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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6b28eb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69720 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69720) diff --git a/old/69720-0.txt b/old/69720-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 57024a5..0000000 --- a/old/69720-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8728 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Moll Davis, by Bernard Capes - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Moll Davis - -Author: Bernard Capes - -Release Date: January 7, 2023 [eBook #69720] - -Language: English - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLL DAVIS *** - - - - - - MOLL DAVIS - - A COMEDY - - - _By_ BERNARD CAPES - AUTHOR OF - “THE LAKE OF WINE,” “A JAY OF ITALY,” ETC., ETC. - - - - - LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. - RUSKIN HOUSE MUSEUM STREET W.C. - - - - - [COPYRIGHT] - - _First published in 1916_ - - - - - (_All rights reserved_) - - - - - CONTENTS - - Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV - Chapter V - Chapter VI - Chapter VII - Chapter VIII - Chapter IX - Chapter X - Chapter XI - Chapter XII - Chapter XIII - Chapter XIV - Chapter XV - Chapter XVI - Chapter XVII - Chapter XVIII - - - - - MOLL DAVIS - - CHAPTER I - -Somewhere about the western angle now formed by the junction of -Oxford Street and the Charing Cross Road, there stood in the year 1661 -“The Mischief” Inn. It was a substantial building, consisting of two -gabled sections, divided by a third and wider having a pent-roof, and -forming with the others a deep recess, in whose ground quarters was -plentiful accommodation for the stabling of horses. At the level of -the first story ran a railed wooden balcony, common to all the -bedrooms behind; and in the yard below were rough benches and -trestle-tables disposed about, where customers might forgather to -discuss, over their pipes and purl, such topics as went seasonably -with them--it might be his popular Majesty’s latest roguery, or “Old -Mob’s,” almost as great a thief and favourite. - -“The Mischief,” standing as it did on the great highway running east -and west, formed a convenient terminus for travellers journeying from -the contiguous wilds of Berkshire and Wiltshire, the majority of whom, -for reasons of economy, came by “waggon.” This was a vast road craft, -with a tilt, and tyres to its wheels a foot wide, whose consistent -record of progress never exceeded three miles to the hour. It was -drawn commonly by six sturdy roadsters in double harness, and bearing -yokes with swinging bells at the hames of their collars; and time was -never of the essence of its contract. But it was safe, if slow, being -well prepared and armed against surprises, which were by no means of -infrequent occurrence by the days-long way, especially as London was -approached. - -Oxford Street itself, indeed, bore a villainous reputation. It -stretched somewhat on the borders of the town, with wild and wooded -country going northwards from it, and was handy therefore to the -gentry whose profession it was to cut purses from the skirts of -civilization. Latterly, its heterogeneous domiciles had shown a -tendency to increase and multiply, and, by adding to their number on -either side the way, to extend the boundaries of the comparative -security which obtained about the central regions of Westminster and -Whitehall. But it was still a perilous district, the very expression -and moral of which appeared epitomized in the sign which swung on a -high gallows, beside a wooden water-trough, before the front of our -inn, and which depicted a poor unhappy citizen bearing upon his -suffering shoulders a drunken scold. In the neighbourhood of the -building clustered, like disreputable relations, a knot of tenements, -which included a pawnbroker’s and a gin-shop; and southwards from it -zigzagged a muddy bridle-way--known appropriately as Hog Lane--which, -traversing a motley course, half town, half rookery, debouched finally -upon the village of Charing, where in an open place stood the monument -with its gilt cross. - -So, approximately, appeared this particle of our London in the year -following that of the King’s Grace’s restoration, A.D. 1661. It is -easier to explain a frog of to-day out of a Pliocene leviathan than it -is to trace the growth of a huge metropolis from such paltry -beginnings. The tendency of Nature is to reduce from the unwieldy to -the workable, while that of man is to magnify his productions out of -all proportion with the simple necessities they are wanted to supply. -That is why towns increase while animals grow smaller. - -The yard of “The Mischief” Inn was fairly crowded on that particular -June morning which witnessed the encounter between its landlord and -Mrs. Moll Davis. This young lady had come to town out of Wiltshire, by -waggon, some fortnight or more earlier, and, putting up at the inn, -had succeeded already in outstaying a welcome which was wont to be -continued to such angels only as came franked with a sufficiency of -their golden namesakes. In short, Mrs. Davis could not, or would not, -pay her score; and, since she failed to quit the landlord, and he -declined to release her without settlement, a state of deadlock had -arisen between them, which seemed to promise no conclusion but through -the better ability of one or the other to “throw” its adversary in a -wrestle of wit--a contest in which the lady, at least, need expect no -“law.” And it was at this juncture that Mr. George Hamilton appeared -upon the scene. - -He was a very agreeable young gentleman, of cavalier rank, debonair -and smart to foppery, which as yet, however, stopped short of the -extravagance which later came to characterize it. He wore his own long -chestnut hair, and a lingering tone of sobriety marked his dress. The -times, in fact, had not quite pulled free their damasked wings from -the Puritan case which had enclosed them, though certain foreshadowed -iridescences gave promise of the splendour to come; and, moreover, the -gentleman had ridden in that morning from the country, and had been in -no mind to stake his sweetest trappings against the habitual quagmires -of Oxford Street. He dismounted at “The Mischief” for his morning -draught, and, giving his horse to hold to his servant, sat down at a -table in the yard, and hammered for the drawer. - -George was a bold youth of his inches--which were sufficient--but -quite immoral and unscrupulous. He fitted amiably into his age, which -expected nothing better of a man than good company. That he supplied, -and could have supplied in purer brand if good-fellowship had been its -inevitable corollary. But there he lacked. Generally he wished no man -good but where he saw his own profit of the sentiment; and he could be -an inhuman friend. He had regular, rather full features, and a rolling -brown eye which took in much that had been kindlier left unobserved; -and, like most of his order, he was infernally pugnacious. While his -ale was bringing, he sat, one arm akimbo, the other crossed on his -knee, conning, as if they were cattle, the group about him, and -humming an abstracted tune. There was no one who interested him much, -or who touched a note of originality in all the commonplace crowd -which surrounded him. Grooms, carters, local traders; a seedy rakehell -or two; a lowering Anabaptist, sipping his ale with a toast in it, and -furtively conscious the while of the scrutiny of a yellow trained-band -Captain lolling by the tap door; a prowling pitcher-bawd, lean, -red-eyed, and hugging his famine as he ogled about for custom--one and -all they conformed to type, and presented nothing beyond it worth -considering. George felt quarrelsome over the matter, as if he had -been defrauded of a legitimate expectation. True, mankind in its -ordinary habits and conversation could hardly be looked to at the best -for more than diluted epigram; yet there should be a limit to the -insipidity of things, and he felt it almost his duty to insist upon -the fact. Possibly his brain was a little fevered from last night’s -debauch. - -The seedy Mohawks were his nearest neighbours. Said one to his fellow, -in the words of Banquo’s murderer: “It will be rain to-night.” - -Hamilton turned on him. - -“Who says so, clout?” - -“Sir!” exclaimed the young man, startled aback. - -“I say, who says so?” - -“I say so.” - -“Then a pox on your profanity! Are you to arrogate to yourself the -Almighty’s prerogatives? It shall rain or not as the Lord decrees.” - -“Hallelujah, young sir!” boomed the Anabaptist. - -“Do you say it will not rain?” demanded