of Charles most

strongly, but there did not live the man who could resist his

fascination.

Charles addressed himself to William.

“We grudge you our countrymen,” he smiled. “We can ill spare our

patriots.” His glance took in Mynheer Heenvliet. He drew William to a

couch and waved his hand to the rest of the room.

“You may all continue your conversations!”

He kept the Prince beside him for some moments, and then he suggested

that William might like to retire. William assented thankfully. He went

out, escorted by his suite.

Roxhythe strolled up to the King. Arm in arm they walked to one of the

windows.

“He has not changed much,” said my lord.

The King shivered.

“Still the iceberg, only that now he is more icy. I had forgotten his

eyes.”

“They are rather wonderful, are they not, Sir? And you have not seen

them flash.”

* * * * *

William surveyed his bedchamber silently. Everything was very gorgeous,

very rich. He turned to the three men who were with him.

“I am tired,” he said. “The journey was very tedious. What have we

to-night?”

Heenvliet answered him.

“A State dinner, Sir. You would do well to rest.”

William nodded.

“Yes. How close it is in here! Dart, will you open me that window? And

then I will be alone for a while. Bentinck, stay with me.”

The two other men went out. William sank into a chair.

“What an atmosphere! What splendour!”

Bentinck sat down.

“It is a marvellously well appointed palace, Sir. His Majesty was very

gracious.”

“Yes. I had forgotten that this was your first visit. You see that my

uncle commands great respect for all his lack of etiquette.”

“A curious people these English,” commented Bentinck. “But King Charles

is very royal for all his joviality.”

“I have always observed it. You saw my bride to be?”

“Yes, Sir. She is comely enough.”

“And pert.” William sighed. “I suppose it must be.”

“She is very young, Sir.”

“But she has been bred in this atmosphere of luxury and vice. And her

father is a Catholic. God knows how it will end.”

Bentinck spoke soothingly.

“Your Highness is despondent to-day. So young a girl should not be

difficult to influence.”

“Mayhap. Did you remark Lord Roxhyt’e?”

“I did, Sir. It was my first sight of him. He is very high with the

King, I am told.”

William looked up.

“Oh? You have had speech with one of them?”

“With one Digby, Sir, while you were with the King. It seems that this

Roxhyt’e is very powerful.”

“I know. I mislike him, and yet--” he broke off, closing his eyes.

Presently he opened them again. “A State dinner, you said?”

“Yes, Sir. In your honour. Shall I tell Jan to put out your dress?”

“Thank you.”

Bentinck left the room. When he returned the Prince was frowning

slightly.

“William, did you tell him the orange satin?”

“No, Sir. Do you wish to wear it?”

“I think so. We’ll not appear shabby before these English.”

“Very well, Sir.” Again Bentinck went out.

* * * * *

It was not until next evening that Roderick visited his brother. He

found him in, and was taken at once to his room.

Christopher came forward.

“Well, Dick!”

They clasped hands.

“I expected you,” said Christopher. He drew a chair away from the

window. “Sit down. I have ordered dinner.”

“You were very sure of me,” smiled Dart. “As it happened it was hard to

leave His Highness. They feast him again to-night.”

“Yes? I thought you would come, though.” He moved to the door. “Excuse

me one moment.”

Roderick heard him call to the serving-maid. This new Christopher was

almost a stranger to him.

“Well, Chris! After seven long years!”

“So it is! I’faith, it does not seem as much. Did you arrive without

mishap?”

“A fairly smooth passage. It is good to be in England again.”

“It must be. How have you fared since I saw you?”

“Very well. I have been at the Prince his side throughout.”

“Then you have seen much. How is the Prince?”

“Tired after the gaieties of last night. We are ill-used to such late

hours. We live very quietly when we are not in camp.”

“Yes? I suppose there were many people present yesterday?”

“The room was crowded. I saw some familiar faces, but there were many

whom I did not know at all. Lord Danby for one.”

Christopher smiled.

“Oh, we have suffered Danby for some time now. An elegant gentleman, is

he not? Quite amusing when he likes.”

“You know him?”

