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diff --git a/old/55706-0.txt b/old/55706-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0ab52d3..0000000 --- a/old/55706-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7621 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of My Lady Clancarty, by Mary Imlay Taylor - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: My Lady Clancarty - Being the True Story of the Earl of Clancarty and Lady Elizabeth Spencer - -Author: Mary Imlay Taylor - -Illustrator: Alice Barber Stephens - -Release Date: October 8, 2017 [EBook #55706] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY LADY CLANCARTY *** - - - - -Produced by David E. Brown and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -My Lady Clancarty - - - - -_Mary Imlay Taylor’s Novels_ - - - ON THE RED STAIRCASE. - AN IMPERIAL LOVER. - A YANKEE VOLUNTEER. - THE HOUSE OF THE WIZARD. - THE CARDINAL’S MUSKETEER. - THE COBBLER OF NÎMES. - ANNE SCARLETT. - LITTLE MISTRESS GOOD HOPE AND OTHER FAIRY STORIES. - THE REBELLION OF THE PRINCESS. - MY LADY CLANCARTY. - - -[Illustration: ALICE BARBER STEPHENS 1905] - - - - - My Lady Clancarty - - BEING THE - TRUE STORY OF THE EARL OF CLANCARTY - AND LADY ELIZABETH SPENCER - - BY - - MARY IMLAY TAYLOR - - Author of “On the Red Staircase,” “The Cobbler of Nîmes,” - “The Rebellion of the Princess,” etc. - - ILLUSTRATED BY - ALICE BARBER STEPHENS - - BOSTON - LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY - - - - - _Copyright, 1905_, - BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. - - _All rights reserved_ - - - Printers - S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. - - - - - TO MY MOST CONSTANT READER, - - MY MOTHER - - - - -_CONTENTS_ - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. “ROSEEN DHU” 1 - - II. BROTHER AND SISTER 11 - - III. LADY BETTY AND HER FATHER 18 - - IV. IN THE WOODS OF ALTHORPE 27 - - V. LADY SUNDERLAND 42 - - VI. LADY BETTY’S TOILET 52 - - VII. AT THE RACES 61 - - VIII. LADY BETTY AND AN IRISH JACOBITE 72 - - IX. THE WEARING OF THE GREEN 81 - - X. AN IRISH DEFIANCE 89 - - XI. A NIGHT OF PORTENTS 104 - - XII. MASTER AND MAN 110 - - XIII. LADY BETTY TAKES THE FIELD 120 - - XIV. THE INN GARDEN 129 - - XV. MY LADY SUNDERLAND TAKES TEA 139 - - XVI. MY LORD CLANCARTY 147 - - XVII. AT THE TOY-SHOP 157 - - XVIII. THE DUEL 165 - - XIX. MY LORD SAVILE REAPS HIS REWARD 170 - - XX. LADY BETTY’S SEARCH 180 - - XXI. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 186 - - XXII. “UNTIL DEATH US DO PART” 196 - - XXIII. MY LORD SPENCER 211 - - XXIV. MELISSA 221 - - XXV. MR. SECRETARY VERNON 229 - - XXVI. THE ARREST 235 - - XXVII. THE TRAITOR’S GATE 245 - - XXVIII. ALICE AND DENIS 256 - - XXIX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 260 - - XXX. MY LORD OF DEVONSHIRE 268 - - XXXI. LADY RUSSELL 276 - - XXXII. THE KING 284 - - XXXIII. DONOUGH! 293 - - - - -_MY LADY CLANCARTY_ - - _Being the True Story of the Earl of Clancarty - and Lady Elizabeth Spencer_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -“ROSEEN DHU” - - -LADY BETTY shaded her eyes with her hand and looked out on the rose -garden of Althorpe. - -At her feet the lawn was close clipped and green; beyond was a garland -of many colors, roses by hundreds and tens of hundreds, the warmth -and glow of the sun upon them; behind them, the long avenue of limes -and beeches, and between the trees vistas of level land with the deer -moving to and fro. - -The butterflies—a little host of them—whirled under the window, and -her ladyship smiled. - -“Come, Alice,” she said, “’tis too fair a day to linger indoors. Bring -your lute, girl, and we’ll sing one of those dear Irish ballads where -none may hear it, to carp and scold,—none, indeed, but the rooks and -butterflies, or perchance the roses. What sayst thou, Alice, may not a -rose hear sweet sounds when it exhales such sweet perfume?” - -“I know not, madam,” replied her handmaid soberly, as she laid aside -her needlework and reached for her lute; “but sometimes, truly, I think -’twould be well if ears were fewer in this world.” - -“Ay, or tongues more gentle,” assented Lady Betty laughing, as she -stepped out of the window to the lawn, followed by her attendant. - -Both were young girls, but youth and the rosy comeliness of youth -sat more lightly on the handmaid Alice, whose simple face and figure -suggested nothing more subtle than the virtue and homely wisdom of a -country girl. It was quite different with Lady Betty Clancarty, the -daughter of the Earl of Sunderland and the maiden wife of an Irish -peer. There was a slight pensiveness to her beauty, for beautiful she -was; yet there were times when the gayety of a vivacious spirit broke -through all restraints, and she was the light-hearted, witty girl that -nature had intended her to be. Her eyes—beautiful eyes they were, -too,—were large, clear and sparkling with spirit, and the soft tints -of her complexion and the glossy waves of her dark hair combined to -make a charming picture, far more human and bewitching, indeed, than -her own portrait from the brush of Lely, hanging in the great gallery -at Althorpe. The pensiveness of her expression showed only when her -face was in repose; when she smiled the sun shone through the cloud. -Her figure was gracefully tall in its gown of white dimity flowered -with pink, the neck dressed open with falls of lace, and the full -sleeves loose and flowing at the elbow. - -She moved lightly and swiftly across the lawn, one white hand resting -on the shoulder of her handmaid, who was shorter and fuller in outline -than her mistress. Though their stations were thus widely sundered, -a frank girlish friendship existed between them, and Lady Betty had -few secrets that were not shared by Alice Lynn. They had grown up in -the same household; the one child waiting on the other on all state -occasions, but usually her playmate, after the fashion of those days -when the feudal tie of lord and vassal still bound old servants and -their descendants to their masters. The ancestors of Alice Lynn -had borne the banner of the Despencers in many a bloody field; she -came of good yeoman stock, worthy of honor and trust, and she was -single-hearted in her devotion to Lady Clancarty. They made a charming -picture, walking through winding paths and talking freely, with little -reference to their respective stations in the great world beyond -Althorpe. - -“Ah, the roses,” Lady Betty said, “I know not whether I love them best -in their first budding or in their prime, or when the last few pale -blossoms struggle to unfold under wintry skies, like our poor hearts, -Alice, that need to be warmed by the sunshine of prosperous love. Mine -should have shrivelled up long ago—like an old dried leaf. But it has -not,” she added, smiling and laying her hand on her bosom; “I feel -it—it throbs—it is warm and strong and whole, Alice, and yet—I am a -wife and, for aught I know, a widow too!” - -“There be many wives who would fain be widows, I trow,” retorted Alice, -bluntly, and Lady Betty laughed gayly and lightly, the sun shining in -her lustrous eyes. - -“Perchance I am happy, then, in not knowing my husband’s face,” she -said; and added musingly, “a strange fate is mine, Alice, married at -eleven and then separated forever from my husband by a gulf as wide -as—as the infinite space; I know no stronger simile. Here am I, the -daughter of a Whig peer, who is a counsellor of King William’s, and the -sister of a burning Whig—for Spencer is on fire, I am sure—and yet I -am the wife, the wedded wife, of an Irish rebel and Jacobite; an outlaw -from his country and a stranger even to me. What a fate!” and she shook -her head with a pensive air, though a smile lurked about her lips for, -after all, she could not mourn the absence of an unknown spouse. - -“’Twas wrong to marry a child of such tender years, my lady,” the -handmaid said indignantly; “to tie you up—one of the loveliest women -in England—to a—a—” she broke off confused, catching Lady Betty’s -eye. - -“A what, Alice?” the countess asked dryly; “ay, I know by your blushes -and confusion that you have caught the contagion, that you believe with -Lord Spencer that my husband is a consummate villain. But look you, my -girl, if there is one thing above another that would make me love a -man and take up his cause, it is to find him the object of senseless -and bitter abuse. What of it if Clancarty has not sought me? how could -he? Is he not banished from the kingdom, stripped of his estates, and -denied even his most natural and sacred rights?” Lady Clancarty’s -eyes sparkled with indignation. “What of it, if he is a Jacobite -and a Papist? Is he the only man who has changed his faith? I trow -not!—though I should be the last one to say it,” and she broke off, -blushing crimson. - -The thought of her own father’s apostasy, of his frequent political -somersaults, overwhelmed her, and she recollected her own dignity in -time to bridle her impulsive tongue. - -Alice was too discreet to take up the argument; she stooped, instead, -to gather some violets, and arranged them slowly and in silence. Lady -Betty walked ahead of her to a little rustic seat, and sitting down -held out her hand with an impatient gesture. - -“Give hither the violets, Alice,” she said imperiously, “and sing me -a song. I am in as black a mood as ever Saul was, and may do you a -mischief if you do not soothe me.” - -Alice smiled. “I fear you not, dear Lady Betty,” she said, tuning her -lute; “your anger passes over as quickly as a storm-cloud in April -weather. What shall I sing you, madam?” - -A roguish smile twinkled in Lady Clancarty’s eyes. - -“You shall do penance, lass, and sing me either a Papist hymn or an -Irish ballad.” - -“Nay, I am no Papist, but a good Protestant,” said Alice, stiffly, -“therefore it must be an Irish ballad, which is what you really want, -my lady!” - -Lady Betty laughed softly. - -“’Tis true, my girl,” she said, clasping her hands about her knees, -the full sleeves falling away from arms as white as milk. “I love the -ballads; whether for his sake or their own, I know not,” and she bent -her head listening as the handmaid played the first plaintive notes on -her lute. - -Alice was no contemptible musician, and she touched the instrument -softly with loving fingers, playing the first sweet sad chords of that -old Irish air and Jacobite ballad, “Roseen Dhu,” or “Dark Rosaleen.” - -The garden and the great park beyond and around it were quiet save for -the cawing of the hundreds of rooks that haunted those stately avenues -of trees. The warmth and the soft murmuring of the late summer were -there; here was the deep shadow of stately groves, yonder the wide -sunshine on level lawns, but the place was deserted save for the two -young women and the deer that were so tame that they pressed close -about them, looking through the trees with soft brown eyes, and seeming -to listen to the wild, plaintive notes of the ballad, as Alice sang in -a full, mellow voice: - - “All day long in unrest - To and fro do I move, - The very soul within my breast - Is wasted for you, love! - The heart in my bosom faints, - To think of you, my queen, - My life of life, my saint of saints, - My dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - To hear your sweet and sad complaints, - My life, my love, my saint of saints, - My dark Rosaleen!” - -Midway in the song the girl paused, still playing the air softly. - -“My lady,” she said, in an undertone, “there is some one yonder in the -shrubbery.” - -“’Tis Melissa,” replied Lady Clancarty; “I have seen her. She loves to -lurk behind a bush, and to slip along softly as a cat upon nut-shells; -’tis her nature. Faith, I must buy her some bells for her toes. Go on, -my girl; I care not,” she added, laughing, “and I do love the tune. Ah, -‘Rosaleen, my own Rosaleen!’” she hummed, keeping time with her slender -hand. - -Alice sang again: - - “Over dews, over sands, - Will I fly for your weal: - Your holy white hands - Shall gird me with steel. - At home—in your emerald bowers, - From morning’s dawn till e’en, - You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers, - My dark Rosaleen! - My fond Rosaleen! - You’ll think of me, through daylight’s hours, - My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, - My dark Rosaleen!” - -Suddenly Lady Clancarty started and half rose, interrupting the singer; -but as Alice looked up in alarm, she sat down again, rosy and defiant. - -“Pshaw!” she said; “go on, Alice, there comes Spencer himself, and, -forsooth, I would not be frightened out of my pleasure.” - -“But, my lady,” protested Alice, in confusion, “he will be dreadfully -angry, he always is!” - -“To be sure he will,” retorted Lady Betty, with a ripple of laughter, -“therefore sing, lass, and I will sing, too.” - -Alice still hesitated, her eyes on the figure of a young man who was -coming swiftly across the lawn, but her mistress stamped her foot. - -“Sing!” she commanded so sharply that Alice obeyed hastily, and in a -moment the countess’ rich contralto joined her voice in singing the -last passionate verse of “Roseen Dhu.” - - “O! the Erne shall run red - With redundance of blood, - The earth shall rock beneath our tread, - And flames wrap hill and wood, - And gun peal and slogan cry - Wake many a glen serene, - Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, - My dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - The judgment hour must be nigh - Ere you can fade, ere you can die, - My dark Rosaleen!” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -BROTHER AND SISTER - - -LORD CHARLES SPENCER paused in the centre of the triangle. - -“A very pretty performance,” he said with a sneer, “a very proper -performance—to sing Jacobite ballads here!” - -“I trow they are not the first that have been sung here, brother,” -retorted Lady Betty pertly. - -“You have a saucy tongue, Elizabeth,” replied her brother rudely, -turning white rather than red, for in this young man’s disposition -anger went white, not red. “’Twould go hard with you if my father heard -that.” - -“’Twould go hard with you if my father heard _that_!” mocked Lady Betty -incorrigible. “Come, come, Charles, talk of something agreeable. -What is the volume under your arm? Noah’s observations on droughts? -or Adam’s reflections on mothers-in-law? or Cain’s on brotherly love? -Faith, I always expect something profound from the most erudite -ornament of the Whig party.” - -“I wish I might look as certainly for discretion in Elizabeth Spencer,” -he replied with acrimony. - -“In Elizabeth Clancarty,” corrected the countess, flashing an indignant -glance at him. - -“You are marvellously proud of that beggar’s name,” retorted her -brother, with cutting irony. - -Lady Clancarty’s face crimsoned with anger. - -“You are a hypocrite, Spencer!” she said, stamping her foot. - -“Family insults in public are always becoming,” said Lord Spencer, -controlling himself with an effort, but white to the lips. - -“Forsooth, who began it?” recriminated his high-spirited sister; “you -might better indeed talk of other things. Of your fine clothes, for -instance; you are truly ‘the glass of fashion,’ my lord, pink satin -waistcoat and breeches, gray plush coat, point of Venice ruffles, -white silk stockings, clocked, too, with pink, French shoes and -buckles,—mercy on us, sir! what splendor for beggarly Lady Clancarty -and quiet Althorpe!” - -Lord Spencer, who was indeed dressed in the extreme of fashion, bit his -lip, scowling darkly at Lady Betty and Alice, who remained discreetly -in the background. - -“You do well to boast of your dishonored name, madam,” he said coldly, -“but my Lord Sunderland intends that you shall be divorced from that -disreputable Irish rebel.” - -“And what if I will not, my lord?” asked the countess, her face blazing -with defiance. - -“You are a fool,” said Spencer sharply; “happy you would be—dragged -into exile by a rake and a scapegrace—but, pshaw! what nonsense I -talk—” - -“You do, sir!” interrupted his sister defiantly. - -“Nonsense because Clancarty does not want you.” He continued, with a -provoking drawl, “Where is your husband, my lady? Forsooth you do not -know—but I do! At Saint Germain and at Paris; a gambler, a rake, a -cutpurse, with half a dozen lady-loves to—” - -“Silence!” cried Lady Betty furiously, rising in her indignation. -“Shame on you, sir, to insult a woman and she your sister, and to -blacken a gallant gentleman behind his back. Is that your virtue? -Faith, I believe a witty rogue would be a happier companion than a -virtuous bore!” - -“Your tongue will cut your throat yet, madam,” said Spencer harshly; -“you have worked yourself into this passion; you have never seen your -husband since childhood, and you do not know him. It is my duty as your -brother, a painful duty, I admit,” he said pompously, “to tell you -the truth. Lord Clancarty is a notorious scamp, a dissolute fellow, a -murderer and oppressor; and, as for you, what does he care for you? -You little fool, he has never sought you—and never will!” and with -this taunt my lord turned on his heel and walked decorously but swiftly -away, wise enough to fly before his sister could retaliate. - -Lady Betty stood as he had left her for a moment, her little hands -clenched and her face crimson. - -“The mean hypocrite!” she cried, “to fling it in my teeth. I vow I -sometimes almost hate Spencer—and yet he is my brother. I’m a beast, -Alice, a wretch! but oh!” and suddenly her mood changed; she threw -herself on the garden-seat, trembling with emotion, tears on her dark -lashes. “Oh, why must I be so cruelly insulted? ’Tis true, Alice, ’tis -true; Clancarty has never even cared to claim his wife! Think of it, -I—I—Betty Spencer, scorned by an Irish Jacobite!” and she burst into -tears. - -“My lady,” purred a smooth voice, as the other attendant suddenly and -softly stepped into view, from the friendly shadow of an elm; “be -consoled, ’tis even as Lord Spencer—” - -“Go!” cried the countess furiously, dashing away her tears and stamping -her foot at Melissa. “Go! What do I want of your consolation, you -eavesdropper!” - -“My lady, I beg pardon,” stammered the confused waiting-woman, “I—” - -“Go!” repeated the countess imperiously, with a gesture of disdain. -“When I want you, I will summon you.” - -With a look of ill-disguised anger on her smooth face, but with an -attempted air of humility, the attendant withdrew as softly as she had -approached, and Lady Betty recalled her dignity. - -“Pshaw!” she said, “what a creature I am, Alice, so to betray myself, -and to stoop to quarrel with that worm, Melissa! I did not think, I -never think; but, oh, my girl, my lot has many thorns! Alas, and alas! - - ‘Once I bloomed a maiden young - A widow’s woe now moves my tongue;’ - -and a widow by desertion. Ah, how I hate the taunt!” and she stamped -her foot. - -“Heed it not, dear Lady Betty,” murmured Alice, “’tis not true.” - -“Ah, but it is, girl, it is,” cried Lady Clancarty, with an impatient -gesture, “and I despise myself for caring.” - -“Are you sure, madam, that Lord Clancarty has made no effort to claim -his bride, or to see you?” Alice asked soberly, standing alone in the -triangle opposite Lady Betty, the sun shining in a friendly fashion on -her comely, honest face. - -“Am I sure?” repeated the countess in surprise, and her expression -changed swiftly; “do you think he may have tried to communicate with me -and failed?” - -“Why not, my lady?” replied the handmaid simply; “we know how my Lord -Spencer feels; and your father, the earl, madam, is, perhaps, as little -inclined toward your husband.” - -Lady Betty sat looking down reflectively, tapping her foot on the -gravel path. - -“It may be so,” she said thoughtfully; “your brain is growing keen, -Alice, from crossing swords with mine!” and she laughed, for she was an -April creature with swift-changing moods. She rose, throwing out her -hands with a pretty gesture, as though she threw care to the winds. - -“O Donough Macarthy, Earl of Clancarty, art worthy all these heart -beats of mine?” she cried, and laughed as gayly as a child. “I tell -thee, Alice, he has not seen me for years, not since I was eleven, and -he pictures me with a turned-up nose and freckles and red hair, and is -half frightened to death at the thought of his English bride.” - -“Your hair was never red, my lady,” said Alice soberly. - -“Pshaw, child, he has forgotten, poor lad!” laughed Lady Betty, herself -again; “he may think my nose red, too!” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -LADY BETTY AND HER FATHER - - -IT was after sundown and the light was dim in the great gallery of -Althorpe. Candles were set in silver sconces at intervals down its -whole length of over a hundred feet, but between lay soft shadows, -and the pictured faces of many famous men and women, of sovereigns of -England, statesmen, soldiers, and court beauties, looked down from the -walls on either hand. Holbein and Van Dyke and Lely had wrought upon -these canvases. Here was the famous Duchess of Cleveland, painted by -Lely, and the Countess of Grammont, and yonder was Lady Portsmouth and -Nell Gwynne herself; and in this strange company, the fair, sweet, -coquettish face of Betty Clancarty, lovely as any of the court beauties -and far more lovable and true. - -The floor was polished and strewn with splendid rugs; far-off -India, Turkey, Italy, France, and Holland had contributed rugs and -tapestries, paintings, beautiful bric-a-brac and statuary to decorate -the famous gallery of the Spencers, where Anne of Denmark, Queen of -James the First, and the young Prince Charles, the future royal martyr, -saw the Masque of Ben Jonson. Here, too, came doubtless King Charles -the First, he who created Henry Spencer Earl of Sunderland; here, also, -reigned the daughter of the Sidneys, Dorothy, Countess of Sunderland, -the heroine of Waller’s verses and the grandmother of Lady Betty. A -gallery full of memories, where royalty and beauty smiled dimly from -the great canvases, and every footstep woke an echo of the past. - -At that sunset hour the place was quiet save for the cawing of the -rooks under the eaves, for they haunted every corner of the house and -congregated in the long avenues that enfiladed the park; yet even the -sound of bird consultations did not disturb the revery of the man -who slowly paced up and down the gallery—a man past middle age with -an inscrutable face, his head a little bowed as he walked, his hands -behind his back, his dress a long gown of black velvet, ruffles of -lace at the throat and over the slender white hands—a strange man, -self-possessed, complacent, smooth, infinitely winning of address, and -one of the most unscrupulous politicians and time-servers of that -time-serving age when William the Third knew not where to look among -his English counsellors for steady faith, when it was no uncommon thing -for a man to swear allegiance both at Westminster and Saint Germain, -and to be an apostate besides. Even in that age of falsehood and double -dealing, Robert, second Earl of Sunderland, excelled his fellows; but -if he excelled them in falsehood, so did he also in discernment, in the -power to read men, and to win them by his polished and smooth address, -the charm of a personality that had won even upon the cold astuteness -of the king himself. - -Whatever his thoughts were now, Lord Sunderland’s face was placid, his -perfect mask of serenity immutable, as he walked to and fro, now and -then pausing to look critically at a fine picture, or to take counsel -with himself, and he looked up with a calm smile when the door at the -farther end of the gallery opened and the graceful figure of Lady Betty -came swiftly toward him. He admired his daughter deeply, but subtle -as he was he did not understand her. His standard of womanhood was -different, and he had no ennobling example in his wife; she had been -false to him and he had known it, and had used the services of her -lover to smooth his own way with William of Orange, while he himself -was vowing fealty to James the Second and walking barefoot, taper in -hand, to the chapel royal to be admitted into the Roman communion—a -communion he renounced as easily at a convenient season. This daughter -who had grown up unlike either parent in simplicity and retirement, -this beautiful, spirited, pure-souled creature he did not understand, -but he admired her, and after his own fashion he loved her. On the -other hand, Lady Betty understood him in many ways more thoroughly than -he dreamed; she had a woman’s intuitions, and she did not reverence -him; his subtlety, his falsehood, his smooth affability did not deceive -her; she looked at him with clear eyes, and knew him better than the -wise and watchful sovereign whom he served. But she was his daughter -and she inherited all his charm of manner, his smooth tongue, his easy -address, and he saw it and always smiled upon her. - -She came up to him now with a sparkle in her eyes which portended more -than he imagined. - -“Are you better, sir?” she asked, with solicitude; “your absence from -table disturbed me. Was it illness or politics?” - -“Both, Betty,” replied the earl smiling; “but you missed me not, you -had a younger and a better man in Spencer.” - -“Faith, sir, I would rather have a worse one,” retorted Lady Betty, -with a shrug, “such piety and virtue are too much, they overwhelm me. -’Tis a pity that good men are so often bores!” - -Sunderland smiled, amusement twinkling in his deep-set eyes. - -“I have often found them so, Betty,” he admitted; “but Charles is a -worthy youth, my dear, and his advice, though often somewhat tedious -and long winded, is weighty and merits consideration.” - -“It may be so,” replied the countess, with an arch smile; “but upon my -soul, sir, he was so long and loud in braying it at me that I fell to -looking at his ears, expecting to see them start up on either side of -his head and grow long and pointed. He is tedious!” and her ladyship -yawned. - -“Brothers often are, Betty,” remarked the earl smiling; “you must -have other and gayer company. In fact, I was but now planning to send -you to Newmarket for the races; Lady Sunderland is there, Spencer is -going, and I go presently. You have lived too much in retirement here; -you must go to Newmarket and hear gayer talk than the discourses of our -young sage.” - -“I shall be glad to escape the oracle,” said the countess; but she -glanced searchingly at her father and added quietly, “My retirement -becomes me, sir; I am practically a widow.” - -The earl’s expression changed a trifle, but such a trifle that his -daughter made little of it. - -“We will not refer to that unhappy contract,” he said smoothly; “it was -an error on my part, Elizabeth, and I assure you I repent it.” - -“Has Lord Clancarty written to you, father?” she asked, so abruptly -that Sunderland started, and for an instant his eye faltered under -hers, and he hesitated before he was himself again. - -“Never,” he said calmly, closing his silver snuff-box and giving the -lid a friendly little tap. - -His momentary confusion, though, was nearly his undoing; his daughter -laid a white hand on his arm. - -“He has written you,” she said imperiously, “and lately, too!” - -“Upon my word, Elizabeth,” said the earl frowning, “you go too far.” - -“I cannot help it,” she cried impetuously. “Have I no rights? Ought it -to be concealed from me and confided to my brother, who only taunts me? -My husband has written you!” - -Sunderland had recovered himself now, however, and smiled calmly at her. - -“You are too headstrong, my love,” he said smoothly, “too easily -suspicious. If Clancarty wrote, why should I conceal it? As you remark, -he is your husband in the eyes of the law, but your husband in fact he -is not, and trust me, Betty, he is too great a Jacobite to risk himself -in England.” - -“But, father, the Peace of Ryswick has brought many back,” she said, -“and we all know—it is notorious how easy King William is—and you, -you could get Clancarty’s pardon a thousand times over, if you would!” - -“Hear the child!” said Sunderland, with a gesture of mock despair. -“Why, Betty, ’twas marvellous hard to get my own, and the politicians -hate me so that not even Spencer’s devotion to the Whigs appeases that -party. Clancarty’s pardon!—’twould cost me my liberty and, perhaps, my -head.” - -“Nonsense!” pouted Lady Betty; “you are the king’s friend; I will not -believe you. And you might, at least, take thought of me; I am his -wife.” - -“O child, child!” laughed Lord Sunderland, “as little his wife as -my Lady Devonshire or the Princess Anne. Married to him, through -your father’s folly, when you were eleven and parted from him on the -instant. What virtue is there in such a contract? Be sure, my love, he -has in no wise respected it—nor will he while I have my daughter safe -with me. Think not of him, Betty! ’Twas my folly, but then he possessed -large estates in Munster and it promised to be a great match; for, -believe me, I had no thought of tying you to a proscribed and penniless -scapegrace.” - -“Ay,” said Lady Betty, with spirit, “he was rich and now he is poor; -therefore, my lord, I will not desert him!” - -Lord Sunderland laughed, but his eyes did not laugh with him. - -“There is no question of desertion, my child,” he said smoothly, “you -are not his wife, and you never shall be.” - -“I beg your pardon, sir,” retorted the incorrigible countess, “I am his -wife, and I will be no other man’s.” - -“Tush!” replied the earl impatiently, “you know not what you say. Go -to your apartment, Elizabeth, and reflect upon the matter until you -recollect your duty to me. Here comes Spencer now with some visitors, -and I have no more leisure for your childish folly.” - -But Lady Betty would not be silenced; as she retired toward the door -opposite the one that was opening to admit the earl’s visitors, she -murmured low but distinctly,— - -“I am his wife, my lord, and I will be no less,” and she swept out with -her face aflame and her head high. - -She came to the head of the great staircase and stood looking down, -gracefully poised, her finger on her lips; a charming figure, musing -upon destiny, with the soft candle-light shining down upon her stately -young head and her flowing white robes. She began to hum softly to -herself the air of “Roseen Dhu.” - - “And one beaming smile from you - Would float like light between - My toils and me, my own, my true, - My dark Rosaleen! - My fond Rosaleen! - Would give me life and soul anew, - A second life, a soul anew! - My dark Rosaleen!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -IN THE WOODS OF ALTHORPE - - -ALTHORPE, called in Domesday Books “Ollethorp,”—and held before the -Conquest, as the freehold of Tosti and Snorterman,—had been the -home of the Spencers since the days of Henry the Seventh, when one -John Catesby, second son of John Catesby of Legus Ashby, sold it to -John Spencer, Esquire, son of William Spencer of Wormleighton, in -Warwickshire, descended from the younger branch of the Despencers, -anciently Earls of Gloucester and Winchester, and still more remotely -from Ivo, Viscount Constantine, who married Emma, daughter of Alan of -Brittany, before the Conquest—coming, therefore, by blood from one of -the great feudal lords of France. - -Althorpe House was built of freestone, in the form of the letter H, -the two long wings joined by a central building in which was the main -entrance facing south. It stood in a beautiful spot, level and well -wooded. The old gatehouse, remnant of the feudal strength of Althorpe, -had once been surrounded by a moat, but that had long since run dry -and was overgrown with turf as smooth as velvet. The long avenues of -elms and beeches and limes ran from it to the very doors of the earl’s -house, and about it lay the park, enfiladed by those avenues of stately -trees, while beyond were the meadows—in the old time it was said -that there were eight acres of meadowland and two of thornwood in one -small portion of the freehold of Ollethorp—and now the great domain -stretched out on every hand, beautified by nature and by art. - -It was in the woods of the park that Lady Betty and her attendant, -Alice Lynn, walked on the morning after her interview with her father. -It was too threatening to set out upon the journey to Newmarket, -so they strolled on the outskirts of the earl’s domain. Both girls -were cloaked and hooded and prepared for rain and, indeed, more than -once there was the sharp pattering of drops on the thick foliage -overhead. They did not hasten their steps, for neither of them feared -the elements, and Lady Betty really feared nothing greatly, being a -high-spirited and daring young creature who loved adventure well. -A fresh breeze began to blow, rustling the leaves, and the branches -swayed and creaked above them, a trellis-work of wavering green through -which the gray sky blinked occasionally. To the left was a coppice, -black with shadows; before them, here and there, a wide vista of open -fields showed the grass rippling in a thousand waves; and again the -tree-tops that seemed to touch the long, ragged clouds scudding so -low, heavy with moisture and torn by wind. And the same wind—grown -caressing—tossed the soft locks of Lady Betty’s hair into little curls -about her face under the yellow bird’s-eye hood. - -“What have you there, Alice?” she asked, as the girl stooped and peeped -into a patch of grass growing in an opening between the trees. - -“’Tis but a four-leafed clover, madam,” Alice replied, pulling it. - -Lady Clancarty took it and looked at it with a quizzical eye. - -“There is a saying in Devonshire,” she said, “that if you find a -four-leafed clover and an even-leafed ash on the same day you will -surely see your love ere sundown.” - -“I have none, my lady,” replied Alice demurely. - -Lady Betty laughed with a delicious ripple of merriment. - -“You have none, girl?” she said archly. “What a prompt confession! I -grow suspicious, Alice, and see, there is the tell-tale blood creeping -up to your hair. Fie, girl, fie! Where is thy true love, thine own love -now?” - -“Indeed, I know not, madam,” replied Alice meekly; “no one ever wooed -me but the parson, and his mouth was so large that it frightened me; it -did open his head like a lid.” - -“Mercy on us, girl, ’twas an opening in life for you,” laughed Lady -Betty; “and ’tis said that a large mouth is generous.” - -“He was a great eater, madam,” replied the handmaid bluntly. - -“Then were you surely meant for him, lass, for you are a famous maker -of pastries, as I know. But tell me, Alice, did ever you have your -fortune told?” - -“Nay, ’twas not thought seemly by my aunt,” replied Alice; “I was -reared as strict as any Calvinist.” - -“And yet live with a sinner,” said Lady Clancarty with a smile. “I -would inquire my fate, if there be any fortune-teller or sooth-sayer -near. I grow more curious every day, Alice, to know what the end may -be.” - -“Ignorance is ofttimes best, my lady,” quietly replied her attendant. - -“It may be,” Lady Clancarty said; “but sooth, Alice, ’tis very trying. -I would fain know—I would fathom that dark cloud that hangs upon my -destiny.” - -“Dear Lady Betty,” Alice said, “is there indeed a dark cloud upon it? -It seems to my humble vision fair as summer sunshine, and high and -noble.” - -The mistress sighed. “Ah, simple maid,” she said, “look not -enviously upon high estate. Light hearted I was born, gay and full of -recklessness, I believe, but happy—ah, Alice, once I was! But now, -my mind keeps turning ever to the thought of one less happy; I have a -home and he—he has none; I have friends—belike, he is friendless. I -have money, a dower cut from his estates in Munster; he is a beggar! -O Alice, it grieves me; I would fain help him; I would fain give him -back my dower; I would—oh, do you not see what I must seem to him? -Heartless, cold, without sense of my duty, a robber and an enemy? I who -am true, I who have only too kind a heart, I who would give my all to -help him—what is the song? - - ‘Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer, - To heal your many ills!’ - -Alice, I must know how my husband fares, I—mercy on us, girl, what -ails you?” she cried, for Alice had given a scream of alarm, starting -back from the coppice near at hand. - -“There’s some one there!” cried the handmaid, in agitation, “I saw a -man’s boot and spur yonder.” - -“Where?” demanded Lady Betty impatiently, “where is your scare-crow, -you little simpleton?” - -But before Alice could reply a large man emerged from the beeches and -advanced toward them. He was clad in a long riding coat of dark blue -with deep capes, and his high boots were splashed with mud. As he -approached he lifted his wide-brimmed, beplumed hat, uncovering a head -which was striking in contour. His face was of a bold and handsome type -and his dark gray eyes were keen; he wore the full, long periwig of the -prevailing fashion and a flowing cravat of Flemish lace. - -“A likely bugbear, my girl,” whispered Lady Betty roguishly, pinching -Alice’s arm, but turning an innocent face upon the stranger. - -“I crave pardon,” he said, with an easy salutation, “I have lost my -way; will you direct me to Northampton?” - -“The town lies five miles from us, sir,” replied Lady Betty, “and the -tavern of the King’s Arms is upon the high street.” - -“I thank you,” he replied courteously, but with no apparent desire -to depart, and gazed at Lady Clancarty with an open admiration that -offended Alice, who plucked at her mistress’ sleeve. - -“Will you tell me what place this is?” he added, pointing at Althorpe -House. - -“It belongs to our master, the Earl of Sunderland,” replied Lady Betty, -affecting the pert air of a waiting-maid; “’tis a fine place, sir, with -a gallery full of pictures and another full of books and books and -books! Dear me, sir, a sight of ’em! Your worship should go and look at -’em; ’tis a very hospitable house, too, and strangers are made welcome.” - -“Indeed,” he said, with a smile, “I would be glad to avail myself of -the opportunity—at another season. And you, my pretty maids, are the -keeper’s daughters?” - -“Faith, yes, sir,” said Lady Clancarty, dropping a courtesy, “we’re -twins.” - -“By Saint Patrick, you are strangely untwinlike!” remarked the stranger -frankly; “never saw I two birds from one nest with less resemblance; -one a pigeon and the other—” - -“What, your honor?” demanded Lady Betty roguishly, while Alice plucked -at her skirts in genuine confusion and fear. - -“A bird of Paradise,” said he gallantly, kissing the tips of his -fingers to her. - -Lady Betty hung her head, simpering like the veriest country girl. - -“Faith, sir,” she said, fingering her kerchief, “I don’t know what that -is. Is it poultry?” - -“It has wings, my dear,” he replied smiling, “but, in this case, they -are only figurative.” - -“La, sir!” cried Lady Betty, “what’s that? It sounds like something -strange.” - -“It’s a figure of speech, my girl,” he replied, a daring smile in his -gray eyes as he drew a step nearer and Betty retreated a step, partly -drawn by Alice; “but eyes like stars and cheeks like roses do not -belong to the barnyard.” - -Her ladyship, suspecting that she had betrayed herself, bridled a -little, but her love of mischief kept her from flight. - -“Faith!” she said, looking down, “you fine gentlemen talk so finely -that a poor maid cannot follow you. Go to the tavern, sir, and there -your worship will find a listener after your own heart, for they do -say that saucy Polly can talk up to Lord Spencer himself, and he’s the -most learned man in England, sir; and, indeed, I do believe that all -the others that ever knew half as much died of it immediately and were -buried! Go to the tavern, sir, and good cheer to you and good by,” and -her ladyship dropped another awkward courtesy. - -“Here, lass, a kiss and a crown for your pains,” said the stranger, -making a sudden attempt to catch her by the arm. - -But Lady Betty danced off as light as a feather, laughing roguishly -under her hood. - -“Nay, sir,” she said wickedly, “girls do not kiss strangers in this -country if they do—in France!” - -“Confound the witch!” ejaculated the traveller, with a start of -surprise. “Pshaw! ’twas my French coin she saw,” he added, and smiled -as he watched the two girlish figures flying through the trees. - -Meanwhile Lady Betty was laughing and Alice remonstrating. - -“Oh, my lady, how could you?” she said; “he might recognize you, he -might have kissed you!” - -“So he might!” admitted Lady Clancarty gleefully, “and how handsome he -is! Did you mark him, Alice, is he not handsome?” - -“Nay, madam,” said the discreet handmaid, still shocked and frightened, -“that I know not, but he was overbold in staring at your ladyship.” - -“Did he so?” asked Lady Betty pensively, blushing in a tell-tale -fashion; “I noted it not; but was he not tall and strong and finely -framed, Alice, with a bonny gray eye?” - -“Oh, comely enough in appearance, my lady, but bold and with a reckless -air; I trembled lest he should insult you.” - -“Pooh, pooh, girl, you would love a milksop!” said Lady Betty -petulantly; “he has the very eye and front of a soldier. I’ll wager he -is some gallant who can strike a good blow for his sweetheart. What -fun would there be in life without a harmless jest? He took me for a -waiting-woman.” - -“That he did not!” cried Alice, “he knew you, take my word for it, and -he would have kissed you, the daring wretch!” - -The handmaid shuddered at the thought and the mistress laughed at her -perturbation, laughed with sweet gayety, her mirth rippling in low, -joyous notes. - -“You have no eye for a fine man, Alice,” she said blithely; “you little -prude, do you think I would have let him? Nay, then do you not know me; -but ’twas rare fun to see the dare-devil in those gray eyes of his. He -has French gold, too, and mercy, how startled he was at my haphazard -shot. ’Tis some Jacobite, and there are fierce Whigs at Northampton! -Lackaday, the poor gentleman may come into trouble, I must warn him.” - -“My lady, my lady,” protested Alice, and then stood aghast. “The saints -help us,” she murmured, “there she runs after that bold gallant, like a -village lass, and if the earl should see her!” - -But generous-hearted Lady Clancarty thought of neither Alice nor the -earl. Light of foot as any fawn, she flew over the green after the -stranger’s retreating figure, for he had turned in another direction -and was leading a black horse by the bridle. The swift run and the -excitement of the moment brought the blood to Betty’s cheeks, and she -panted for breath when she overtook him. - -He turned with a smile. “What, lass,” he said gayly, “hast come for -your kiss?” - -Lady Clancarty gasped and grew crimson with shame; then drawing herself -up to her full height, she flashed at him a look of withering scorn. - -“You mistake, sir,” she said haughtily, “you are addressing Lady -Clancarty.” - -He took off his hat and the long plumes swept the ground at her feet as -he made her a profound obeisance. - -“I beseech your ladyship’s pardon,” he said, graceful and gracious—but -not one whit abashed, “my eyes were dazzled—else they would have made -no such mistake.” - -But Betty would not be appeased; like a child who has been naughty and -repented, she tried to appear as if it had not been. She was cold and -haughty. - -“Sir, I would merely warn you to be less careless of your French gold -at Northampton,” she said; “we do not love St. Germain here,” and with -a courtesy as low as his bow she left him. - -Left him staring after her with a glow in his gray eyes. - - * * * * * - -Alice Lynn usually slept in a little anteroom of Lady Betty’s -bedchamber, and that night as she lay abed she was awakened suddenly. -The room was full of moonlight, and in it stood Lady Betty in her -night-rail,—a charming figure, with softly dishevelled hair about her -shoulders, and eyes that seemed to sparkle in the pale duskiness of her -face. The tirewoman started up in alarm. - -“My lady, oh, my lady!” she cried, “are you ill? Has aught happened?” - -“Hush, no, no!” whispered Lady Betty, with a soft little laugh; “but, -Alice, didn’t you notice that he said ‘by Saint Patrick’?” - -“He! Who?” groaned poor Alice sleepily. - -“The stranger, little goose!” - -“Nay, madam,” said the poor handmaid; “I noticed naught but his bold -eyes; I was afraid of him.” - -“Nonsense!” Lady Betty exclaimed with a gesture of impatience; and she -tripped lightly to the window and stood looking out over the moonlit -park. - -Alice yawned, drawing herself together on the edge of her bed in a -crumpled attitude, one pink foot swinging near the floor; she was -fairly nodding with sleep. Not so her mistress. Lady Betty brushed the -soft hair from her face and stood in the moonlight a lovely figure, -half revealed and half concealed by thin white draperies. - -“I wonder,” she said musingly, “if—if Clancarty looks at all like this -man?” - -“I cannot tell, madam,” replied Alice demurely; “but it may be so.” - -“You rogue!” laughed her mistress, “you would insinuate that two rakes -may well resemble each other! Ah, Alice, he is my husband, mind you -that, and a woman’s husband is not as other men.” - -“You know him not at all, my lady,” yawned Alice, rubbing her eyes, -“and if he’s like some—” - -“Fudge, my girl, what do you know of husbands?” said Betty gayly; “I -believe you have never even glanced out of the tail of that blue eye of -yours at any bold gallant yet.” - -The handmaid sighed sleepily. - -“’Tis better so, my lady,” she said meekly. - -“The parson not excepted!” laughed Lady Betty, dancing back lightly -over the floor and pinching the girl’s cheek as she passed. - - “Oh! that my hero had his throne, - That Erin’s cloud of war were flown, - That proudest prince would own his sway - Over the hills and far away!” - -sang my lady, taking dancing steps as she tripped toward her own door; -she was full of gayety, incorrigible and delightful as ever, though -the great clock on the stairs was striking twelve. But Alice sighed -drearily, and her mistress heard her. - -“Poor lass!” she laughed, “go to sleep; I am a heartless wretch,” and -she ran off laughing to her room, and Alice sank on her pillows again -with a sigh of despair. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -LADY SUNDERLAND - - -IT was at night too, a week later, that Lady Betty’s coach rumbled up -the long street at Newmarket. But no moon shone; instead, the rain -came down in torrents and the wind dashed it against the glass windows -and rattled and shook the heavy doors, while the horses slipped and -floundered, knee deep in mud; the great coach itself lurched heavily -out of one huge rut into another, and the postilions, dripping and -profane, cracked their whips and shouted. Lady Clancarty and her -attendants, Alice Lynn and the woman, Melissa Thurle, bounced about -within the vehicle, coming now and then into collision with endless -boxes and bundles, a part only of the countess’ impedimenta, the most -perishable, and therefore gathered within the carriage to save it from -the deluge, instead of being strapped on top with the heavier luggage. - -Through the moist darkness lights began to twinkle. As they neared the -inn these lanterns increased in numbers, their yellow radiance dimmed -and blurred by the rain but showing in a broad circle of warmth before -the tavern door. There, too, the water flooding the kennels had poured -out, making a small lake in the courtyard. The coach went splashing -into it and halted with muddy water rising to the hubs. The inn door -was open, and the hall overflowed with noise and good cheer; lackeys -and grooms came bustling at the sound of an arrival; and at the sight -of a private carriage, with an earl’s crest emblazoned upon the door, -mine host himself came hurrying forward but stood aghast at the puddle. - -“Here, you varlets,” he shouted, clapping his hands, “a plank from the -door to the carriage steps, or her ladyship cannot descend.” - -Her ladyship’s roguish face was at the window as he spoke and she -watched the men placing a board for her. As they opened the coach -door the innkeeper bowed low, his broad back in the air, but stepping -carefully on the plank and tottering uneasily, for he was a stout man -and in terror of falling headlong into the flood. - -“Who have I the honor to serve, my lady?” he inquired, all smiles in -spite of his perilous position. - -“Venus rising from the waves, sir,” replied Lady Betty flippantly, as -she sprang lightly across the improvised bridge, scarcely touching his -shoulder with her fingers and quite regardless of his open-mouthed -astonishment. - -“Look to it that my women are not drowned!” she added imperiously, as -he retreated after her, leaving her attendants to climb out unassisted. - -But the man was sorely perplexed by her ladyship’s announcement of -herself, and he only stared at her, trying to place her in the gallery -of a fertile brain well stored with great ladies; but this face—albeit -one of the most charming he had ever seen—was not among them, and -he stared, perhaps a trifle rudely, for Lady Betty’s eye, suddenly -alighting on him, her chin went up. - -“You will show me to my Lady Sunderland’s apartments,” she said in an -icy tone, as she waved her hand toward the stair. - -In a moment the innkeeper’s supple back bent double again; he threw out -his fat hands and stammered a hundred apologies. - -“Lady Sunderland did not look for your ladyship until to-morrow,” he -sputtered, hurrying on ahead, while Lady Clancarty followed, with her -chin still scornfully elevated, her two weary and dishevelled women -behind her. “The countess will be rejoiced—we are all rejoiced, your -ladyship; the storm was so heavy, the roads so fearful, we scarcely -dared to hope that your carriage would reach Newmarket to-night,” -continued the host, all smiles again, rubbing his hands and flourishing -before her ladyship. - -But Lady Betty walked on in silence, scarce glancing at him as he -opened a door and, with many flourishes and bows, announced her at -the threshold and stood aside, still bowing, to let her pass into a -large, well-lighted room, where a bright fire burned upon the hearth, -great logs ablaze upon the high, polished brass andirons. The dark wood -floor was polished too, reflecting the blaze, and in a great chair -by the fire sat a woman past middle age, yet showing little of her -years, and dressed in the extreme affectation of a youthful fashion, a -petticoat of white brocade, which was short in front to show her feet -in white and gold pantoffles, and a bodice and overdress of peachblow -satin; a face that had been handsome and was now much rouged, the -eyes brightened by dark rings beneath them, while her hair—or her -periwig—was frizzed full at the sides after a fashion much in vogue in -the time of Charles the Second. Her throat was covered with jewels, -and her hands and arms; on either side of her stood two young men of -fashion, beaux of Newmarket, in gay velvet coats and ruffles of lace, -and long curled and scented French periwigs, white satin breeches and -silk stockings, and slippers with high red heels, then much in favor at -Versailles. - -It was a group that amused Lady Clancarty,—the great lady and her -two youthful admirers, for Betty knew her mother well. They in their -turn stared a little at the traveller’s unexpected advent, and for a -moment no one spoke. There was a strange contrast between the painted -and bejewelled countess and her daughter: Lady Clancarty wore a long, -dark riding-coat with capes, her full skirts trailing below the coat, -and her hat—a large one with plumes—set over her brows. The cool damp -night air had brought the freshness of a rose to her cheeks and her -eyes sparkled as she viewed the party by the fire, and made her mother -a courtesy. - -“I have been in the deluge, madam,” she said gayly. “Faith! I had -expected to be drowned, but lo! our ark landed here, and here am I—a -dove with an olive branch, in fact—for I come with kind messages from -Althorpe for your ladyship.” - -“My dear Betty,” said Lady Sunderland, recovering from her amazement, -“I am delighted; come and kiss me, my love, and here—my Lord Savile -and Mr. Benham, this is my daughter, Lady Elizabeth Spencer.” - -The young men bowed profoundly, Lord Savile’s bold eyes on Lady Betty’s -face, for he saw it flush with sudden indignation. - -“My mother’s memory plays her false,” she said coldly, scarcely -acknowledging their greetings; “I am the Countess of Clancarty.” - -Lady Sunderland laughed angrily but pretended to be merry. - -“The child is foolish about a trifle,” she said, winking behind her fan -at young Savile. “We can afford to humor her whims, my lord; we will -call her Lady Clancarty.” - -“We shall call her ladyship divine, if she wills it,” replied Lord -Savile, with a smile at Betty; “it is all one to us as long as she is -pleased.” - -Lady Clancarty’s foot tapped the floor impatiently and there was a -dangerous sparkle in her eyes. Lady Sunderland observed her uneasily. - -“My love, you are tired,” she said, mildly solicitous, “sit down and -let me send for a cup of tea; Mr. Benham—ah, my lord, thank you, yes, -the bell—a dish of tea for Lady Spen—Lady Clancarty. There—there, my -dear, don’t frown at me; it is all quite ridiculous! Mr. Benham will -arrange the cushions in that chair for you; I don’t know what I should -do without him! We were playing gleek, Betty, when you were announced.” - -Betty was now ensconced in an armchair by the fire, her little feet -on the cushion that Mr. Benham had placed for her; and she viewed the -situation with an expression more composed. - -“Yes, I take tea,” she said to Lord Savile, who was handing her a -smoking cup, “and what is this?” she added, for he had managed to drop -a flower from his buttonhole into her lap with an air of gallantry. - -“A poor blossom,” he said gracefully, “to compare with such a rose as -blooms here to-night.” - -Lady Betty looked at him and then at the flower curiously. - -“Ah,” she said calmly sipping her tea, “it _is_ a rose—I thought ’twas -a thistle!” - -Lady Sunderland coughed and dropped her fan and frowned at her -daughter; but the incorrigible countess did not glance in her -direction. She was smiling blandly at the fire and warming first one -foot and then the other. - -“You are from Althorpe?” Mr. Benham asked, smiling at the beauty, for -he was not displeased at Lord Savile’s discomfiture; “and my friend, -Spencer, is there now.” - -“He is indeed,” replied Betty, with a sigh, “and may he stay there!” -she added mentally; but to Mr. Benham, “Has the king come?” - -“He came yesterday, and with him, Lord Albemarle; the Princess Anne is -here too, and my Lady Marlborough.” - -“Dear me,” said Lady Betty, with an unconcealed yawn, “the world is -here, it seems, and I am so weary that I must crave your ladyship’s -license to retire.” - -“Nay,” said Mr. Benham gallantly, “it is my lord and I who should -retire and permit your ladyship to rest.” - -“I protest!” cried Lady Sunderland; “the gleek was but half played.” - -But she made no great effort to detain them; indeed, she wanted an -opportunity to speak plainly to her daughter, so the beaux were allowed -to bow themselves out, with more than one lingering glance at the -beautiful, haughty face by the fireside. No sooner was the door closed, -however, than Lady Sunderland turned on her daughter. - -“Your folly passes belief, Elizabeth,” she said tartly, quite oblivious -of the two attendants quietly waiting in the background; “I am tired of -the name of Clancarty; your father and I intend to divorce the rascal. -To parade the matter as you do is simply childish, my love, quite -childish.” - -Lady Betty sipped her tea and looked into the fire. - -“I am not divorced,” she remarked placidly, “and Lord Clancarty, being -a Romanist, may object to divorces.” - -Lady Sunderland laughed unpleasantly, tapping her fan on the arm of her -chair. - -“Lord Clancarty has probably never respected his marriage,” she -remarked, in a biting tone, though she smiled; “you are very childish, -Elizabeth, for your years.” - -“I _am_ quite advanced,” her daughter replied, rising and setting her -cup on the table where the cards were scattered, “and perhaps I am too -old to think of divorces.” - -“Nonsense,” Lady Sunderland said frowning, “your father and I mean to -see you well married when we are rid of this Irish nuisance.” - -“Indeed,” said Lady Betty coldly, elevating her brows, “to whom? My -Lord Savile, for instance, or Mr. Benham?” - -“You might do worse,” retorted Lady Sunderland stiffly; “they are both -fine young men and in favor at court.” - -“Precisely,” said Lady Betty, “and ’tis strange that my taste is so -perverted. Dear madam, I bid you good-night. We will discuss their -excellencies later; now I am perishing with sleep,” and she dropped -her mother a courtesy and slipped out of the room, leaving the older -countess frowning and biting her lips, the rouge showing red on her -cheeks. - -But once alone with Alice Lynn, Betty laughed, with tears shining in -her eyes. - -“Ah, the trap is set, Alice, dear,” she said, “the trap is set, if -only this poor little mouse will nibble at the cheese!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LADY BETTY’S TOILET - - -NIGHT and the rain departed together. The wind had swept the sky clear, -not even a white feather curled there; it was blue—blue as English -skies seldom are. Lady Betty, opening her own window shutter, looked -up and smiled, and then looked down into the courtyard of the inn. The -waters were subsiding, and the uneven flagging showed muddy, wet and -glistening in the sunlight. To the left lay the stables, where she -could occasionally hear a horse neigh or stamp an impatient foot. To -the right the court was railed off by an old balustrade of gray stone, -mossy and green with age and opening in the centre with two vases -on either side filled with geraniums and mignonette. Between these, -steps descended into an old garden, laid out in quaint flower-beds, -surrounded with rows of box that hedged in the winding gravel paths and -grew high as a man’s head. It was September, but many flowers bloomed -there besides the roses; though it was but poorly tended at this late -season, it was still a spot of beauty for the guests of the tavern -to look upon, and there was a restful air about it, a fragrance and -quaintness, with the early sunshine on it. It was so early, indeed, -that the garden was deserted, and only the stable-boys were stirring -and the servants running to and fro across the court engaged in -preparations for breakfast. Here and there was a red-coated hostler, -and one of these was leading a black horse up and down. The horse had -just been unsaddled and was heated from hard riding. There was mud on -his flanks, too, which was natural enough after the storm, and there -were flecks of foam upon his breast. Lady Betty looked at him long -and pensively, noting that the bridle was not of English make; the -man, too, who had him, was a stranger, for the other hostlers did not -speak to him, and his broad, humorous face and twinkling black eyes -were quite un-English. He was a short man, with bowed legs and a bulky -frame, plainly dressed as the plainest groom of a gentleman could be, -and yet these two, the horse and man, held Lady Betty’s attention -long—so long, indeed, that she did not notice the soft opening of a -door, or the soft tread on the floor behind her, and started to find -Melissa Thurle at her elbow. - -The woman had a smooth face and pale eyes that squinted like those of -a near-sighted person, though she was not short-sighted. She moved, -too, as softly as a cat, and her manners were always apologetic, humbly -ingratiating; she cringed a little now under Lady Betty’s eye. - -“Where is Alice?” Lady Clancarty demanded sharply. - -“Her ladyship, your mother, sent for her,” Melissa said gently; “her -tirewoman is ill to-day, and Lady Sunderland sent to your rooms for -one.” - -“Why did Alice go?” asked Lady Betty imperiously. “You know you cannot -do my hair; besides, you would suit my mother exactly. Why did you stay -here?” - -Melissa looked down meekly. “My lady, the countess sent for Alice -Lynn,” she replied. - -Lady Betty’s brows went up. “Strange,” she remarked; “we all know that -she will not be up until eleven,—why Alice now? I cannot do without -Alice.” - -“I will do my best, my lady,” Melissa said, with a deprecating purr; -“if you will but choose your costume for the races I can surely arrange -everything for you quite as well as Alice, and indeed your ladyship -needs no very skilful tirewoman; where there is so much beauty there is -no need for much skill.” - -Betty eyed the woman with a distinct feeling of repugnance and yet -thought herself unjust. - -“Go fetch me a dish of tea,” she said languidly, “and I will think -about to-day. Dear me, what a bore it is to wear clothes; if only one -had feathers!” - -Melissa stared but went to fetch the tea, a luxury much affected by the -rich, for tea-drinking came into fashion at the East India houses in -the time of Charles the Second. - -Lady Betty did not wish the tea; however, she wanted to be rid of -Melissa, and she went back to the window and looked out eagerly. The -black horse and groom were both gone, and she turned away disappointed. - -Two hours later, Alice being still with Lady Sunderland, Melissa Thurle -dressed Lady Clancarty for the gala day at the Newmarket races. And -a wonderful work it was to dress a belle in those days of brocaded -farthingales and long, narrow-waisted bodices, and heads covered -with many waves and puffs and ringlets. It was not then the fashion -to powder the hair, and Lady Betty’s beautiful glossy black tresses -curled naturally, so that Melissa’s task was not the most difficult. -The mass of soft, wavy hair was knotted low on the back of the head -and escaped in curls about the brow and cheeks and fell upon the neck, -while one or two black patches on brow and cheek were supposed to -enhance the whiteness of the complexion. Melissa was skilful enough, in -spite of her mistress’ prejudices, and her deft fingers arranged the -curls, letting some escape in coquettish waves and ringlets and binding -others back into the loose knot, which still allowed them to ripple in -a lovely confusion. - -Lady Betty sat, meanwhile, before a dressing-table, furnished with a -small oval glass in which she could not only watch Melissa, but could -observe, also, every curve and dimple of her own charming face. Whether -its reflection really satisfied her, or she had other and more fruitful -sources of content, can only be conjectured, but certain it is that she -smiled a little and bore the tirewoman’s deft touches with apparent -complacence. Melissa, encouraged by her expression, began to talk to -her in a soft purring fashion as she worked. - -“The house is full, my lady,” she said, “’tis all agog below stairs -now, and ’tis said there are two dukes, an earl, and five baronets -under this roof, besides the countess and your ladyship.” - -“Dear me,” said Lady Betty, “who are all these great people, and when -did they come?” - -“The Duke of Bedford has been here two days, my lady,” replied the -newscarrier, “and the Duke of Ormond came yesterday; Mr. Godolphin, -too, and Lord Wharton,—the others?—I know not when they came.” - -“Who came this morning?” asked her mistress carelessly, at the same -moment turning her head to admire a new knot that Melissa had made of -her hair. - -The tirewoman stopped, comb in hand, and admired too, her narrow eyes -more narrow than usual. - -“This morning?” she repeated thoughtfully, “I cannot think,—oh, yes, -one of the housemaids told me that a stranger came late, on a black -horse that he had ridden hard.” - -Lady Clancarty listened attentively, forgetting to appear indifferent, -and unconscious of the peculiar vigilance of Melissa’s pale eyes. - -“The horse was in the yard this morning and showed hard riding,” she -said thoughtfully. “Who was the stranger, Melissa?” - -“’Tis said he is a horse jockey from London,” purred the tirewoman. - -Her mistress darted a searching look at her but read nothing in that -smooth face that was by nature as placid as a platter. - -“Bring me my pale blue paduasoy petticoat, Thurle,” Lady Betty said, -sharply imperious, “and my white and silver brocaded gown, and the -mantle of silver lace, and my hat with the white plumes. Do you not -know how to fasten a petticoat?—there—so!—and, stupid, my white -silk stockings with the blue clocks, and the French slippers with blue -enamel buckles,” and she made the woman fetch garment after garment -with alacrity, and the glow in her cheeks would have warned even a less -observant person than Melissa that Lady Clancarty was out of temper. - -But the woman’s smooth manner remained unruffled, and not even angry -words made her fingers quiver. She arrayed Lady Clancarty from head -to foot, deftly and swiftly, and when the task was completed, and the -beauty looked at her own reflection, a smile was forced to play about -her lips, for never had a mirror reflected a vision more charming. -Lady Betty, with her rich coloring, her full white throat, her perfect -form, clad in a marvellous gown of white and silver, ruffled and -ruffled with lace, and looped up at one side a little to show the blue -petticoat; open, too, to show a neck as white as snow,—and arms to -match were half revealed by the elbow sleeves, while her hat cast a -shadow on those sparkling eyes. She gave the vision a look and then -turned and motioned Melissa away. - -“You have done very well, Thurle,” she said calmly, “and now you may -go—ah, here is Alice!” and she relented at the sight of her favorite -attendant. - -Melissa, meanwhile, humble as usual, courtesied and withdrew, but not -without casting a lingering look behind her. - -When the door closed, Lady Betty gave her gown a few touches, turning -around before the mirror again. - -“Will I do, Alice?” she asked. - -“Supremely well, madam,” Alice replied soberly, standing off to view -her with a critical eye. - -Lady Betty turned suddenly and laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. - -“Hast said thy catechism, Alice?” she asked. - -The handmaid looked up at her blankly, her slower mind struggling to -understand. - -“What, my lady?” - -“Your catechism, goosie,” repeated Lady Clancarty laughing; “did not my -mother question you close of me?” - -“She did, madam,” retorted Alice bluntly, with an ingenuous blush, “she -asked me many questions.” - -“And what answer did you give?” asked her mistress smiling. - -“Truthful answers, dear Lady Betty,” Alice replied earnestly, -apparently much troubled, “save when I answered not at all.” - -“You did not answer!” exclaimed her mistress, in surprise, “and -wherefore?” - -“Because she asked me what you said to me of—of my Lord Clancarty,” -stammered Alice, “and, madam, that I will not tell!” - -Betty laughed and blushed, and suddenly she kissed the girl. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -AT THE RACES - - -THERE was no finer race-course in the country in those days than the -long heath at Newmarket, and there for years the court of England -kept festival. Charles the Second came there, with a train of gay and -dissolute courtiers and fair, frail women; there too came the more -solemn James with much the same following, if a more decorous manner -prevailed, and there came that silent, collected, small man, whose -body so little expressed his soul,—one of the greatest men of his -time,—William the Third. - -The king came to his summer palace, and the great lords kept up their -state about him. Euston was famed for the balls of my Lord Arlington -in the days of Charles the Second, and times were little changed in -that respect. In contrast to the courtly splendor, the heath was -fringed with an encampment as gay and varied as any gypsy gathering. -Here were people of all conditions: gypsies, in fact, in their gay -raiment, telling fortunes on the edge of the throng, strolling players, -dancing bears and merry Andrews, and the farmers’ families come as -to a festival to see the stream of fashion. For here were all the -great; even the cockpit at noon was surrounded by stars and ribbons, -and there were hunting and hawking and riding. There too were the -long gowns and black caps of the University dons, so well received by -William, mingling with the motley throng. The world, melted down into -this little space, throbbed and bubbled like a cauldron filled and -boiling over, and never paused except for the sermon on a Sunday. - -At midday when the king went to the race-course all Newmarket streamed -out at his heels, from the highest peers and greatest courtiers to -the pickpockets of London; from my Lord of Devonshire to Captain Dick -the horse jockey; from an orange girl of Drury Lane to the Princess -of Denmark; the high and the low, the rich man and the cutpurse, all -were there, and in that mass of many-colored costumes, like a bed of -King William’s tulips at Loo, there were a thousand emotions,—hopes, -fears, hatreds, and ambitions. Money flowed like water, and wagers ran -high; fortunes were made and unmade, and the faces of men and women -had often the tense expression of the gambler. But whatever evil was -there—and much there was—was hidden under an air of jollity, and the -setting of the scene was as variegated as a rainbow. - -The long course was cleared for the horses, and on either side, and -especially about the pavilion of the king, the crowd was packed -close, palpitating and murmuring in the sunshine, white and pink, -blue and crimson, green and gold, ribbon upon ribbon of color, men -and women vying with each other in the brilliant beauty and richness -of apparel; and behind, the great emblazoned coaches—drawn usually -by Flanders horses—stood tier upon tier, sometimes empty, when their -owners were promenading, sometimes brimful of lovely smiling faces and -fluttering fans; and beyond these, the farmers and teamsters, gypsies -and tipsters, honest men and thieves. Meanwhile the jockeys rode their -horses out upon the turf for exercise and inspection; no people loved -a fine horse better than the English, and it put the throng in an -excellent humor. - -In the midst of the satins and velvets, gold lace and jewels, one small -man was plainly dressed in dark colors with a star upon his breast,—a -man with a pale, dark face and sparkling dark eyes. Every head was -bared before him, and every great dame there courtesied almost to -the ground, and the trumpets sounded as King William took his place. -The warm September air was filled with the hum of many voices, the -trampling of horses, the blare of military music, and the great races -began when the king quietly waved his hand. - -Lady Sunderland kept her seat in her own carriage, and all the old -beaux of the court came there to pay their compliments and exchange -rare morsels of gossip with her ladyship, whose wit was keen as her -tongue was merciless. But Lady Clancarty was not of this party. She -had left her seat in the gorgeously emblazoned coach, and escorted by -my Lord of Devonshire himself, she made her way nearer to the scene of -action. Though she had lived much at Althorpe, Lady Clancarty was not -unknown, and she was greeted on every hand as she passed. Her beauty, -her winning address, the place her father occupied in the king’s favor, -made her at once the cynosure of all eyes. Old beaux and young ones -crowded forward for an introduction. Devonshire stood near her, Ormond -and Bedford joined her coterie; in fact, in two hours Lady Betty was -the belle of Newmarket. She looked about her smiling, roguish, keenly -amused, and everywhere she read approbation and admiration, not only in -the faces that she knew, but in the strange ones. Everywhere men paid -her homage; over there the courtiers of the Princess Anne were thinning -out; the circle of my Lady Marlborough grew narrower, but Lady Betty’s -extended like a whirlpool. In the midst of her little triumph, she saw -a tall man coming toward her, singling her out amidst all the others; -his dress was plain and his periwig was of a different fashion, but -she could not mistake that eye or that bearing; she had seen both in -the woods of Althorpe. In a moment more he was bowing before her, and -Ormond introduced him. - -“My dear Lady Betty, let me present another admirer, Mr. Richard -Trevor; an Irishman as I would have your ladyship know,” the duke added -in her ear, with a laugh. - -Lady Clancarty courtesied, casting a roguish look at the stranger. - -“Faith, we have met before, my lord,” she said, and laughed softly. - -“Twice before, my lady,” corrected Mr. Trevor, smiling into her eyes. - -Betty stared. “Once, sir,” she said. - -“As you will, Lady Clancarty,” he replied, and smiled again, the -dare-devil leaping up in his gray eyes—and Betty blushed. - -At the moment Lord Savile came up with Mr. Benham. - -“Are you betting, Savile?” asked the Duke of Devonshire, with a smiling -glance at the young man. - -Savile made a wry face. - -“Confound it, my lord, I’ve lost fifty pounds on my mare, Lady Clara,” -he said, “and Benham here has made a hundred on that little black mare -of Godolphin’s,—the devil’s in it.” - -“Ah, look at them!” cried Betty, pointing at the track, “they come -flying like birds. Is that your black mare in the lead, Mr. Benham?” - -“I’ll hang for it, if he hasn’t won again,” ejaculated Lord Savile, as -they leaned forward to watch the squad of horses coming in on the home -stretch. - -There could scarcely be a finer sight: the smooth turf, the shimmer of -sunshine, the beautiful animals running fleetly, for the joy of it, -heads out, eyes flashing fire, foam on the lips, and manes flying, -while the jockeys, like knots of color, hung low over their necks. The -sharp clip of steel-shod feet, a stream of color, sparks flying, and -they were past, going on to the stakes, while silence fell on the great -throng of people; men scarcely breathed, every eye strained after them. -Then suddenly a shout of exultation and despair, strangely mingled, and -the whole crowd blossoming out into a mass of waving handkerchiefs and -tossing hats. - -“Ah, was there ever anything so pretty!” cried Lady Betty; “there is -nothing finer than a beautiful horse.” - -“Except a beautiful woman,” said my Lord of Ormond gallantly. - -“Pray, my lord, do not put us in the same category,” said Lady Betty -laughing; “’tis said that some men rate their horses dearer than their -wives.” - -“That is because there are so few Lady Clancartys,” replied Ormond -smiling, and Betty swept him a courtesy. - -“Benham’s won again,” remarked Savile, too chagrined to notice anything -else. - -“And so have I,” said Mr. Trevor, with a little smile; “’tis an ill -wind that blows nobody good.” - -Savile eyed him from head to foot; his quick ear had detected a -peculiarity of voice and accent. - -“Are you from Ireland, sir?” he asked insolently. - -“Where gentlemen are bred,—yes, my lord,” replied Trevor, his gray -eyes gleaming like steel. - -Lady Betty stirred uneasily. “Whose horse was that which came in last?” -she asked. - -“Savile’s,” laughed Benham, “don’t you see his brow of thunder?” - -“Hard luck, my boy,” remarked Lord Devonshire, smiling, “but there are -many here who will have worse to-day.” - -“Ay, and the king’s cough is worse,” remarked Ormond significantly. - -“Dr. Radcliffe told him that he would not have his two legs for his -three kingdoms,” said Lord Savile, with a sullen laugh. - -Devonshire smiled a little and so did Ormond, but Lady Betty looked -straight before her over the sunny turf. - -“My Lord Savile,” she said, “the king has the wisest head in Europe.” - -“A king is richest in the hearts that love him,” said Richard Trevor -smoothly, “and the King of England is rich in these.” - -Lady Betty darted a quick glance at him, and so did my Lord of Ormond, -but they read nothing. It was a handsome, daring face, with gray eyes -and thin lips,—a face to fear in anger. - -“There are riddles and innuendoes everywhere,” remarked Lord Savile -with a shrug; “one knows not how to read them.” - -“What I say, I am quite ready to explain, my lord,” Trevor replied -smiling, his eyes hard as flint. - -As he spoke my Lady Sunderland came up from her carriage, and with her -two other dames of fashion. In the stir and flutter of their entrance, -Lady Betty and the two young men, Trevor and Lord Savile, were, to all -intents and purposes, alone, and she was perforce a listener to their -talk, which was by no means friendly. - -Lord Savile thrust his hands into his pockets. - -“What flowers bloom at Saint Germain, sir?” he asked, with a drawl. - -“The poppies of Neerwinden, I am told,” replied the Irishman. - -Lord Savile’s face turned scarlet. “A very vile joke, sir,” he said, in -a low voice, “and one you may repent of—here!” - -“When I am in the society of informers—it may be so,” replied Trevor -haughtily and very low, intending it only for my lord’s ear, but Lady -Betty heard it. - -“I would fain walk a little way,” she said suddenly, turning on them, -“they will not race again for half an hour, and I feel the heat here. -My Lord Savile, will you make way for me through the crowd?” - -“I will, my lady,” Trevor said, offering his arm. - -“Nay, sir,” retorted Savile, “I am the lady’s friend, not you.” - -Trevor noticed him as little as a poodle; he still smiled and offered -his hand to Lady Betty. - -“Lady Clancarty will choose, sir, not you,” he said contemptuously. - -“Lady Clancarty will go with me,” cried Savile, hotly and -authoritatively. - -“Faith, she will not, sir,” said Betty laughing; “Lady Clancarty will -be commanded by none, my lord, and Mr. Trevor will do her this small -service. But there are my thanks for your kindness.” - -And she courtesied prettily before she laid her hand lightly on the -stranger’s arm and moved at his side through the throng toward the open -heath beyond. Their progress was necessarily slow, and followed by many -admiring glances, for the roses had deepened in Lady Betty’s cheeks. -The tall Irishman beside her was no less a striking figure; his height -and proportions, the clean-cut face, steel-gray eyes, and close-shut -thin lips had a history of their own; no one could doubt it. - -As for Lord Savile, he stood fuming and vowing vengeance on the cursed -Irish Jacobite, as he was pleased to name his rival; if a stanch Whig -hated any man, by instinct, he must needs be a Papist and a Jacobite. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -LADY BETTY AND AN IRISH JACOBITE - - -LADY BETTY and her companion walked on. The crowd, still huzzaing and -noisy about the victors, was dropped behind them, all its gorgeous -colors knotted into one huge rosette upon the track; beyond were green -meadows and the blue shadows of a grove of limes. The two walked -slowly, Lady Betty a little in advance, her long skirts gathered in one -hand, the other holding her fan, the sun and the breeze kissing the -soft curves of her cheeks. Beside her, holding his hat behind his back, -was Richard Trevor, his eyes on her, while hers were on the landscape; -the long, level stretch of turf, the grove of limes, and farther -off—veiled in golden mist—the wavy outlines of forest and hills. -Above, the sky was blue—blue as larkspur; the air was sweet too, as if -the fragrance of flowers floated on the soft September breeze. A flock -of pigeons, with the whir of many wings, rose from the ground as Betty -approached, and she looked up after them and sighed. - -“Is it true that the French king wears red heels to his shoes?” she -asked suddenly and quite irrelevantly. - -Mr. Trevor started perceptibly, giving her a quizzical glance. - -“They are frequently purple,” he replied, with perfect gravity. - -“Because, I suppose, it is a royal color,” she remarked absently; “you -are a Jacobite, Mr. Trevor.” - -“Either my disguise is a flimsy one, or your penetration is great, Lady -Clancarty,” he replied, with a whimsical smile; “but I’ll swear I’m not -alone at Newmarket.” - -Lady Betty elevated her brows a little. - -“It has been frequently hinted that King William was one,” she remarked -tranquilly. - -“By the Whigs out of office,” he said, with a short, hard laugh; “he is -not counted one on the Continent.” - -“Or in Ireland,” she said; “you were at Londonderry, of course.” - -“There were two sides to the wall at Londonderry, my lady,” he -replied; “I was on one—I’ll admit that.” - -“It is safe not to be explicit,” she said smiling; “you are an -Irishman, a Papist, and a Jacobite,” she told off each point on her -fingers, “and you are from Munster.” - -“Precisely,” said Mr. Trevor, with great composure; “you have nailed me -to the wall, madam; I am a sinner of the blackest dye, a subject for -the gallows.” - -“So I supposed,” she said cheerfully, nodding her head at him, “and -being all these things, and from the Continent, can you tell me—” for -the first time she hesitated, stopped short, looking at the turf under -her daintily shod feet, her face crimson. - -He waited, smiling, composed, watchful; not helping her by a word or -sign, and she could not read his eyes when she looked into them. - -“Do you know Lord Clancarty?” she asked bluntly. - -He took time to consider, studying, meanwhile, every detail of her -charming, ingenuous face and perfect figure. - -“I have met him,” he said deliberately, “in Dublin and in Paris.” -Betty’s agitation was quite apparent, but she commanded herself and -looked up bravely. - -“He is my husband,” she said simply. - -Mr. Trevor smiled involuntarily. - -“He is a happy man,” he said gallantly. - -She made an impatient gesture, laughing and blushing. - -“Tell me how he looks?” she asked; “I have never seen him since he was -fifteen and I eleven. Is he a bugbear? They would have me believe so.” - -“On the contrary, I have always thought him handsome, my lady,” -Mr. Trevor said, smiling imperturbably, “and altogether the most -companionable man I know.” - -“Indeed!” she exclaimed; “yet you told me you had only met him—twice.” - -“In two places,” corrected Mr. Trevor quite unmoved, “but frequently. -He’s a fine man, madam, take my word for it; I love him like a brother; -he has only one fault, madam, one sin, and that, I’ll admit, is -unpardonable.” - -“And that?” she queried, with uplifted brows, a little haughtily. - -“And that,” replied Mr. Trevor calmly, “is the fact that he has been -able to live for fourteen years without his wife.” - -Lady Clancarty flushed angrily, and then she laughed that delicious, -mirthful laugh of hers. - -“He has existed, sir,” she corrected him, “because he never knew how -delightful Lady Clancarty is.” - -“Exactly,” replied Trevor, “a mere existence; life uncrowned by -love—such love as he ought to have won, confound him—is not life. He -might as well be a turnip.” - -“So I have always thought,” she replied, with a charming smile; “but -then, you know, Mr. Trevor, he might not have been able to win it.” - -“Not win it!” he exclaimed, “not win it, when he is a husband to begin -with. By Saint Patrick, madam, I’d cut his acquaintance for life! Not -win it? What cannot a man do under the inspiration of a beautiful and -noble woman? Kingdoms have been won and lost for them. If Troy fell for -Helen, an empire might well fall for a woman as beautiful and far more -womanly. I’d run Clancarty through, my lady, if he were not willing to -die for his true love. Irishmen are not made of such poor stuff. No, -no, he would win it, never fear.” - -Lady Betty’s chin was up and her eyes travelling over the green turf -again. - -“An idle boast, sir,” she said carelessly; “no woman would be lightly -won after years of neglect.” - -“Nor should be,” he replied, in a deep tone of emotion, “nor should -be! By the Virgin, Clancarty ought to go on his knees from Munster to -Althorpe in penitence.” - -“Faith, what would he do about the Channel, Mr. Trevor?” she asked -wickedly. - -“Swim it, madam,” he replied promptly; “a true man and a lover would -not drown—with such a saint enshrined before him.” - -“A Protestant saint for a Papist penitent,” remarked Lady Betty -smiling; “what a poor consolation.” - -“Love laughs at obstacles, my Lady Clancarty,” said Mr. Trevor, “and it -forgets creed.” - -“Oh!” she said and her brows went up. - -“There is one excuse, though,” he went on, “one—or I would never speak -to Donough Macarthy again.” - -“Oh, there is one, then?” she asked doubtfully. - -“One—yes,” he replied gravely; “he is a proscribed exile, madam, this -king of yours has excepted him from the Act of Grace; he cannot return -except, indeed, to the Tower and the block. But, after all, to lose a -head is less than to lose a heart.” - -Lady Betty laughed. - -“Only one can recover a heart,” she said wickedly, “but a head—I never -heard of one that was put on after the headsman.” - -“Nor I,” he admitted, “but, after all, one can die but once.” - -“And one can love many times,” suggested Betty; “I have heard that my -Lord Clancarty’s heart is tender.” - -“Mere fables, madam,” he replied, with cool mendacity; “his heart is -made for one image only and would keep that—to eternity.” - -“His must be a valuable and rare heart,” Lady Clancarty remarked -demurely, “too good, sir, to exchange for a human one.” - -“Verily too good to give without a fair exchange, madam,” he replied, -smiling audaciously; “nor will Clancarty cast it by the wayside. I know -him for a man who will love and be loved again. He’s no moonstruck -youth, my lady; when he gives he will demand a return.” - -She carried her head proudly. “He should have to win it,” she said. - -“He would win it,” Trevor retorted boldly, “and he would hold it. -Pshaw, madam, I despise a milksop, and so do you!” - -“You are overbold in your assertions, sir,” Betty said, stopping short -and looking back over the heath, shading her eyes with her fan. - -“Bold for a friend, my lady,” he said gracefully, “bold for the absent -who has none to plead his cause.” - -Lady Betty laughed. - -“Do you see that whirling, frantic thing yonder?” she asked, pointing; -“’tis my Lady Sunderland’s India shawl; she is waving to me. We must go -back, sir; she thinks I venture too near the lions.” - -“We must go back, it seems, since you command it,” he replied -regretfully, “but I may see Lady Clancarty again? I may speak to her -of—her husband?” - -Betty hesitated for the twentieth part of a second and then she smiled. - -“We are at the Lion’s Head,” she said, “and I shall receive my friends -after supper—but do not talk of Lord Clancarty.” - -He bowed profoundly, and she moved on, for the India shawl was waving -frantically now and Savile and the others were coming toward them. - -“I thank you for the privilege,” said Richard Trevor with his daring -smile; “we will talk of Lady Clancarty.” - -But Betty answered not a word; she walked back across the heath, -proudly silent, nor did she cast a single relenting glance behind -her—and thus failed to see the quizzical expression in his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE WEARING OF THE GREEN - - -THAT night was the night of Devonshire’s great ball and all Newmarket -was agog, streets were blocked with fours and sixes—the great coaches -jammed in rows, with fighting, swearing coachmen and postilions. As for -the chairs, they were blocked in so closely that half the chairmen had -black eyes or bloody noses in the morning; and the link-boys, let loose -in this carnival, ran hither and yon, with their lanthorns flaring -in the wind like ministering imps in an inferno, while the country -people and the tavern tipsters and the market women filled up the -last crevices, to see beauty and fashion pass in and out the flaring -doorway, whence came strains of music and the sounds of laughter. The -king, it was true, would not be there; his cough—or despatches from -France, it was whispered—would keep him in bed that festive night, but -Lady Marlborough was there and in her train the Princess Anne. People -had begun already to put the pair in this sequence, and laughed, in -their sleeves, at it and at William’s tolerance, for no one despised my -Lord Marlborough more than that astute, cool-headed monarch, who knew -him to be as false as he was brilliant. - -Excepting only the king himself, the whole world of fashion was at -the ball, and the house was dressed with green boughs and flowers, -rushes and sweet seg, and a wassail bowl stood in the hall wreathed -with blossoms. The band was stationed on the staircase landing, the -musicians clad for the occasion in scarlet waistcoats and shorts, deep -clocked scarlet stockings, and coats of yellow velvet stamped on the -back with red roses and on the left breast with the Devonshire arms. -There were female attendants, too, attired quaintly in gay flowered -silks and wearing vizards, who served the fyne of pocras, sobyll bere -and mum below stairs, while above the rooms were lighted by flambeaux -and the floors polished like mirrors for the dancers. There were to be -dances of every sort, from the country romp, “cuckolds all awry,” with -“hoite come toite,” and the more stately galliard, to “Trenchemore” and -the cushion dance and “tolly polly.” - -Her Grace of Marlborough, in towering headdress and a gown of red -velvet over a petticoat of cloth of gold, led the first dance with his -Grace of Devonshire, the Princess Anne and the duke being _vis-à-vis_, -but only a poor spectacle by comparison. - -The whole house overflowed with the throng. The greatest of the court -were there, Bedford and Ormond and Hartington,—and there, too, -were Godolphin and Somers and a bevy of beauty; ruffles of lace and -gleams of jewels, and here and there the rosy cheeks of the daughters -of the country squires. Old dames looked on from the wall, smiling -and delighted when a daughter danced and frowning at a more favored -neighbor, and the young beaux had no rest, but danced in their tight -French shoes and bowed until their backs were doubled. - -But the greatest stir was when Lady Clancarty led the galliard with her -noble host, my lady all in white and gold, with one pink rose in her -hair, her eyes shining, and her cheeks fresher than the rose. Down the -long room they came and her feet scarcely seemed to touch the floor, -and she held her head so high that it almost overlooked his grace, -who bowed smilingly toward her, a stately figure himself as he moved -in his splendid dress down the space left by the dancers, the music -scarcely drowning the murmur of applause. Her Grace of Marlborough was -outshone and she bit her lip and tossed her head. - -It was after this, when my Lady Clancarty, flushed and lovely, stood -surrounded by a throng that the Irishman, Mr. Trevor, pushed through -them all to her side. A handsome figure, too, and one which had won -more than one admiring glance that night; a graceful figure clad in -white satin, self-possessed, accomplished. French in manner; he had -caught the trick at Versailles, and his gray eyes looked straight into -hers. The strains of the dance floated up the stairs; my Lord Savile -pressed forward. - -“Our dance, my lady,” he said, almost imperatively thrusting between. - -For an instant she hesitated and then she smiled and laid her hand in -Mr. Trevor’s, so near that it brushed Savile’s sleeve. - -“This dance is promised, my lord,” she said sweetly, and passed out on -the floor with her partner. - -The young lord swore in a subdued voice, happily unheard by any one. -All eyes were on my lady and her partner. - -“What a pair!” they murmured. - -“Mars and Venus!” cried a courtier. - -“Venus and Apollo!” said another, and every eye was on them. - -Yet the two thought not of it, they danced superbly, it is true, and -with a joy in it, being adepts in the art, but Betty could think of -no one but the man who held her hand, whose eyes held hers, too, by a -spell. Perhaps, she feared a little the mastery of his ways, yet she -had never danced before with such a partner. - -“You have learned to dance in France, sir, I think,” she said lightly, -laughing a little. - -“Perhaps,” he replied, smiling too, “but I think I learned on the mossy -fields of old Ireland, that I was born a dancer.” - -Afterwards they went out on the balcony together, the night air cooling -their faces. Below was the garden, for this was the rear of the house. -It was dark and silent without, but the strains of music floated -through the open windows and the light from within fell on her. - -He took something from his breast and pressing it to his lips, held it -out to her. - -“Will you wear it, my lady,” he said softly, “the symbol of an -unfortunate country and—of a loyal heart?” - -She looked at it strangely, it was a piece of shamrock. Perhaps she -meant to refuse it, but she saw Savile coming and a malicious imp -leaped into her eyes. She took it and tried to fasten it in her hair -but her fingers faltered, and Savile drew nearer; the music, too, -heralded another dance. - -“Permit me,” said Richard Trevor, and deftly fastened the shamrock -where the rose had been, that slipped and fell between them on the -floor. - -Lady Clancarty’s face was crimson. Trevor knelt on one knee and taking -up the rose kissed it. - -“A fair exchange,” he said. - -She bit her lip and stretched out her hand to snatch the flower. - -“You will dance with me now, my lady?” said Lord Savile. - -“You were long in coming,” replied her ladyship wickedly, with mock -eagerness, but not without a backward glance to see the effect of it; -but the coquette was disappointed. - -At her words, the Irishman let her flower lie where it had fallen, -and in a few minutes she saw him dancing with the pretty daughter of -a country squire. Lady Clancarty liked it so little that she set her -teeth on her lip and gave my Lord Savile a bit of her temper. Yet she -wore the shamrock, though half the room began to comment upon it. - -It was morning when the great rout broke up and the stream of coaches -began to move again. The crowd had stayed; they knew my lord duke’s -generosity and that the broken meats from that fête would keep them for -a sevennight, and they waited to pour at last into the kitchenway and -come out heavy-laden; they were there when the great people went away -in their coaches and chairs. - -Lady Sunderland was already in her chair and her daughter was coming -down the stair with a throng of followers, but it was Richard Trevor -who walked beside her. - -“The rose I would not take from the ground,” he whispered, “I am no -beggar of crumbs—but the shamrock—” - -She smiled and her bright eyes looked beyond him at the throng below. - -“The shamrock!” he murmured. - -It was not in her hair; had she thrown it away? A step lower down and -she held out her hand and dropped the sprig into his. - -“A poor thing, sir, but ’tis yours,” she said, “and you were long in -claiming it,” she added, laughing softly. - -At the moment a wreath of flowers, cast from the balcony above, fell -lightly on her shoulders, and she stood laughing, the petals showering -her and falling all about her feet. - -He kissed her finger tips gallantly. - -“The Queen of the Rout is crowned!” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -AN IRISH DEFIANCE - - -MELISSA stood meekly before her mistress. - -“My Lady Sunderland’s compliments, madam,” she said, with her usual -purr; “will you play basset to-night?” - -“No,” replied Lady Clancarty; “many thanks; but tell my mother that I -am to have guests, and my purse is too thin for basset.” - -As the door closed on Melissa, Lady Clancarty rose from her -dressing-table. - -“I will wear the pink flowered brocade, Alice,” she said. - -Alice opened her eyes. “Oh, my lady,” she remonstrated, “it is too -lovely; I thought you meant it only for the king’s levees.” - -Her mistress smiled. “May not the king come here—if he chooses?” she -said mischievously. “The brocade, Alice.” - -Unconvinced, Alice brought the garment, a beautiful and costly thing -frosted with rare lace, and as she helped Lady Betty put it on she was -more and more impressed with its charms. - -“Oh, my lady,” she murmured, “you do look lovely in it—’tis too fine -by half.” - -Betty craned her neck backward, looking over her shoulder into the -glass; the folds of the sheeny satin fell about her, the bodice fitted -like a glove, displaying every curve of her well-rounded form, and -it was low cut, revealing a neck and shoulders like snow. The beauty -smiled. - -“Bring me my string of pearls,” she said. - -Alice brought them without a word and helped her fasten them about her -throat. Betty looked into the mirror again and then fell to fingering -the bracelet on one round arm. - -“Alice,” she said, half laughing, “he is here.” - -The handmaid started, looking at her in wonder. - -“Who, my lady?—not Lord Clancarty?” - -“The stranger we met in the woods at Althorpe,” her mistress replied, -“who would have kissed me for a milkmaid.” - -“Indeed, madam, I think he would as lief kiss you as a queen,” Alice -said blushing, “the bold gallant! He is here—and who is he?” - -Lady Clancarty clasped and unclasped her bracelet while the roses -deepened in her cheeks. - -“He is called Richard Trevor,” she said softly; “a pretty name, Alice, -Richard—rich-hearted, lion-hearted—like our great Plantagenet.” - -Alice looked at her in bewilderment. Lady Betty had as many moods as -April: did she mean to fall in love, at last, after all her loyalty to -that unknown and terrible exile? Alice wondered. But saying nothing she -stooped down, instead, to smooth the shining folds of the beautiful -gown. - -“Go fix the candles, Alice,” Lady Clancarty said, with a soft little -sigh, “and place a table for cards—and the lute and guitar—place them -there also. Presently my guests will be here.” - -The handmaid obeyed, too perplexed by this new mood of my lady’s to -venture on the smallest observation. She had arranged the room with -simple taste when Lady Betty entered it a few moments later. It was not -as large a room as her mother’s, but it was furnished, too, with an -open fireplace where a single log burned, for the nights were chilly. -Candles were set on the mantel and the table, while through the open -door came the buzz of conversation, for Lady Sunderland was deep in a -game of basset with Lady Dacres and his Grace of Bedford. Betty did not -disturb them but observed them from a distance, noticing her mother’s -rouged face and nodding headdress, and Lady Dacres’s pinched and eager -features. The old dame was as keen as any gamester. The mother and -daughter had so little in common that they seemed like strangers, and -the younger countess stood looking at the log in deep thought when -Richard Trevor was announced. As she courtesied, she gave him a quick, -keen glance, but made nothing of that bold handsome face of his, though -quick to note the distinction of his appearance and bearing, those of a -man used to courts as well as camps. She saw it all at a glance, as she -had seen it at first, but she chose to receive him with cool politeness. - -“You play basset, of course, sir?” she said demurely. - -But he saw the pitfall. - -“I’m too poor, madam,” he replied smiling. “I can remember hearing an -old courtier tell how he lost his fortune to King Charles at basset.” - -“I trust the king gave it back to him,” she said quickly. - -“He made him a lottery cavalier,” rejoined Mr. Trevor calmly. - -Betty smiled scornfully. “And for such a king men have died!” she said -significantly. - -“Ingratitude is only human at the worst,” he replied, laughing softly, -“and you know, ‘the king can do no wrong!’” - -Lady Betty put her finger on her lip, with a glance toward the -card-players. - -“You are right,” he said, regardless of her caution, “’tis quite -useless to die for any king. There is only one thing worth dying for, -and that—is supremely worth living for, too.” - -“And it is not a king?” she commented thoughtfully, “or a queen?” - -“A queen, yes,” he admitted, “but the queen of hearts. The only thing -worth living for,” he said, and his voice grew deep and tender, “and -dying for, my Lady Clancarty, is—Love.” - -She blushed and her eyes fell. He had the most compelling glance she -had ever encountered. Those eyes of his would enthrall hers, and she -looked away. - -“I never heard of any man dying of it,” she remarked, with a bitter -little laugh. - -“That’s because a wise man would rather live for it,” he said; “what -exquisite torment for a man to die and leave it behind him—in the -shape of a lovely widow.” - -“Ah,” said Lady Betty, with a roguish smile, “therein lies the sting!” - -“Precisely,” admitted the Irishman; “if there’s one thing that could -bring me back to this vale of tears it is my successor!” - -“I have heard that in India the widows are burnt on the funeral pyres,” -she remarked, a glow of amusement in her eyes; “you might arrange it so -for the future Mrs. Trevor.” - -He shook his head disconsolate. “She’s sure to be a woman of spirit,” -he said; “I couldn’t get her consent.” - -Betty shrugged her shoulders. “After all you have said of love you -can’t find a woman to die for it?” - -“I would rather she lived for it,” he said, with his daring smile, “and -for me!” - -“Men are purely selfish,” she retorted with fine indifference, “it’s -always ‘for me’; hadn’t you better dream of living for her?” - -“I do!” he replied promptly; “faith, if I didn’t dream of her I should -immediately expire—she’s the star of my life.” - -“Oh!” said Lady Betty, in a strange voice, “it has gone as far as -that?—she is French, I suppose?” she added with polite interest and -elevated brows. - -“I never inquire into the nationality of divinities,” he said coolly; -“she’s an angel, and that’s enough for her humble adorer.” - -“You Papists are fond of saints,” remarked my lady, tapping the floor -with her foot. - -“And sinners,” he admitted. - -Betty turned her shoulder toward him. - -“What color are her eyes?” she asked, playing with her fan. - -“I can’t look into them at this moment,” he replied with audacity, “but -I hope to tell you later.” - -She flashed a withering glance at him. - -“They are brown,” he announced coolly. - -Anger and amusement struggled for a moment on Lady Betty’s face, and -then she laughed and dropped her fan. - -He stooped to pick it up and something green and shrivelled fell before -her. Lady Betty put her foot on it. He handed her the fan with a bow. -The voices in the other room rose a little in a dispute. - -“What are they saying?” she asked, swaying her fan before her face. - -He listened and smiled. “They are talking of Lady Horne’s divorce,” he -said; “what is your ladyship’s view of it?” - -She hesitated—and there is a proverb! - -“You are a Papist,” she said, “do you believe that a marriage—even a -foolish one—is indissoluble?” - -“Certainly I do,” he replied piously; “perish the thought of severing -the tie!” - -She reddened. - -“So, ’tis ‘for better or for worse’!” she said bitterly, “and usually -for worse.” - -“‘Until death us do part,’” he quoted piously again. - -Lady Betty started and turned from red to white. - -“’Tis a horrible idea,” she said, with a shudder,—Lord Sunderland -would have heard her with amazement,—“no escape for a poor woman who -has been ensnared into a wretched union!” - -“A wretched union,” he repeated slowly, a change coming over his face, -“a wretched union; are all marriages so wretched, my lady?” - -“A great many of them,” she retorted tartly, and he could only see the -curve of her white shoulder and the back of her head. - -He knelt on one knee and began to look around on the floor with an -anxious face. After a moment she looked at him over her shoulder. - -“What is it?” she asked, blushing and biting her lip. - -“My shamrock,” he said, peeping under the table with an air of -perplexity. - -“Do you always carry vegetables with you?” she asked witheringly. - -“I have—since last night,” he retorted, still searching. - -“And you dropped it here?” she asked innocently. - -He passed his sword under a chair and drew it back slowly over the -floor. - -“Yes,” he replied, in a tone of deep anxiety, “’twas here.” - -She moved to the other side of the fireplace. - -“Is that it?” she asked, coolly pointing. - -He pounced upon the withered sprig and kissed it, and rising stood -looking at her. - -“But,” he said, and a daring smile played about his mouth; he took a -step nearer, “but some marriages are made—in heaven.” - -“And others—” Lady Clancarty pointed downward with a wicked smile. - -“Ah,” he answered, “those are of earth, earthy; but when love steps in, -then, my lady, then—” - -“There comes my Lord Savile,” she said, and smiled sweetly. - -“Damn him!” he muttered beneath his breath. - -The door opened to admit Lord Savile and Mr. Benham, and her greeting -was cordiality itself. - -“Here’s a gentleman who has staked all his fortune on his gray mare and -lost it!” Mr. Benham said, his hand on Savile’s shoulder, “and he has -done nothing but weep for it.” - -“Saint Thomas!” exclaimed that nobleman, “I’m not the first to stake -all on a woman and lose.” - -“Leave the saint out of it, my lord, when you put the sinner in,” said -Lady Betty. - -“Oh, Saint Mary, there goes my last crown!” came from the other room in -the shrill lament of Lady Dacres. - -Both Savile and Trevor laughed. - -“Change the sex of your saint and you have an honorable example,” -remarked Trevor, as he picked up the countess’ guitar and began to -finger it lightly. - -“I’m a ruined man,” said Savile recklessly, “unless that fickle -dame—Fortune—smiles on me to-morrow.” - -“You ought to call her a fickle mare, my lord,” suggested Lady Betty -artlessly; “when Fortune runs upon four legs it must needs be more -fleet than upon two.” - -Lord Savile looked into her eyes with a smile. - -“If love were kind, fortune might fly, my lady,” he said daringly, but -very low. - -Lady Clancarty flushed hotly as she turned to greet a newcomer, Sir -Edward Mackie, one of Devonshire’s gentlemen; a young fellow with a -round, boyish face, who had worn his heart upon his sleeve until he -lost it to Lady Betty. But so ingenuous was he, so frankly generous and -devoted, that she gave him now her sweetest smile. - -Meanwhile, Mr. Trevor still tuned the guitar, but he had heard Savile’s -whisper to my lady and had watched her face with keen and searching -eyes. Young Mackie brought news for Lady Clancarty. - -“Your brother has come,” he said eagerly, “my Lord Spencer; I have -just had the honor to wait upon him. Very proud I am too, my lady, -for is he not one of the new lights of the party, and one of the most -learned young men in Britain?” - -She shrugged her white shoulders laughing. - -“He is all that, Sir Edward,” she said, “and more—much more,” she -added with a droll expression of despair. - -“Much learning doth make him mad,” said Mr. Trevor smiling. “I have -known such cases on the Continent.” - -“’Tis instructive,” Betty admitted, smiling at Sir Edward’s boyish -face, “but ’tis dry.” - -“Give me a fine horse, a fine woman, and fine music, and all the books -in England might burn,” said Benham. - -“Oh!” said Lady Betty, and she lifted her brows with a contemptuous -glance. - -“In sequence, according to your valuation of them, sir,” remarked Mr. -Trevor, with a cool smile, “a poor compliment to the sex. But music -expresses something—something only—of the beauty and charm of a fair -woman.” - -“Sing to us, do!” interposed the countess, “I despise comparisons.” - -“To hear is to obey, my lady,” he replied, beginning at once to play -the sad wild air that made her start and change color. - -Would he dare to sing that here? she thought, her heart beating hard; -would he dare? How little she knew him! In a moment his rich tenor -voice, a voice of peculiar charm and timbre, filled the room and even -startled the card-players. - - “’Tis you shall reign alone, - My dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - ’Tis you shall have the golden throne, - ’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, - My dark Rosaleen!” - -He sang the wild ballad through to the end, and as he ceased, Lady -Betty turned to him and smiled, applauding softly. But she said -nothing, although young Mackie was openly delighted, and Lady -Sunderland exclaimed that it was a marvellous fine performance of a -poor song. - -“’Tis an old ballad, madam,” Mr. Trevor replied courteously, “and -perhaps a poor one, but dear to the Irish heart.” - -“Sing an English one next time, sir, or a Dutch—la—yes, your Grace of -Bedford, we grow to love everything Dutch.” - -Lord Savile meanwhile, with his hands thrust into his pockets and his -face flushed, lounged nearer to the singer. - -“A very pretty performance,” he said, with an insolent drawl, “worthy -a tavern musician. By Jove, sir, the tune is pestiferous here; an -Irishman and a cow-stealer are synonymous.” - -Richard Trevor smiled, his gray eyes flashing dangerously. - -“And English noblemen are often cowards, and liars to boot, sir,” he -said in an undertone, his hand still on the guitar. - -“I am at your service,” said Savile, in a passionate voice. - -Trevor glanced warningly at Lady Clancarty. - -“Elsewhere, my lord, with pleasure,” he said, still smiling, “I might -add with joy.” - -Lady Sunderland came in now with her guests; she had won at basset and -was in high good humor. - -“A song,” she cried, “another song.” - -Her eyes sought Trevor and he bowed gravely. - -“At another time, my lady,” he said; “now I must wait on a friend, who -has the first claim upon me. My ladies all, good-night,” and he bowed -gracefully, a certain merry defiance in his glance. - -Lady Betty held out her hand involuntarily. - -“I thank you for the ballad,” she said and smiled. - -He carried her hand to his lips and, it may be, kissed it with more -fervor than courtesy required, for the rosy tide swept over her white -neck and her cheeks and brow. - -As he went out, Lady Sunderland tapped her fan upon her lips. “Don’t -tell it,” she said, with the coquetry of a girl of sixteen, “don’t tell -it, but la!—he has the finest figure I ever saw, and the legs of an -Apollo.” - -“’Pon my soul, madam, that’s a compliment that’s worth dying for,” Mr. -Benham said, with a peculiar smile at Savile. - -Betty seeing it, went over and stood staring into the embers on the -hearth, though she pretended to be talking to young Mackie. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -A NIGHT OF PORTENTS - - -ALICE was combing Lady Betty’s hair late that night. - -The two girls were in Betty’s bedroom, a solitary taper burning on the -table. In this rosy twilight both faces showed indistinctly. Betty’s -finery lay upon a chair near by; she wore only a flowing white robe -over her night-rail, and one rosy foot, out of the slipper, rested on -the rug. Her luxuriant hair falling about her almost hid her face, and -her eyes were fixed pensively upon the fire. Meanwhile, Alice stood -behind her combing and brushing her hair with hands that actually -trembled, while her face was very white. If Lady Clancarty had looked -at her, she would have divined some trouble, but as it was she was only -aroused from her revery by the girl’s unwonted awkwardness. - -“Dear me, Alice!” she exclaimed, “that is the third time you have -pulled my hair. I shall be as bald soon as Lady Dacres without her -perukes. What ails you, girl?” - -“I’m nervous,” Alice said, her voice breaking suspiciously, “I can’t -help it.” - -Lady Betty tossed back her hair, snatched up a taper and looked at her -sharply. - -“Nervous?” she exclaimed, “why, you are naturally as tame as any -barnyard fowl. Nervous! Why, your eyes are sticking out of your head. -What is it, girl? Hast met your friend the parson again?” - -“No, no,” faltered Alice, with a little sob. “I—I overheard some talk -between two gentlemen to-night in the hall—and it scared me.” - -Betty laughed merrily. - -“Fie, Alice, fie!” she cried, “an eavesdropper! What horrible thing was -it they said? Mercy on us, girl, you look as if they plotted bloody -murder!” - -“So they did, madam,” Alice said soberly. - -Lady Betty stared. - -“The child’s demented,” she remarked, shaking her head. - -“That I’m not,” Alice replied bluntly, wiping a tear from her pale -cheek, “but I hate to think of one of them dead—for some folly, too.” - -“Oh, ho!” said her mistress, setting down the taper, “now I -understand—there is to be a duel;” then suddenly her mood changed. - -“Who were they?” she demanded sharply. - -Alice began to show reluctance and her eyes avoided Betty’s. - -“Two guests of the inn, madam,” she said, averting her face. - -But Lady Clancarty caught her arm and turned her to the light. - -“Out with it, Alice,” she said imperiously, “I will know.” - -“It was Lord Savile,” the girl said slowly, “and—and another—a -stranger.” - -“Our stranger of Althorpe, Alice?” Lady Betty said, a sudden -indefinable change in her whole aspect. - -Alice nodded sullenly. - -Her mistress stood quite still for a moment, pressing her hands -together. She had shaken her hair about her face again, so that it -was concealed. There was something in her attitude so unusual, in the -silence, too, of the room, where only the fire crackled, and in the -girl’s own nervousness, that quite overcame Alice. She began to cry. - -“They fight to-morrow,” she sobbed, “in the meadow beyond the grove of -limes—at sunrise.” - -“Who are their seconds?” Lady Betty asked, in a strangely quiet tone. - -“Mr. Benham, so I heard them say, and a young fellow with a face like a -boy. He was to act for the stranger because he had no friends.” - -“Young Mackie!” said Lady Clancarty. “You heard this and did not tell -me, Alice? I find it hard to forgive you.” - -“But why should I?” cried Alice trembling, “what could your ladyship -do?” - -Betty gave a strange little laugh. “You shall see what I will do -to-morrow,” she said quietly, “for you shall go with me.” - -“Go where, my lady?” Alice asked in surprise. - -“To the meadow behind the limes,” replied her mistress calmly; “there -I shall go to-morrow, at sunrise, and stop this folly. It began in my -rooms, Alice, over a ballad, and I have no mind that it shall end in -bloodshed.” - -“Indeed, madam, I think you are in the right,” said Alice simply, “but -what can we do? They will never listen to a woman!” - -Lady Clancarty shut her lips firmly, and held her little bare foot out -to the fire, warming it. - -“I fear you cannot stop them,” Alice went on; “Lord Savile was very -fierce, but the other gentleman—oh, madam, I feared him more! he was -so cool; and those eyes of his—they are like steel.” - -“So they are,” said Betty absently, “and hath he not a handsome face?” -and she looked pensively into the fire. “To-morrow we shall go, Alice, -to-morrow at sunrise, and I shall stop this duel—I will stop it, if I -have to go to the king!” - -But the little handmaid did not reply; she was watching her mistress -with an anxious face. She did not know the meaning of this new Lady -Betty, and some hint of impending trouble weighed upon her. She was -country bred, too, and timid, and the thought of the gray dawn with the -shadowy trees looming through the mist and only the flash of steel to -illumine the scene, made her tremble. But Betty, usually so observant -and sympathetic and light hearted, did not heed her; she was suddenly -self-absorbed, pensive, quietly determined. She went to the window and -peeped out into the night. - -“How many hours until sunrise, Alice?” she asked. - -“Six, my lady,” the girl replied with a sigh, “and I wish it might be -sixteen!” - -Betty laughed, a strange little embarrassed laugh, coming back and -sinking on her knees before the hearth, the firelight playing on her -lovely face, and the shadowy masses of her hair, and the gleaming white -of her draperies. - -“I cannot sleep,” she said softly; “I cannot sleep—I am not fit for a -soldier’s wife!” - -Alice shuddered. “Indeed, my lady, I’d as lief marry a butcher!” she -cried, with such genuine horror and disgust that she moved her mistress -to merriment. - -“There, my girl, I told you so,” cried Lady Betty, “you were meant for -that same parson.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MASTER AND MAN - - -MEANWHILE, under the same roof, but in far different quarters, the -young Irishman called Richard Trevor was talking to his servant, the -same who had led his horse up and down in the inn-yard under Lady -Betty’s window. The room—an attic one—was scarcely ten feet square, -and almost devoid of furniture; there was a pallet, a table, and two -chairs; and a mat of braided straw at the foot of the master’s bed -served for the man’s. A single candle burned low in its socket on the -table, and here Richard Trevor sat with some writing materials before -him, but he was not writing; he leaned back in his chair and listened, -with his amused smile, to the glib talk of his attendant. - -“Faix, sir, they be afther charging more here for a bite of mate or -a dhrap of liquor thin in anny ither place in th’ kingdom,” said the -man dolefully; “I’ve bin afther minding yer lordship’s insthructions -about the money, an’ by the Powers, me stomach is loike to clave to me -backbone.” - -“We can starve respectably, however, Denis,” said his master smiling, -and turning the contents of his purse out on the table; “a small sum -for our needs, but it must serve,” he added, counting the money with a -reckless air; “besides, one of us may die before we come to the end of -it.” - -“We’ll be afther doin’ it here, yer honor,” said Denis gloomily, “from -an impty stomach. Betwane th’ landlord an’ the ranting, tearing Whig -gintry in th’ stable-yard, sir, I’m clane daft.” - -“So they’re all for the king in possession, are they?” said Trevor, -in an amused tone; “I hope you’ve heeded my instructions to keep your -tongue quiet in your head and mind your own business.” - -“Faix, me lord, I’ve bin afther minding mine, but they’re afther -minding it too, th’ ill-favored thribe!” - -“That is because you are an Irishman, Denis; they know that at once.” - -“Indade, yer lordship’s mistaken intirely; they’ve no idee at all that -I’m a Munster man,” said his servant, with an air of satisfaction, -“divil a bit of it! Sometimes I’m a Frenchy an’ sometimes I’m a -Dutchy—but an Irishman niver! Lady Clancarty’s woman—a sly divil -with a pair of eyes that be winking etarnally—she’s bin swate to me. -By the Virgin, sir, she’s bin afther thryin’ to sound me about yer -lordship. She looks at me and purrs, for all th’ wurruld, loike a big -white tabby, an’ says she, ‘You’re an Irishman, sir!’ ‘Divil a bit, me -darlint,’ says I, ‘I’m a Dutchman, born at th’ Hague and me mither was -forty-first cousin, wanst removed, to th’ king’s grandmither,’ says I. -‘Ye don’t tell me!’ says she, and her little pale eyes blinked loike a -candle in th’ wind. ‘An’ what’ll be yer name, sir?’ she asks, as swate -as honey. ‘Mynheer Tulipius,’ says I, for I couldn’t think of anither -name for th’ life of me. ‘La, sir,’ says she with a simper, ‘you look -loike a tulip, to be shure.’ ‘So I do, me darlint,’ I replied, and I -thried to make up me mind to kiss her, but, bedad, sir, I couldn’t -do it; there’s something about her that sinds the cowld creeps up me -spine.” - -“You’re a great coward, Denis,” said his master smiling, “afraid of a -woman! It’s a new fault in you, and one that I did not expect. As for -this creature, what were her questions about me?” - -“‘Yer master’s an Irishman, Mynheer Tulipius,’ says she, ‘that we -all know fer a fact.’ ‘Is he, indade?’ says I, with the greatest -amazement; ‘’tis the first time I iver heard it,’ says I; ‘he was born -in London and his fayther was one of Gineral Cromwell’s Ironsides.’ -‘Ye don’t say so,’ says she, ‘how iver did he get on so well at Saint -Germain thin?’ and she blinked a hundred times in a second. ‘Saint -Germain!’ says I, opening my eyes wide; ‘indade, they were so cowld -to him there that he was afther laving before he got there,’ says I, -‘it’s quite well known,’ I wint on, as slick as silk, ‘that whin the -man Jimmy Stuart, rayalized that my masther was in France he put on -a shirt of mail an’ niver took it off at all, even av he was aslape -in his ruffled silk night-rail, for fear he’d be kilt on th’ field of -honor.’ ‘Is that so?’ says she; ‘an’ thin p’r’aps ye’ve met me Lord -Clancarty out there?’ ‘Clancarty?’ says I, squinting hard with wan eye, -‘there was a gintleman of that same name hung jist as I was afther -laving Holland—mebbe he’s yer friend?’ By Saint Patrick, me lord, you -ought to have sane her stare! She sthopped winking thin, an’ looked -loike a cat that’s sane a bird; on me sowl, sir, I looked to see av -there wasn’t a furry tail swinging behind, to wurk th’ charm on me. -‘Clancarty hung?’ says she, clapping her hand to her heart, ‘what for?’ -‘Faix, I don’t know, me darlint,’ says I, ‘unless it was for being too -much of a Whig.’ ‘Pshaw!’ cries she, stamping her foot, ‘ye’re a paddy -fool!’ ‘Niver a bit,’ says I, ‘I’m a Dutch wizard, me darlint; just -let me be afther telling yer fortune.’ But away she wint in a towering -rage, an’ left me with me heart broken intirely at the siparation.” - -“I fear you did not deceive her,” said Clancarty, with a laugh, and -he unsheathed his sword, running his finger along the blade. “My old -friend needs polishing, Denis,” he added, with his careless air of good -humor, “I’ve a duel on my hands for the morning.” - -The Irishman’s face sobered in an instant, and he cast a look of -concern at his master. - -“I’m sorra for it, me lord,” he said, with an honest ring in his voice, -“ye’ve no friends here.” - -“Except you, Denis,” said his master kindly, “and if I fall, all -my effects are yours—and—” he paused an instant and then laughed -recklessly, “and you can tell the widow.” - -“She’s a foine lady, me lord,” said Denis artfully, “’tis a pity to -throw away yer life now.” - -“She’s a woman to die for, Denis,” exclaimed his lord, a sudden glow -passing over his face; “but I shall not die—faith, I’ve fought too -many duels to die in one.” - -“There’s always loike to be wan too many, yer honor,” said Denis -gravely, “and wan thrust of th’ sword and th’ house of Macarthy loses -its head.” - -The young man laughed recklessly. - -“And a beggarly exile dies,” he said bitterly. “I fear you are not a -man of courage, Denis; I think I’ve heard of you in the retreat from -Boyne,” he added, with a laughing glance at the dark-faced, sturdy -Irishman. - -“Ah, sir, that was the fault of me shoes, an’ I blush for it,” Denis -replied. - -“Your shoes,” repeated his master, “and wherefore your shoes?” - -“’Twas afther this fashion, me lord,” said Denis gravely; “there was -a scamp of a shoemaker in Dublin that was accused, an’ rightly as I -b’lave, of being allied with the Powers of Darkness, and he was afther -making me shoes. About that time money was scarce, sir, as ye know, -in spite of King James’s brass pieces, and it was glad I was to get -the shoes at all, without bein’ over an’ above particular about the -maker. So whin Danny O’Toole says to me that he’ll make me a blooming -pair of boots an’ thrust me fer the money, niver a thought had I av -the divilish plot he was afther laying aginst me honor. ‘Make ’em -aisy,’ says I, ‘for me feet are sore with the chasing of the English -an’ the Dutch.’ ‘Don’t ye worry,’ says he with a wink, ‘I’ll make ’em -so aisy they’ll walk off without ye,’—and faith, so he did! They were -the beautifullest shoes, me lord, and they fitted me loike the skin -on a potaty, and as fer walking in ’em, they niver touched the ground -unless they stuck fast in a bog, and that wasn’t often. I niver had -such a pair of shoes, nor such comfort, and all wint along as smooth as -lying—until that cursed day of the battle of Boyne.” - -“A day when a good many Irishmen had no shoes, Denis,” remarked his -master, “or lost them in running—to our eternal shame!” - -“That wasn’t what happened to me, my lord,” said Denis regretfully; -“’twas a black day fer Ireland; yer lordship niver spake a thruer -word! But, as fer me, my shoes had bin running away from me so—the -very divil seemed to be in ’em—that I cut some stout thongs of hide -and bound those boots to me legs before I wint into the battle, fer, -thought I, av I don’t I’ll be afther losing them, the jewels! I was -right in the thick of it, an’ a hot day it was, as yer honor knows, -and but for that divil of a Dutchman that they call king, we moight -have won, but he drove his men through the river loike a demon! Well, -sir, I was right in the thick of the carnage; I’d jist cut a clane -swathe through the Dutch Blues, and I was daling death and desthruction -on ivery side, following in th’ thrack of Sarsfield, whin, all of a -suddent, me shoes turned me around and comminced to run. I was beside -meself with the shame of it, me lord. I cut at those thongs with my -sword an’ I swore an’ called on the saints and the divils, but niver -a bit could I get those boots off, and away they ran, loike the wind, -splash through the mud and the mire, and they niver sthopped until we -reached Dublin; but, my lord,” Denis lowered his voice and winked one -eye, “even my shoes didn’t get there—before King James!” - -“Alas, no,” said his master sternly, “it was a king we lacked,” and he -rose and walked twice across the room, his face darkly clouded. - -His man watched him keenly, with an expression of deep concern and -simple affection,—the humble devotion of a faithful dog. - -“You will clean my sword and call me an hour before sunrise, Denis,” he -said; “I will snatch some hours’ rest, even if it happens to be my turn -to-morrow,” and he laughed as he began to cast off his garments with -his servant’s help. - -Denis shook his head sadly. “Ah, me Lord Clancarty,” he said with a -break in his voice, “’twould be a sad day fer me, and you are so ready -to die with a smile on your lips. Ye were iver so, but ye’ll break a -heart some day, me lord, jist as recklessly—an’ ye’ll forgive me fer -saying it.” - -“There is not much that I would not forgive you, old Denis,” said the -young nobleman kindly, “we’re old friends and tried. But what have I to -live for at best, unless it be the headsman’s block? I am a proscribed -and penniless outlaw, Denis; if, by any chance, I am recognized, I go -to the Tower. I have no friends here; not even my wife knows who I -am—and why should she? It seems but folly to think of her, when I have -only an exile’s life to offer her—I am a fool, a wretched fool!” - -“Indade, me lord, ye greatly misjudge a woman av you think she’ll be -afther counting yer money—or the costs ayther,” said Denis quietly; “a -woman niver thinks of it, bless her heart, she jist falls in love, and -thin to the divil with prudence or wisdom ayther. And, by the Virgin, -me Lady Clancarty is none of yer cowards. I’ve sane the spark in her -eye, me lord, and if it plazes her, she’ll fight yer battles, sir, to -the ind of time.” - -Lord Clancarty smiled. “Exactly, Denis,” said he, “but if I do not -please her?” - -Denis was on his knees, drawing off his master’s shoes. - -“She’d be a blind woman, thin, sir,” he said, “and faix, I’ll wager me -lady knows a foine man whin she sees wan. But, pshaw, sir, by to-morrow -night ye may be stark and stiff and ready for the churchyard,” and -Denis shook his head dolefully. - -The earl laughed, throwing himself upon his hard bed. - -“Put out the taper, Denis,” he said, “we’ll hope for the best. If -I can’t live for my lady, at least I can die for her—with a light -heart,” and he turned his face to the wall with a laugh. - -Denis wiped his eyes on his sleeve and wagged his head again and again, -his mind on the morrow. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -LADY BETTY TAKES THE FIELD - - -THE sun had not yet risen: earth and sky were softly gray and brown, -with green where the meadows lay, and purple in the shadows. Morning, -like a white flower with a heart of gold, opened in the east. Shafts -of light—the sun’s gold-tipped arrows—quivered on the distant hills, -while the vapors, smokelike and fantastic, floated along the level -lands and the trees loomed spectre-like. - -It was chilly, too, with the chill of dawn in the early autumn, and -Lord Clancarty and young Mackie were muffled in their cloaks as they -walked across the fields together. The Irishman was smiling, in his -usual daring fashion, but the younger man was sober and even nervous as -he listened to him. - -“I have to thank you, Sir Edward,” Clancarty said, “for standing by a -stranger, but I should look for no less at your hands.” - -“I am very glad to serve you, Mr. Trevor,” the young man replied, -blushing like a girl, “I thought Lord Savile’s attitude toward you -quite unwarranted.” - -“We Irishmen do not look for courtesy at the hands of our conquerors, -except in a few rare instances,” Clancarty said; “but it is due to -you, Sir Edward, to tell you that my name is not Trevor; I assumed it -for convenience only; I am the proscribed exile, Donough Macarthy of -Clancarty.” - -Young Mackie stopped short with a gasp. - -“Lady Clancarty’s husband!” he cried, turning deadly pale. - -Lord Clancarty bowed. “The same,” he said smiling, “and in telling -you, I confide in your honor not to reveal my identity—even to Lady -Clancarty, unless I fall, and then—I would have her ladyship know that -she was free.” - -But young Mackie had not yet recovered his composure; he stared at the -earl strangely. - -“Does she not divine your identity?” he asked, and the pain in his face -was so easy to read that Lady Clancarty’s husband smiled again. - -“I think not,” he responded; “but we must go on unless we would be -tardy at keeping the tryst.” Then he glanced sharply at the boy, “I -take it for granted that you are willing to stand by me; if not—I -fully pardon you, Sir Edward, and I can go alone.” - -Young Mackie’s face crimsoned. - -“Nay, my lord,” he said bluntly, “I did not offer to stand by you for -love, but for honor’s sake, and now—I will—for her sake,” and he -raised his hat reverently. - -Lord Clancarty bared his own head and kissed the hilt of his sword. - -“For her dear sake, sir,” he said; “so let it be, I love you for it,” -and they walked on in silence. - -They passed through the grove of limes and entered the field. As they -did so, the sunbeams, sloping from the hills, fell on the tree tops, -but the long meadow was in the shadow. The sweetness of new-mown hay -was in the air; there was a glint of white blossoming still upon the -hedgerow, and beyond, the red brown of new turned earth and green, the -green of the turf and the hawthorn. - -Across the meadow from the farther side came Lord Savile and Mr. -Benham, and as the two parties approached they saluted courteously. -Clancarty was smiling, gracious, perfectly at ease, but his opponent -scowled sullenly; some instinct—a brute one doubtless—made him hate -this daring Irishman. Sir Edward, full of boyish importance, beckoned -Mr. Benham aside. - -“Can’t we adjust this difference, sir?” he asked; “there is a serious -reason why they should not fight.” - -Benham stared at him coolly. “To be sure, so I supposed,” he drawled -indifferently; “but Savile will give you twenty reasons why they -should.” - -“For all that, we might adjust it honorably,” urged Mackie, with -feverish anxiety. - -“Pshaw, man, we can’t!” said Benham, with contempt; “they’re both in -love with the same woman. You are inexperienced, sir,” he added aloud, -smiling scornfully. “Measure the paces, Sir Edward; the sun is rising, -and the advantage will lie then with the man whose back is toward -it. We will draw lots, sir, so—ah, Lord Savile has drawn the best -position,” and he laughed complacently. - -Young Mackie, crimsoned with confusion and annoyance, made no further -effort at a compromise; instead he busied himself with the weapons and -in helping Lord Clancarty strip off coat and waistcoat. Then the two -men confronted each other, sword in hand, and as they did so the sun -looked over the horizon and the meadow suddenly lay in a golden mist as -the sparks flew from the steel. - -This was the picture that Betty saw floating in a golden haze, two -strong, lithe figures swaying lightly from side to side and the flash -of their naked swords at play. - -“For shame!” she cried, thrusting their weapons aside with her own -white hands, “for shame! So, there is no better cause for a fight than -a song?” - -At the sight of her the two men stepped back in sheer amazement, -sinking their sword points in the ground at her feet. - -“Ay, shame on you both!” she cried with sparkling eyes; “’tis but a -pretty fashion of murder—and I’ll none of it! Put up your weapons, -gentlemen, for he who draws his here is my friend no more!” - -Lord Savile’s sword leaped into its sheath, but Clancarty kissed the -hilt of his and handed it to Lady Betty. - -“Madam, my honor is involved,” he said, “and I place it in your hands.” - -The color rose in her cheeks and she turned on Savile. - -“My lord,” she said wilfully, “I heard it all, and ’tis you who should -ask pardon.” - -Savile flushed darkly and folded his arms. - -“My lady,” he said, “my sword is at your service, but you ask too much -now.” - -“Ah, you will not trust me with your honor, my lord,” she retorted, -with a little laugh. - -“Nay,” he replied testily, “a man may not grovel to his foe.” - -“Oh,” said Lady Betty, and she glanced at him archly, “is your -reasoning quite sound, my lord?” - -Savile bit his lip; he saw Lord Clancarty smile and brush a fallen leaf -from his sleeve with elaborate care. - -“Come, come,” interposed Mr. Benham, “let there be peace, since my lady -wills it; and here, too, is young Mackie pining to mediate. My lord, -we cannot quarrel before a lady,” and he spoke a few words very low in -Savile’s ear. - -Betty, meanwhile, stood between them, holding Clancarty’s sword in her -hand; her tall young figure outlined in the heavenly morning sunshine, -and the glory of the day in her eyes. - -“To put up your sword is naught, my lord, unless there be peace,” she -said, smiling ingenuously, “pshaw, what a petty quarrel! ’Tis like two -women over a cup of tea or a new gown,” and she shrugged her shoulders -prettily. - -Lord Savile crossed over to Clancarty. - -“Your hand, sir,” he said, and then, as he clasped it, very low, -“another time and another place.” - -“I am always at your service,” replied Clancarty with a scornful smile, -and he took out his handkerchief and wiped the palm of his right hand. - -The gesture made Lady Betty smile and bite her lip, though she had not -heard the undertone. - -“Faith, the morning is so lovely that it augurs a peaceful day,” she -said, with her sweetest manner. “Gentlemen, you are all bidden to join -my Lady Sunderland and me at eleven for a cup of chocolate before we go -to the races.” - -“Who could refuse?” Mr. Benham said gallantly; “when men make peace for -your sake, my lady, what would they not do?” - -But Lady Betty’s quick eye caught the gloom on the boyish face of young -Mackie. She held out her hand. - -“Sir Edward, you will take me home to the inn?” she said. - -He colored like a girl and involuntarily glanced at Lord Clancarty; -then catching his lordship’s falcon eye, he bowed in deep confusion. - -“I’m only too happy, my lady,” he said. - -She stood quite still, her bright eyes on Lord Savile and Mr. Benham. -Then she pointed with her finger toward the farther end of the field. - -“Yonder,” she said, “one combatant and his friend retire, and,” she -turned quickly, pointing in the opposite direction, “yonder, the others -go!” - -Clancarty laughed. “A safe device, my lady,” he said, “but I could not -fight without my sword.” - -She blushed prettily and held it out to him. - -“I forgot, sir,” she said. - -He took it gracefully, kissing the hand that gave it in spite of her -quick frown of displeasure. - -Lord Savile bowed profoundly, his hand on his heart. - -“Madam, I obey,” he said gallantly, and retreated with Mr. Benham in -the direction she had chosen, and at the same time Lord Clancarty went -in the other, leaving Lady Betty alone in the field with young Mackie. - -Hovering in the distance was the muffled figure of Alice, who had -accompanied her mistress to the grove of limes and halted there, with -her fingers in her ears, lest she should hear the clash of swords. - -But Lady Betty saw her not, nor the glory of the day, nor the green -of hedgerows and fields, nor the blooming daisy at her feet. Her eyes -followed the figure of Clancarty, and there was a shadow on her face. -She shivered and drew her cloak about her. - -“Come, Sir Edward,” she said, “we must run for it; I am a truant, and -Lord Spencer will put me upon bread and water if he finds me upon such -errands, and faith, sir, I deserve it!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE INN GARDEN - - -BETWEEN two vases that overflowed with scarlet geraniums, the worn -stone steps of the inn-yard descended directly upon a gravel path in -the old garden. The path—flanked on either side by tall hedges—wound -completely around the garden and through the centre, in a kind of true -lovers’ knot, in the loops of which were all old-fashioned flowers; -pale tea roses—the last of September’s bloom—and mignonette; pansies -and rosemary grew there, and the blue of larkspur. Only a few windows -looked out upon it, and it was a secluded spot where the sun shone -and the pigeons flocked. So still was it, in the farther corners, -that there was scarcely a sound but the soft “kourre, kourre!” of the -feathered visitors. - -Here Lady Betty walked slowly, her hands behind her, her head a little -on one side, as she talked to Clancarty, whom she still knew only as -Richard Trevor. She was dressed in white, a bunch of red flowers at her -belt and red plumes in her hat, and either its broad brim or her mood -cast a shadow in her eyes. They were softer, more pensive, and less -sparkling than usual. - -“I was only eleven years old, sir,” she said, “a mere baby, and I have -never seen Lord Clancarty since. How should I know how he looks? Is not -my curiosity pardonable? Pray, Mr. Trevor, describe him.” - -Her companion had been watching her keenly and now he smiled. - -“I’m poor at descriptions, my lady,” he said calmly, “but take my word -for it, Clancarty’s a handsome man.” - -“About your height, sir?” asked Lady Betty, casting a quizzical, -sidelong glance at him. - -He took time to consider. “Very nearly, I should think, Lady -Clancarty,” he said, “and straight as an arrow—with a good head and -keen eyes, a fine nose, a firm chin—oh, a very handsome rascal, madam, -and quite unworthy of you.” - -“Indeed,” said Betty, amused; “you take the side, then, of my family; -they too believe him unworthy.” - -“He is unworthy, madam,” said the disguised nobleman gravely, “he is -unworthy; but, in spite of that, I can’t advise you to cast him off. -But for his skill as a swordsman I should have lost my life; I am -therefore, of necessity, his true vassal, Lady Clancarty, and I must -plead his cause.” - -Lady Betty’s face changed and she made a petulant gesture. - -“No one can plead it, sir,” she said sharply, “he should plead it -himself.” - -“He should indeed, madam,” he said earnestly, “but how? Many things -keep back a proscribed exile and a beggar. How can he plead his cause -with the heiress of an earl, a beautiful and gifted and wealthy woman? -What can he offer her? A life of exile, poverty, and obscurity? My Lady -Clancarty, any proud man might well pause.” - -But Betty’s chin was elevated, her eyes scornful. - -“The pride is, of course, all on his side, sir,” she said coolly; -“there is naught to be said for her. How, think you, does a woman feel -who is deserted by her husband? Ay, more, who is unacknowledged by -him—unclaimed!” - -He started and looked at her earnestly. - -“You are right, madam,” he said, “it is a grievous fault. I despise -my Lord Clancarty for it, but I know that the day will come when he -will sue for your forgiveness with all his heart. And he has never -known you. He has been in battles, in sieges, in exile, in poverty, in -illness, and he was but a lad when you were wedded. My lady, I can say -no more, even for him; I would fain say it for myself—but for him.” - -She flashed a startled, wondering look at him; her heart stood -still—after all, was he? was he not? She did not know, but his eyes -held her; she blushed, palpitated, shrank like a mere child. From the -first, she had thought this man her husband, but now—? An awful doubt -shook her soul. Could it be that he was not? She put out her hands with -a strange gesture as though she would hold him off. - -“’Tis fourteen years, sir,” she said, “and he has never written me one -word—or to my family for me.” - -“That is not true,” he replied gravely; “I know, from Lord Clancarty’s -own lips, that he has written to your father within a short time, ay, -madam, twice since the Peace of Ryswick.” - -“Ah,” said Lady Betty, for a light broke in upon her, and she thought -of the tall old man walking in the gallery at Althorpe, “I never knew -it,” she added quietly, “my whole family opposes any mention of—of my -husband.” - -She pronounced the word with a soft adorable hesitation, blushing -rosily up to her very ears, and his eyes glowed as he looked at her. -They turned a loop of the gravel walk and passed Melissa, who huddled -against the hedge, courtesying low. Betty scarcely glanced at her. - -“Then there is no one to plead my friend’s cause but your own heart, -Lady Clancarty,” he said quietly, “your own heart and the tie that must -plead for itself a little. I have no eloquence to match the occasion, -willingly as I serve my benefactor.” - -“I tell you plainly, sir,” she retorted, “that I will hear only one -suit, and that is from him; nor will I, mark you, promise to hear that -favorably. Love, sir, is not cold and a laggard and full of excuses. If -I am worth having I am worth winning.” - -“Madam, I am constrained to tell the truth,” he said in a tone of deep -emotion; “I believe that Lord Clancarty would die to win you.” - -“Die, sir,” she said archly, “rather live. Dead he could not win me.” - -“Ay, and ’twould be the bitterness of death to lose you,” he said; -“’tis so—even to think of it!” - -The break in his words made her heart beat fast, but she was mistress -of herself now. - -“Especially after fourteen years of absence,” she mocked wickedly. - -“Fourteen years in purgatory, madam,” he replied, his tone full of -pathos, of powerful emotion under restraint; “and when the poor exile -sees at last the gates of paradise!—ah, my lady, you will not close -them in his face?” - -She bowed her head a little, looking pensively at the ground. A -thousand emotions swept across her charming face. Then she looked up, -her eyes dancing with mischief,—arch, naughty, daring. - -“A singular paradise for my Lord Clancarty,” she said, “a paradise -with a Whiggish Protestant wife in it, and a Whiggish Protestant -mother-in-law, and the greatest Whig in England for a brother-in-law. -Sir, I need enumerate no more.” - -The Irishman laughed a little bitterly. - -“Madam,” he said, with daring tenderness in his tone, “you know not -what love is! Who would count the cost—who loved? By all the saints, -my lady, love burns away both politics and creeds; death itself is -beaten by it—and hell! Ah, to teach you how to love. ’Twould be worth -purgatory!” his gray eyes flashed, his strong face set itself sternly. - -Lady Betty looking at him drew her breath hard; she was almost -frightened. Here was a nature she could not conquer and she could not -scorn. She bit her lip and looked steadily away, her heart beating in -her throat. - -“If Lord Clancarty came here,” he said after a moment, in a constrained -voice, “would you see him? would you listen to him?” - -She hesitated; she no longer believed that this man might be her -husband; he had succeeded in misleading her, and her whole soul was -tossing and burning in the fire of a new and passionate emotion, but -she tried to think. - -“I would see him, yes,” she said with white lips, glancing defiantly at -him, “he is my husband.” - -His eyes darkened and his face changed; she could not read it. They had -come back to the old stone steps. At the top appeared Lady Sunderland -and Lady Dacres, too far off as yet to be heard. - -“He shall come, then, my lady,” he said very low, looking straight into -her eyes, “he shall come—if he dies for it.” - -Lady Betty’s face was as white as her gown, and her fingers trembled as -she swept her skirts aside on either hand and courtesied gracefully. - -“I bid you adieu, sir,” she said, and walked up the steps just as Lady -Sunderland called out sharply,— - -“Betty, Betty, come and take tea with us, my love, and teach Lady -Dacres that old game of ‘Angel Beast’; she hath forgotten it. La, how -white you are, my dear; a touch of rouge and a patch—you look like a -ghost.” - -“I am, madam,” said Lady Betty. - -And the two dames stared. - - * * * * * - -That night the ruthless Lady Betty awakened her attendant. - -“Alice,” she said, “hast ever heard the legend of King Arthur?” - -The poor handmaid yawned. - -“Nay, madam,” she replied sleepily, “who was he?” - -“A king of long ago, Alice,” Lady Betty explained, “I have heard the -legend from my old Welsh nurse, and part of it relates to his wife, his -queen. She was very beautiful, and she had never seen the king when the -marriage was arranged.” - -“Oh, mercy on us, madam!” exclaimed Alice, “and she didn’t know what -he looked like?” - -“Not at all,” declared her mistress, “and she set out with all her -maidens to go to his kingdom to be married—” - -“Indeed, my lady, couldn’t he come for her—like a decent civil -gentleman?” asked Alice rousing up. - -“No, no, he couldn’t come,” said Lady Clancarty, “but he sent his best -friend, a brave and noble knight, to meet her, and she—she thought he -was the king in disguise and—and she fell in love with him, and when -she found out her mistake, and that the king was wholly unlike this -knight, she couldn’t love her husband—she loved instead his friend.” - -“My goodness, Lady Betty, how improper!” said Alice horrified, “his -friend was a false man—and no true knight!” - -Lady Betty had been sitting on the edge of Alice’s bed but she rose now -and stood quite still, her white figure showing in the darkness. - -“But, Alice, she was so beautiful, so fascinating—he couldn’t help it, -he loved her!” - -“He could help it,” said Alice stoutly, “he stole her love from her -husband! He could help it, just as a man can help stealing a horse.” - -Betty gave a little gasp. - -“And the queen?” she said faintly. - -“She was a very wicked woman, madam,” declared the moralist, shaking -up her pillows vigorously. “They do say that King Charles had an awful -court; perhaps it was the fashion.” - -“Perhaps it was,” admitted Lady Betty, and crept softly back to bed and -wept salt tears in solitude. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MY LADY SUNDERLAND TAKES TEA - - -A SMOKING teapot and some cups of India ware adorned a table of -polished mahogany, the very best tea service in the possession of the -landlord of the Lion’s Head. And before it sat Lady Sunderland and -her intimate, Lady Dacres. Opposite, Lady Betty was stirring a cup -of chocolate. There was a little black patch on her white forehead -and another on the tip of her rosy chin, and her gown of gold-colored -paduasoy became her well. - -A servant brought in a tray with some glasses and a bottle of -usquebaugh, and served the elder dames, who had been pretending to sip -tea. The two worthies were just from the cockpit and had won forty -pounds between them. Lady Sunderland, in a flowered brocade, with a -painted and patched face, could do nothing but simper, and even old -Lady Dacres grinned placidly, while the younger countess watched them -from under her dark lashes and made no comments. - -“La, Betty, there never was such an obliging man as young Savile,” said -Lady Sunderland, sipping her usquebaugh; “he ran about at the cockpit -to wait upon us, and his wit—take my word for it, we’d have lost fifty -pounds but for his judgment of the birds.” - -“Oh, he knows whose mamma to wait upon!” said Lady Dacres, with a sly -wink at her friend; “how sweet the young fellows are to the mother of -such a daughter.” - -Lady Sunderland tittered. “There was a time when I thought it was the -mamma and not the daughter,” she said, with a simper; “but now it’s, -‘How’s Lady Clancarty?’ and ‘Where’s your ladyship’s daughter?’ and ‘My -compliments to the fair Lady Elizabeth.’ La, how the beaux smirk and -bow!” - -“Now’s your chance, Betty, dear,” said Lady Dacres; “don’t make ’em -dance too long, my girl, we can’t be young but once.” - -Betty gave her a cold stare. “I’m already married, madam,” she said, -and pushed the bottle nearer to the elbow of the old peeress; “take -another drop, my lady, ’twill sustain you under the blow.” - -Lady Sunderland set down her glass and fixed her daughter with an -irate eye, but before she could give voice to her wrath they were -interrupted by the entrance of Lord Spencer. He came in with an air -of cool elegance, faultlessly attired, and bowing gracefully to the -three women, kissed his mother’s hand, and took his place with his back -to the window, overlooking them with an air of superiority that was -peculiarly exasperating to his high-spirited sister. - -“La, my dear, what a happy woman you are,” Lady Dacres said, in an -audible aside to Lady Sunderland, “to be the mother of two such -beautiful children. ’Pon my soul, Spencer would have broken my heart at -eighteen!” - -“Nay, you would have broken mine, madam,” Lord Spencer replied -gracefully. - -She giggled and took another draught of usquebaugh, following Lady -Clancarty’s suggestion. - -“Tell us the news, Spencer,” said Lady Betty impatiently, with a -contemptuous glance at the old woman. - -“The king is better,” said her brother, with a drawl, “and the Princess -of Denmark did not go out to-day because of a quarrel with Lady -Marlborough.” - -“Poor soul, she’s little better than a slave,” remarked Betty -scornfully; “is that all?” - -“No; the news of the day is the duel. It has just come out that Sir -Thomas Compton shot and killed his brother-in-law last Tuesday.” - -Lady Sunderland gave a little scream of surprise. “What? Shot Lord -Fraunces?” - -Spencer nodded gloomily. - -“And wherefore?” demanded his sister. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“Because he was a traitor,” he said coolly; “he kept his horse saddled -in his stable ready for flight, and two grooms at his beck; this made -Compton suspect him. So he went down to Deptford, on pretence of seeing -his sister, and he found the fellow was in league with the French party -and—There was a quarrel and he shot him. There’s an article about it -in the _Post-Boy_.” - -“The cold-hearted brute!” cried Betty; “his poor sister loved her -husband dearly. Where is she?” - -“Mad as Bedlam,” replied her brother coolly; “a man must do his duty, -even if it kills his sister.” - -“Oh, I suppose so,” said Lady Betty, rising, “he must stab her to the -heart and glory in it—for his party,” she added mockingly; “a fine -spirit, sir, I admire it!” - -“So do I,” he replied pompously, staring at her with hard eyes; “a man -must do his duty, like a Spartan, to his king, his conscience, and his -party. There are examples enough in the history of Greece and of Rome, -lofty—” - -“Nonsense!” cried Lady Betty vigorously, “to the wind with your -examples. Give me a noble heart, a Christian life, a brotherly love, a -willingness to live and die for high purposes. Poor Lady Fraunces!” - -“Oh, never you mind, my dear,” put in old Lady Dacres, with a titter, -“she’ll get over it. Grief doesn’t kill; her mother had three husbands -and—” she whispered a scandal behind her fan to Lady Sunderland, who -was so overcome with her wit that she rocked with laughter, wiping the -tears from her eyes. - -“Your sympathy is quite absurd,” said Spencer, looking straight into -Betty’s eyes. “Sir Thomas did his duty. I would have sent a traitor -brother-in-law to the block, madam, quite as cheerfully.” - -“And your sister also, I presume,” she replied, courtesying -profoundly; “from my heart I thank you, my lord.” - -“Oh, la, Betty, drink your chocolate and don’t be a fool,” said her -mother petulantly. - -Betty smiled sweetly. - -“I thank you,” she said, “I have quite finished it. I will send some -more to my Lord Spencer,” and she walked out of the room with her head -in the air. - -Half way across the hall she met a servant, the Irishman Denis. He -stopped her with a bow, one hand on his heart and an air of great -secrecy and gallantry, and he handed her a letter. She took it as -silently, and when she reached her own door she hid it in her bosom for -she knew that Alice Lynn was there. The girl had been folding up her -ladyship’s finery and looked up at her entrance. - -“Everything is ready now, my lady,” she said, “and if it pleases you, I -will go into town a little way to buy that ribbon for you.” - -“Certainly, Alice,” Betty assented with alacrity, “and here is the -money; and stop, too, at the haberdasher’s and buy some more of that -silk; and here, my girl, get some pink ribbon for that Sunday frock of -yours, I will have you look your best.” - -Alice courtesied and thanked her, blushing with pleasure. - -“You are so dear a mistress to me, madam,” she said tenderly, “I am not -half worthy of it.” - -Lady Clancarty patted her cheek. - -“Do you love me, Alice?” she asked pensively. - -“Dearly, madam,” said the girl, simply, “and I would serve you—as my -family served yours—faithfully forever.” - -Lady Betty sighed. - -“I may need it,” she said, and busied herself examining some lace and -ribbons that Alice had just laid aside. - -“I trust you may need nothing but my love and service, madam,” -Alice said; “may happiness and love and honor ever attend my dear, -dear lady,” and she went on talking cheerfully of the fair day, the -sunshine, and the gay scene without, for she saw a shadow on the -countess’ face and it troubled her loyal heart. - -But Lady Clancarty said not a word. Instead, her eyes avoided the -girl’s honest glance; she blushed and paled like a guilty thing, but -an adorable smile trembled on her lips. Not until Alice went out, -closing the door behind her, did Betty move. Then she shot the bolts -and drew forth the paper from her bosom; she looked over her shoulder, -smiled, carried it half way to her face, started, and held it off -again, opening it, at last, under the window. The sheet was closely -covered with writing and she read it eagerly, and her hands quivered so -that the paper shook, and she fell on her knees beside the window and -leaning her arms upon the sill, buried her face upon them. She knelt -there a long time, the sunlight touching her hair and the beautiful -curves of her shoulders. After a while she rose, and going slowly to -the mirror stood looking at herself, the crumpled paper in her hand. -Her face was white as snow but beautiful, with quite a new and tender -beauty. She scarcely knew herself, even when she smiled, nodding at her -own reflection. - -“’Tis he!” Lady Betty murmured to the mirror, laughing softly, “’tis -he! Oh, my prophetic heart—I knew it!