George, addressing him. - -“Nay,” answered the Fifth-Monarchist; “but I trust it will not.” - -“Then you are as bad as the other,” said George, “since you are as -ready to lament the Almighty’s dispensations.” He snapped again on the -luckless first speaker. “I am a man of submission, for my part, and -content to accept whatever comes--even if it be a fool to spit himself -on my rapier-point. I’ll take you on that question of your damned -divinity.” - -The landlord came up at the moment, bringing his drink, and -simultaneously there appeared, on the balcony above, the figure of a -young girl. A certain hush had fallen on the crowd, expectant of a -fracas. - -“Zoons!” said Boniface sourly; “we’ll have no talk of swords, by your -leave. No swords, my lord, none. This is no hedge-tavern; we want no -fire-eaters here! We’ve a reputation to maintain.” - -He was a gross, club-fisted man, with a sooty underlip. It needed such -to keep a grip on the sort of company he dealt with. - -“A reputation for mischief, by the token,” said Hamilton derisively, -“or you fly false colours.” - -The landlord grumbled violently. “No steel, by God! I say. I’m master -here.” He was already out of temper, and, glancing up, found a timely -butt for his wrath in the figure on the balcony. With an exclamation -of fury, he heaved his shoulders through the mob until he came under. - -“Here, you!” he roared. “Who let your ladyship out of duress?” - -She nodded and smiled down. - -“A hairpin,” she said. “I managed to pick the lock with it.” - -She was young--almost a child, with blue eyes laughing in a saucy -face. From under a black whimple, set coquettishly on her head and -garnished with a sprig of rosemary, filched from the kitchen, hung -thick brown curls over dolly-pink cheeks. A deep-falling collar, quite -plain, was set about her slender throat, and loosely knotted into it -was a tasselled cord. An underskirt of stone blue, and an upper one of -brown, bunched at the tail into a little pannier, completed a very -attractive picture. Hamilton, his attention drawn to it, sat up, -interested and mollified at once. - -“Then,” cried the landlord, with an oath or two, “you’ll e’en return -whence you came, or I’ll bring the law on you for house-breaking! -Bing-awast! Back you go to your chamber, bobtail!” - -The lady nodded again, pursing cherry lips; and prompt the answer came -from them-- - -“I’ll see you damned first!” - -The crowd bawled with laughter; but the landlord, purple in the face, -turned to storm the heights by way of a flight of steps which gave -access to the balcony from the yard corner. Before he had well -started, however, Hamilton’s voice stayed him-- - -“Hold, vintner! Steel or no steel, I take up this quarrel!” - -He had risen, and now advanced to the scene of action, the press -giving way to him. His air, his obvious rank, no less than his hint of -a dangerous temper, were his sufficient passports, not only with the -company but to the landlord’s better consideration. The man scowled -and muttered; but he stood halted. Hamilton blew a kiss to the rosy -nymph before he turned on her persecutor. - -“Duress! House-breaking!” quoth he. “What terms are these to hold an -angel fast? Tell us her crime, bluffer!” - -“Angel!” responded the landlord deeply. “Aye, a pretty angel, to cully -a poor innkeeper out of his dues! Look you here, master--you that are -so righteous--will you pay your angel her shot?” - -“She owes you board and lodging?” - -“Aye, she does; seven days and more.” - -George looked up at the balcony. - -“Is that true, child?” - -The girl had already produced a little handkerchief, which she now -dabbed to her eyes, her breath catching very touchingly. - -“Sure I would find the money if I could,” she said. “He might give me -credit for my good intentions.” - -“I’ll give you credit for nothing!” roared the landlord. “God -A’mighty! She’ll be asking for a cash advance on her good intentions -next!” - -George hushed him down. - -“Whence do you hail, child,” he said, “and whither make?” - -She whimpered. “I’m but a poor maid, out of Wiltshire, kind sir, and -’tis a husband I seek.” - -“A husband!” quoth he. “Alack that I’m none myself, to accommodate -your need. But if a bachelor might serve----” - -The crowd hooted again. - -“Pay her shot, Captain, and hold her hostage for it.” - -“Shall I?” said Hamilton. He addressed the childish countenance above, -observing for the first time the tiniest of patches placed under the -corner of its baby mouth. That gave him some sniggering thought. It -seemed to suggest the footlight Chloe rather than the genuine article. -Moreover the baggage appeared, for all her seeming innocence, quite -self-possessed. He wondered. “What do you say, child?” he demanded. - -She had fallen back a little, using her handkerchief. Now she started, -as if conscious of some question, and leaned forward again. - -“Was it the gentleman with the plum-pudding eye that spoke?” she said. - -A clap of new laughter greeted the seeming artless sally. George -cachinnated with the rest, but in a mortified fashion. - -“Yes,” says he; “and a very sweet simile, my dear.” He turned to the -landlord. “What is she, vintner?” - -“_God_ knows,” answered the man morosely. “A strolling play-actress, -like as not. She’s no good, whatever she is.” - -“No good is a better woman than you, you radish!” cried the girl. - -“That’s certain,” said Hamilton. “You are answered, bluffer.” - -“Answered?” said the man. “Aye, I know her. Trust her young tongue to -answer, though you provoked it in the middle of a song.” - -“Song? Does she sing?” - -“Does she _not_--like the wicked young syrup she is. Sings like a -kettle.” - -The lady laughed. - -“And best when in hot water. Shall I sing to you now?” - -“Sing for your supper, like Master Tom Tucker,” said the Cavalier. -“Yes, sing, by all means; only come down to do it. I’ll go bail for -her,” he assured the landlord. - -The man grumbled, but submitted, and George beckoned the nymph. - -“Descend,” said he, “and give us of your quality. You shall not lose -by it.” - -She nodded, disappeared for a moment, and returning with a lute, ran -to the stairs, descended to the yard, and stood among the company, -confident and unabashed. And straight and readily she touched the -strings, with slender fingers seeming oddly native to that tuneful -contact, and sang the little song which afterwards came to be the most -associated with her naughty name. - - My lodging is on the cold ground, - And hard, very hard, is my fare, - But that which grieves me more - Is the coldness of my dear. - Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn - to me, - For thou art the only one, love, - that art ador’d by me. - - I’ll twine thee a garland of straw, love, - I’ll marry thee with a rush ring, - My frozen hopes will thaw, love, - And merrily we will sing. - Then turn to me, my own love; - I prythee, love, turn to me, - For thou art the only one, love, - that art ador’d by me. - -There was silence as she ended, for indeed the child’s voice was of -the sweetest, as full and natural as a bird’s; and then came a round -of applause. Hamilton hushed it, rather angrily. “Would ye slam down -the lid of the virginal while the last notes still ring in it?” he -said. “Unfeeling dolts!” - -Sweet music touched him; perhaps it was the only gentleness that -could. It wrought a glamour which willy-nilly fooled his better -reason. It did so now, conscious as he was of his own enthralment. -Here was no longer a child adventuress, but a plaintive innocent, -melodiously sorrowing in Nature’s very voice. He was never a giver in -the disinterested sense; now the song decided a point on which he had -hitherto wavered. He turned impulsively to the landlord. - -“What is her debt?” said he. “I discharge it.” - -“Thirty shillings and a groat,” answered the other promptly. - -“Knock off the groat,” said Hamilton, “for your contribution. What, -man, who calls the tune must pay the piper.” - -He would hear no remonstrances, but waved the innkeeper away. “Come -aside with me,” he said to the girl; and, very willingly it seemed, -she obeyed. He led her to a table apart, where he sat her down, -himself facing her, and there was none of the company rash enough to -question by so much as a snigger that implied claim to privacy in a -public place. Most dispersed about their business, while the few who -remained gave the couple a respectfully wide berth. - -“Now,” said Hamilton, “who are you, pretty one?” - -“A poor deserted wife, kind sir,” she answered, “as ever wedded a -villain.” - -“A wife--you baby!” - -“Please, I was married in long clothes,” said she. - -“And who taught you that song?” - -“Grief,” she