“I have met him several times at Bevan House. Was Roxhythe there last

night?”

Roderick looked at him narrowly.

“Yes. My Lord was in high good spirits. He had us all a-laughing many

times.”

“I expect so. And Sedley?”

“Yes. Chris, I was very pleased to hear that you had left Roxhythe.” So

he blundered tactlessly on to the raw.

“Were you?”

“You saw the truth of what I said?”

A little of my lord’s famous manner entered into Christopher. Quite

unconsciously he adopted that soft drawl.

“I really forget what you did say. I left Roxhythe for private reasons.”

Roderick stared at him. Then he smiled.

“Very well, we’ll leave it at that.”

Christopher opened his eyes rather wide.

“Certainly we shall leave it at that. Oh, I have an invitation for you!”

“For me?”

“A very dear friend of mine wants to meet you. Lady Frances Montgomery.”

“Not the Duke of Rochefort’s daughter?”

“That is right. Wife of Sir Jasper Montgomery. She is my lord’s cousin

and the sweetest, kindest lady I have ever met.”

“So! Well I shall be delighted to see her. When are we invited?”

“When we like. She is always at home in the afternoon. I’ll take you

whenever you are at liberty.”

“That will be best. I cannot say as yet, as I do not know what commands

His Highness may have for me.”

Dinner arrived noisily. The serving-maid, conscious of responsibility,

breathed hard through her nostrils as she laid the places.

Christopher had ordered a very _recherché_ dinner. Life with

Roxhythe had taught him much in this respect. Roderick prepared to

enjoy himself.

Christopher started to carve a fat partridge.

“You have heard my latest news?”

“No. What is it?”

“Why, I am secretary to the dullest dog in town! Richard Worth.”

“I do not think I know him. Who is he?”

“He belongs to what Roxhythe calls ‘our respected Country Party.’ He

seems to have known my father. In fact he never refers to me other than

as ‘the son of James Dart.’ He lives in an atmosphere of fuss and dust.”

Roderick laughed, accepting the partridge.

“Really? Why the fuss?”

“Heaven knows! He is perpetually worried, and conceives that the cares

of the nation rest on his shoulders alone. He gives every order twice,

imagining that by so doing he shows himself a very sharp man. He is

most wearisome.”

“He must be. A contrast to Roxhythe.”

Christopher ground his teeth.

“Quite. My lord implores me to eschew his company.”

“Oh--! You still visit Roxhythe?”

“I have not done so as yet. He wrote to me.”

“Indeed! Chris, why are you so secret? I want to know how matters stand

between you and Roxhythe.”

Christopher laid down his fork.

“My lord commands my love and loyalty,” he said deliberately.

Roderick was puzzled.

“Still?”

“Always. I told you many years ago that I should continue to love him

in spite of all your prognostications. Well, I have. He is the kindest

master ever a man had.”

“Ah? And you trusted in him as you swore you would?”

Christopher passed him the wine.

“Of course.”

“And your trust was betrayed?”

“No. Why should it have been?”

“Do you forget that I know that you were in Flanders last year?”

Christopher flung back his head. As he laughed he showed all his white

teeth.

“Oh, lud! Roderick you were on the wrong track then! I went to Flanders

for my own pleasure! Odds, but I was amused when I read your letter!”

“May I ask why you went to Cherrywood?”

“Of course you may ask. I went to gain a permit to visit the camp.”

“Oh.... But why Cherrywood?”

“He happened to be one of the few in town that day. The Duke and his

suite were out chasing.”

“Chris, is that the truth?”

“The truth? What in God’s name do you suppose? Is it likely that I

should bear secret dispatches to Monmouth?”

“I confess I hardly thought so. And yet--”

“You are of a suspicious turn of mind, Dick. I am not the man to go on

a secret errand.”

“Perhaps you were tricked into it?”

“Perhaps I was. So tricked that I have no memory of delivering any

documents at all. Perhaps I went to Flanders in a trance; perhaps I was

drugged and the papers foisted upon me!”

“There is no need to mock me,” said Roderick stiffly. “Of course I

believe your word.”