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -MY LORD CLANCARTY - - -THERE was a ball that night at Newmarket, but Lady Clancarty did -not go, in spite of the commands and entreaties of Lady Sunderland. -The elder countess was particularly anxious to display her handsome -daughter at the assembly, and nothing could exceed her anger and -chagrin at the younger woman’s obstinacy. By afternoon the quarrel -waxed so hot that Betty pleaded illness and went to bed, as a last -resort, and stayed there, too, in spite of her mother’s rage. Lady -Sunderland, who in a passion could forget herself and use such language -as only a fish-wife or a woman of fashion could command, heaped -recriminations on her daughter, and screamed and chattered and swore -a little, too, for my lady was a pupil—and an apt one—of the court -of Charles the Second. But Lady Betty was more than her match in wit -and strength of will, and she won the victory. When the hour for the -ball arrived, her mother had to go with Lord Spencer and leave her -daughter calmly ensconced in bed, defiant and triumphant. The Countess -of Sunderland’s chair was brought to the inn door, preceded by the -link-boys with their lanthorns, and the lady was helped into it by her -son, her very headdress quivering with rage and the color of the paint -upon her cheeks enhanced by the flush of anger. - -“The minx!” she exclaimed to Spencer, “I don’t believe she’s ill at -all; it’s nothing but her obstinacy and some fancy she has about that -scapegrace, Clancarty. The saucy little baggage defied me, and looked -as lovely as any nymph all the time! Your father must see to it—there -must be a divorce from that creature, or next thing, she’ll run away to -France with him; she’s equal to it, the little wretch!” - -“Never, madam,” said Spencer solemnly, “I’d see her dead first—before -she disgraced the family!” - -If the truth be told, this was too much for the countess; she gasped -and stared uneasily at this self-righteous young man, who certainly -resembled her as little as he did the versatile and unprincipled -Sunderland. - -Meanwhile, the invalid at the Lion’s Head had miraculously recovered -and dressed herself with the assistance of Alice, who viewed the whole -proceeding with amazement and distinct disapproval. She knew that Lady -Clancarty had not been ill and she looked upon the stratagem as an -unworthy deceit. Her mistress, reading her as easily as an open book, -understood the girl’s mood and said nothing to her. Instead, she set -her the task of lighting the candles in the room where she received -her guests, and seeing that the servant replenished the wood fire and -drew the curtains. Finally she came in herself, a charming figure in -pink, with a single rose in her hair. Finding everything arranged to -her satisfaction, she dismissed her attendant and waited quite alone, -standing before the hearth and gazing pensively at the fire. Though she -was outwardly calm, a storm was raging in her bosom. He had asked for -this interview and he was coming, and now she shrank from the thought -of this meeting with sudden trepidation. She bit her lip and stared -into the fire, but her hands quivered and her heart beat almost to -suffocation. She had thought of this moment many, many times—girlish -day-dreams of her lover and husband coming to claim her—but she -had never pictured anything like this. A proscribed rebel, who was -forced to see her secretly, and the man himself—ah, that was it! Here -was a powerful personality that she had never imagined; there was -something in his eyes, his voice that drew her to him with so strange -a fascination that it frightened her. She knew just how he would look, -just the flash in his gray eyes, the deep tones of his voice, before -she saw him enter. She struggled with herself when she heard his tread -in the hall and knew it—and she was listening with strained ears, when -the door was opened for him. But Lady Betty was not one to show the -white feather; she drew her breath hard and straightened herself, and -then she opened that fan of hers—a beautiful affair from one of the -India houses in London—and she swayed it to and fro shading her face. - -Lord Clancarty came into the room with a springing step, his face -flushed and his eyes shining; he wore, indeed, the air of a conquering -hero. But, almost at the threshold, he halted and stood gazing at Betty -in amazement. She was still standing before the fire, slowly wielding -the fan, her face averted, pale, cold, her chin up. Nothing could have -been more frozen than her attitude; it chilled even his ardor, and -he stood, with his hat in his hand, and for a few moments there was -silence. Then Lady Betty broke it. - -“I received your note, my lord,” she said, in an icy tone. - -“The devil you did, madam,” he said, “I should think that I had sent -you a cartel—from your manner of receiving me! Faith, my lady, you -seem marvellous glad to see your husband.” - -A shadow of a smile flickered in Betty’s eyes. - -“A welcome kept too long grows cold, sir,” she replied. - -He took a step toward her, tossing his hat upon the table, and -something in his face made her back closer to the fire; he saw it and -stopped, smiling. - -“You do not believe in me,” he said reproachfully; “I would have wooed -you and won you, dear, but for the cruelty of fate. I am your husband,” -he added softly; “does not that plead a little?” - -“A childish contract, a mere formal mockery,” replied Lady Betty, cool -as ice, looking at him across the candles, “I should not dream of -being bound by it—no generous man would base any claim upon it, sir;” -she told this falsehood glibly, though her very soul shook under his -glance. - -The blood rushed up to his forehead. - -“Have I based any claim upon it, madam?” he asked proudly. - -This blow went home; her ladyship turned crimson and bit her lips in -silence. - -“Nay, you do not know me,” he said, and his rich Irish voice deepened -and softened with restrained emotion; “I would scorn to base any claim -upon a tie not freely made—for you were a child—but I thought,” he -paused, searching her face keenly, “I thought your husband might win -your heart, my lady.” - -She gave him a quick look, and then her eyes avoided his and she -struggled hard for self-mastery. If he had known it then—one word -more, one step farther—but he waited for her reply, and the wayward -mood came back upon her. - -“Fourteen years, my lord,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “and -then, you plead your title to my—my affections!” - -“Fourteen years,” he repeated slowly, “fourteen years less of paradise, -Betty, is not that enough punishment for me?” - -She averted her face and did not reply. He came a step nearer and she -felt his hand closing over hers. - -“Would you have come but for the Peace of Ryswick?” she asked, looking -up into his eyes. - -He smiled. “If we had won before,” he replied, “if we had only won—I -would have come, a victor, to claim you. Betty, I did not know you, I -had never pictured you as you are! I went to Althorpe like a thief in -disguise, to see you, and from that moment in the greenwood, I loved -you—I love you madly now!” he whispered, and she felt his breath warm -on her cheek. - -She did not dare to look at him now. - -“I love you,” he said softly, “and—does my wife care nothing for me?” - -Before she realized it he had his arm around her, his lips almost -touched hers. Then she broke away from him, her eyes flashing, her face -on fire. - -“You go too far, sir,” she cried angrily, “you say you base no claim -upon our relation, and then—and then—” she stopped, her breast -heaving, tears in her eyes. - -He smiled. “And then? I would have kissed you,” he said, “by Saint -Patrick, I would give a kingdom—if it were mine—to kiss you, but I -will not force you to it, Lady Clancarty!” - -“You dare not!” she flashed at him angrily. - -His eyes blazed. “I dare not?” he repeated, “forsooth, madam, that is -an ill word to use to Donough Macarthy; I dare—anything! But I want no -woman against her will. I wouldn’t give that, madam,” he snapped his -fingers, “not that—for you without your heart!” - -She was silent for a moment, but the expression of his face, his -masterful manner, stung her pride and angered her. - -“You are a proscribed traitor, my lord,” she said angrily, “how can you -ask me to share your life?” - -His look withered her. - -“Madam,” he said, “I ask for your love. No loving woman ever thought -of valuing her husband by his misfortunes. I am a beggar and an exile, -my lady, and I have done wrong to sue for your heart. I see that—like -your father—you value men by their positions in the world!” - -Her face was crimson. “You insult me, my lord!” she cried passionately. - -“Did you not insult me?” he asked bitterly; “do you not infer that I -only ask you because I am broken in fortune and name—a bankrupt? But -look you, my lady, I cringe at no rich man’s door for his daughter!” -he paused, and his red-hot anger suddenly turned to ashes; his eyes -dwelt on her with an affection that moved her deeply; “I love you,” -he said, “I would have sued for your heart on my knees—but, madam, I -will take scorn from no one—not even from you. In exile, in illness, -in suffering, I have often thought of you—your face shone like a star -upon me, your pictured face, Betty, and when I saw you, ah,” he paused, -looking into the fire, “I love you still—but you are Lord Sunderland’s -daughter. He has scorned the ruined Irishman, and you—you scorn me -too, it seems. Farewell, my lady, you are my wife—but henceforth I -seek you no more. If you love me, ’twill be for you to tell the exile, -the proscribed traitor, so.” - -Betty threw out her hands wildly. - -“You wrong me, sir,” she protested faintly; “I did not mean to reproach -you with poverty; I—I spoke in anger.” - -But he stood like a statue. - -“You do not love me,” he said, his deep voice quivering, “and mark you, -Lady Clancarty, I will have nothing but your love—your love; I shall -take no less! I love you, you are my very own, my wife,” his tone was -masterful, “but I, who love you, I will not sue for your heart. I am -too poor, madam, I will not ask you to share an exile’s lot, you are -too great a lady,” he took his hat from the table and bowed profoundly. - -He longed to catch her in his arms and kiss her, but he was too proud; -he bowed and she courtesied low, and in the dim light of the candles he -could not see the pallor of her face, he could not hear her heart beat. -Pride met pride. - -“I bid you farewell, my lady,” he said, and bowed himself out of the -room. - -And Betty fell upon her knees beside the table and laid her proud head -down upon it and wept as though her heart would break. - -“Oh,” she sobbed to herself, “I am a beast, a heartless little beast,” -and then she wept again, this being the manner of women. - -And she did not see the door of Lady Sunderland’s room open -noiselessly, upon a tiny crack, stay so a moment, and then close again -as silently. She neither saw nor heard it in the passion of her grief. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -AT THE TOY-SHOP - - -THE star of Lady Clancarty’s fortune for that week at Newmarket was an -evil star. For it was the very day after that fateful interview with -her husband, a day that dawned after a night of repentance and good -resolutions, that another straw turned the tide against reconciliation. -Lady Sunderland’s party had spent the forenoon at the theatre, and on -their way to the race-course they stopped at Master Drake’s toy-shop on -the promenade; a shop famous not only for the toys and trinkets of a -kind that amused the women of fashion, but for the tea that he served -in a little room in the rear, which was divided into stalls like those -in coffee-rooms. Here both beaux and belles congregated to sip tea, and -gossip, and raffle for some choice toy from India. - -The shop, recently replenished by its wily proprietor, was a glittering -mass of novelties and almost vied with the famous India houses of -London in its collection of Oriental articles. Here were hideous -dragons of porcelain, snuff-boxes with jewelled lids, and canes of -the latest fashion, jars of snuff and pulvillo, and bottles of rare -perfumes, gilded flasks of cut glass, boxes of patches ready cut for -the cheeks and brows of the beauties, ivory combs and fans of wonderful -and beautiful design, delicate tea-sets and many bits of Dutch china, -first accepted because of the example of Queen Mary, gloves and laces -and even India shawls. Here, too, were toys, jewelry, cogged dice, -masks, dominoes and vizors, and here, as in London, the discreet -toy-men handed _billets-doux_ back and forth and made appointments -between the beaux and belles; and here many a meeting took place, and -many a momentous question was settled for all time, either in the -toy-shop itself or in the stalls behind it, where the world of fashion -reigned. - -My Lady Sunderland and my Lady Dacres were no sooner there than they -were plunged in the excitement of a raffle for a hideous china dragon, -and almost came to blows for the possession of the treasure. But Lady -Betty, quite indifferent, stood apart talking to a group of gay young -people near the entrance. My Lord of Devonshire was there, and the -Marquis of Hartington, and in their train, young Mackie, upon whom -the Countess of Clancarty smiled; and there, too, was Lord Savile, -who had been at her elbow all the morning and would have declared his -passion for her had he dared. And she was in a reckless mood; her eyes -sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and she laughed and jested, though her -heart ached. - -The king was well enough to be present at the race in the afternoon -and all the world was agog to see him. The throng at the toy-shop grew -greater as the people stopped on their way from the theatre to the -track, and the group at the door grew larger with Lady Betty in the -centre of it, sparkling and flushing and laughing, the picture of a -beautiful coquette. - -“All the great men go up to Parliament next Wednesday, Lady Clancarty,” -said Mr. Benham, “and we shall see your brother shine as the bright -particular star of the Whig firmament.” - -“A star—a constellation rather; the Little Bear of the party,” laughed -Lady Betty roguishly; “what will you do this season, my Lord of -Devonshire?” - -The great man smiled benevolently upon the beauty. - -“Whatever your heart desires, madam,” he replied gallantly. - -Betty flashed a quick look at him. - -“Will you indeed, my lord?” she asked archly; “what if I should ask a -great boon—even half thy kingdom?” - -Devonshire looked at the beautiful, flushed face and marvelled. - -“Even that, dear Lady Betty,” he replied courteously, “even that.” - -“I have your word, my lord,” she said, and laughed softly. - -“And mine,” murmured Savile, in her ear, “you have not asked—but it is -the whole of my kingdom.” - -“Ah,” she said, and gave him a roguish glance, “I do remember—but not -your entire trust in my decision!” - -He blushed crimson. “I upheld my honor then,” he murmured, looking into -her eyes; “my heart is yours—to break at will!” - -Her expression changed, changed so sharply that he looked around, -following the direction of her glance, and saw the face of the man he -hated—the Irish Jacobite. Lord Clancarty stood just within the door, -his eyes holding Betty’s against her will. Savile heard her quick gasp, -saw her hands flutter, and he thrust himself between with a black look -at Clancarty. But Lady Betty, trying to collect herself, met young -Mackie’s eyes and saw that he knew. The blood rushed to her temples but -she laughed. - -“My lord,” she said to Devonshire, “does your horse run to-day? or my -Lord Savile’s gray mare?” - -Devonshire smiled. “Both, my lady,” he said, “and Savile will be a -bankrupt before night—in all but love, I suspect.” - -“A poor substitute for a full purse, my lord,” she said recklessly, -without taking thought of her words until she felt rather than saw -Clancarty’s grave look at her. “I mean,” she stammered, “in my Lord -Savile’s case—” and then she stopped, covered with confusion. - -Never had Lady Betty made so many mistakes, but young Mackie came -valiantly to her aid. - -“Have you heard the rumor that the King of Spain is dying?” he asked -innocently. - -“He has been dying for a long time,” remarked Mr. Benham laughing, “and -the King of France and the emperor are dying of anxiety.” - -“Precisely, and but for our king there would be a war for the -succession within a week,” said Devonshire thoughtfully; “as it is, the -peace of Europe hangs by a thread—the narrow thread of a sickly man’s -life.” - -“Yes,” put in Betty, herself again, “and Parliament is for cutting down -the military establishment.” - -Devonshire smiled. “The people do not love a standing army, Lady -Clancarty,” he replied. - -“No,” she responded quickly, “they would perhaps prefer a French fleet -in the Thames.” - -“Some of ’em would,” said Savile sullenly. - -“No, sir, you are wrong,” declared Devonshire, “no Englishman -would—not even a Jacobite—when it came to that. You remember how the -southern counties rose to repulse Tourville’s squadron in ’90?” - -“You are in the right, my lord; no true Briton has ever thought of -seeing his country under the heel of Louis,” said Clancarty, suddenly -taking part in the conversation. - -“Some traitors—who are not Englishmen—would, Mr. Trevor,” sneered -Savile, with an emphasis on the name. - -The disguised earl shot a fierce glance at him and smiled dangerously. - -“Little dogs snarl when they dare not bite, my lord,” he said suavely. - -“Since the famous peace, sir, all the renegades and cutpurses talk -loud,” replied Savile, in an insolent undertone. - -“Cowards always insult men in the presence of women,” retorted -Clancarty smiling. - -At this moment they were interrupted by a movement of the throng, some -passing out, and my Lady Sunderland, having won her Chinese dragon from -all competitors, bore down upon them flushed with triumph, and the -chairs were called. - -Betty stood a moment at the threshold. Clancarty was beside her, his -face quite grave. She looked up; the impulse was in her heart to speak -and their eyes met but his were cold. - -“You choose wisely, my lady,” he said, in a bitter undertone, “a full -purse is better than a beggarly love, it seems.” - -She flushed crimson. - -Savile thrust himself forward and held out his hand. - -“Permit me to put you in your chair, my lady,” he said, grace and -courtesy personified; handsome, well dressed, courtly, the very picture -of a deferential lover. - -“A thousand thanks, my lord,” she said sweetly, putting her hand in his. - -He put her in her chair and the procession started, Lady Sunderland -screaming to the toy-man about the careful packing of her dragon, and -Betty looked out smiling, more charming than ever. - -A moment afterwards, Clancarty and Savile faced each other. - -“This very evening would be propitious, my lord,” said the Irishman -coolly, “the same spot, I believe, and the same seconds?” - -“At your service, sir,” said Savile fiercely, “and damn you, I mean to -kill you!” - -“I’m beholden to you, my lord,” replied the earl, and laughed as he -walked away. - -“Ah, Betty,” he said to himself, as he passed on toward the Lion’s -Head, “is a coquette worth dying for?” and then, after a moment, he -hummed two lines of the old song:— - - “A second life, a soul anew, - My dark Rosaleen!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE DUEL - - -“DENIS,” said Lord Clancarty laughing, “in five minutes they will be -here and in ten I may be dead.” - -“Divil a bit, my lord,” said Denis hopefully, “unless you are kilt -intirely.” - -But there was a strange look in the faithful Irishman’s eyes, a look of -mute suffering. Lord Clancarty slipped a ring off his finger and gave -it to him. - -“Denis,” he said, in an even voice, quiet and cheerful, “if I fall, -take that to Lady Clancarty and tell her that she is free.” - -“Yes, my lord,” replied Denis, in a dull tone, not looking up. - -“Even if I do not fall, you will take it to her with that message,” -continued the earl, looking across the meadow at the approaching -figures of his opponent and their seconds and, perhaps, his thoughts -dwelt on that morning when Lady Betty put the swords aside. “We will -leave here to-morrow, Denis, or—” he shrugged his shoulders, “there is -little money left.” - -“Faix, we’ll have to see th’ Jews again, me lord,” said the man -dolefully; “they’re afther bein’ me most familiar friends, the jewels!” - -Clancarty laughed. - -A moment later he was bowing with ceremonious courtesy to Lord Savile -and Mr. Benham. Young Mackie came up, too, bringing a fourth person. - -“I brought a surgeon, gentlemen,” he said half apologetically; “Dr. -Radcliffe, my Lord Savile and—Mr. Trevor.” - -Dr. Radcliffe, a large man wearing a rich but old-fashioned dress and a -huge periwig, bowed gravely. He had a large practice and was famous for -a freedom of speech that had once gone so far as to offend King William. - -“I have to thank you, gentlemen, for furnishing me with patients,” he -remarked dryly; “let me beg you not to be too thorough.” - -“’Tis to be to the finish, doctor,” said Clancarty coolly, that -dangerous smile on his lips. - -“A devilish poor plan,” said the doctor, with a shrug; “it will take -more than my skill to resuscitate a corpse.” - -“We shall not expect a miracle—even from the great Dr. Radcliffe,” -replied Clancarty. - -Mr. Benham and young Mackie were measuring the ground. Denis, in the -meantime, turned his face away and looked toward the setting sun; it -may be that he was wishing for the shoes he wore at Boyne, but it is -not recorded. The clouds overhead were red and the level meadows bathed -in the slanting rays of light; long shadows fell across the scene; a -bird sang in the grove of limes. - -The two men stepped into the open, stripped of coats and waistcoats, -their white shirts showing vividly against the green background. Lord -Savile was flushed, but Clancarty’s face was singularly serene. The -signal was given; their weapons flashed, and there was the sudden ring -of steel on steel. - -Ah, ’twas a wonderful duel; afterwards, men spoke of it as a kind of -triumph in the art of duelling, and Dr. Radcliffe described it to the -Princess Anne and the Duke of Marlborough. Clancarty was an Irishman -and therefore a born fighter, though the Englishmen of that day thought -all Irishmen cowards because the poor, barefoot peasants ran before -the trained battalions of the English and Dutch. Moreover, the young -earl had served a long apprenticeship on the Continent; and in France -duelling was the breath of men’s nostrils. Clancarty fought that day -recklessly and beautifully; he was lithe and graceful as a panther, -with a wrist like steel and an eye that never faltered, and he had -met no mean antagonist; my Lord Savile was counted one of the best -swordsmen in the Guards, and hating his opponent he fought with fury. - -Steel ground on steel and the sparks flew, thrust and parry, point and -blade, stroke on stroke. The others watched in breathless admiration; -they even forgot their individual interest in the struggle and stood -gaping like schoolboys. Both men were tired, yet both played on, evenly -matched, relentless and reckless. There was a sudden thrust over -Savile’s guard and then, in an instant, Lord Clancarty’s sword snapped -at the hilt, just as Savile’s crossed it and passed into his breast. It -was over in a moment, and he lay full length on the turf and the blood -was flowing from a cut in his antagonist’s neck. - -“Oh, my lord, my own dear lord!” wailed Denis, falling on his knees, -and even Lord Savile’s face was white as chalk. - - * * * * * - -In the dimly lighted hall of the inn that night, Denis, with a lined, -drawn face, white as a dead man’s, laid something in Lady Betty’s hand. - -“Me lord’s greetings to me lady,” he said in a strained voice; “I was -to give ye that an’ say, ‘Ye are quite free’!” - -Lady Betty stared at him wildly. She read a message of calamity in his -face. - -“What is it? What has happened?” she cried. - -But the Irishman only gave her one look of deep reproach and plunged -down the stairs into the hubbub of the court. - -Clancarty’s ring and “you are free”! - -She swayed so that Alice Lynn, who came running toward her, caught her -in her arms and almost carried her to her room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -MY LORD SAVILE REAPS HIS REWARD - - -LADY SUNDERLAND was, as usual, playing cards with her crony. The game -was gleek, and Lady Dacres was determined to be avenged for the loss -of the Chinese dragon—grinning hideously from the mantel—and she was -betting and cheating desperately. Dr. Radcliffe made a third, and Lord -Spencer looked on—politely bored. - -The tapers burned brightly and Lady Sunderland simpered and nodded her -head at Dr. Radcliffe, though she would not have tolerated his society -if he had not been physician to the Princess Anne and she hoped to -extract some royal gossip from him. - -The host of the Lion’s Head came in himself, with a servant bearing a -large loving-cup of silver. The good man was flushed and obsequious and -plainly out of sorts, keeping a weather eye on Lord Spencer. - -“Will your ladyship be pleased to try this hypocras?” he said, bowing -low; “’tis of my own brewing and I’ll warrant it the finest in the -county—I had the rule from the keeper of Man’s,” and he rubbed his fat -hands together unctuously. - -Lady Dacres tasted first and rolled her eyes up. - -“Ambrosia!” she said, “oh, la—I mean nectar, don’t I, Lord Spencer?” -and she tittered like a girl of sixteen. - -Dr. Radcliffe drank some deliberately. - -“Better than the brandy you sent us this afternoon,” he remarked, with -a twinkle in his eye. - -The man grew crimson. “’Tis for a better purpose,” he stammered. - -The great physician raised his eyebrows. - -“Chut! that’s a strange notion,” he said bluntly; “it is not a good -purpose, then, to save life?” - -The innkeeper worked his hands nervously. - -“I’ve heard strange things since, your worship,” he faltered, his eye -on the young nobleman. - -“You harbor strange guests,” remarked Spencer sternly, his cold glance -transfixing the little man. - -“I can’t always know their antecedents, my lord,” said the host, redder -than ever, and in an agony of uneasiness. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Lady Sunderland, “you look as if you’d seen -a ghost. What in the wide world are you hatching now, Spencer?” - -“Oh, nothing of importance,” he replied coolly; “the Lion’s Head is -turning Jacobite, that’s all.” - -“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Lady Sunderland, with pious horror, “I -thought ’twas a noted Whig house—and the king still in Newmarket, too.” - -“Indeed, madam—your ladyship, I do protest,” put in the landlord. - -“Tut, tut!” said Dr. Radcliffe, waving him aside, “we’ll excuse you. A -dead Jacobite’s no great matter.” - -“A dead Jacobite?” screamed Lady Dacres shrilly; “you make me faint! -Here man, another glass of what-d’-ye-call-it?—hypocrite?” and she -drank it with a sigh, fanning herself. - -Spencer frowned, rising and walking to the window, and apparently -looking out into the black night beyond. The landlord, taking advantage -of his opportunity, slid out of the door with alacrity. - -“There has been a duel, madam,” explained Radcliffe, shuffling the -cards, “in the long meadow—and the provost-marshal may look into it -later.” - -“Dear, dear,” simpered Lady Sunderland, looking over her cards, “was -any one killed? I’ll raise the wager to nine shillings—oh, la—the -doctor has a mourneval!” she added, aside to Lady Dacres. - -“A young Irishman, Trevor, was desperately wounded,” replied Radcliffe; -“a splendid swordsman, but his blade broke.” - -“What!” exclaimed Lady Sunderland, “that charming young man?” she shook -her head mournfully; “his legs were beautifully symmetrical.” - -“Did he lose one?” tittered Lady Dacres, clutching at her cards with -greedy fingers; “you said nine shillings more?” - -Lady Sunderland nodded; she held three kings and hoped to win. “The -doctor has Tiddy and Towser both,” she whispered behind her fan. - -At the moment, Betty came into the room. Her face was pale but she -showed no signs of the tempest. - -“He had an ugly wound, madam,” Dr. Radcliffe said, playing a card -leisurely; “his chances of life amount to that,” the physician made a -significant gesture. - -“Dear me, Betty, come here and listen to this awful tale,” said Lady -Sunderland; “your friend, Mr. Trevor, killed—oh, by the way, who did -it, doctor?” - -Lord Spencer had turned from the window. - -“Savile,” he answered coldly, “and he did well. It seems he suspected -him—thought him a disguised Jacobite and has called him out twice to -kill him—this time he has probably done it. And now it is rumored that -the fellow is one of those excepted in the late act of Parliament. The -country is flooded with these rascals, constantly menacing its safety -and the king’s life.” - -“How romantic,” sighed Lady Sunderland, throwing her cards; “there,” -she crowed, “three kings—Meg, I’ve got you!” - -Lady Dacres replied by tossing her cards on the table with a scream of -triumph. - -“Oh, confound it!” cried Lady Sunderland furiously; “the hussy has a -gleek of aces! You’re an old cheat, Meg!” - -Lady Dacres laughed immoderately, gathering in the coin with eager -fingers. The other old gambler eyed her with fury, her headdress -quivering. Dr. Radcliffe, who knew it was the fashion to fleece the -men at table, looked on indifferently, keeping up his talk with Spencer. - -“I cannot see why Savile had to kill him for a Jacobite,” he remarked, -deliberately taking snuff from an elaborate box with the arms of the -Princess of Denmark on it; “the provost-marshal can see to them. We all -know that the Habeas Corpus Act is suspended on account of the plots -against the king’s life. Savile’s motive must have been more human than -that, my lord.” - -Spencer shrugged his shoulders. - -“He was doing a high duty, sir,” he replied pompously, “he was ridding -his country of a traitor. Savile’s a fine fellow.” - -“He’s a murderer!” said Betty sharply. - -She stood with her hand on the back of her mother’s chair and her tall -figure seemed to tower. The doctor gave her a shrewd glance. - -“You love heroics, Elizabeth,” her brother replied with a drawl, but -his face turned white—a danger signal. - -Betty did not look at him; she fixed her eyes on the doctor. - -“Will he die?” she asked, and her voice was perfectly controlled. - -Radcliffe was thoughtful and did not answer for a moment. - -“There is one chance in a thousand,” he said, “there would have been -more, but this political stir and hubbub has compelled them to spirit -him away, and a journey—” he shrugged his shoulders; “I should say six -feet of earth, madam, would end it.” - -She drew her breath sharply; to her all the candles in the room seemed -to be revolving in a death-dance. - -“He ought to die,” said Spencer piously, “a Jacobite and a renegade. By -Saint Thomas, we’re well rid of him!” - -“La, how romantic it is!” Lady Sunderland said, shuffling her cards and -glaring at her simpering rival. - -Betty walked past them and out into the anteroom, where she met Lord -Savile leaning on Mr. Benham’s arm. His neck was bound up and swathed -in lace, and one arm was in a sling. He bowed low with a white face and -languishing eyes. - -“Here’s a brave fellow half killed for love of you, my lady,” said Mr. -Benham, with gallantry. - -Betty halted; tall and straight as an arrow, her eyes sparkling. No one -anticipated the lightning. - -Savile smiled. “Dear Lady Clancarty,” he said, in a weak voice, “I am -your humblest servant.” - -“You are a murderer, sir,” she replied, in a terrible tone; “let me -never see your face again.” - -And she swept on and left them standing there in blank amazement. - -In her own room she fell on Alice’s neck in a passion of tears. - -“O Alice, Alice!” she cried, “I have driven him to his death.” - -And Alice—who had heard all that evening, in the agony of her -ladyship’s first grief and terror—Alice clasped her close, forgetting -the great distance between them and remembering only her devotion to -this beautiful and wilful creature. - -“I did not know you cared so much,” she said, “I never thought that he -might be Lord Clancarty.” - -“Ah, I felt it from the first, Alice,” Lady Betty said; “there was -something in his bearing toward me—his tone—I knew he was my husband, -I felt it!” - -“And yet—and yet—my lady, you sent him away!” the girl murmured, in a -tone of wonder. - -Betty’s head dropped. “Yes, he has gone!” she said, “gone—my own true -love—and desperately wounded, too!” - -“Yes, gone,” said Alice, venturing on a tearful remonstrance; “I can’t -understand you, my lady, I can’t indeed! One moment, you are all -tenderness for the poor gentleman, the next, you are driving him into -exile with your coldness.” - -“Exile? Oh, no, no!” cried Lady Betty passionately, “he shall not go -without me. I love him, my girl, I love him—can’t you understand? -’Twas that which made me feel so—feel that he only claimed me, did -not woo me. You are as dull as any man, Alice,” she walked to and fro, -beating her hands together, “my love, my poor love!” she sighed and -then suddenly her mood changed, she raised her head resolutely. - -“My hood and cloak, Alice,” she said quickly, “and my vizard.” - -“Madam, ’tis very late,” remonstrated the girl. - -Betty stamped her foot. “I am your mistress,” she said, “obey me—you -forget your place.” - -“Nay, my lady,” said Alice sadly, “I do not forget—but I love you!” - -Her generous-hearted mistress repented in a moment. - -“Forgive me,” she said gently, “I know it, Alice, but I cannot be -advised—I must find him.” She stopped, her face white under the hood -that the girl was adjusting: “O Alice, he may be dying!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -LADY BETTY’S SEARCH - - -THOUGH the stars were out, the night was black as pitch and the -courtyard of the inn was only lighted by the broad bands of red that -flared across it from the gaping doors of hall and kitchen, serving to -make the surrounding darkness more palpable. So it was that Lady Betty -and Alice—cloaked and hooded—nearly stumbled against young Mackie, -and would not have known him but for his exclamation of impatience. He -took them for kitchen wenches, and when Lady Betty cried out his name, -he stopped short with a gasp of sheer amazement. - -“Oh, Sir Edward, ’twas you—of all men—I wanted to see!” she cried. - -Poor Mackie, if he could have taken her at her word! But, alas, her -tone belied her words and his heart sank drearily. - -“You here, my lady!” he exclaimed, “what has happened? I am at your -service; I pray you—” - -But she cut him short. - -“Where is he?” she whispered. - -She mentioned no name, but the young man understood. - -“His servant removed him two hours ago, Lady Clancarty,” he replied -quietly, “whither, I know not. The man, a wild Irish clown, would not -trust me, though, ’pon my honor, I meant to serve—Mr. Trevor,” his -voice faltered so at the name that she was again assured that he had -divined their secret and a weight slipped from her heart. - -“Was he dying?” she asked very low, but the tremor in her voice -thrilled her listener. - -“I do not know,” he stammered, “I pray not, my lady, for he is a brave -man.” - -She laid her hand on his arm. - -“Thank you,” she said simply, “he is my husband.” - -Young Mackie bent his head and kissed her fingers reverently. - -“He also trusted me, madam,” he said, and she did not see the pain in -the boy’s eyes; “I shall endeavor to deserve it.” - -But Betty was not thinking of him. - -“I must find him,” she said shivering, “I must find him!” and a sob -choked her voice. - -Young Mackie was silent. From the kitchen came the hubbub of voices, -the clatter of dishes; while, looking over Betty’s shoulder, he saw -Spencer and Savile cross the main hall, arm in arm, their heads -together. Sir Edward knew well enough that Savile had tried to kill -Clancarty and he set his teeth, for he saw her cloaked figure sway and -quiver in the passion of emotion that shook her. He was a generous -fellow and he forgot himself. - -“I will try to find him, my lady,” he said in a low tone, glancing -cautiously at the hall door, “he can’t be very far away, he could not -travel; that man has hidden him somewhere because of the stir made by -the duel—I think his identity was very near discovery.” - -“I know it,” she said, “but how to find him—oh, Sir Edward, I must do -it! He—he may be in need of a surgeon—of care—of everything!” she -broke off wildly, and then, “Come, Alice, we must go on.” - -But he detained her. “Whither, madam?” he asked gravely, “not in a vain -search—at night—for—for him?” - -She drew herself up proudly. “Do you think I will let my husband die -thus?—and stir no finger to help him?” she asked bitterly. - -“Then you will let me go with you,” he said quietly, taking his place -beside her. - -She hesitated and quickly assented. “If you will,” she replied, “since -it is late and we are only two women—but we must make haste,” and she -ran down the old stone steps into the garden, taking the very path she -had walked with Clancarty. Mackie and Alice followed her silently, -though both were convinced of the fruitlessness of such an errand at -such an hour. - -But the night had worn on many hours more and the moon had risen before -Betty acknowledged that her quest was vain. Meanwhile, young Mackie had -patiently searched in every tavern and inn in Newmarket; he had invaded -all the alleys and byways, all the nooks and corners, and inquired -of grooms and porters and stable-men—but to no purpose. Denis had -covered his retreat with more skill than Sir Edward had looked for. If -the truth be told, the Irishman was no new hand at the business and he -understood it well, having followed Lord Clancarty in his adventurous -life, from Dublin, and later in a wild career on the Continent when -the gay young nobleman had kept pace with his fellow exiles of high -birth and slim purses, but unlimited daring. It was not the first duel -nor the first cause for flight, and Denis had spirited the wounded -man away and left no sign. Even Betty, determined and vigilant as -she was, was forced to acknowledge herself defeated, and she walked -drearily back to the Lion’s Head with an aching heart. He believed her -indifferent to him—would he ever send her a message or a token again? -Never; she was sure of it, and she bowed her head in dejection—Lady -Betty, who was never crestfallen. She and Alice crept in, at last, by -the garden way and fled to her apartments in no little trepidation, but -they fancied themselves safe when they found that Lady Sunderland had -gone to bed, to get her beauty sleep, and the woman, Melissa, slept in -her room that night, in the absence of the countess’ own attendant. - -Lady Betty did not sleep nor did she open her heart to the faithful -girl who was nearly as grieved as she was to see her trouble. She -knelt for hours by the window looking out over the moonlit garden -where the shadows were black between the hedgerows. It was a night of -agony; to know that he might be dying—dying with hard thoughts of -her indifference—almost within reach of her and yet so far. She was -his wife, she thought with sharp pain, and yet he could not send her -word—and she did not deserve it. He was dying, because Savile had -been determined to kill him: he had divined the secret, he was resolved -to remove her husband. Betty saw it all; she had wrung some admissions -from Mackie, the rest she knew by intuition. - -She had a high spirit—all her life she had had her way at last, in -spite of her heartless, frivolous mother and her selfish, brilliant -father, and this was a trial hard to bear. Clancarty was the first man -who had not done her homage, who met her on her own ground and demanded -that she should love him. Perhaps it was that which won her; howbeit, -her eyes were dim with tears as she looked out of the window and -looked, indeed, until the sun rose on another day. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW - - -IT was a small and desolate room, with bare rafters overhead, and the -wind rattling fiercely at the old casements, while Denis was trying -to keep a sickly fire of green wood alive upon the hearth. The floor -was of stone, cold and bare, save for a few rushes strewn beside the -truckle bed, and there was no light but that from the sputtering logs -and one poor taper; there were only two chairs and one small table in -the room beside the bed, but all was scrupulously clean, though barren -and chilly beyond description. - -And on the bed lay Lord Clancarty, his cheeks flushed with fever, -his hair dishevelled, his eyes shining, and his hands ever and anon -clutching at the coverlet fiercely whenever any chance movement gave -him pain. - -If the aspect of the place was poor, it was also desolately lonely; -no sound reached their ears but the rustling of the wind in the tree -tops without and the creaking of the old building itself. It was an -old farmhouse, the dwelling of the widow of a Jacobite—for England -was honey-combed with conspiracies and counter-conspiracies—and this -woman, a rigid believer in the old order of things, had the courage -to take the wounded nobleman under her roof; she could give him -shelter, but as for comforts she had none to give. Here, too, with -her connivance, Denis smuggled a young surgeon, one of the faithful, -to tend the wound that the famous Radcliffe had dressed with his own -hands on the field. The young practitioner shared the doubts of his -senior, and shook his head gravely; the wounded man might live, but he -was quite as likely to die. So, with these gloomy predictions, and the -still more gloomy aid of the solemn visaged widow, Denis was left with -almost an empty purse to guard and nurse the feverish patient. - -Stricken with profound anxieties, the faithful Irishman fed the fire, -kneeling before it, his back toward his master, to hide a face that -betrayed his feelings too plainly. On the table lay Lord Clancarty’s -cloak and plumed hat and the hilt of the sword that had served him so -ill and there, too, was his pistol primed and ready for use. He lay -watching Denis, fever flushed but in his senses, though more than once -that night his mind had wandered. - -The stillness of the place was broken by the stamping of a horse’s feet -at no great distance. - -“What is that?” the wounded man asked sharply. - -“Our horses, sir,” replied Denis, still kneeling at the hearth; -“they’re in the shed outside, me lord, an’ indade ’tis fitter fer thim -than fer yer lordship here.” - -Clancarty smiled sadly. “It matters little, Denis, and is like to -matter less. How far are we from Newmarket?” - -“Not far, sir, this house stands off th’ road ter Bishop-Stortford, -a half mile loike from the road, in a patch of timber; a very pretty -hiding-place—I’ve hed me eye on it fer a couple of wakes.” - -“You thought I would come to this, then? Ah, Denis, I fear you know me -too well, old rogue!” - -“Indade, sir, I’ve known ye from a boy in Munster, an’ I nivir knew -ye to take care of yerself. Faix, it’s a broken head ye’ll be afther -havin’ more often thin a whole wan.” - -Clancarty laughed softly, his feverish eyes on the fire. - -“Denis,” he said dreamily, “do you remember the wild rides over the -green fields of Ireland?” - -Denis bent low over the hearth fanning the blaze, fighting the damp and -the green wood. - -“I’m afther remimbering, yer lordship,” he replied hoarsely. - -“It’s a long way back, to those days,” said Lord Clancarty; “the skies -were blue then. I’m a poor devil now, Denis, and like to die—” his -voice died away, more from faintness than emotion, and after awhile he -asked for water. - -Denis rose and gave it to him, lifting his head as gently as a woman, -and as he took the glass from the wounded man’s lips he turned his own -head away—but not soon enough, a hot tear fell on the earl’s forehead. - -“Saint Patrick, Denis, I must be far gone when you weep!” Clancarty -said, touched in spite of himself, “I did not know you could, you old -heart of oak!” - -Denis brushed the moisture from his eyes. - -“I remimber an ould man in County Kerry, me lord, who nivir shid a tear -until his wife was coming out of a fit, and thin he took on loike anny -wild gossoon. He’d bin gitting ready fer a wake an’ hed ter give it all -up, and whin his neighbors accused him of it, he said he nivir wept -unless a person was gitting well, an’ thin he wept fer joy—’tis so -with me, me lord.” - -Lord Clancarty smiled, turning his face to the wall. He was deeply -touched at the simple fellow’s devotion. There was silence for awhile; -the fire crackled and leaped up the chimney, lighting up the room just -in time, for the single taper sputtered and went out. - -It was at this time that Lady Clancarty and Sir Edward were searching -the streets of Newmarket. - -Lord Clancarty turned his head wearily and looking down at his own hand -remembered. - -“Denis,” he said in a low tone, “did you give the ring and the message -to my lady?” - -Denis had his back to him again, his square sturdy outline between him -and the blaze. - -“Yes, me lord,” he answered stolidly. - -“And she?” the fever burned on Clancarty’s cheeks, his eyes shone; “how -did she take it?” - -“Very quiet loike, me lord,” replied Denis bluntly, “she wanted to -know what hed happened, but I dared not tell her ladyship.” - -“She inquired, though? she was anxious?” asked the earl eagerly. - -Denis was stubborn. “Me lord, she asked what hed happened—nothing -more. She’s a great lady, sir, and as proud as anny quane.” - -The wounded lover sighed and turned again to the wall: here was no -consolation, and in his bitterness he called her heartless. The -desolate place, his almost exhausted resources, his painful wound, -all combined to shake even his proud resolution; he was lonely and he -was desperate. In his fevered brain rose many visions of Betty, the -beautiful, the careless, charming Betty that he had known. What heart -there was beneath that beautiful exterior he did not know; but this he -knew—he was an outcast from home and friends, a desperate and forsaken -man and dangerously wounded. He was no novice in affairs of this kind -and knew well the nature of his hurt and what lack of care would do -for it. His life passed in quick review before him; its ambitions, -its wild adventures, its dark spots of reckless dissipations, and now -this end—this wretched, thwarted, forsaken end—creeping away like a -wounded beast to die alone. It might well bring bitterness to so proud -and daring a spirit as his. He cursed his fate, but it is to be feared -that he did not pray. His religion had been a matter of convenience, -like the religion of many gay young soldiers of his time. It failed him -now and she failed him too,—the woman who had taken such possession of -his heart and swept him out of the common way into a higher passion. -He loved her—and she despised him. He groaned sharply as if in bodily -pain; the faithful Irishman was at his side in a moment, but he waved -him away. His soul was wrestling with despair and with hunger for -the sight of her. He, a strong man and a proud one, in that hour of -physical agony and loneliness, longed to see her, to hear her voice -before he died—if die he must, yet he would have died rather than send -for her—such was his pride. - -The night wore on; the horses stamping restlessly in the shed, the wind -increasing in violence until the old house creaked, quivering like a -broken reed. Denis sat staring at the fire, his honest face distorted -with grief and now and then a slow tear creeping down his furrowed -cheek. The wound was a desperate one, and counting all the things -against the patient,—exposure, lack of nursing and food and comforts, -the man did not believe he would live, and he loved him like a son; he -had carried him on his shoulder as a baby; he had taught the little -lad to sit his horse and use his sword, and he had followed him in -Ireland, in France, in Flanders, through weal and woe—to this! Poor -Denis, he too had his night of tears and lamentations. - -Toward midnight Clancarty’s mind wandered a little and he babbled like -a child of the green turf of Ireland and the streams where he had -paddled barefoot, and of the wild birds overhead. He talked of battles -and sieges and at last of her, of Betty, and Denis cursed her in his -heart as their evil angel, the lodestar that had drawn the young earl -to his fate. Now and then through the night the wounded man called for -water, but toward morning he fell asleep, and Denis dropped on his -knees, praying to all the saints to send healing on the wings of that -fitful slumber. - -But with the night the delirium and the weakness of spirit passed -together. At daybreak the earl opened his eyes and looked quietly into -Denis’s worn face. He smiled, the old reckless smile, if somewhat -weaker and paler than usual. He groped feebly under his pillow and -handed the man his purse. - -“A small store, Denis,” he said, “but ’tis yours now, to do with as -you can. If I die—ah, you must even bury me here, I suppose, though I -long for Irish soil to cover me! For the rest—go home, Denis, take no -risks for my sake. Faith, a dead man will not need you.” - -Denis said nothing, he could not; he stood staring at the floor. - -Lord Clancarty laughed a little bitterly. - -“Go tend the horses, man,” he said; “you saw Neerwinden—why do you -stand there like a woman? Death comes but once.” - -“Ah, my lord,” said Denis, and the tears ran down his cheeks, “ye shall -not die.” - -Clancarty turned his face to the wall lest he, too, should show -weakness. - - “My dark Rosaleen, - My fond Rosaleen! - Would give me life and soul anew, - A second life, a soul anew! - My dark Rosaleen!” - -he murmured faintly, - - “My own Rosaleen!” - -So Denis went to tend the horses, drawing his sleeve across his eyes -and hating Lady Clancarty from the bottom of his simple devoted heart. - -“The foine lady,” he muttered; “faix—I’d loike ter make her shid a -tear or two—fer all her bright eyes an’ her red cheeks—th’ heartless -colleen!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -“UNTIL DEATH US DO PART” - - -IT was nearly a week later and Lady Betty’s chair was passing down -the main street of Newmarket when she espied Denis at the corner of -a lane that ran between a mercer’s shop and Drake’s. She stopped her -chair, and springing from it ran after him, ran quite regardless of -the people in the street who stood gaping at the charming young woman -running after a groom. She overtook him at the end of the lane; they -were behind the mercer’s shop, and Denis started at the sight of her -and stood irresolute, eying her grimly. She snatched the vizard from -her face. - -“Where is your master?” she demanded breathlessly, “where is Lord -Clancarty?” - -The Irishman shut his lips stubbornly; he did not trust the daughter of -Lord Sunderland. - -“Will you not tell me?” cried Betty, in distress, “I know that he is -wounded—I must see him! I will not be denied! I command you—nay,” she -added, reading his inflexible face, “I beg and pray you,—give me news -of him!” - -Denis eyed her closely, relenting just a little, and that little was -enough. - -“He’s very ill,” he said sullenly. - -“Is he in danger?” cried Lady Clancarty, tears gathering in her eyes, -“tell me, man, tell me,” and she wrung her hands. “Can’t gold tempt -you? Take me to him!” - -Denis made a strange motion; it seemed as if he would snatch her purse -and then forbore to do it, but his eyes devoured it. - -“Faix, I don’t know av I can thrust ye,” he said, looking at her -keenly; “ye’ve done him harm enough already.” - -“But I trust you!” cried Lady Betty, “I am your master’s wife,—take me -to him. See, I will go with you alone—can’t you trust me now?” - -The man looked down yet a little while, in evident hesitation, and she -watched him, trembling, not with fear, like another woman, but with -hope. - -“Faix, I’ll take ye,” he said bluntly, “if ye’ll go alone. Look ye, me -lady, if ye bethray him, I’d as lief kill ye as not. I love me lord!” - -The color rose in Betty’s face, softly, sweetly, her eyes shone. - -“And so do I!” she said; “lead on, I will follow—and alone.” - -“Come, thin,” he said at last, “’tis a long way an’ the place isn’t fit -fer a foine lady, but he’s there—tho’, by the Virgin, I don’t know -what he’ll say ter me fer bringing ye!” - -As he spoke he cast a glance back at the chair and its bearers waiting -at the mouth of the lane, the men staring after their mistress, and -with them a knot of idlers who had gathered to watch the countess. Lady -Clancarty turned her back upon them. - -“Lead on!” she commanded, impatient and imperious. - -Denis led the way down the narrow lane, out of sight of the group -at the mercer’s shop, and into another byway, and so on through the -outskirts of Newmarket. He did not take the public road but struck -across the fields, passing close to the spot where Lord Clancarty had -fought the duel. Lady Betty shuddered as they approached it. They were -out of sight of the last straggling houses now, crossing the meadows; -the sun shone as it had upon that day when she had walked first with -Clancarty, but there was more of a touch of autumn upon the scene. -Here, beyond the light green turf, was a field of stubble, and there, -in the green hedgerow, were yellow leaves; and the stream, too, that -flowed across the meadows, had brown depths and shadows where the -pebbles lay thickest, and the purple distance took on gray. - -They had left the open and were skirting a little woodland where the -dry leaves rustled overhead, and once she heard the “kourre, kourre!” -of the pigeons. - -Whither was he going? Lady Betty wondered. The place grew more and more -solitary; they followed a path, but one so little used that briars fell -across it and one of them tore her frock: but she went on fearlessly, -for never did a braver heart throb in a woman’s bosom. Her spirit was -intrepid. She looked about her through the sparsely growing trees and -saw long distances without a sign of life or habitation, and still -Denis plodded on and she followed, pity and love and remorse growing -in her heart at every step. Her lover and her husband in poverty -and obscurity, a proscribed rebel, and she rich. Nothing could have -appealed so to her full heart. The thought stung her and the tears -gathered on her dark lashes. - -As Denis had predicted, the walk was a long one, but she did not heed -it, she kept steadily on behind him; and at last, through an opening in -the trees, she saw two horses grazing in a little strip of greensward, -and beyond, the lonely farmhouse. As her guide turned towards it Betty -caught her breath and stood still—for a single moment—the place was -so poor, so dark, so uninviting, and the vicinity of Newmarket swarmed -with banditti; even when the king’s coach took the road it had to be -strongly guarded. This old, weather-stained brown house, with half its -window shutters broken, the green moss on its slanting gables, and the -strong, iron-bound door, with the broken stone before it, was sad and -forbidding enough without the silence and the woodland shadows that -enfolded it. Betty stood and stared at it apprehensively, and then she -thought of Clancarty. Her hesitation was so soon over that the man, her -guide, was scarcely aware of it. He went on steadily, hearing her light -step rustling on the fallen leaves behind him, and at last he stopped -at the door and waited. - -“Is he here?” she whispered. - -Denis nodded, opening the door and guiding her into the kitchen where -the widow, Clancarty’s hostess and nurse, stood before the hearth -stirring a stew in a great pot that was suspended on a hook over -blazing logs. At the sound of their entrance she turned sharply and -stared at Lady Clancarty in grim amazement, not uttering a word. Her -stern, sad face and suspicious eye sent the hot blood up under her -ladyship’s vizard, but even this, though it embarrassed her, could not -hold her back. She stood an instant, though, in the centre of the bare -kitchen, in her gay furbelows, holding up her skirts with one hand -while the other involuntarily adjusted her mask. Meanwhile, the widow -continued to eye her sternly, even while she stirred the broth. - -Denis was quick enough to perceive the difficulty. - -“’Tis Lady Clancarty,” he said bluntly to the woman, indicating Lady -Betty’s lovely figure with a backward sweep of the hand. - -Clancarty’s hostess courtesied profoundly, but the fair intruder felt -that those stern eyes said plainly, “A likely story, the brazen hussy!” - -“I have come to see my husband,” Betty faltered, her voice trembling a -little. - -“Very well, ma’am,” retorted the widow grimly, and turning her back -deliberately, she began to flourish the huge spoon again. - -The poor young wife, meanwhile, fled after Denis across the kitchen, -her heart beating wildly. He was waiting in the entry and led her down -the hall to the opposite side of the house, before he finally halted at -a closed door and waited. At a sign from her he let her enter alone. -The place was poorly lighted by small windows, and as she entered and -heard the door close behind her, her heart stood still. And then— - -Poor Betty, her tears blinded her; she forgot the suspicious widow. -The room was so poor, so bare, so wretched; the low, dark rafters, the -stone floor, the miserable furniture. And stretched on the bed lay her -husband, white as death; his head turned so that he could not see her, -but she saw him, saw the pallor, the wasted cheek, the helpless figure. -She did not move and he had not heard her enter, he seemed to be -sleeping. She took off her mask and stood waiting. What would he say? -For the first time her courage failed her, her knees trembled under -her. Would he hate her, and despise her for coming? She stirred and he -heard the rustle and looked up. In a moment it seemed as if the sun had -risen and shone full upon his face: it was glorified, but still she did -not go nearer to him. - -“Ah,” he said, “I see it is but a dream! It has mocked me before. My -fever must be upon me again, but, oh, sweet vision, stay with me this -time, else I perish here of despair.” - -“Can you forgive me?” she sobbed, running to him and falling on her -knees beside the bed, “oh, I have suffered too, the wound that hurt you -pierced me also to the heart! Forgive me!” - -He put his arm around her, drawing her close, with all his feeble -strength, and looking at her with hungry eyes. - -“My darling!” he said tenderly, “’tis you—you in the flesh?—and you -came to see me?—the beggar, the exile, the traitor—” - -“Don’t, don’t!” cried Betty, in a passion of grief, “I never meant -it—it was my tongue, my reckless, wicked tongue—oh, my lord, forgive -me!” - -He smiled; he was so weak that tears gathered in his eyes. - -“What have I to forgive, ‘my own Rosaleen’?” he asked tenderly; “I am -not worthy of you—I am, indeed, an exile and a vagrant, my queen, and -no mate for you.” - -“You are my husband,” Betty said, blushing divinely. - -“Betty,” he whispered soft and low, “you have never kissed me!” - -“I have never kissed any man, my Lord Clancarty,” she replied softly, -her face radiant, “I will never kiss any man—but the one I love best!” - -He looked at her silently, his eyes glowing, holding her closer. - -“Betty,” he murmured, “do you love me?—your husband?” - -Betty did not reply in words. She put her arms around his neck and -kissed him tenderly, laying her soft cheek against his with a sob. - -“My darling,” he said, after a pause, “it is too much to ask you to -leave all and follow me—too much. I am only a beggar, Betty, and an -outcast!” - -She looked up into his eyes and he thought her face had never been so -beautiful. - -“My husband,” she said. - -His tears wet her cheek as he kissed her again and again. - -“My best beloved,” he said, “‘my own Rosaleen’! ‘Until death us do -part,’ do you remember? The bond was made in heaven, Betty!” - -She smiled through her tears. - -“I love you,” she murmured, “and shall forever and forever.” - -“Will you leave all, Betty?” he asked longingly, “all, and follow me -into exile and poverty?” - -“Unto the ends of the earth, my lord and master,” she answered smiling, -the old Betty suddenly peeping out at him from her dark eyes; “if I -have you I have all!” she whispered. - -Warm hearted, impulsive, careless Lady Betty was not one to give her -heart unless she gave it royally. - -After a moment she raised her face, rosy and tear-stained, but smiling. - -“Did you know me at first?” she asked, “in the woods at Althorpe? Did -you divine who I was?” - -He laughed softly, taking her face between his hands and holding it -fondly, framed thus, so she could not hide it from him. - -“Did I know the sun when it shone?” he asked. “Ah, my little witch, I -knew you! I had been watching you for two days and more, whenever I -could catch a glimpse of you. Did you know me, madam?” - -She smiled adorably and tried to hide her blushes in his hands. - -“I felt it,” she whispered, “I think I knew you by intuition—from -that first moment—but afterwards—” - -“But afterwards?” he asked relentlessly. - -She laughed, her eyes shining. “You tried to deceive me,” she said, “in -the garden—you remember?—for a little while, I thought you couldn’t -be _you_, and—” her voice trailed off, her face was as scarlet as any -poppy. - -“And?” he persisted gleefully, holding her still. - -“I thought—I thought that I had given my heart to a stranger—and I -was married—and—” she broke off, she could not speak for his kisses. - -“Would you have divorced the beggar for me?” he whispered maliciously. - -“O Donough!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck in the very -ecstasy of her joy at her escape from such a dilemma, “O Donough, it -would have broken my heart if you hadn’t been—_you_!” - -Again a silence and then,— - -“Why did you put your foot on the shamrock?” he whispered. - -She hid her face on his neck. “I wanted it,” she confessed, in a -smothered tone, “I wanted it to keep! Where is it?” - -He drew it from his breast, a withered sprig folded in a piece of -paper, and she seized upon it and kissed it. - -“Nay,” he said, “that you shall not—not even my shamrock shall share -your kisses with me! That is one stolen from me, madam, give me the -shamrock.” - -“Never!” she defied him, clasping it to her own bosom, “never—’tis -mine to wear for your sake.” - -His eyes shone. “My Irish beauty,” he said, “_roisin bheag dubh_!—if I -may not have the shamrock I must have the kiss back.” - -“Why did you treat me so that last night?” he went on, “you perverse -witch, you tormentor, you deserve to suffer for flouting your lord and -master.” - -“That was it,” she said, “you came in with the air of a conquering -hero; I thought you would not woo me, that you claimed me too much like -a master; that, perhaps, you didn’t love me, but only felt that you -were my husband.” - -He laughed quietly. “You coquette!” he said fondly, “you knew I loved -you—you saw it in my eyes, for I know they devoured you—you felt it!” - -Betty hung her head guiltily. “I could not help it,” she said, with a -little sob, “I loved you,—and suddenly I thought you knew it, and -were careless of it!” - -He kissed her hands softly. “You knew I loved you!” he exclaimed -reproachfully. - -She looked up through her tears. “I love to hear you say it,” she -murmured rapturously. - -After awhile she looked around the miserable room. - -“My love,” she cried, “can’t I take you away from this awful place? It -breaks my heart to have you here! With that female dragon, too.” - -“Nay, grieve not, Betty,” he answered smiling, “it shines with you in -it. How I shall picture you here—in your white and pink gown, with the -little hood on your head—the house is a palace, dear! It is too good -for a poor man now.” - -“And you are poor!” she exclaimed, her tears breaking out afresh, “you -are poor and I—I have everything!” - -“Nay,” he replied, “I am rich in having you!” - -But her tears fell. She could not leave him so, she cried, clinging to -him; the thought of that poor place would break her heart! And it took -all his persuasion and caresses to win a smile from her again. - -“And I must go,” she said at last, showing an April face, smiles and -tears together, “I must go, or else they will miss me, and if Spencer -found you here, I know not what he would do; he hates a Jacobite! But, -oh, my darling, ’twill not be long ere I shall send some token to you, -or have some message from you.” - -“Not long,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “not long, dear Betty! As soon -as I can walk—a plague upon this wound—as soon as I can move I will -come to you! I can’t die now!” - -“Oh, the risk of it!” she cried, but her face shone, and then suddenly, -“Donough,” she said, “why had you to fight my Lord Savile? and after -all I did to prevent it!” - -“He insulted me, my love,” Clancarty replied, “and—and, well, dear -heart, after that night I thought you might care for him and not for -me, and it drove me mad.” - -Betty smiled enchantingly. - -“You were jealous,” she said, “jealous of me!” - -“I was mad with it, Betty,” he declared passionately; “and here I lie, -curse this wound, like a log, and other men are near you, bask in your -smiles, kiss your hand! It drives me to destruction!” - -And she looking down at him in his weakness, thin and fever -flushed,—she fell upon her knees again beside him, holding her soft -cheek against his, and saying only two words—softly, sweetly, with -adorable tenderness—“My husband!” - - * * * * * - -Afterwards, in the loneliness of the woodland, Betty pressed a full -purse into Denis’s unreluctant hand. - -“Not a word to your lord—on your life!” she charged him; “but -get all he needs and come to me for more—and we must move him to -some comfortable refuge at once. Mind you, everything he needs and -instantly.” - -Denis’s face widened into a seraphic smile as he pressed the purse -fondly. - -“By the Virgin, my lady,” he said, “I shall have to be afther telling -him a legend—faix, he’ll think I’ve found an angel of a Jew, yer -ladyship!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -MY LORD SPENCER - - -IT happened that when Lady Clancarty came back from her visit to the -house in the forest, weary and tear-stained but happier and more -peaceful, she found herself in trouble. She had been gone a long time -and unhappily her absence had been noticed and commented upon. Faithful -and devoted as Alice was, she was not quickwitted enough to invent -excuses, and was, indeed, thoroughly frightened and distressed by her -mistress’ absence which she could not help connecting in some way -with Lord Clancarty. There had been, in consequence, a great hubbub -at the Lion’s Head, and men were running hither and yon; while the -servants, who had carried her chair, to save themselves from blame -had not failed to give a highly colored account of her meeting with -a strange man in the lane and her disappearance in his company. When -Lady Betty came quietly back through the garden, hoping to escape to -her room unobserved, she met Lord Spencer with his face as white as a -sheet and his lids drooped low over his eyes. He stood in the door of -the inn that opened upon the court, and his sister came upon him so -unexpectedly that she had no time for flight. She knew the signs too -well, however, not to be prepared, and her old spirit returned to her -stronger than ever, and she held her head high. But Spencer did not -intend to open the quarrel there in a public place, his mood was more -dangerous. He was quite aware that the servants, and even the landlord, -were peeping at them from the kitchen way, and he bowed courteously to -his sister and offered her his hand. - -“Permit me, madam, to escort you to our mother,” he said so suavely -that the culprit shivered. - -“I can go quite well alone, Charles,” she replied passing him with a -careless manner that was scarcely a faithful indication of her mood; “I -am too weary to drink tea or play gleek,” she added yawning; “faith, -’tis tiresome to walk in the fields.” - -“Extremely so,” replied my lord, as smooth as silk, “especially when -you bring wood briars back upon your farthingale.” - -Lady Betty blushed red as a poppy as she glanced down at the tell-tale -twig caught in the ruffles of her skirts. - -“Pull it off, my dear,” she said sweetly. - -“Nay, I fear the thorns,” he replied, with distant politeness. - -She plucked it away herself with a little grimace. - -“You are wise, Charles,” she said, “’tis well to keep your fingers out -of other people’s troubles.” - -He bit his lip, giving her a furious glance as she tripped up the -stairs ahead of him. But, though he followed more deliberately, he -entered Lady Sunderland’s room but a moment after her, and in time to -hear her reply to his mother’s sharp inquiry. - -“I walked a little way in the meadows, madam,” said Betty, with -delightful mendacity; “you know you recommended it for my complexion.” - -“A fine diversion,” remarked Lord Spencer, with a sneer, “but who, -pray, was your companion?” - -Lady Betty gave him a sidelong look that spoke volumes. - -“Faith,” she retorted, with a shrug, “the world would be a dull place -with no men in it.” - -Lady Sunderland tittered behind her fan; if anything appealed to her, -it was her daughter’s absolute audacity. But Spencer was furious. - -“You choose a fine subject for a jest,” he said; “I would have you -know, madam, that my sister cannot run about Newmarket with a groom!” - -Then Betty turned upon him like a fury. - -“Do not dare to say that to me again,” she cried, her bosom heaving -with passion; “you forget to whom you speak! Do you think—do you dare -to think—that I am not as capable as you of defending my own honor and -dignity? More, sir, I would have you know that I am accountable to none -but my father and—my husband!” and she swept past him and out of the -room like a whirlwind. - -The older countess sank back in her chair and giggled like a girl. - -“La!” she exclaimed, “her spirit!—I’d give ten guineas to see her do -that over again,—and you deserved it, Charles, my love.” - -Her son gave her an exasperated look. - -“That fellow is Clancarty—I am sure of it,” he said fiercely, “and the -minx is in communication with him—but, by Saint Thomas, I’ll break it -up—if I have to break his head!” - -“Fudge, my love,” replied the countess tittering, “’twill take more -than your wit to keep two lovers apart; but never fear, she’ll not give -up her wealth and comfort to run away with him—she has too much sense.” - -Lord Spencer’s eyelids drooped lower. “I’ll see that she never has the -opportunity, madam,” he said, in a cool voice that had the effect of -making Lady Sunderland shiver much as Betty had. - -Meanwhile, Lady Clancarty poured out her hopes and fears and -half-formed plans to Alice Lynn. The first thing to be done was to get -the wounded man into a place of comfort, where he would also be secure, -and in this Alice could help more than her mistress had dreamed. -The girl had an uncle living in Cambridge, a mercer, and a man with -Jacobite leanings, and she at once suggested his house as a possible -shelter for Lord Clancarty. After some discussion, her mistress eagerly -accepted this opportunity, especially as she must leave Newmarket soon -for London to join her father, and Cambridge would be near. There were -many secret missives passing to and fro between the house in the woods -and the Lion’s Head, but Betty found herself too closely watched by -Spencer to dare another visit, and by the end of a week Lord Clancarty -was strong enough to be moved to Cambridge, to her infinite relief. -The journey was safely and secretly accomplished, and she had the -happiness of knowing that he would have both care and nursing, besides -greater security. - -By this time the races were over, and the stream of people had poured -back to the capital, where Parliament had been opened by the king, and -Newmarket was empty and quiet. Lady Sunderland went to Windsor, leaving -her daughter to go on to London to the earl’s house, where Sunderland -and Spencer had preceded her. - -Lady Clancarty went up to London, therefore, with her two women, Alice -and Melissa Thurle, and tried to wait with patience for an opportunity -to see her husband again. She was cheered and solaced, however, by -frequent secret messages that assured her, not only of his safety, but -that he was mending rapidly. He had even been able to write her one -letter himself, which she kept hidden in her bosom by day and under her -pillow by night, though it was only a meagre little letter, written -while his hand was still unsteady. - -“Dear heart,” he wrote, “was it a dream—that lovely vision in the -dark cabin? Were those soft kisses immaterial too? Or did I really hold -you in my arms and feel your cheek against my own? Dear heart, dear -wife, I love you, yet am I parted from you—but not for long—not for -long! Else would this earth be a purgatory and I should wish the wound -had been fatal! Forgive me, I do not doubt you,—I should rather die.” - -But the time came, at last, when it was even dangerous to receive or -send these missives, for Lord Spencer was watchful and suspicious -still, and for Clancarty’s sake Betty forced herself to be -patient,—the sharpest trial of all. - -The weeks passed and the cold Saint Agnes weather was upon them. -Parliament was in the depths of its wrangles over the military -establishment, but the House of Commons, though never more unruly -than in these last years of William the Third, was in a somewhat -milder mood—alarmed by the threatened difficulty of the Spanish -Succession—and it permitted the ministers to put the most favorable -interpretation upon the law and retain ten thousand fighting men. -Further, it expressed its attachment to the sovereign’s person -by suspending the benefit of the Habeas Corpus Act twelve months -longer from Bernardi and the other conspirators involved in the late -Assassination Plot. Lord Sunderland was almost constantly at the -king’s elbow, absorbed in political affairs, and Spencer stood out as a -shining light among the younger Whigs. - -Meanwhile, Lady Clancarty fretted her heart out because she could -neither see Clancarty nor get a message from him. Her suite of rooms -at Leicester House—which was now the town house of the Earl of -Sunderland—were never so dreary. She paced them day and night in her -anxiety, and struggle as she would to hide it, there were signs of it -upon her face. Yet she played her part well as the mistress of her -father’s house, and she had never been more lovely or more courted. Her -receptions were always crowded, and at every ball she was the centre of -a lively group of admirers and friends. But with it all her heart ached. - -It was one evening, the night of my Lord Bridgewater’s ball at his -house in the Barbican, that Lady Clancarty stood looking at her own -reflection, all dressed for the rout. Her gown, a wondrous affair of -silver lace and white brocade, became her well, and her luxuriant hair -was deftly dressed with one large diamond flashing like a star amidst -the curls. She turned away from the glass smiling—she could not help -a certain pleasure in the picture—but the next she sighed and looked -about for Alice. - -“Where is the girl?” she said to herself; “alas! what a silly fool I am -to deck myself out like this—for what? I know not, since he cannot see -me and I cannot tell how it fares with him.” - -Her mood changed swiftly; a moment before she had thought of herself -and of the ball—now she stood dejected, her head bowed, tears in her -eyes. - -“Ah, if I only knew how he was,” she murmured softly, “if I could only -see him well!” - -As she spoke the door opened gently and Alice looked in, glancing -around the room. - -“What ails you, Alice?” asked her mistress, “you wear the face of a -conspirator; where have you been?” - -Alice laid her finger on her lips and withdrew—to Betty’s infinite -astonishment—and the next instant the door opened wider and a tall -man, cloaked and booted for riding, crossed the threshold. - -Betty uttered a strange little cry; her beautiful India fan fell on the -floor and broke in a thousand pieces. Lord Clancarty sprang toward her -and caught her in his arms in time to keep her from falling. - -“My darling!” he said, “I came too unexpectedly—I have done wrong.” - -“O Donough!” she cried, smiling through her tears, “I am so glad—so -glad!” and she held him off to look at him; “pale,” she said, “and -thin—but mine—mine own!” - -“Ah, Betty darling!” he whispered, covering her face with kisses, “I -have been dying for this—to come to you again!” - -“And you came here!” she said, a little catch in her voice, “here, -in this house,—oh, the danger of it! Spencer hates your very name, -darling; how dared you come?” - -He caressed her soft hair, smiling. - -“How dared I, Betty?” he replied, “ah, my child, you do not know me. -Are you glad to see me even here?” - -“Am I glad?” she murmured, tears in her eyes. “Ah, Donough, the days -have seemed like weeks—the weeks eternities!” - -“I am not worthy of you,” he said, laying his cheek against her soft -one, “I am not worthy of you; but above all else I love you—ay, -better than my own soul!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -MELISSA - - -MEANWHILE, Alice Lynn, with a pale face and watchful eyes, ran down -the gallery that opened into Lady Clancarty’s private apartments; she -locked the door at the upper end and thrust the key into her pocket; -she ran back to the only other entrance, the door upon the staircase, -and there she seated herself upon the upper step, a devoted sentinel, -though her heart beat almost to suffocation. If Clancarty were -discovered here—here in his wife’s rooms! Alice shook from head to -foot; some awful intuition warned her that peril was at hand. - -The gallery was long and dim; two tall tapers in the sconces upon the -landing cast a soft radiance in a little space, but left deep shadows. -The great house was strangely still. Alice sat and listened to the -beating of her own heart which seemed louder than the faint sound of -voices behind the closed door at her back. So great was her love for -Lady Betty that, like Catharine Douglas, she would have thrust her arm -into the staples and held the door against a host, but for all that -she was frightened. Presently she started and looked down the stairs. -She had heard a soft tread below—yes, she was not mistaken; a woman -was coming up, the one woman whom she had thought safely out of the -house that night, the one she trusted least, Melissa Thurle. At the -moment Alice hated her, and set her teeth and waited, but she trembled, -too. As for Melissa, she came up softly, a quiet smile on her smooth -face, serenity in her shifting eyes; soft, stealthy, feline in every -movement. She pretended to be startled when she stumbled upon Alice, -who barred the stairs. Melissa pressed her hand to her heart. - -“Why, how you frightened me!” she cried; “what is it, Alice?” - -“Nothing,” retorted Alice, who was little skilled in subterfuge and -only stubbornly determined; “I thought you were gone to your aunt’s.” - -“I started,” replied Melissa sweetly, “but ’twas too cold. I came -back, and I have a message for Lady Betty from Lord Sunderland.” - -“She has a headache,” said Alice; “you can leave the message with me; -no one is to disturb her ladyship to-night unless she calls me.” - -“Dear, dear!” exclaimed Melissa, undisturbed, however; “this is -unusual—but, unhappily, I must see my lady; Lord Sunderland’s orders -are explicit. I dare not disobey.” - -“I do!” declared Alice stubbornly, though she quaked, for she heard -voices again and she knew, by Melissa’s face, that she heard them, too, -for a gleam passed over it, swift as the drawing of a knife. - -“You are of no consequence,” said the woman firmly; “I will see her,” -and she made a sudden spring to set the girl aside. - -But Alice was strong, if she was not diplomatic, and she caught her -firmly by the waist. - -“You shall not see her!” she cried, her face blazing with honest anger, -“you shall not worry her. I am stronger than you, and you will never -get past me—never!” and she swung Melissa bodily back to the lower -step. - -At the moment, while the two eyed each other furiously, both heard a -man’s voice behind the closed door of Lady Clancarty’s room. Alice -turned white, and Melissa laughed. - -She said not a word more. She laughed and shrugged her shoulders, and -Alice’s face burned with shame and anger. “The hateful wretch, the -insulting, crawling creature,” the girl thought; yet she was relieved -to see her turn and walk quietly away. At the landing, however, she -stopped and laughed. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said sweetly, “I’ll not interrupt you again, -Miss Prude.” - -And she went on, while Alice burned to run after her and box her ears. -But she kept her post, not daring to leave the door unguarded, and -after awhile, she called to Lady Betty and warned her, but in vain; the -lovers could not part so soon. Clancarty lingered—lingered while the -precious minutes flew and fate travelled nearer and yet nearer. - -Once out of Alice’s sight, Melissa crept, with her soft, catlike -tread, along the lower gallery, felt her way down a narrow stair, the -same by which Clancarty had ascended, and looking over her shoulder -occasionally to see if the girl followed her, she opened another door -noiselessly, crept on down a long room and through a hall. About her -was every sign of luxury and magnificence, rich soft rugs upon the -floors, long mirrors, beautiful statuary, rare bric-a-brac from the -India houses, every evidence of culture and extravagance, and she -crept like a panther ready to spring. Her face was like a white patch -in the dusk of the candle-light, her green eyes shone, too, like a -cat’s. On, on she crept, stealthy, determined, venomous; a dangerous -creature bent on a miserable errand. Again, looking back for Alice, -another flight of stairs, and then a pause before a pair of closed -folding-doors. She drew her breath and pressed her hand to her heart. -It took courage, but she had it, of an evil sort, the courage that -crawls in secret places and strikes a man behind the back. She opened -the door gently and stood in a sudden flood of light, looking at Lord -Spencer. - -He sat by a great candelabrum, reading some pages of manuscript, and he -did not hear her. But having come so far, she would not be balked; she -glided nearer and began to purr at him. The sound was scarcely human, -but he looked up quickly and bent his eyes sternly upon her. He was so -cold a man, so pompous and important, that even this creeping creature -recoiled a little. But it was too late now; his very glance was a -command. - -“I beg pardon, my lord,” she murmured, soft as oil, “but my love for -the family—my duty drove me here!” - -“What for?” he demanded coolly, viewing her from head to foot. - -She was a little frightened. - -“My lord,” after all she blurted it out under those eyes of his, -“there’s a man in your sister’s rooms!” - -He sprang from his chair with clenched hands. - -“You damned lying cat, you!” he exclaimed, between his teeth. - -Melissa fell on her knees. - -“Oh, my lord,” she whined, “I did not mean that! ’Tis her husband—’tis -Lord Clancarty himself!” - -It was as though a white mask had fallen on his face, his figure was -rigid, his eyes glittered; rage was almost choking him. - -“How do you know, woman?” he asked fiercely. - -“I know him, sir, he has been haunting her,” hurried on Melissa, “at -Althorpe, at Newmarket, and now here. ’Twas he who fought the duel in -the meadow. They have tried to hide it from me but they could not. He -is in her room now.” - -Spencer glared at her, his hands twitching; when he spoke it was -hoarsely. - -“How came he there? How came he in this house?” he demanded. - -“Alice Lynn admitted him,” said Melissa, glibly enough now, her eyes -narrow and pale; “and she is trying to guard the doors. You may see her -for yourself, my lord,” and she fastened her eager gaze upon him. - -She thought to see him take his sword and go in search of his enemy; -she had whetted her appetite for revenge for her mistress’ scorn of her -with the thought of a duel in Lady Clancarty’s rooms, and of Clancarty -in blood at his wife’s feet, or driven out into the night—whipped! Ah, -how she licked her lips at the thought; that would be the very acme of -triumph, and the young countess had treated her with such contempt. - -But Lord Spencer disappointed her. - -“Send hither Giles,” he said sharply, and as she went out, reluctant to -close the scene, she saw him pick up his hat and cloak. - -Wild with eagerness and curiosity, she hung about the door; she heard -some orders to Giles, the confidential servant, and she saw Spencer go -out alone, and gasped in surprise and disappointment. Was he afraid? - -And Giles looked askance at her as he passed. - -“Where did he go?” she whispered eagerly. - -“To the devil,” said the man sullenly, “you’re a pretty bird, you are,” -and he measured her with rough scorn, even while he sat down by the -main door with his pistol on his knee. - -Melissa wetted her lips, creeping along by the wall opposite, watchful -and feline. - -“Are you to catch him here?” she demanded, meaning Lord Clancarty. - -The man stared at her again. - -“Yes,” he replied, “I’m told to shoot him, but steer clear, my girl, -people don’t always hit the mark,” and he grinned. - -“I shall tell Lord Spencer!” she hissed at him. - -“Do! ’tis your business,” retorted the man, “and ’twill hang you -sometime, my lady-bird!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -MR. SECRETARY VERNON - - -AT the door of Leicester House Lady Clancarty’s coach stood waiting -to take her to the ball at my Lord Bridgewater’s, and she had quite -forgotten both the ball—which was a grand affair—and the coach. So -it was that Lord Spencer found it waiting his convenience for a very -different purpose. He entered it at once and directed the coachman to -go to Westminster to the house of the Under Secretary of State, and -away the great, rumbling, emblazoned coach rolled on its deadly errand, -not freighted with the charming and vivacious countess but with a young -nobleman, whose heart swelled with passion and another emotion, which -his lordship mistook for virtue—the virtue of the Roman who slew his -daughter. - -As he rode through the dark streets of London that night, a link-boy -running at the horses’ heads, a tumult of strange feelings struggled -in his bosom. Passion ran high then, and party hatreds led men to -the dagger and the sword. The very fact that his father’s political -roguery was a byword made the young man more zealous for his own -reputation. He burned to be a Whig of the Whigs, a shining example as -a party leader, a distinguished patriot, and now he found sedition in -his own household, a viper in his bosom. His hatred of his Jacobite -brother-in-law ran so entirely in accord with his political creed and -his ideas of patriotism, that he mistook it for a virtuous indignation. -He moved, therefore, with an air of righteous displeasure, of calm -dignity, when he descended from the coach at the secretary’s door. - -He was received with obsequious respect by the servants and ushered up -the stairs to the private office. Mr. Secretary Vernon had entertained -friends at supper and was playing shovel-board with his guests at the -time. He came in, therefore, in a genial mood, to urge Lord Spencer to -join them. He had every reason to propitiate the young Whig, to soothe -and flatter a man who had already gained some weight in Parliament. But -Lord Spencer cut short his civilities. - -“I come on pressing business, Mr. Secretary,” he said gravely, with -a dejected air; “a young girl’s folly can, perhaps, be excused, yet -’tis hard to tell you that my sister—from compassion—has received a -traitor into my father’s house;” he paused, looking solemnly at the -secretary. - -Vernon pricked up his ears. The assassination plot of Barclay and -Bernardi and the little band of conspirators which had thought to cut -off King William, was not yet old enough to have lost its terrors, and -the Blue Posts Tavern was known to swarm with Jacobites, made bold—as -most Whigs believed—by William’s lenity. - -“Your lordship distresses me,” he said politely, as Spencer seemed to -wait for him; “may I hear more?” - -“You know the story,” his lordship said regretfully, “the foolish -marriage between my sister and the Earl of Clancarty?” - -Vernon nodded, a sudden change coming over his face. - -“Clancarty is in London,” said Spencer, “and my sister has received -him. You can picture my despair at such folly! Mr. Secretary, I must -have a warrant, at once, and a guard to send the villain to the Tower.” - -Secretary Vernon shot a look at him that a wiser man would have called -disdainful, but Spencer was too self-absorbed to see it. - -“I remember that Clancarty is excepted from the king’s amnesty,” said -the secretary thoughtfully, “he falls under the penalties of the last -Treason Act—but your sister—can’t we manage this more adroitly, my -lord?” - -Lord Spencer looked at him with sternly virtuous anger. “Sir,” he -replied, “I put my duty before all else—I desire his immediate arrest. -Delay may mean his ultimate escape.” - -Vernon bowed. “My lord,” he said, and his lip curled scornfully, “you -have truly Roman virtue. I will fill out the warrant at once and place -it at your disposal. You desire a guard from the Tower?” he added, as -he went to his table and began to write. - -“I do, and speedily,” replied the young nobleman, with a sort of savage -eagerness. - -“Your lordship shall be accommodated,” Vernon said, and touched the -bell which summoned his clerk, and to him the secretary gave a few -sharp orders. Then he turned to Lord Spencer. - -“This young man will accompany you, my lord,” he said blandly, “and -will give this warrant into the hands of the proper officer, who will -go with you also, taking a sufficient guard to effect the capture.” - -Spencer thanked him. “Your zeal is commendable, Mr. Secretary,” he said -proudly, “’tis an hour of peril to the state, and believe me, sir, when -I serve my country thus, I sacrifice my dearest feelings at its altar.” - -Vernon bowed profoundly. - -“My lord,” he responded, “you deserve the plaudits of a grateful -people. The misfortunes of civil war and civil dissensions have divided -many a house against itself in this kingdom.” - -But after Spencer left, the secretary walked back into the room where -a party of young men were playing shovel-board, and he told the story -with a shrug. - -“I thought of offering him thirty pieces of silver,” he remarked, “for -his sister’s husband.” - -“Zounds!” exclaimed one young gallant, “my Lady Clancarty will be a -widow—’tis an ill wind that blows nobody good.” - -But another guest cursed Lord Spencer as a cowardly villain. It was Sir -Edward Mackie. - -“There’s a story that it was Clancarty who fought the duel with Lord -Savile at Newmarket,” said another; “what say you to that, Mackie?” - -But he was gone. - -“Jove!” exclaimed one of the secretary’s guests, “I’ll wager ten pounds -he’s gone to warn them!” - -And Vernon only smiled. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE ARREST - - -IN spite of Alice’s warning, in spite of the deadly peril that -surrounded him, Clancarty lingered at his wife’s side. It was hard to -say farewell, hard to leave her, and though her heart was filled with -misgivings and anxieties, Lady Betty could not urge him to go; indeed, -she clung to him, weeping at the thought of a parting that involved -such perils and hardships for him and such sorrow for her. Moreover, -there was much to talk of and to plan. They did not mean to be -separated long; she was to go with him to the Continent or to Ireland, -and there were a thousand details to arrange, a thousand hopes and -fears to strengthen or allay—and they were lovers, and when did lovers -ever learn to watch the tedious hand of time? - -The ball at Lord Bridgewater’s was forgotten, Spencer was forgotten, -all the world, in fact, while Betty—lovely with happiness, glowing -and smiling in her splendid gown—thought of no one but her husband, -and desired no admiration but his. - -“Ah, my darling,” he whispered, looking down at her as her face lay -against his breast, “can you give up all this?” he touched her lace and -jewels, “and this?” he pointed at the luxurious room, “and all you have -and are—to follow a poor exile into poverty and obscurity?” - -She smiled divinely. - -“To follow my beloved even to the ends of the earth,” she said, “‘for -better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, until death do us -part,’” she murmured tenderly. - -“Amen!” he said, and laid his face against her soft hair, moved—how -deeply she could not know; her utter trust, her fondness touched him -to the heart. This splendid woman, with every gift of nature and of -fortune, willing to renounce all for him—he held her close and his -eyes dimmed. - -“Ah,” he said, “’tis worth living, dear heart, for your sake! When I -thought you scorned my poverty and would rather be the wife of Savile -than mine, I cared not if I died—but now! Ah, Betty, you could make a -dungeon paradise.” - -“Nay,” she replied, “it shall not be a dungeon, but a home, my husband, -somewhere—even where these quarrelling kings cannot disturb our -paradise. Faith, my politics grow strangely mixed,” she added, with a -smile. - -“Love knows no politics,” he answered, smiling too, “you and I shall -not quarrel over our principles, sweetheart.” - -As he spoke, the door was thrown open and Alice ran into the room with -a ghastly face. - -“Oh, my lady,” she cried, “there’s something wrong—I hear strange -voices below, there are men upon the stairs! My lord must hide.” - -Betty sprang to her feet. - -“Quick!” she cried, “Donough, there is the other door!” - -“’Tis useless,” cried Alice; “they come from both sides—I saw them!” - -“Then I will hide you!” Betty cried wildly, catching her husband’s arm. - -For an instant he hesitated; he, too, heard the heavy feet in the -gallery, then he shook his head. - -“No, Betty, dear,” he said, “I cannot be hunted like a rat in a hole; I -must face them like a man, like your husband.” - -She uttered a little cry of despair and clung to him, while Alice wrung -her hands. - -“Oh, the window, my lord!” she cried, “there is a balcony!” - -“Too late, my girl,” Lord Clancarty replied calmly, the light flashing -in his gray eyes, his head erect; “no, no, I’ve never let an enemy see -my back—I can’t learn to run now.” - -Betty looked up at him and caught her breath; here was a man after -her own heart. She felt his hand go to his sword and she, too, looked -toward the door. They had not even thought of barring it, but it would -have been useless, for it was thrown wide open by a sheriff’s deputy, -who was followed by a guard of stout yeomen from the Tower. - -“Is Donough Macarthy, Earl of Clancarty, here?” demanded the sheriff, -fixing his eyes on the earl as he stood there, with his wife clinging -to him. - -“I am Clancarty,” he replied proudly. Resistance would have been worse -than useless, and he only pressed his dear Betty closer to his heart; -he knew that separation was inevitable. - -“I have a warrant to seize the body of the Earl of Clancarty and carry -him to the Tower, on the charge of high treason,” said the officer, -producing the parchment and reading the warrant aloud in the king’s -name. - -“I do not acknowledge the authority of the Prince of Orange,” said -Clancarty calmly, “but I must submit to superior numbers,” he added, -with a scornful glance at the six stout yeomen who had filed into the -room and stood gaping at Lady Clancarty. “You have arrested me in the -apartments of my wife. I came to London solely to see the Countess of -Clancarty, but I will go with you without further protest.” - -The officer bowed to Lady Clancarty. - -“I am reluctant to part you, my lord,” he said grimly, “but we have no -time to lose; my orders are explicit.” - -“You might find a better office, sir,” said Lady Betty, withering -him with a look, and then breaking down when her husband kissed her -farewell. - -“Have comfort, dear heart,” he whispered, though he knew the case was -desperate; “bear up for my sake—now!” - -But she clung to him in a passion of grief, begging to go with him to -the Tower until it wrung his heart anew to leave her. Even the soldiers -glanced away in grim silence, and she was half unconscious when -Clancarty unclasped her hands from his neck and laid her in Alice’s -arms. - -“Care for her, Alice,” he said, in a tone of deep but restrained -emotion, “guard her tenderly, do not leave her in this hour of -trial—for they will tear me from her! My poor darling—my poor wife!” - -He lingered to kiss her again, to push the soft hair back from her -forehead, and it was only a final order from the sheriff that took him -from her side. - -The guards had escorted him out at last, or rather he had walked -out proudly with them, though his heart was aching for her. They -were already at the lower door when Lady Clancarty, recovering -consciousness, sprang up to come face to face with Spencer. Then the -truth flashed upon her and she stood before him with a terrible face. - -“You—you betrayed him!” she cried, “you sent those men here to drag -him away!” - -Lord Spencer took it as a compliment. - -“I did,” he said piously; “I delivered the traitor to his fate; I would -do it were he my own flesh and blood. No sacrifice is too great for -truth and justice.” - -“You hypocrite!” cried Lady Betty passionately; “you have broken your -sister’s heart for the sake of your pride—your politics! You have -murdered my husband—my husband!” she wrung her hands in agony. - -“I have done my duty,” he replied coldly. - -“Your duty?” she cried bitterly; “was it then your duty to betray your -sister’s husband? To force an officer and his guard into your sister’s -rooms—to trample on her tenderest feelings—to mortify and crush -her? Duty!” she repeated scornfully, “then may no man henceforth do -his duty! Such virtue is more vile than vice—such courage worse than -cowardice! How dare you face me or look at me? An injured woman! I mark -your white face, sir, and I marvel at its pallor; it should burn with -shame.” - -Spencer ground his teeth in anger. “You saucy minx,” he said, “how -dared you have that man here?” - -“How dared I?” she repeated, “how dared I have my husband with me? Whom -should I have with me if not my husband?” - -She paused for breath; her bosom rose and fell, she put her hands to -her throat as if she choked. It was a moment before she could speak. - -“What have you done?” she went on passionately, her slender figure -towering, her eyes on fire; “you have torn him from my arms, you -have sent him to his death, but you cannot tear him from my heart! -While that beats, while the blood runs through these veins, I will -love him—love him! And he is my husband—my husband, do you hear, -you coward? I bear his name, I am his, his flesh and blood, his very -own—you cannot separate us! Even if you kill him, our souls are one; -you cannot part them any more than you can rend the sky asunder! I am -not your sister—I am Clancarty’s wife.” - -“Shame on you, madam,” said Spencer bitterly, his face like ashes, gray -and white; “shame on you to declare yourself so passionately enamoured -of a Jacobite—a reprobate—a—” - -“Of my husband,” she said, and her low voice cut like a lash. - -“Your husband,” he mocked; “are you sure that he is your lawful -husband? A sneaking rogue who crept to your room by a back-stair—who -would not face your family like a man of honor!” - -“What insult more have you for me?” she cried; “’tis you who dared not -face him; you crept behind him like a coward, you—you Judas!” - -She caught her breath, her hands at her throat again. - -“Sit down, madam,” said his lordship coldly; “your fury suffocates you. -It will not avail,” he laughed, “to set the rogue free!” - -She looked at him strangely. - -“Are you human?” she asked, “are you like other men?—or some -monster, some abortive creature, cast upon the earth to wreck the -lives of others? How could any woman marry you? I think you are not -human—though we are of the same mother!” - -Spencer laughed bitterly. - -“Quite human, Elizabeth,” he said sneering, “as human as my termagant -sister—as the rogue they are carrying now to the Tower, where, I -trust, he’ll rest well—and safe.” - -She recoiled half way across the room and stared at him wildly, as if -her very senses were bewildered. - -“To the Tower?” she repeated, like a child who had a lesson by rote, -“the great gloomy Tower yonder?” - -“Would you have preferred Newgate?” my lord asked maliciously, -beginning to find some joy in a situation that had not been without -humiliation. - -“They carry my husband to the Tower!” Lady Betty cried wildly, clasping -her hands to her bosom as if to still the tumult there, “and I stand -here talking to the Judas who betrayed him! Go hang yourself, my -lord,—surely you cannot want to live,” she went on, mad with her -despair; “let me see your face no more. The very air you breathe -poisons me. Never, never shall the same roof shelter us again! I go, -sir, your sister no longer, but the beggar’s wife. I go to share his -fate, to starve with him, to die for him or with him! But to see you no -more forever and forever!” - -She rushed past him, sweeping her skirts aside that they might not so -much as touch him, and ran wildly out of the room. - -Fleeing through the long galleries and down the stairs, in her splendid -dress, and heedless of the gaping servants and of the bitter cold she -went out, bareheaded, into the night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE TRAITOR’S GATE - - -POOR Lady Betty, half distracted, fled from the house into Leicester -Fields, trying to find the party that had preceded her with her husband -as a prisoner. The darkness and the peril of the London streets at that -late hour did not enter her thoughts. Bareheaded and without a cloak to -shield her from the cold night air, she ran around the square. - -She saw lights in the adjacent houses, she heard voices in the -distance, but she only looked for one—her husband. She took no thought -of the madness of her project; she sped on and on, and might have come -into some great peril had she not fallen almost into the arms of a -man who was running toward Lord Sunderland’s mansion. They came upon -each other in the darkness; in her grief and nervousness she uttered a -little cry, and he knew her voice. - -“Lady Clancarty!” he exclaimed, stopping short. - -It was young Mackie. - -At first she did not recognize him, but when she did, she caught his -arm with a frantic appeal. The light from a dim lantern overhead shone -on her white face. - -“My husband!” she cried, “my Lord Clancarty. They have dragged him away -to prison. My—nay, I will not call him my brother—that man yonder, -Charles Spencer, betrayed him—betrayed my husband, and they came into -my very rooms to arrest him—to tear us apart, and he has gone,” she -added wildly, “gone to the Tower.” - -“I know,” he replied, deeply moved, “I know. I was at Vernon’s house -and heard it after your—after Lord Spencer got the warrant. I came to -warn you but, alas, I am too late.” - -“Yes, too late!” cried Betty, a little wildly, “too late; but I am -going to the Tower—I am going to my husband!” - -They had walked on a little way as they talked, and were so near -Aylesbury House that the lights from within fell on her. He saw her -uncovered head and dazzling gown. - -“Lady Clancarty,” he said persuasively, “let us go back for your cloak -and mask. You can’t go down the river to the Tower thus—in the cold!” - -“I care not for it,” she replied; “go back?” she shuddered, “I could -not—I cannot breathe the same air with Spencer, it poisons me!” - -Without another word young Mackie took off his own cloak and wrapped it -around her, and she, in her excitement, took no thought of his exposure -to the cold in his thin suit of velvet and satin. - -“I must go!” she reiterated, “the very shortest way—I must go to my -husband!” and her voice broke pitifully. - -“You shall go, dear Lady Clancarty,” he said gently, setting himself to -face the task, though a sharp pain rankled in his own bosom, and when -he drew her hand through his arm he set his teeth. - -He loved her, too, and she took no more thought of him than of a -stone—such is the way of women. - -The night wind cut their faces as they walked toward the river. She was -so used to service from men, to their devotion, that she took his for -granted; she did not even try to talk to him, but he heard her weeping -softly and the pitiful little sound made him shiver. He longed to -comfort her, but he set his teeth harder—he knew she wept for Lord -Clancarty. - -When they reached the water stairs she was resolute again and alert. -She walked unassisted down the steps and urged him to take any boat -for the Tower, impatient of the wrangling of the boatmen. She stamped -her foot at them, in fact, and took so high a tone that, at last, the -blackguards subsided and took them meekly enough, though the order, -“the Traitor’s Gate,” caused some murmurs. - -Once on the water she sat erect and silent, straining eyes and ears for -the king’s boat, which had, of course, preceded hers, with her husband -aboard. She hoped to be close enough behind to gain admission with him; -she had no other hope, no other prayer but to share his fate, however -wretched, to follow him to prison and to death. Her impulsive nature -stirred at last to its depths swept her on. She could be as heroic now -and as resolute as she had been careless and happy in the summer time -of her life. She was imperial woman to her finger tips; she loved and -hated with the full, fierce tide of her rich nature. She gave all and -kept nothing back. - -Young Mackie looking at the dark outline of her figure against the gray -river, felt all this keenly and admired her the more. She was a woman -to die for, he thought, and turned his boyish face away, for he dared -not look at her—it tried him too far. - -Something in her mood seemed to cast a spell upon the boatmen; the -wherry swept on in silence, save for the sound of the oars and the -ripple of water under its bow. The lights of the city, feeble lanterns -swung across the narrow, reeking streets, gleamed dimly; the river was -as still as death. - -At last the frowning bastions of the Tower—that inexorable fortress, -dark with secrets, grim as Fate,—cast their black shadow over them. -And then,—Betty’s heart stood still—the boat turned and began to -creep under the vaulted arch at the Traitor’s Gate. The faint gleaming -of night upon the waters narrowed behind them and was swallowed up in -darkness, while before, the red lights at the gate began to shine. The -boat jarred on the steps. She looked up and saw the closed wicket and -the guard of yeomen looking down, and suddenly despair seized upon her -and she trembled so that Mackie had almost to lift her from the boat. - -Then arose the question of admittance. She wished to see the warden; -but Sir Edward knew this was no easy matter and resorted to a -stratagem. - -“We come from Mr. Secretary Vernon,” he said boldly, with an air of -authority. - -The sergeant at the gate hesitated, and asked for a permit. - -“The matter is pressing,” Mackie said firmly; “we must be admitted.” - -The sergeant shook his head, looking gravely out upon them. A yeoman -lifted his torch and the light streamed on Lady Betty’s beautiful face. - -“I cannot admit you at this hour,” the old soldier replied firmly but -not unkindly; “my orders are explicit.” - -Betty’s face changed and seemed to shrink into childish proportions; -she held out her hands pitifully. - -“I beg you,” she said, her voice quivering, “I am Lady Clancarty, the -wife of the earl who has just been arrested. Is he here? I pray you -tell me?” - -The two men at the wicket exchanged significant glances, and the elder -looked down at her again in open pity. - -“He was committed about twenty minutes ago, madam,” he replied kindly. - -“Twenty minutes? O Sir Edward, twenty minutes ago, and I might have -seen him!” and she wept bitterly. - -She drew a ring from her finger, a costly jewel, and pressed it upon -the soldier. - -“I pray you let me enter too!” she cried, “I would only share his -prison. See, I have no weapons—nothing! I cannot set him free—I only -want to share his fate!” - -The sergeant waved aside her jewel. - -“Nay,” he said firmly, “bribes I may not take. Truly, madam, if I could -let you see your husband I would do it, but I dare not.” - -Mackie urged him then, using the name of the Duke of Devonshire, though -he had felt from the first that without a permit she could never be -admitted. Lady Clancarty would not give way so readily; she struggled -with her grief and commanded her voice again, going closer to the -wicket and laying her hands upon it—that famous wicket which had -closed behind so many prisoners; on Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey, -on Sir Thomas More and Cranmer and on the Duke of Norfolk; the wicket -stained with a long history of terror and despair—was clasped now by -Lady Betty’s slender fingers, and she prayed for admittance—a new -prayer, indeed, at the Traitor’s Gate. - -“You will let me in,” she said; “I must speak with the captain of -the guard! I am the daughter of the Earl of Sunderland. I demand this -much—to see the captain of the guard.” - -At this the man gave way a little; he sent a yeoman for the captain of -the watch, but he kept the wicket closed and stood grim and silent, -looking out upon them. The torchlight flared up and down, the water -rippled below them on the stone steps—it seemed like the tongue of a -hungry wolf lapping blood—and there was silence. - -At last came the echo of heavy feet upon the stone floor, the rattle of -arms, and the tall, gray-headed captain came to the wicket and looked -out, inexorable as fate, though his eyes changed a little at the sight -of Lady Clancarty, common as a woman’s grief was there. He listened to -Mackie’s explanation, gravely respectful but unrelenting. - -“I ask only to see him—to share his fate,” Betty said, as Sir Edward -concluded, “’tis so little!” - -But the officer shook his head. - -“Nay, madam,” he replied kindly, “not without the king’s orders.” - -“At least permit her to see her husband, to speak with him,” urged Sir -Edward. - -“’Tis a small thing to grant me,” cried Betty, “I pray you, sir, -think of your own wife in a like case, and show compassion on the -unfortunate!” - -“Nay, madam, I need no urging,” said the captain, “if it were in my -power—but it is not; since the last assassination plot we have been -strictly enjoined to guard our prisoners of state and hedge them -in with every precaution. Your case is in higher hands than mine. -Surely, Lady Clancarty, you can obtain influence enough to grant your -wish,—your father, Secretary Vernon.” - -“My father,” Lady Clancarty repeated bitterly, as she stood thinking, -her white face downcast. - -The two men exchanged significant glances; neither of them had hope. -Clancarty was scarcely an object for the king’s clemency; he was a -notorious Jacobite, a man of daring, whose personal prominence as an -Irish earl, no less than his political affiliations, marked him out for -probable example. - -Happily, she did not see their looks, she stood leaning against the -wicket, her head bent. She looked up and began to plead again to see -her husband. - -“You may put me behind bolts and bars,” she said passionately, “I care -not; indeed, I pray to be a prisoner too, since he is one. Ah, it is -so little that I ask. What could I do? I could not break his chains—I -could not set him free! I only pray—pray you,” she stretched out her -hands in fervent supplication, “to let me share his prison! I cannot be -free while he is here—I will not be free!” - -The old soldier shook his head, he was deeply touched. - -“I cannot, madam,” he replied; “but let me beg you to carry this -petition to one who can and will surely hear you.” - -“You mean the king?” said Mackie. - -The officer inclined his head. “I know of no one in these three -kingdoms so merciful,” he replied quietly. - -“’Tis a wise thought,” said Sir Edward gently, as if he spoke to a -child; “come, Lady Clancarty, let us carry our petition to his majesty.” - -For the moment she had completely broken down. She wept and her sobs -shook her from head to foot. - -“I cannot leave him here,” she cried; “how dare you ask me?” - -Young Mackie bowed his head; he, too, was shaken by her emotion. - -“I only beg of you to appeal to one who has the power to grant your -petition,” he said, very low. - -It was a little while yet before she conquered herself and looked up -through her tears at them both. - -“I believe you mean kindly to me,” she said, with a humility strangely -touching in one of her high spirit; “I will go to my father, Sir -Edward, he may hear me—but I have little hope—so little hope!” and -she fell to weeping again. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -ALICE AND DENIS - - -WHEN Lady Clancarty fled wildly from her father’s house, poor Alice was -too much overwhelmed with the agony of the recent scene to know what to -do. For the moment she gave way only to her grief, fleeing from Spencer -and from the woman, Melissa, as she would have fled from pestilence. -But she was too sensible and too faithful to remain long without making -an effort to follow her mistress. In less than an hour, therefore, she -had gathered up a heavy cloak and hood of Lady Betty’s, and assuming -her own mantle, went out into the night. It took no small courage to -do this, when the streets of London were beset by rogues of every -class and description, and the dim streaks of light from an occasional -lantern swung in some archway served only to make the darkness visible. -Alice, who was urged on by no frenzy like Lady Clancarty’s, went out -with a sinking heart, her sharp sense of duty alone keeping her to her -purpose. She had not dared to ask even a lackey from the house to -attend her; these town servants were strangers to her, and everywhere -she looked for treachery. Poor Alice wrapped her cloak around her and -set out alone upon a devious course of wanderings, through every lane -and byway in the vicinity, in a fruitless quest for her dear lady. -Sometimes the girl proceeded quietly through a deserted street; again -she shrank into the shelter of a friendly doorway at the sound of high -voices and drunken laughter; and again—and more than once—she dodged -some ruffian who would have pounced upon her, and fled, saved by swift -running, for she was fleet as any deer. The terrors of the night grew -upon her until her knees shook under her. She could not imagine what -evil had befallen her lovely and unhappy mistress and more than once -she stopped, blinded by tears. - -Just as her despair reached a climax, she came in sight of the Standard -Tavern and glanced at it timidly; even at that hour it was well lighted -and full of company. As she watched, a figure came out of the door -and stood by the lantern under the sign—a short, sturdy figure and a -homely Irish face. She recognized Denis, and Denis was Lord Clancarty’s -faithful servant. She did not know that he had only just discovered -the arrest of his master in Sunderland’s house and had put his own -interpretation upon it. She rushed blindly—as we do—upon fate. - -“O Mr. Denis!” she cried, revealing her white face under her hood, -“have you seen my mistress? my dear Lady Clancarty?” - -Denis wheeled and eyed her with an expression that she did not -understand. - -“Begorra!” he ejaculated, beneath his breath, and swept down upon her -like an avalanche. - -“I know ye, me darlint,” he said, and there was something in his tone -that sent a shiver through Alice, “ye’ll walk a stip with me an’ tell -me thrue all ye know of this, ivery wurd! Come on, mavourneen, ’tis fer -me ear alone.” - -“I can’t go with you,” Alice said, trying to pull away from him, but -his grip was a vise; “my poor lady is out here in the night—I must -find her.” - -“A curse upon her!” said Denis fiercely, “a curse upon her smilin’, -desateful face; may she dhry up an’ wither away loike a did leaf—an’ -may—” - -Alice cried out a little. - -“Let me go!” she said, “you bloody Irishman, let me go. I thought you -were a faithful servant to Lord Clancarty.” - -“I’ll not let ye go,” retorted Denis savagely, dragging her along, -“I’ll not let ye go until I make yer teeth rattle!” - -Alice screamed aloud in an agony of fright; but of what avail was it? A -woman’s scream in the black mouth of a London lane at midnight; it was -only a drop upon the surface of a black pool. - -“Scrame away, ye little threacherous, spiteful cat, ye!” said Denis, -shaking her fiercely; “ye’d bethray me masther, would ye? Begorra, I’d -loike ter kill ye intirely! Take that, ye hizzy!” and he gave her a -sound blow that made the poor girl reel. - -Alice was no weakling and she put out all her strength and fought him, -screaming. - -“Oh, ye cat, ye!” he said harshly, shaking her again; “take that—an’ -that, ye lyin’, desateful hizzy! I’ll teach ye,” and he shook her much -as a big dog shakes a kitten. - -Alice screamed; if she even dimly conceived his error, she had no -breath to argue with him; she believed, indeed, that her last hour -had come, and shrieked with all her strength. And Denis shook her, -and would have gone on shaking her indefinitely but for a timely -interruption. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -FATHER AND DAUGHTER - - -WHEN Lady Clancarty ascended the water stairs on her return from the -Tower she was outwardly calm, the floodtide of her emotion having spent -itself in the outburst at the Traitor’s Gate. Young Mackie, still -acting as her sole escort, came up the steps behind her and the two, -pausing at the top, saw dawn breaking over the river. Like a wraith the -fog rolled up along the water, the sky grew pale and in the far east a -light shone, keen and cold. The streets were unusually quiet; it was a -little before the hour when a city stirs for its first breath; darkness -lay deeply in the narrow lanes, and silence. On the river, which -bristled with a forest of masts, some ships put up their sails. - -Suddenly they heard a woman’s scream and saw two figures struggling -at the mouth of the lane before them. Mackie started toward them, -but the woman broke away and ran screaming to the water side, almost -brushing against Lady Clancarty, and as she did so there was a cry of -recognition and she fell upon her neck, weeping and exclaiming. It was -Alice Lynn. Sir Edward seized the man. - -“You rogue!” he exclaimed, “you would abuse a woman, would you?” - -But the fellow, struggling lustily for his liberty, broke out with an -Irish oath, and Mackie knew him. - -“You are Lord Clancarty’s man,” he said in surprise, releasing him; -“what means this? I am Sir Edward Mackie.” - -“Faix, there’s naything the matther,” replied Denis sullenly, rubbing -his neck; “I was jist givin’ thet dasignin’ hizzy a shaking fer -bethrayin’ me Lord Clancarty—curse her!” - -“You are mistaken, my man,” said Mackie, understanding Denis’s error, -“I was at Secretary Vernon’s when Lord Spencer came in for the warrant. -Lady Clancarty has just come from the Tower where she would fain have -shared your master’s imprisonment. Her woman here, I doubt not, is as -faithful.” - -“The saints be praised!” exclaimed Denis piously, “I couldn’t b’lave -ill of her ladyship, but whin there’s snake wurrk loike this, yer -honor, I’m afther looking fer th’ woman; ’twas a woman, sir, that -started in these dalings with th’ ould serpent himself. Me lord’s as -good as did now,—woe’s me!” - -“Say nothing like that to my lady, I charge you,” said Mackie sharply, -“she cannot bear it.” - -At the moment, Betty called Denis, having heard Alice’s story and -divining his mistake. - -“I will forgive you, Denis,” she said, “since it was for my lord’s -sake; but you have nearly killed my poor girl with fright and she was -only seeking me.” - -“Forgive me, your ladyship,” he said humbly, “I can but die fer ye, me -poor lord—” he broke down, and Lady Clancarty said no more; she, too, -was overcome. - -It did not occur to Denis to apologize to the victim of his mistaken -vengeance, but when he learned that Lady Clancarty intended to make -another attempt to get into the Tower, he joined himself to her party, -without asking permission, and followed on, determined to go with her -to his master, ignoring Alice’s abhorrence. - -It was with this strangely assorted company that Lady Clancarty -returned at daybreak to her father’s house. Not to remain, as she told -young Mackie, for never again would she dwell under the same roof with -the man who had betrayed her husband. - -The events of the night, quite as exciting at home as abroad, had -made the Earl of Sunderland wakeful, so it happened that he was out -of bed when his daughter sought him in his own room. She found him, -clad in a great shag gown, sitting in an armchair by the fire, calmly -sipping a cup of chocolate, his bland countenance showing no sign of -perturbation, no matter what his emotions might have been. Nor did he -express any surprise at his daughter’s appearance in her strange guise -at that unusual hour. He smiled upon her quite benignly and waved her -toward a chair. - -“A cup of chocolate, my love,” he said, “you look fatigued.” - -Betty looked at him sadly. She knew only too well how hard it was to -touch his heart under that polished exterior, if heart he had at all, -and she had often doubted it. - -“You will not sit down?” he asked with apparent surprise; “you must be -tired.” - -“I do not wish to rest here,” she replied sadly, “I cannot under the -same roof with Spencer,”—she would not call him her brother; “I know -you have heard all, sir,” she added, watching him keenly—hoping, -fearing; “I have come here to pray your good offices with the king—to -ask you to help your own daughter to save her husband from death!” - -Lord Sunderland held up his hand deprecatingly. - -“My love,” he said, “I feared as much! Pray do not ask the impossible! -You know how they hate me in Parliament because I am supposed to have -the king’s ear. If I meddle in this they will bring in a bill of -attainder,—it is a favorite scheme of theirs,” he added bitterly. - -“But, father, they will kill my husband,” cried Betty, “they will -behead him for high treason, and he only came here to see me!” - -Lord Sunderland smiled and sipped his chocolate, quite unmoved. - -“He is a traitor, though, my dear,” he remarked, “and quite a notorious -one. My dear Betty, don’t make a scene—you know nothing about the man.” - -“He is my husband,” she cried with passionate grief, “is that no tie?” - -“I’ve known several fine ladies who did not consider it one,” replied -the earl, with a titter, “notably my Lady Shrewsbury the elder.” - -“An infamous creature, and you know it!” cried Betty, with something -of her old spirit, and then she threw herself on her knees beside him; -“father, father,” she pleaded, “you were ever kind to me—oh, pity me, -help me to save him!” - -Sunderland tried to raise her; he even caressed her bowed head. He -detested a scene, and he did not know how to manage this beautiful -young creature. - -“My child,” he said, “this will pass; you do not know him well enough -to feel his loss. The marriage was my folly; your release—though -doubtless painful and cruel—will be a blessing in disguise.” - -Betty recoiled from his touch, her face white. - -“I love him,” she declared simply, “his death upon the block would kill -me.” - -“Tut, tut!” replied her father heartlessly; “we young people always die -so easily.” - -“I would rather die than find those of my own blood so indifferent to -my wretchedness,” cried Betty. - -“Perhaps you are indifferent, too,” rejoined the earl; “your mother -lies ill now at Windsor.” - -“I am sorry,” Betty said, “but I must try to save my husband. Father, -father!” she clung to his hand weeping, “if you ever loved me—as an -infant, as a child, as a young girl,—do not abandon me now. Oh, help -me to save him! Do you not remember when you used to carry me in your -arms—your little girl? Oh, you were kind to me, father, kinder than -any one else! You will not break my heart now? My mother never cared -for me as you did—never caressed me so, never brought me toys. I loved -you then, sir, and I love you now. Have you no place in your heart for -me—your daughter, your little girl, Elizabeth? Go to the king—you -have but to ask; they say he is merciful, and he trusts you. Oh, save -Donough!” - -Lord Sunderland sighed. “My dear,” he said, “I would gladly help you, -but you ask the impossible. I have no power to save a traitor. You know -as well as I that even the Habeas Corpus Act is suspended on account -of that rogue Bernardi and his accomplices; you know the story of the -Fenwick attainder. How can you ask me to risk my head and my family -reputation for this Irishman? You fancy you love him, Betty, but ’tis -only your fancy. There are other men as brave,” he added, with a smile; -“you need not be a widow long.” - -Betty sprang to her feet. - -“You, too, insult me—and you are my father. Oh, I have no father, -then, any more—the old, dear memories are but dreams—the hand that -caressed my childish head can deal me such a blow as this! Ah, it -breaks my heart! Alas, there is no earthly hope!” - -Lord Sunderland poured out another cup of chocolate. - -“No,” he replied calmly, “not for Clancarty. Really, my dear, I must -be firm, I cannot and I will not risk my reputation, perhaps my life, -for—” he shrugged his shoulders, “a Jacobite rogue.” - -She said nothing, but she gave him a look so eloquent that he shrank -a little, with all his effrontery, as she turned to leave the room. -At the door she paused and waved her hand to him with a gesture of -infinite sadness. - -“Farewell, father,” she said softly, “farewell! I loved you—I love -you still—and I forgive you—as I pray to be forgiven. I go, your -daughter no longer—since you disown Clancarty’s wife. I have no home, -no father—only my husband! Farewell, farewell!” - -He heard the low sound of her weeping as she went out, her head bowed -and her whole beautiful young figure full of dejection. She felt -herself an outcast. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -MY LORD OF DEVONSHIRE - - -LADY BETTY’S weakness passed. She was too strong, too loving, and too -determined by nature, to give way to the tears and sighs of a whining -woman. So stern was her face and so resolute that even Alice, with all -the old claims of faithful service and affection, dared not offer her -any consolation save to kiss her hand humbly and sadly. - -“Ah, Alice,” she said, “I cannot talk to you. When I was happy I -chattered like a magpie; but now that I feel so much I am tongue-tied; -yet I understand, my girl, I understand.” - -“I wish I could help you,” Alice said, in tears, “I wish I could do -something for you both!” - -Betty shook her head sadly. “There is no one but the king. Ah, Alice, -in my careless days I have mocked his Dutch accent and his Dutch -ways—but now—I go to him as my one hope under heaven! How foolish I -have been, how heartless!” - -She would not stay in Leicester House; she only lingered long enough -to select her plainest gown and a cloak and hood, and to take such -jewels and money as belonged to her individually, before she and Alice -set out, attended by the tireless Sir Edward. Not this time to the -Tower, however, but to a mediator who might approach the king with -more likelihood of success than any one; the widow of the martyred -Lord Russell. From Sir Edward Mackie, Lady Russell learned that -morning the whole story, and her heart was touched by the despair -of the young countess, suffering as she had suffered. Though of all -women Lady Russell was the last one to sympathize with a Jacobite, yet -her compassion moved her to forgive her enemies, and from her Lady -Clancarty might look for more help than from any one, for she was an -honored and revered friend of King William’s. - -So to Lady Russell’s house in Bloomsbury the young Countess of -Clancarty directed her steps, and it was on the way thither that they -met the coach of my Lord of Devonshire. The great emblazoned coach -drawn by four stout Flanders mares, with outriders in crimson and gold -lace, came clattering and rumbling along the street, the men cursing -and shouting at the other vehicles that threatened to stop his grace’s -way. Betty and her escort stood back to escape the mud from the kennel -as it passed. - -The news of Spencer’s despicable act and of Clancarty’s arrest had been -spread over the town by the young men at Secretary Vernon’s dinner. -When his grace saw Lady Clancarty afoot at that early hour, therefore, -he ordered his coach to stop and descended with great dignity. - -She did not wait for him to speak, running up to him with an eager face. - -“My lord, my lord,” she cried, “I claim your promise at Newmarket. You -will help me save my Lord Clancarty.” - -Devonshire gracefully kissed her hand. - -“Dear Lady Clancarty,” he replied, “I would hesitate only at John the -Baptist’s head upon a charger! I shall keep my promise. Indeed, ’tis -partly kept already, for I have just arranged with my Lords of Ormond -and Bedford to go with me to Kensington for your sake. But,” the great -man paused, glancing at the beautiful face, “my dear child, you would -be the best suppliant,” he added. - -“I will go,” Betty answered, “though, indeed, my lord, I do not know -how the king will receive me—he is so cold! And my father—” her voice -broke at the word; “Lord Sunderland will not help me. Sir Edward has -suggested Lady Russell as an intercessor.” - -An expression of surprise passed over Devonshire’s face, but it -brightened. - -“I know of no one better,” he said gravely; “nay, dear Lady Clancarty, -take heart of grace; your cold king is a merciful one.” - -Betty drew a sharp breath. - -“My Lord Clancarty is out of his clemency,” she said faintly; “the -Habeas Corpus Act—” she could say no more. - -Devonshire looked grave and his eyes met Mackie’s significantly, but he -took her hand. - -“My child,” he said kindly, “you will go in my carriage to Lady -Russell’s and then I will go to Kensington; we will not surrender until -we are beaten. You are not wont to be faint hearted.” - -“I am changed,” she replied; “the old Betty is quite dead, I think, my -lord; now I am only the shadow of Clancarty; as he suffers so also do -I. If I could but see him!” - -“I have sent to the Tower,” said the duke reassuringly, “and I think I -may get a letter for you. Would a word be any comfort?” - -“Ah, my lord!” she exclaimed, and kissed his hand impulsively. - -Once in the coach they travelled rapidly; the duke talking of other -things, seeing well enough that her strength was overtaxed. He was -still talking when the carriage turned from Little Queen Street and -stopped in Bloomsbury Square. He led her by the hand into the presence -of Rachel, Lady Russell, his kinswoman by marriage, and Lady Betty -never forgot the benevolence of the great man’s face, the kindly -pressure of his hand, the fatherly interest of his glance, as he walked -beside her in the splendid dress he had assumed to go to court. Nor did -she forget the sad, sweet dignity of the widow who rose to meet them -and came forward with such reserve of manner until she saw Lady Betty’s -face, then she held out both hands, tears glistening in her eyes; she -scarcely courtesied to the duke. - -“My child!” she exclaimed, “my poor child, I too have suffered so. Ah, -my lord, when will the Traitor’s Gate close, save on a woman’s bleeding -heart?” and she kissed the young countess on brow and cheek. - -“My husband,” faltered Betty, “you know, dear madam, that he is a -Jacobite?” - -“I know it,” Lady Russell answered sadly; “but he is also a brave man -and, as I know, the idol of one woman’s heart. Alas, my lord,” she -added gravely to Devonshire, “do you love us well enough to make amends -for the broken hearts—the faithful broken hearts?” - -His Grace of Devonshire only bowed his head while the elder sufferer -clasped the younger in her arms and caressed her, speaking kind and -soothing words, like a mother to the daughter of her heart. A moment -later, when she glanced an inquiry at him over Betty’s head, he shook -his gravely, framing “no” with his lips, for he had no hope, or next to -none. So he told young Mackie as they left the house together. - -“Poor young creature,” said his grace gravely, “she shall command my -utmost endeavors; Spencer is a cold-hearted rogue—and her father!” the -duke shrugged his shoulders; “as for Clancarty, he’s more likely to be -made an example than an exception.” - -“He’s a brave man, your grace,” said Mackie generously, “and there are -many of his persuasion.” - -“A poor philosophy, my boy,” replied the duke; “this fellow is -notorious, besides. Do you know his history?” - -“No,” said Mackie sadly, “I see only her agony.” - -“It was Ormond who introduced him to her at Newmarket, and I suspect -that his grace knew who ‘Mr. Trevor’ really was, though he doesn’t -admit it. But I believe she divined it at once. Clancarty has a -history,” his grace went on; “he was bred a Protestant, but when -he went back to Ireland, in the late king’s time, he fell in with -Papist kinsfolk and it served his turn at court to be a Papist, so my -young lord turned his coat; a wild rogue, sir, let me tell you, yet -this young girl loves him! He sat in the Celtic Parliament at King’s -Inns,—a very pretty recommendation to King William,—he commanded -a regiment in King James’s army and was taken by Marlborough, but -succeeded in getting off. The estates of Clancarty—they are held to -be worth ten thousand a year—are confiscated, and you know who has -the greater share?” added the duke significantly, “my Lord Woodstock. -William will not despoil his Dutch favorites for a Jacobite.” - -Young Mackie’s face was grave. - -“She asks only for his life,” he said, “and she pleads so eloquently -that I think no man but one of stone can refuse her.” - -Devonshire smiled broadly. - -“Not you, at least, my dear sir,” he replied, “if my eyes mistake not.” - -The young man turned crimson. - -“Your grace,” he said, “I do confess it; but I have seen her so like an -angel in her devotion, so forgetful of all but him, that, loving her, I -would risk my life to give him back to her.” - -The duke took a pinch of snuff and stood tapping the jewelled lid of -the box thoughtfully. - -“A very pretty sentiment, Sir Edward,” he said genially, “and I honor -you for it. By my faith, I would not risk my own heart against her -tears, or her smiles, either,” he added smiling, “though you need not -mention it. But I have small hope, sir, small hope; the king has been, -as we know, over merciful and fostered rebellion at his very door. What -is it the great bard says? - - “‘What doth cherish weeds but gentle air? - And what make robbers bold but too much lenity?’ - -And at this time, after the recent troubles, his majesty is not like -to be advised to mercy,” and his grace shook his head; “there is but -little hope!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -LADY RUSSELL - - -IT happened that Lady Russell advised delay in the appeal to the king; -she wished to wait for the results of the interview between his majesty -and the three dukes. Surely no fair woman ever won greater mediators as -quickly as did poor Lady Betty. - -Lady Russell hoped little, however, from their efforts, though she said -not a word of this to the distracted young wife but, instead, pointed -out the advantages of waiting until they could appeal to William quite -alone—as two women in distress—and with no connection with any -political embroglio. Indeed, the older woman knew the king well enough -to be sure that his heart might be touched by a woman’s grief, though -in affairs of state he could be adamant. In spite of Betty’s impatience -and misery, they waited, and Devonshire, Ormond, and Bedford, two great -English peers and the greatest Irish one, went up to Kensington to save -one young woman’s heart from breaking, caring little enough for the -Jacobite earl himself. - -It was during this season of delay, when despair and hope were mingled, -that one of Devonshire’s gentlemen brought a packet from the Tower and -gave it to Lady Clancarty with much elaborate courtesy. And she? She -fled with it to her room—Lady Russell had insisted upon keeping her -under her own roof—and she kissed and wept over it, before she opened -it, although she knew that the Governor of the Tower had read it all -before her, hard necessity! - -It contained a ring, a letter, and the dried sprig of shamrock, and her -eyes were half blinded with tears as she tried to read. - -“My own dear wife,” it ran, “a gentleman from my Lord of Devonshire -has just been with me and has told me of your noble devotion to me in -this dark hour, of your efforts in my behalf. Dear heart, dear heart, -how can I write all I feel, or tell my gratitude to the great duke for -befriending you? To tell the truth, I have little hope that my pardon -can be obtained, but I do hope and pray to see you once more! Ah, the -separation, Betty, I did not know how hard it would be to bear—doubly -hard now that I know you suffer, too. Bear up, brave heart, under the -despair also; indeed, I know you will, for my sake, and afterwards—you -will go to see my mother, who is, I know, broken hearted—and you -will comfort her for me. Ah, I did not mean to write to you sadly, -sweetheart, but the loss of you drives me to distraction. I see you -constantly as you looked unconscious in my arms, and it wrings my -heart. Dear love, I send you my ring and our bit of shamrock, and I -will not believe that I shall not see you again—’twould be too cruel. - -“Dear heart, sweet wife,—farewell!” - -Poor Lady Betty, she wept over it and caressed it like a living thing, -for he had touched it; and she hid the shamrock and the ring in her -bosom. - -In this distracted state she waited forty-eight hours longer, until she -knew that the three dukes had obtained no definite promise from the -king and that the Earl of Sunderland, who was supposed to command his -majesty’s ear, was proclaiming everywhere his approval of Spencer’s -deed. The cloud grew darker rather than brighter, and in her agony she -would have gone alone to Kensington, for Lady Russell’s caution seemed -to her only distracting delay. - -However, the older woman only lingered to take her steps more surely. -She drew up, with Devonshire’s help, a formal petition to the king, not -trusting to any verbal or interrupted statement of the case, and at -last, just when the young countess was reduced almost to madness, she -signified her readiness to accompany her to court. - -The king was at Kensington and the two set out, a little before noon, -in Lady Russell’s carriage, for the palace. Betty had worn her heart -out with grief and impatience; she had not slept and she had scarcely -tasted food, except under compulsion, and was a shadow of herself—but -still a beautiful one. Lady Russell knew intuitively all that the -younger woman had suffered, and when they were in the carriage, she -laid her hand gently over Betty’s. - -“My dear,” she said, “I know how cruel this delay has seemed, but, -believe me, ’twas for the best. Our appeal must be quite distinct from -that of the three dukes, and it must be only from our hearts—as two -desolate women.” - -Betty forced herself to speak with composure. - -“You know the king, madam,” she said, “and I do not—or, at -least, only slightly and, alas, he has ever seemed cold to me and -unapproachable.” - -“You truly do not know him,” Lady Russell rejoined gently; “I do not -think, dear Lady Clancarty, that a great man is ever heartless, and -this man is great.” - -Betty, who looked at the Dutch king with thoroughly English eyes, -raised her brows expressively but said nothing. - -“Yes,” continued, the older woman, looking thoughtfully out of -the carriage window, “after awhile the English people will do him -justice. What other man could have held the coalition of European -powers together against France? or could have raised England from -the degradation into which his uncles had plunged her to her present -dignity?” - -Lady Betty sighed wearily; her heart was in the Tower. - -“I know that I have heard him called the arbiter of Europe,” she -replied, “but he is so very Dutch, dear Lady Russell, and so stern and -cold in his way.” - -“Not cold,” said Lady Russell, “but merciful. His uncle James was -cold—look at the pleading of Monmouth, ’twould have moved a heart of -stone—and Charles was often cruel.” - -“Alas! King William may turn as deaf an ear to me,” cried the young -countess, with a quivering voice; “was ever fate more cruel? If he is -beheaded I shall die!” - -Lady Russell said nothing, but gave her so eloquent a look that Betty -broke down. - -“Forgive me!” she cried, “oh, forgive me! How selfish grief makes us; I -forgot—” - -“I lived,” said the widow quietly. - -Betty fell to weeping silently. - -“’Twould be worse to live!” she moaned. - -“It is worse,” retorted Lady Russell; “grief eats into the heart like a -canker; but I lived for his son!” - -Betty’s head went lower down; sobs shook her from head to foot. The -older woman put her arm around her. - -“I know,” she said, “I know, but we are going to a great man—a great -king. Dear child, let us hope. You do not know King William. Melancholy -and personal misfortunes seem to be wrapped in the birthright of the -Stuarts, but, ah, my dear, this man is descended also from the house -of that great prince who set Holland free. Mercy belongs, of right, to -mighty princes.” - -“I love a great man,” said Betty, drying her tears. - -“So do all women,” replied Lady Russell; “it is born in us; we do not -love littleness or weakness. This is a very solemn matter and we may -not judge the king, or judge for him.” - -Lady Clancarty did not reply, she could not; she was struggling to -conquer her emotions, to prepare herself for the coming interview, and -Lady Russell took her hand and held it in silent sympathy. - -The agony of that hour of suspense was almost too much to bear; her -husband’s life hanging in the balance, at the will of this stern, -silent man; this man who seemed to her—as he did to many of the -English, an unsympathetic, phlegmatic Dutchman—an alien in the land. - -“Yonder is the palace,” remarked Lady Russell, in a strangely quiet -voice, though her hand clasped tightly over Betty’s. - -They both looked out on the palace and the green before it, the barrack -buildings and the gates, at which a dozen or more emblazoned coaches -waited, and they could see the sun flash on the arms of the guards -within and without the gates. - -The girl drew her breath sharply; she shook from head to foot. - -“Ah, madam,” she cried wildly, “if he says—‘no’!” - -Lady Russell bowed her head, her lips moved; her thoughts went back to -the dreadful days of the Rye House Plot; she thought of herself beside -her husband at his trial, of his last hours; she seemed to see him in -the coach, driven almost past his home on his way to die in Lincoln’s -Inn Fields. She shuddered, too, but in a moment her serene sadness -returned. - -“We must put our trust in the King of kings,” she said gently, clasping -her hands and looking upward. - -Betty wept silently; at that moment every hope seemed to die in her -heart. - -Meanwhile, the coach rolled heavily and surely as fate itself along the -High Street of Kensington, and at last through the palace gates. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE KING - - -KENSINGTON PALACE was an offence in those days to English eyes. The -burning of Whitehall had furnished William with the opportunity to -escape, not only from the air of London, which aggravated his asthma, -but also from the crowd of sycophants who choked the galleries of the -city palace. Long muddy roads and exorbitant charges for conveyance -made it no easy matter for the spendthrift courtier and the needy -adventurer to torment the king at Kensington. He was as well pleased at -the escape as they were disgruntled; but even here they could pursue -him with annoyances. - -The malcontents in Parliament had stripped him of his beloved Dutch -guards, and in their stead the Life Guards saluted at his threshold. - -It was through a file of these gay gentlemen that Betty passed with -Lady Russell, and they stared not a little at the lovely face of the -young countess, though they received both with every token of respect -and courtesy. Lady Russell was, indeed, a well-known and honored guest -at the palace, and they were conducted by an officer of the household -to the anteroom of the king’s presence chamber, there to await his -pleasure. - -The long room was already filled with visitors of almost every degree, -come upon various errands, and Lady Clancarty found it no light thing -to face the ill-disguised curiosity and admiration that assailed her on -all sides. - -Here was a peer, in the splendid dress of the court, glittering with -jewels and gold lace, curled and perfumed and ruffled; here a plainly -dressed shrewd fellow, with a bundle of papers, a clerk from the -foreign office, for the king was his own minister of foreign affairs; -there was a richly dressed magnate of the city, with an eye on the -interests of the East India Company; there an eager applicant for -office; and farther off, a despairing petitioner who glanced in open -sympathy at Lady Clancarty. - -A king’s anteroom! How many secret histories are written here; what -comedy, what tragedy! - -The low murmur of talk rose and fell; great ladies, powdered and -patched, swept their furbelows through the crowd and swayed their fans, -chattering lightly of a hundred things; great lords bowed and smiled -and took snuff and cursed the king, in their hearts, for keeping them -waiting. A pair of lovers, two young things, were cooing in a window -recess, as indifferent to the public as a pair of turtledoves, and -Betty looked at them with dull eyes. The wait seemed to be for hours, -and the heated atmosphere and the flutter of talk almost suffocated -her. She looked up and saw the door open and her father coming out of -the king’s closet, pleased, smiling, courteous to all, greeting them -right and left, bowing here, extending a hand there. Betty felt that he -saw her, but he averted his face and she stepped back into the window -recess near at hand and opened the sash; she could not breathe. While -she stood there his Grace of Devonshire came up and had a few words -with Lady Russell. - -“Is there any hope?” her ladyship asked sadly, with a meaning glance -aside at the young figure in its plain black garb. - -His grace shook his head. - -“I see none,” he replied, very low; “there has been such a demand for -examples; the people are so tired of these conspiracies, and they are -like to class Clancarty with the worst. You know the king, that reserve -of his betrays nothing, but I think I never saw him less inclined to -mercy.” - -Lady Russell’s face became intensely grave. - -“I shall do all I can,” she said, “my utmost. Poor young thing, her -heart is breaking!” - -The duke cast a look of deep concern toward Lady Clancarty and shook -his head again. The next moment he smiled, as she turned to them, -smiled and kissed her hand as an open sign of his sympathy and support. -She said nothing; she only looked searchingly into his eyes and her -lips quivered. Would it be much longer? - -The talk rose and fell; some woman laughed, the shallow cackling laugh -that comes from the empty heart and the empty head; the crackling of -thorns under a pot. - -An usher bowed before Lady Russell and she held out her hand to Betty. -The duke smiled again reassuringly; and the two women walked slowly -through the throng, passed in at a low doorway, and in a moment there -was stillness. - -They had entered a low-ceiled room, lighted by one large window; it -was plainly but richly furnished and near a table strewn with papers -stood a small, thin man. He was dressed in black velvet, with a ruffled -cravat of Mechlin and a star on his breast; he wore a great curled -periwig. Insignificant in size but with a wonderful majesty of bearing; -the king of three kingdoms and the stadt-holder of Hollander—William -of Orange. - -As they entered he turned and stood looking at them. His complexion -was a clear, pale olive; his eagle nose and brilliant eyes immediately -commanding attention, with something, too, in the cold majesty of his -mien and the habitual sadness of his expression. His face, narrow at -the chin, expanded widely at the brows, and his glance was singularly -luminous. His eyes a clear hazel, with a depth to them like the clear -brown of some mountain pool undisturbed by any ripple upon the surface, -deep and transparent; his thin figure was inclined to stoop, and he had -a racking cough, left behind by smallpox. - -He greeted Lady Russell and the young countess with perfect courtesy, -but his reserve remained as icy as ever, and like a cloak about him; -warm-hearted Betty shivered, stricken silent. - -“Sire, we come to you as humble suppliants,” Lady Russell said, “to -pray you to graciously receive our petition. I need not tell your -majesty that this is Lord Sunderland’s daughter, the unhappy wife of -the Earl of Clancarty.” - -“My Lords of Devonshire and Ormond have already told me,” the king -said, coughing a little as he cast a thoughtful look at the young -countess; “I am sorry,” he added, “that it is so.” - -“Ah, sire, have mercy on us both,” murmured Lady Betty, finding her -tongue at last; “to you belongs the glory of mercy. Spare him, your -majesty, he came here only to see me—to see his wife.” - -The king did not reply, but took the petition from Lady Russell and -laid it on the table. - -“Let me plead for her, sire,” said the widow gently, “I need not remind -your majesty that I have suffered as she is suffering. I knelt to plead -for life to King Charles, as she kneels now to King William, and I -knelt in vain. They carried my husband—almost past his own home—to -his death and I—ah, my king, I lived! That is the terror of it, and -the cruelty; you cannot divine it,—’tis martyrdom!” the widow’s voice -was shaken by the agony of recollection and for the moment she could -say no more. “I pray you humbly, if I have ever served your majesty -or deserved well at your hands, to consider our petition. We ask but -life—all else we leave in your hands. Let us remind you, sire, that of -all the qualities that most adorn your gracious character that of mercy -has ever shone conspicuous, has won the hearts of your people—” - -William held up his hand with a bitter smile. - -“Say no more, madam,” he interrupted ironically; “’tis not often that I -am reminded of my conquest of the hearts of the English people!” - -Lady Betty threw herself on her knees before him. - -“Sire,” she cried, “I pray for mercy—for life! Ah, think, your -majesty, the day must come when you, too, will look for mercy—and -I am sure your pity for us now will comfort you then. I only ask my -husband’s life—his life!” - -Her voice broke pitifully; how little she could say! Agony ties the -tongue; she looked up through her tears and wrung her hands together -with a gesture of despair, an appeal more eloquent than words. - -“O gracious sovereign,” she murmured faintly, “life—life! That is my -cry to you—only spare him to me.” - -A cough racked the king, and for the moment he was silent. Lady Russell -trembled for the effect of the appeal. He raised the countess kindly. - -“My child,” he said, “these matters are not always as much at the -king’s disposal as they seem; you forget my parliament;” a dry smile -flickered across his face; “I can make you no unconditional promise -until I have considered your petition, and those of others in this -matter. Your husband has been a conspicuous offender, but if I can save -him—” he broke off, closing his lips tightly, his face singularly -stern and sad. - -Betty thought he had yielded and began to pour out her thanks weeping, -but the king held up his hand coldly. - -“I can make no unconditional promise,” he repeated dryly, “reserve your -thanks until there is a certainty—but,” he added, after a moment’s -hesitation, “think not hardly hereafter of your Dutch king.” - -Betty turned crimson and William gave Lady Russell a significant -glance. - -“Your husband is an old offender, Lady Clancarty,” he added, with his -rasping little cough; “he not only fought in Ireland but he sat in that -parliament at King’s Inns, and there are others who might base a claim -for indemnity upon any clemency that he received. But rest assured,” -he continued, “that the king has as much feeling as any other man—and -heavier sorrows.” - -He gently and kindly dismissed them, but Betty having gone half way -across the room ran back, as impulsive as any child, and kneeling on -one knee kissed his hand, and then ran out weeping, as unmindful of -etiquette as a country lass. - -On the stairs she looked up through her tears at Lady Russell. - -“I understand you now,” she said, deeply moved; “I felt his -greatness—he is a king! But, oh, will he be merciful? Will he spare my -poor husband?” - -Lady Russell could not answer; she turned her face aside. She felt -that the king had given them so little hope, that his answer had been -enigmatical. She took Betty’s hand again, but neither of them could -speak; and in silence they went home to the house in Bloomsbury. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -DONOUGH! - - -THE night of suspense—longer than a year of happiness—wore to an end, -because all things end. At noon Lady Betty stood in Lady Russell’s -drawing-room, leaning against the window and looking out, so wan and -wasted that her hostess started at the sight of her as she entered. The -two women greeted each other with an affection born of sympathy, in -spite of their brief acquaintance, and as they stood there with clasped -hands, they heard the clatter of hoofs in the street below, a noise at -the door, steps on the stair. - -Betty uttered a cry and stood rigid; it had come, good or ill! The door -was flung open and Devonshire’s messenger, plashed with mire from hard -riding, bowed at the threshold, holding up a letter. - -“From his grace to Lady Russell,” he said. - -Lady Russell tore it open with shaking hands but Betty did not -stir; she stood like a statue; she thought her heart had stopped -beating. The older woman clasped the paper to her bosom, murmuring a -thanksgiving. - -“He is saved!” she cried joyfully, holding out the letter to Lady -Clancarty, “your husband is saved! The king grants his life, but exiles -him.” - -Lady Betty swayed and would have fallen but for her friend. The good -woman caught her in her arms. - -“That merciful king!” cried Lady Russell, tears streaming down her -face; “ah, if I had been so blessed!” - -Betty flung her arms around her neck and kissed her. - -“I must go to the Tower!” she cried eagerly, after a moment, “I may go -now.” - -“Nay, madam,” interposed the duke’s messenger respectfully, “his grace -did especially charge me to beg you to remain here until he came for -you.” - -“Ay,” said Lady Russell, glancing at the letter, “he speaks of it here.” - -A shade of deep disappointment crossed the youthful face, but she bowed -her head. - -“I shall await the duke’s pleasure,” she said. - -After the messenger withdrew, Lady Russell touched her friend’s frock -playfully. - -“My dear,” she remarked, “you will not go to welcome him back to the -world in this sombre garb?” - -Betty glanced down dolefully. - -“I brought no other,” she replied. - -Lady Russell smiled and sent for Alice. - -“My child,” she said, “I heard this morning that there was strong -hope—yet I dared not tell you, for fear of disappointment. But I sent -Alice for a gayer gown than this for your lover.” - -Betty blushed like a rose, for in walked Alice, carrying in her arms -the flowered brocade that her mistress had worn at Newmarket, and Alice -was all smiles and tears. Nothing would do but that Lady Russell and -Alice must array her as for a festival. - -“For the Tower!” protested Betty, between tears and laughter, trembling -and listening for a sound. - -“For your husband,” whispered Lady Russell, kissing her cheek, -“the king has granted you a pension sufficient for you on the -Continent—alas, that you must go.” - -“Ah, but with him,” said Lady Betty smiling divinely. - -It was while they talked that Alice came by chance upon Denis on the -staircase; Denis was smiling like a cherub. He stood before her -awkwardly. - -“Faix,” he said, “I was afther thinking ye a sneak, my darlint, but, -shure, I misjudged ye,” he paused, shuffling his feet with unfamiliar -shyness in his aspect, while Alice eyed him with prim disapproval. - -“My darlint,” he said, “I’m afther makin’ some aminds fer th’ batin’; -will—will ye be Mrs. Dinis now?” - -But Alice withered him with a look. - -“There’s no need of ill will, my darlint,” he continued nervously; -“faix, I know a man that always bates his wife whin his affection -overcomes him.” - -“You don’t know me!” exclaimed Alice indignantly, red as a poppy. - -Denis, not a whit abashed, would have caught her hand. - -“There’s nathing in th’ wurrld to kape us from gittin’ acquainted, me -love,” he said gallantly. - -“Deliver me from a bloody Papist!” said Alice piously, escaping up -the stair and leaving Denis grinning openly in his relief, for he had -contemplated a noble sacrifice of his own feelings. - -Meanwhile Lady Russell and the countess had descended to the -drawing-room again to await my Lord of Devonshire’s arrival. Like a -rose, Betty had bloomed out with joy, radiant in her beautiful gown, -trembling and impatient. She paced the floor, Lady Russell watching her. - -“Ah,” she said, “why can I not go at once to the Tower? ’Tis so hard to -wait!” - -“The duke would go with you,” Lady Russell replied quietly, “and it is -best so.” - -“He has been so good to me—to us!” Betty murmured, a break in her -voice. - -She was thinking of her father’s averted face, her brother’s cruelty, -her tittering, painted, heartless mother. “He is kinder than my own -blood,” she said, “he and the king.” - -“He remembered even the pension,” Lady Russell assented, “that good -king!” - -But Lady Betty scarcely heard her; she strained her ears to catch far -other sounds. The rumble of a heavy coach, the closing of a door, steps -in the hall. She fled to the top of the staircase, like a startled -bird, and looked down; through a window beside her the sun shone in. -There were many below, my Lord of Devonshire, a stately figure, the -Duke of Ormond, young Sir Edward Mackie, half a dozen gentlemen. But -she did not see them; what were they to her? - -She saw a tall figure, a handsome, eager face, as Clancarty sprang up -the stairs. - -Lady Betty held out her arms, the sun shining in her face. - -“Donough!” she cried, “my own true -love!” - -THE END - -[Illustration] - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been - standardized. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of My Lady Clancarty, by Mary Imlay Taylor - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY LADY CLANCARTY *** - -***** This file should be named 55706-0.txt or 55706-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/0/55706/ - -Produced by David E. 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