said--“and Mr. Bedding.” - -“Your husband?” - -“O, no!” says she. “There was no bedding with him.” - -He conned her shrewdly. He was already beginning to recover himself, -and to suspect a hussy under this rose. - -“Why not?” he said. - -“He was that jealous,” she answered, “if the moon looked in at the -window, he would accuse me of making eyes at the man in her.” - -“That was in Wiltshire?” - -“Where our home was, sure.” - -“And so you left him?” - -“Mr. Bedding came by, and took me to sing for him. But a strolling -company was never to my taste.” - -“So you left it and came to town?” - -“I went home again.” - -“To your husband?” - -“No, he was gone.” - -“Gone?” - -“He had taken umbrage, as they call it--he was always one to mind a -little thing--and off’d with it to Jericho, leaving me nothing but his -curse--not so much as a sixpence beside.” - -“And so you followed him--to Jericho?” - -“Not I. I followed my own inclinations, and they brought me here.” - -“Well, inclinations spend more than they hoard, as a rule. Haven’t you -found it so?” - -“Sure, I’ve no need to hoard, when kind gentlemen pay my bills for -me.” - -“That’s as it may be, Mrs. ---- By the by, what _is_ your name?” - -“Mary Davis, by your leave, kind sir; but my intimates call me Moll. -Please, what is yours?” - -“George Hamilton, Moll.” - -“That’s a good name, George. Are you of the King’s Court?” - -“I’ve been there.” - -“I do so long to see the King--a dear, kind gentleman. They call him -in our parts the father of his people. Is he?” - -“Well,--of quite a number of them. Why do you want to see the King?” - -“Only--O, just to see him!” - -George wagged a finger at the artless young baggage. - -“O-ho! Mrs. Mollinda,” says he. “Does the wind lie that way? You have -begun early, true enough; and you’ll not fail for lack of confidence -in your pretty wits. But it’s a long climb from the cradle to the -four-poster.” He laughed. “Upon my word--the baby’s assurance! and by -way of such obstacles!” - -She turned pained, troubled eyes on the scoffer, making as if to rise. - -“What have I said in my innocence?” - -“Nothing at all,” says he. “Your innocence never spoke a word. But, by -God! your looks are voluble. I’ faith, you’re the sweetest darling, -Mrs. Moll, and for that I’ll be your friend, if you will, as a decent -young gentleman should. What would you have me do? Find your husband -for you?” - -“Alack! Is that to be my friend?” - -“The best, maybe--but by and by. Who knows? He may come to serve us -with royalty yet. Do you trust me, Moll?” - -“Sure a poor girl like me must live on trust.” - -“So she must, and live very well too. Did that rogue of a landlord -really keep you fast?” - -“On my honour he did.” - -“Don’t swear by false idols.” - -“What have I said now?” - -“That he put you on your honour.” - -“No, that he did not. My honour’s not for such as him.” - -“No, indeed. It flies at higher game. Well, he must keep you still, -for a while.” - -“Not he!” - -“He must, I say. You must bide here till I can arrange of your -fortunes. I’m but by the road, and will come again anon. Never fear; -I’ll see you well provided. But you must lie close for the moment, if -you would have my help.” - -“In what?” - -“To see the King, of course.” - -She clapped her little hands in artless glee. - -“Shall I see the King?” - -“See him and sing to him, perhaps. In the meantime you’re mine to -dispose of. Is it a bargain?” He rose, and she with him, her -expression downcast and demure. “That’s well,” said he. “Give me a -buss, Mrs. Moll, in token of our understanding.” - -He bent over the table, pulled her to him, and set his lips under the -dangling curls. Then, being released, she ran with a face of fire to -the steps, and, ascending them, to the accompaniment of an -irrepressible guffaw or so from the spectators, paused a moment on the -balcony above, hearing a jackass bray in the stables. - -“What an echo there is in this place,” says she to the heads below, -“when you gentlemen all laugh together!” and whisked into her room. - -Hamilton, in the meantime, going to arrange terms with the landlord, -grinned agreeably to his own thoughts. The chit had neither imposed on -him nor, comely limb though she was, disorganized his emotions. -Indeed, being deeply engaged at the moment to an intrigue which -absorbed his most passionate energies, he had no appetite for -supplementary complications. Still, beauty was beauty, and to invest -in it, with whatever view to ultimate profit of one sort or the other, -was never a bad principle. He had no conception at present of any use -to which to put these covetable goods which good fortune had committed -to his hands; but that he could find a use for them, and one that -should be personally gainful, he never had a doubt. The only necessity -was promptitude. He had seen enough to know that his hold on the skit -was to be measured by just the length and elasticity of the tether by -which he might strive to keep her under his nominal control. And that -tether must be provided shortly, or she would scamper free of her own -accord. But he was a man of distinguished resourcefulness in such -matters, and he never questioned his own ability to convert this -capture somehow to a profitable end. And in the meanwhile the girl was -well disposed where no prowling town-bull might come by her to steal a -march on him. Indeed, to make assurance double sure, he hinted to the -landlord of a favour contingent on his holding himself responsible, as -heretofore, for the safe custody of his guest, with a suggestion that -locks which yielded themselves to the insidious manipulations of -hairpins were better supplemented by stouter defences. And, having -satisfied himself as to that, he departed. - - - - - CHAPTER II - -In a fine panelled room which gave, through two large windows, upon -the privy gardens of Whitehall Palace, a lady and a gentleman were -seated as far apart as the limits of the chamber would permit. She, in -her place, worked at a sampler, or affected to work; and he, in his, -read in a book, or affected to read. - -The room was such as, with the best will in the world, we cannot, -lacking its appropriate human furniture, preserve, or reproduce, in -these days without vital loss to its character. We may possess the -sombre panels, the rich-hued pictures with their gilded frames -sufficiently illuminating the austerity, the Venetian glass -girandoles, reflecting in the polished floor below, as in water, their -starry opalescences; we may have, or acquire, the brass-studded, or -the stamped leather, or the screw-railed chairs, the elaborately -carved or the gate-legged tables, the priceless Persian rugs--which, -by the by, are but an early fashion resumed--the gilt caskets and the -silvered mirrors: we can _not_, unless to bring great ridicule upon -ourselves, wear the long lovelocks down our cheeks, or the silk -favours at our shoulders, or the jewelled cravats and beribboned hose -and breeches, without which all the rest must figure but as an -anachronism, a discordance, an Elgin marble ravished from its -Parthenon, and lined up for show in a glass-roofed museum. That we do -try to reconcile the irreconcilable in these matters, using Early -English cradles as receptacles for our faggots, and hanging up our -silk hats in antique ambries, is due to the fact that we have lost the -art, or the instinct, for decorative appropriateness. In those remote -but less “original” days the same mind that conceived the idol adorned -its shrine. - -But if fashions in dress change and change, there was never in all -history but one fashion in human moods and tempers. Those, whether -figured in love, hate, desire, or jealousy, have been worn since the -Fall to the single unchangeable pattern which wrought and accompanied -it. One could not, in fact, from the fashion of their minds, have -distinguished these two seated apart from any ill-assorted married -couple of to-day. - -And yet they had been wedded Earl and Countess not so many months but -that their differences might have less divorced them. That those -amounted to what they did was entirely the fault of the husband, who -had chosen deliberately to provoke an estrangement in perverse spite -of a certain felt premonition that his villainy was about to recoil on -his own head. He really was a villain, this Lord Chesterfield; if only -in one essential a greater than most of the young fire-eating -profligates of his time. That he had fought several duels, and killed -his man in one at least of them, was nothing out of the common; that -he had formed a number of loose attachments with petticoats of sorts -was only to be expected of a gentleman of his rank and fortune; but -that he had wedded with his young Countess on such terms of -opportunism and self-interest as were a disgrace to himself and an -outrage to her--there was the unpardonable sin. He had wantonly -insulted her jealousy; to be rent and mangled by the yellow demon in -his turn would serve him excellently right. - -The long and the short of the situation is explained in a few words. A -certain Mrs. Palmer, who had secured the King’s favour to that extent -that letters patent to the Earldom of Castlemaine were already in -process of being prepared for her husband, had not failed to qualify -herself before her exaltation, it was said, for the sort of business -which had procured it; and prominent among her admirers had been named -his lordship of Chesterfield, Philip Stanhope. This mature young -gentleman--some twenty-eight years of age at the time of which we -write--had in consequence found himself a person somewhat “suspect” -and ill-considered in the royal regard, and being very willing, in his -own interests, to propitiate his master by disavowing the least -thought of rivalry with him in the matter of the lady’s favour, had, -as the surest proof of his sincerity, paid forthwith his ardent -devoirs to a daughter of the Duke of Ormonde, a young lady, -conventually bred, of the sweetest looks and innocence. In brief, his -suit had sped so well with this darling that their union had not been -long in following the days of fervid courtship; when, having secured -his object, the perfidious creature dropped his mask, and gave his -young wife indirectly but very plainly to understand that his passion -for her had been a pretence, that a former idol was by no means -dethroned in his heart, and that he had no longer personal use for the -affection which he had been at the pains to excite for no other -purpose than to throw dust in the eyes of a certain distinguished -individual. He had not, of course, said this in so many words; but he -had let his manner, his neglect, his indifference imply what amounted -to a confession of it in a fashion which was unmistakable, and which -no woman, however unsophisticated, could misread, and not one in ten -thousand fail to resent. - -The young Countess resented it, naturally. She resented it, I am not -going so far as to say, as one in her situation might resent it at -this day; but she resented it conformably to the different standard of -morals which prevailed in her own, and which did not leave even a -delicately bred _ingénue_ in complete illusionment as to the conduct -of men in general and husbands in particular. She had lived for a -year, moreover, within echo of the scandals at Whitehall--where her -father, as Lord High Steward, held a prominent position--and enough -may have filtered through to her ears therefrom to correct any -extravagant notions she might once have formed as to the ideality of -the married state. Still, and when all is said, the fine depths of her -nature found themselves grievously outraged in this application of a -common rule to her particular case; while, being a girl of spirit as -well as sense, the desire to retaliate in form on such perfidy awoke -in her bosom a passion dangerous to its young security. It was not -enough, she felt, to retort on coldness with coldness; she must teach -this scorner of her affections the estimate placed by others on a -possession of which he did not appear to realize the value, and by -opening his eyes through a sense of loss, make him suffer, helplessly -and in excess, those very pangs of jealousy with which he had wantonly -inflicted her. - -A perilous policy; but one actuated, at least in its inception, by the -most righteous of motives. The bee that stings deep, however, too -often destroys itself in the loss of its own weapon; and so it may be -with offended chastity. This young Countess, seeking about for an -instrument with which to achieve her purpose, came near to her -downfall in the choice which opportunity, not to speak of kinship, -imposed on her. Mr. George Hamilton, her cousin-german, was its name. - -Now see her as she sits affecting to work, with an occasional glance -askance, half derisive, half wistful, at her husband’s pretended -preoccupation, and admit that she is proposing to herself a very risky -course in thus feigning to lease her charms to a tenant so -unscrupulous as Master George. The young wit of her, the natural -delicacy warring with passion, the emotions engendered of such a -combat; and all housed in a form as pretty as that of a Dresden -shepherdess, as pink and white, as endearing in its childish -bloom--what could these all be but so many provocations to a man of -Hamilton’s antecedents to play, by diverting to his own advantage the -sensibilities so fondly entrusted to his sympathy, the part of -Machiavellian seducer? He never hesitated, as a fact, but started at -once to sort the hand which Fortune had so gratuitously thrust upon -him. It was his good luck at the outset that his cousinship, aided and -abetted by his close intimacy with the Earl, gave him the entrée at -all times into those quarters at Whitehall which Chesterfield enjoyed -in right of his position as Groom of the Stole to her Majesty; but, -like the practised _intrigant_ that he was, he used his privilege with -discretion. He was really, to do him justice, very enamoured of the -lady; and, according to his code, free of all moral responsibility in -seeking to make a cuckold of a man who, though he was his personal -friend and confidant, had chosen deliberately to invite such reprisals -on the part of a faith he had grossly abused. At the same time, he did -not under-estimate the delicacy of his task, or the strength of the -instinctive prejudices he had to overcome; though sure enough such -obstacles but added a zest to the pursuit. What as yet he did not -guess was that his own eyes were not alone, nor even the most -compelling, in having discovered and marked down for capture a tender -prey which circumstances seemed to have made quite peculiarly -attainable. In short, his Majesty’s brother, the Duke of York, was -already suspected of a leaning in the same direction. - -Poor little, abused Countess! But perhaps it would be better not to -pity her prematurely. - -She threw down her work, on a sudden uncontrollable impulse, and -rising to her feet, looked across at the insensible bear opposite. -Some emotion of love and forbearance was working, it seemed, in her; -she hesitated an instant, gazing with full eyes, the knuckles of her -little right hand held to her lips, then hurried across the room, and -addressed her husband. - -“Cannot we be friends, Philip, before it is--too late?” - -He did not even stir, but just raised his lids indolently and -offensively. He was, to do him justice, a personable man as to his -upper half, with a fine head of mouse-coloured hair and a ready brain -under it; but irresolution spoke in his legs, which were weedy, and -so, inasmuch as the strength of a rope is its weakest part, affected -the stability of the entire structure, physical and moral. He was, in -fact, a waverer and unreliable, overbearing to others because -uncertain of himself, much subject to moods and passions, and always, -as is the case with those whose vanity is up in arms at the least -suspicion of criticism, more disposed to force his way by rudeness -than to win it by consideration. But he was skilled with his sword, -and that, in a quarrelsome age, procured him a better title to respect -than a hundred courtesies would have done. - -“Too late for what?” he drawled languidly. - -She made a little gesture of helplessness, then rallied to her task. - -“Is this,” she said, “the natural fruit of the love you expressed for -me, before--before I became your wife?” - -“When you talk of Nature, madam,” he answered, stirring and yawning, -then relapsing into his apathetic attitude, “you forget that with her -a single season covers the whole contract of matrimony.” - -“Then is our season ended?” - -“You are Lady Chesterfield,” he said. “Is not that sufficient answer?” - -“I want no wifehood without love, Philip. Has so little of me proved -so much?” - -He shrugged in a way which might have meant anything or nothing. She -went on-- - -“Or did you woo me under false pretences from the first, making me, as -I more than suspect, merely your unconscious stalking-horse to the -King’s favour?” - -He laughed, but a little uneasily. - -“You get these fancies into your head,” he said. - -“I do,” she answered; “but they come, I think, to stay. They are not -like your fancies--for this woman or the other--that can be put off or -on to suit your worldly convenience. The King has claimed one of your -fancies, has he not, my lord--a wedded woman, too, Barbara Palmer by -name? That was a shameful thing for both of you; but most shameful for -the man who could deceive an innocent maid to curry favour with his -sovereign. Did you not marry me to show him your heart was wholly -divorced from that earlier idol?” - -He drew in his breath, with an oath. - -“By God, madam, this is too much!” - -“It is too much, indeed,” she said. And then suddenly she held out -entreating hands, her eyes brimming. - -“Philip, I could forgive you that--even that--it was before you knew -me--if only you would be to me again what you seemed. Will you, -Philip? If any suspicion of my learning and resenting the truth has -caused this coldness in you, keeping you aloof in your pride, O, -forget it! I am not exacting; I know what men must be. Say only that -you hold me in your true heart above that--that woman, and I will -pardon you everything. Philip, before it is too late!” - -He started furiously to his feet, flinging the book in his hand away -from him. - -“Pardon! Too late! That threat again! Zounds, madam, you presume. I -neither guess nor heed your meaning. I cherish an image, do I? Very -well, I cherish it. As to yourself, you are distasteful to me. For -what reason? Simply because you are you--no other in the world, I -assure you. And, if that is not enough----” - -He stopped, checked in the midst of his wrath by the look in the eyes -before him. It was not submission or fright; it was the spark of a new -amazed dawn. That he had said the thing he could never recall occurred -to him suddenly with an odd sick qualm. He tried to recover the thread -of his discourse, but only to have it tail off into inarticulate -stammerings. - -“Enough?” she said in a low voice. “O, truly--and to spare. -Distasteful! Am I that to you? Why, so are all sweets to the -carrion-loving dog. Well, I am well content to have your loathing, -sir. Will you please be gone: there is nothing noisome here to tempt -your palate. _Distasteful!_” She took a step forward, a single one, -and his eyes flickered. He thought, perhaps, she was going to strike -him. “Now, listen to this,” she said. “I will never, before God, utter -word to you again till you have gone down on your knees to me and -asked my pardon for that insult.” - -She turned her shoulder on him and walked apart. He watched her, -lowering, and forced a laugh he meant for one of mockery. - -“Silence between us!” he said. “Be assured I make a second, madam, in -that welcome compact.” - -He sat down again, and, picking up his book, affected to become -absorbed in it. But all the time his pulses were thumping and his eyes -furtively conning the rebel over the leaf edges. A spot of bright -colour was on her cheek; she trilled a little air, as she seated -herself in her former position, as naturally and light-heartedly as if -she had never a trouble in the world. “Damn her!” he thought. “To take -the upper hand of me like that!” His fury heaved and fermented in him -like yeast in a dough-pan. He sneered at her pretence of cheerful -abstraction. “She is thinking of me,” he reflected, “as I am of her.” - -He tried to escape her image, to get genuinely interested in his book; -but his indignation--and something else, that qualmish -something--would always come between. To be faced and flouted by this -bantling, adjudged and sentenced of her furious young disdain! It was -intolerable--not to be endured. A dozen times he twitched, on the -verge of an explosion, and a dozen times, with an ever-diminishing -heat, restrained himself. It was true enough, he thought, as his fume -evaporated, that he had not condescended to tact in his repulse of -her. Diplomatically, at least, he should have been more tender of her -feelings, have attained his end more surely without brutality. She had -some reason for her resentment; and he must admit she had looked well -in expressing it. A clear conscience burned with a clear fire, and -there was something cleanly piquant in the warmth it emitted. It gave -his arid veins a new sensation. Comparing those immature lines with -the fuller which had hitherto besotted his fancy, he found a curious -interest in studying them. It was like extracting a fresh, slender, -white kernel from its grosser husk--a sweet and rather tasty -discovery. Had his eyes been at fault, and his palate? Infatuation, -perhaps, had blinded the one and cloyed the other. Well, he might come -yet to humour this situation--even to atone in some measure for the -unkindness of which he had been guilty. But not at once! She must be -taught her little lesson before he could afford to unbend. She was -really a pretty child, when all was said and done--a brunette, with -large blue eyes appealing and alluring, and a complexion like china -roses. The rest, did he choose to will it, should come to ripen in the -sun of love, like a peach hung on a wall. There was a thrill in the -sense of that power possessed and withheld. With a sigh that was half -a new rapture, he turned resolutely to his reading. - -And at that moment Mr. George Hamilton was announced. He entered -gaily, looking the pink of health and comeliness, and, nodding a -cheery greeting to my lord his friend, went to the lady, like one full -confident of his privileged position. - -“Good-morrow, cousin,” quoth he. - -She dropped her hands, with her work, into her lap, and, leaning -forward, looked up into his face with a smile. - -“You are welcome, cousin,” she answered. “I was bored, i’ faith.” - -He just glanced at the husband, and laughed. - -“In such company, Kate?” - -She raised innocent brows. “What company? My own, do you mean? There -is none other here but sticks and stocks.” - -“Well, say I meant your own. Can that bore you?” - -“O, faith, it can!” - -“O, faith, then, you’re hard to please!” - -“’Tis proof I’m not, for your saying so pleases me. Lord, what a -novelty to hear a compliment!” - -He conned her with a puzzled air, then took the piece of work from her -hands and stood quizzing it. - -“What is this?” he asked. - -“A sampler,” she answered. “Have you never seen one before?” - -“Not in your hands.” - -“It has been in my hands, nevertheless, for--O God, I don’t know! -Fifty years, belike. I began it when I was a little girl, and time -goes slowly in these days.” She jumped to her feet, and stood at his -shoulder, pointing out the figures of the design. “Do you see? Here’s -what I noted most, put down as in a commonplace book--people and -texts, and even animals, including a number of my friends. Am I not a -Lely in portraiture, cousin? Here’s my dear nurse, and here my -governess to the life.” - -“To the knife, she looks rather. Who’s this--your father?” - -“Of course, stupid.” - -“Do you put in none but those you favour?” - -“O no! Here and there is one _distasteful_.” - -“Was this a favourite cat?” - -She pouted. - -“No, sir, a dog.” - -“And here’s your husband?” - -“No, another dog.” - -“H’m! You can get a likeness, indeed.” - -My lord, slamming down his book somewhat violently, got to his feet -with a haste which seemed to belie the leisureliness of the stretch -and yawn which followed. - -“Am I not to have my place among the favoured?” says Hamilton. - -“Would you like it?” questioned the artful rogue. “I should be hard -put to’t to portray so perfect a gentleman. They have not come my way -of late. What hath happened to your brooch, cousin? Stay while I -refasten it for you.” - -He lifted his chin obediently, while she manipulated, with deft, -slender fingers, the jewel at his cravat. My lord, with a quick, loud -clearing of his throat, started and came across the room. - -“What, George!” said he. “I vow I was so lost in what I read I hardly -noted you. What’s wrong with your cravat?” - -Hamilton, his head still tilted, responded brusquely but nosily--“It’s -chokid be, that’s all.” - -Her little ladyship laughed. - -“I’ll be done in a moment, poor man.” - -“Zounds!” blustered her husband. “Here, let me fasten it!” - -She ignored him altogether. - -“How sweet you smell, cousin!” she said. “Is it kissing-comfits?” - -“That’s for sweet lips to answer,” gurgled Hamilton. - -My lord, in a vicious spasm, gripped the little wrist and wrenched it -from its task. Hamilton cried “Damnation!” and my lady, putting the -wounded limb to her mouth, looked up at him with wide appealing eyes. - -“Some beast has hurt me,” she said. “Take care of yourself, cousin, -while I go and bathe it.” - -Half crying, she turned away and ran from the room. The moment she was -gone the two men bristled upon one another, my lord opening with a -snarl-- - -“There are limits, sir, to my forbearance.” - -“The first I’ve known of them,” was the sharp response. - -“What’s that?” - -“Why, what I say.” - -“My wife----” - -“Is she your wife? One would never guess it from the way you treat -her.” - -“My wife, I say----” - -“We’ll take her word for’t--not yours.” - -“Do you quarrel with me, George?” - -“I’ faith, I’m her kinsman, Phil.” - -“You take the privileges of one.” - -“Better I than another, for your sins.” - -My lord gulped, as if he were taking a pill; then forced a -propitiatory smile. - -“Why, I confess I have sinned, George; and you mean me well, no doubt. -But I’ll be damned if I’ll be lessoned, even by a cousin.” - -“Then learn from a less scrupulous quarter. There’ll be plenty to -gather the fruit you let hang over the wall.” - -He was going, but the other stopped him; hurriedly. - -“What’s that? No, tarry awhile, George. Zounds, man, can’t you see my -state?” - -He was so suddenly solicitous, so eager in his entreaty, that Hamilton -paused in wonder, and turned to face him. - -“Why,” said he, “let me look at you. I believe--_anno mirabile!_--I do -believe you’re jealous. Philip Stanhope jealous, and of his wife!” - -Chesterfield chuckled foolishly. - -“What are the symptoms?” - -“Yellow, sir, yellow--a very jaundice of the eye. Why, what hath -happened between yesterday and to-day?” - -“Nothing, I tell you--or perhaps everything. Is she so much admired?” - -“Is Kate? Can you ask, who have eyes and senses?” - -“I think I’ve been at fault.” - -“Tell her so, then.” - -“Why, that’s the devil o’t. We’re not on speaking terms.” - -Hamilton sneered. - -“So, it’s come to a head with her? And who but a blind dullard would -ever have failed to foresee that end? Yet, with one so gracious, it -must have needed a foul provocation to drive her to such extremes. -What, may I ask, was the deciding insult?” - -“I’ll be frank. I told her she was distasteful to me.” - -Hamilton threw up his hands. - -“Ye gods! And he can talk of speaking terms! Be thankful if she ever -looks at you again.” - -His lordship winced. - -“Not? She hath sweet eyes, too. I own I spoke in temper, and said a -silly thing.” - -“Silly! Have you never heard of a woman scorned? You’ve lost her -before you’ve found her.” - -“No, no. I trust you, George: damn it, man, I trust you! I know you -are my friend. Tell me--what shall I do?” - -“To reconcile you?” - -“Aye.” - -“Too sudden an exodus this! Turn tail, I advise, and get back to your -flesh-pots.” - -“Carrion, she called it, and me a dog. The savour sticks somehow; I -can’t go back to carrion. Let the King enjoy his own for me: I’m -content with mine.” - -“_She_ your own? Any man’s, rather, after that.” - -“Don’t say so! George----” He put a twitching hand on Hamilton’s -sleeve. He seemed quite transformed in these few minutes; smitten out -of the blue, and, under that rankling wound, lusting for what he had -despised. There are those who, tyrannous to love’s submission, fall -slaves to love’s disdain. Here was one who, expelled from Paradise, -found himself, as it were, naked and ashamed. “I’d concede something,” -he said, “to be on terms with her again--not all her condition, curse -it, but something substantial.” - -“What was her condition?” - -“She swore she’d never speak word to me again till I’d gone on my -knees to her to ask her pardon.” - -“That was before you’d hurt her, physically. She’ll want more now.” - -“What more?” - -“Likely a separation.” - -“I’ll not grant it.” - -“She’ll take it her own way, never fear.” - -“What way?” - -“Why, the way of all provoked wives. You should know.” - -Chesterfield broke from him, and, taking half a dozen agitated steps, -wheeled and returned to the charge. - -“Let her, then, and be damned to her! And yet, that ‘carrion’! George, -there’s something in purity.” - -“How do _you_ know?” - -“I wouldn’t be the cause of her committing herself. That would be a -foul return for her trust.” - -“You’re very virtuous and considerate of a sudden.” - -“I must go some lengths to save her.” - -“Go on your knees, do you mean?” - -“Would she forgive me, if I did?” - -“She might pretend to--just to quiet your suspicions.” - -“Curse you for a comfortless friend!” He went off again, and again -wheeled and flung back. “Zounds, man, can’t you see what is the case -with me?” - -“A case of love at first sight, it seems to me.” - -“I believe, on my honour, you’re right.” - -“You do? So you’ve never looked at your wife till now?” - -“Not with these eyes.” - -“Well, on my word, I’m sorry for you.” - -“Why? Why are you sorry?” - -“Late comers to the feast, you know, must be content with bones.” - -He laughed provokingly. My lord’s jaw seemed to drop. - -“You’ve no reason to suspect her?” he demanded. - -“None whatever.” - -“Then, why----?” - -“Hark ye, Phil; I know my young cousin--and I know women. She’s bound, -in self-respect, to refute your outrageous calumny by offering herself -to be tasted elsewhere.” - -“A pox on my peevish tongue! Don’t say I’ve gone too far for hope, -George.” - -“We’ll say, at least, for simple remedies.” - -“What desperate ones, then, in God’s name?” - -Hamilton considered, frowning heavily, while the other hung feverishly -on his verdict. The young man was, in truth, in a quandary. Everything -hitherto had been favouring his purposed intrigue--the husband’s -indifference, the wife’s grievance, and her natural affection for him, -her cousin. That, under the circumstances, had been easily manœuvred -into a warmer feeling. He had his sympathy with her neglected state -for a leading asset; he had calculated upon Chesterfield’s consistent -callousness and blindness. Now, this sudden and unexpected revulsion -of feeling on the nobleman’s part had upset all his designs. A -reconciliation between the couple was the last thing in the world he -desired to bring about; his interests lay, rather, in widening the -breach. To effect the latter while appearing to assist the former must -be from this time his insidious policy. He cudgelled his brains for -inspiration, and suddenly he looked up. - -“There’s only one remedy I can think of,” he said. “No other amends -you could make would be adequate to the offence. You might go down on -your knees to her, and she would forgive and despise you; you might -kiss and be friends, and she would smile, and turn away to wipe her -lips. No self-abasement could atone for such an insult; but it would -rather wake in her disgust for one so poor in spirit that he dared not -back his own slander. Yet what she would never yield, despite -pretence, to recantation and apology, she might to jealousy.” - -“Jealousy?” - -“Distasteful, Phil--think of that!--you called her distasteful! And so -to see you dally with some fruit more to your liking! What a madness, -then, would be hers, to oust the interloper, to seize her place, to -convince you of the lovelier flavour of that you had insulted and -rejected. Be bold and dare it. Force her into taking the initiative in -this game of passion, and you’ll win her yet, whole and unsullied.” - -So spake the wily serpent, his eyes furtive, looking to confirm the -breach while feigning a way to close it. My lord stared before him, -glum and unconvinced. - -“’Tis a cursed risk,” he said. “What if it should fail?” - -“Then everything would fail. The gods themselves are subject to Fate; -and Fate is jealousy. If jealousy cannot work the oracle, then nothing -can.” - -“It would be simpler to enforce her.” - -“Much; and to drive her straightway upon other consolation. But do as -you will. It is your concern, and if we differ as to the means----” - -“No, no. Keep your temper, George! Damn it, man, keep your temper! I -believe you may be right, after all.” He stood glowering, and biting -his nails. “What fruit to dally with? What pretty gull?” he said. “You -don’t say, and it would have to be before her face, I presume?” - -A laugh, timely converted into a cough, gurgled in Hamilton’s throat. -Here was the way opened to the working of a certain dare-devil scheme, -which had already flashed upon him in outline while he meditated. With -hardly a thought he jumped to it. - -“As to that,” he said soberly, “by the happiest of chances the means -are offered you, and immediately, by Kate herself. She has a young -friend about to visit her, as she tells me--a Mrs. Moll Davis--some -pretty tomrig from the country; and what could better serve your -purpose than she? Kate’s own friend--why, ’tis a very providence!” - -Chesterfield grinned sourly. - -“I must see her first.” - -A lackey entered at the moment, bringing a summons from the Queen. My -lord was wanted by her Majesty, and he might curse and “pish,” but he -had to obey. He sniggered round, as he made for the door. - -“More of this anon. Don’t go till I return. Jealousy it is, George.” - -“Jealousy, Phil.” - -Hamilton waved his hand, and turned, as the door shut on the departing -figure. Then, with his fingers at his chin and a grin on his face, he -stood to consider the game to which he had committed himself. - - - - - CHAPTER III - -Men of pleasure, and of roguery to boot, were not, in King Charles’s -time, much concerned as a rule over the logical consequences of their -pranks. They took the day improvidently, like the grasshopper--“nicked -the glad moments as they passed”--and gave little thought to the -reckonings of the morrow. The “unities,” in any comedy they enacted, -were of less moment to them than the general spirit of frolic, and so -long as the situations afforded entertainment, they bestowed small -thought on the _dénouement_. In the making or the marring of an -intrigue the fun was in the process, and they seldom looked beyond to -count the costs. So, when Hamilton conceived his plot, he had not, one -must understand, foreseen any definite conclusion for it. It was -enough that what he was proposing to himself served the immediate -purpose of his amiable villainy. - -As to that, his business was to make absolute the estrangement between -these two; whence his crafty counsel to the Earl, who had not failed -to rise to that insidious bait. He knew very well that, in spite of -all that had happened, any genuinely contrite advances on the -husband’s part would be sure to be met halfway by the wife, who was -really a reasonable and forgiving little creature; wherefore it was -necessary for him to convince her, timely and by ocular demonstration, -of the vanity of any lingering hopes she might be entertaining of -remorse and repentance on the part of a delinquent spouse. It was -never to be supposed for a moment that she would answer to that test -of jealousy in the manner he had professed to predict; it would be -certain, on the contrary, to alienate the last of her consideration -from one who could so wantonly and callously abuse it. She would turn -from the heartless creature in a final disgust--to seek, according to -all the rules of intrigue, consolation of the nearest sympathy; -whereon it would remain only for him, her cousin and confidant, to -reap the fruits of the emotional situation he had so cunningly -engineered. - -That was his hope and belief; but his plan yet lacked completeness. -The deception he had contrived was but half a deception so long as it -missed its counterpart. How to provide that must be his next -consideration. - -As he pondered, he heard a light step behind him, and turned to see -the lady herself. She had come in very softly, and now stood before -him, a rather piteous expression on her face. Her right arm, -ostensibly the maltreated one, rested in a sling--black, that there -might be no mistake about it--and, as long as she remembered, she -winced when it was touched. - -“Cousin,” she said, “I am very unhappy. What have I done to be so -abused?” - -“I’ faith, I know not,” said he, smiling; “unless it was you spoke -before his face of a kissing in which he had no share.” - -“I spoke but in play. I am an honest wife.” - -“Don’t cry your goods too loud, Kate, or men may question them. The -soundest wares need the least recommendation.” - -“I am, I say; and if I were not, how should it affect him that hates -me so?” - -“Nay, you go too far.” - -“Indeed, he said as much--that I was distasteful to him.” - -“Did he say that?” - -She set her teeth. - -“And shall unsay it; or I will never speak word to him again?” - -“So? I’m sorry, on my word, cousin.” - -“Did you not quarrel with him?” - -“For what he did to you?” - -“Yes. You could not know what he’d said.” - -“We had words, I confess.” - -“About what? Is he jealous of _you_?” - -“What if he were, Kate?” - -She clenched her little left fist in wrathful glee. - -“Is he? I could love to believe it.” - -“Why?” He looked at her eagerly. - -“To make him suffer for me what I’ve suffered for him.” - -“Jealousy?” - -“He would not hate me then.” - -The face of the arch-plotter fell. - -“I see you love him through all,” he said sourly. - -“Why should I not love him?” she answered. “He is my husband.” - -Hamilton pulled himself together. “This faith,” he thought, with an -acid thrill, “is worth converting.” - -“Why indeed?” said he. “Well, I don’t know if he’s jealous of me or -not; but if that’s your recipe for curing him, we two might make a -plausible conspiracy of it. Shall we rehearse the business now, Kate?” - -He put a persuasive hand on her arm. She bethought herself, and -squeaked out. - -“You hurt me, cousin”--and she backed a little. “A play like ours is -only make-believe.” - -“But sure,” said he, “the best actors are those who, even in -rehearsal, try to realize their parts to the life.” - -He approached her again, offering to put his arm about her, and at -that she, forgetting her injury, whipped her little fist out of its -sling, and delivered him a sound box of the ear with it. - -“There!” she said. - -“Emphatically there,” he answered, holding his palm to the suffering -auricle. “You cat!” - -She bridled like one, her eyes glittering. He pointed a derisive -finger at the dangling sling. - -“Hadn’t you better put off that pretence?” - -“O!” she said, and thrust her hand again into the loop. - -“Now,” said he, “you may find another instrument for your purpose. I’m -done with you.” - -Her brow puckered, and her lip went down. - -“You’re never going to abandon me in my trouble?” she said. - -She looked so bewitching so forlorn, his heart could not help -softening to her. - -“If I do not,” he said, “it must be on softer terms than yet.” - -“Was my hand so hard?” she pleaded penitently. - -“’Tis for the lips, not the ear to decide,” said he. “Give it me, if -you would hear kinder news of it.” - -She hung back a little, then reluctantly acquiesced. He mouthed the -flushed palm, till she snatched it away. - -“Be good, please,” she said. - -“It blushes for its naughty deed,” he declared. “But it is forgiven.” - -“Now,” she said, “will you not be serious and give me good advice?” - -“That is not always palatable, you know.” - -“It is the way with healing drugs.” - -“Ah! If it might only heal!” - -He sighed, and shook his head, with a look of commiseration. - -“What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed--“that there is no cure -possible?” - -“I’m sorry for you, in truth I am,” he said despondently, “if you -still love him as you admit, and I wish I could think that your policy -of silence, or your policy of jealousy, or your policy of anything in -the world would bring Philip Stanhope to his senses. But, alack, my -dear! I fear ’tis all thrown away upon him, and that his inconstancy -is irreclaimable. Why, at this very moment, while you are calculating -a means to his reformation, he is, to my knowledge, scheming to have -to his house here a country fancy of his, one Molly Davis, whom he -calls his cousin.” - -She heard and stiffened. - -“A country fancy!” - -“O! I breathe no wrong of her,” he said; “and she may be his -cousin--left-handed--for all I know. A sprightly wench, at least, that -somehow met and tickled his humour; and he’ll have her to stay with -him on that plea of kinship. But it’s for you to question him, if you -will.” - -“_I!_” The white scorn of her! the lifted lip, and wrinkle in the -little nose! “Did you not hear me say I had sworn never to speak to -him again?” - -“Conditionally, that was.” - -“No longer. Never, and never, and never. In this house! Before my very -face. O, it cannot be true!” - -“Well, perhaps he only jested.” - -She moved, and, forgetting her sling again, put a fierce young hand on -his sleeve. “You called her his fancy.” - -“A man may fancy in a woman more or less than she desires. It may be -her wit, when she’d give the world it were her face.” - -“Is she witty, then?” - -“No doubt he thinks so.” - -“And ugly?” - -“Betwixt and between.” - -“You have seen her?” - -“More or less.” - -“I only asked of her face.” - -“It was a bad light. She lies at an inn in the town called ‘The -Mischief.’” - -“She lies well. Well, thank you, cousin.” - -Her features relaxed in a wonderful way. One might have thought her -suddenly convinced and at ease. With a sigh that seemed to dissipate -all her scruples, she chassé’d a retreating step or two, and twirled, -and dropped a little mocking curtsey to the gentleman. - -“I must go now,” she said. “You have been very entertaining, Signor -George, and--and there is no cure for blindness like----” - -“Like what?” - -“Like seeing, you know.” - -His brows went up, perplexed. “Have I been so whimsical?” - -“Infinitely, I assure you--the drollest, most diverting -cousin--tra-la-la!” - -“But sympathetic, I hope, Kate?” - -“O, believe me, that isn’t the word for it--tra-la-la!” - -“You know you can always depend upon me for help and advice?” - -“O, _most_ disinterestedly!” - -His jaw seemed to stick as he opened it to answer. She laughed, as she -turned her back on him. - -“Ah!” he breathed out. “I see you’ll make it up with Philip yet.” - -With a stamp of her foot, she flared round on him in a final spasm of -anger. - -“You dare to say so! I tell you, once and for all, that from this -moment it is eternal silence between us.” - -He watched her, from under lowered lids, and with a furtive smile on -his lips, sweep from the room, then twitched up his shoulders to a -noiseless laugh. To make certain of her fixed resolution--that was why -he had provoked her to that last retort. Now at length it should be -safe for him to act. If only that dubious manner of hers had left him -with more conviction as to his own ultimate profit in the matter! But -like enough it had been mere coquetry. - -He left Whitehall shortly, and made his way to “The Mischief” Inn, -where he found Mrs. Davis bored to death over her confinement to her -room, and in a very fractious mood. - -“Have you come to take me away?” she said. “You called yourself my -friend.” - -“Why, so I am,” he answered. “What have I done to disprove it?” - -“You’ve done nothing, sure; and that’s what.” - -“Didn’t I pay your reckoning?” - -“O! it’s true you opened the trap door; but you must go and tie me by -the tail first.” - -He laughed. - -“’Twas to keep my country mouse from the gib-cats. No reflection on -her.” - -“So to keep her from the cats you set a dog on her. A nice one I owe -you for that beast of a landlord.” - -“Well, he’s called off, and here am I to redeem my word. Will you come -with me?” - -“Where to?” - -“To the tailor and the haberdasher first of all. Will that suit you?” - -“Very well--if another pays.” - -“So? That’s settled, then. We must have you dressed to the part.” - -“What part?” She affected, perhaps felt, a passing perturbation, but -it served for no more than to add a thrill to her voice. And then, -suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Have you got me a London engagement, -George?” she said--“perhaps in the King’s theatre!”--and she clasped -her hands rapturously. - -“Why,” said he, “an engagement, true enough; but ’tis on the human -stage.” - -Her lip fell dolefully. - -“O, curse that!” - -“Mrs. Moll,” he said, “I shall be obliged if you will study to express -your feelings less epigrammatically.” - -“What’s that?” she said. - -“Why, in your case, ’tis another word for cursing.” - -“I only know of one other,” said she; “but I’ll damn it with all my -heart, if that likes you better.” - -“I like neither one nor t’other: ’tis to turn to ‘bitter-sweets’ those -cherry-seeming lips of yours, and make poison of their nectar.” - -She was sitting at the table, her elbows propped on it, her chin on -her fists, and, so disposed, she put out her tongue at him. - -“Gingumbobs!” she said; and that was all. - -“And, in short,” said he, rising--for he too was seated--“I think I’ll -say good day to you.” - -Sobered at once, she jumped to her feet, and intercepted him. “What -have I said, sure? Don’t never mind a silly wench. I’ll do what you -want of me--there!” - -He stood arrested, but as if unwillingly. - -“I doubt your capacity, child; or your art to curb your tongue. A fig -for that when Moll is Moll; but once she shapes herself to my designs, -good speech must go with good looks.” - -She seemed as if she would cry. - -“George, I’ll curb it. I did but jest with you. Haven’t I learned my -speaking parts, and said them to the letter, too, without one extra -oath?” She was stroking his arms up and down; her fingers wandered to -his hands, and gave themselves softly to that refuge; her lifted eyes -were full of azure pain. “Tell me what you desire of me,” she said -with pretty wooing. - -“Why, discretion first and last,” he answered. “Have you got it?” - -“Haven’t I! Why, look how particular I can be in the choice of my -friends.” - -“You’ll have to play a double part.” - -“Twice tenpence is two and sixpence, George. It ought to pay me.” - -“It ought and shall, if you’re clever. Help me to bring about a thing -I much desire, and your fortunes, as I promised, shall be made my -care.” - -He questioned the young uplifted face. Her hands were still held in -his. - -“Was the _thing_ born a girl?” she said. He laughed, but did not -answer, and she seemed to muse, her lids lowered. “What a pretty -gentleman you are, George!” she said absently, by and by. “I never -guessed at first, when you came that unhandsome off the road, what -fine clothes could make of you. Why are you going to take me to the -haberdasher’s?” - -“To prink you out for great company, child.” - -She looked up breathlessly. - -“Not the King’s!” - -“All in good time,” he said--“if you please me.” - -“Well,” she said, looking down again, “I’ll do my best--saving my -honour. Will that please you?” - -“Faith,” says the gentleman coolly, “if you save it at the expense of -another’s.” - -She drew back a little. - -“Not a woman’s?” - -“Never fear, Mrs. Moll. ’Tis your pretty rogue’s face and your ready -impudence I wish for a bait, and they’d catch no woman, believe me. -Come, are you prepared to engage them in my service?” - -She primmed her lips, holding up a finger. - -“Discretion,” she said. “I’ll answer when I’m told.” - -He nodded, and, leading her apart from betraying keyholes, seated -himself and pulled her to a chair beside him. - -“Now,” said he, “give me your little lovely ear, while I whisper in -it.” - -She sat at attention like a mouse, while he spoke his low-voiced -scheme to her. Mischief, intelligence, secret laughter waited on her -lips and eyes as she leaned to listen, sometimes shaking her curls, -sometimes whispering the softest little “yes” or “no.” And when at -last it was all said, she jumped to her feet with a laugh that was -like glass bells, and clapped her hands merrily, while her companion -sat, one arm akimbo, regarding her with a pleasant waiting expression. - -“Well,” he said; “you’ll do it?” - -She strutted, assuming the grand air, and swept a curtsey. - -“I am my lord Chesterfield’s most obliged,” she said throatily. - -Hamilton rose with a grin. - -“You will, I can see,” said he. “It’s really simple if you will only -bear in mind this main assurance--_they are not on speaking terms, and -each will think the other has invited you_.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - -Running north from Storey’s Gate, the backs of its western houses -abutting on the network of conduits which fed what is now in St. -James’s Park called the Ornamental Water, but which was then “The -Canal,” was a short road, or row, named Duke Street, in which was -situated the building--subsequently the town home of Jeffreys, the -filthy Fouquier Tinville of an earlier revolution--known as the -Admiralty House. This mansion--or part of it, for the whole of it was -of considerable dimensions--was, in fact, the headquarters of the -recently reorganized Navy, and as such is mentioned here as being -associated, however indirectly, with our narrative, inasmuch as it was -to a member of its staff (a Mr. Samuel Pepys, not then long nominated -to a clerkship of the acts) that Jack Bannister, the famous harpist, -and a figure with whom we have hereafter to reckon, owed his -“discovery,” in the exclusive as apart from the popular sense. - -This man, sprung into evidence no one knew whence or when, had for -months been perambulating the town as an itinerant musician, earning a -precarious livelihood by playing before tavern doors, at street -corners, and in marketplaces, and rich only in the soulful tribute of -the many-headed, to whom he had come to be known by the appellation of -“Sad Jack.” For sad, indeed, he appeared, both in face and habit; a -lean, stoop-shouldered fellow, grimly austere, and always clothed in -grey--grey hose, grey breeches, grey doublet, and grey hat, from the -shadow of whose limp wide brim his eyes shone white, like pebbles -gleaming through dark water. His figure was familiar to the streets -as, his instrument strapped to his back, a folding-stool hung over his -arm, and his soul patiently subdued to the philosophy which could find -in unrecognition the surest proof of worth, he plodded his fortuitous -way, with eye grown selective in the matter of “pitches,” and at his -heels, perhaps, a string of ragamuffins, who, for the merest dole of -his magnificence’s quality, would be ready to walk in his shadow to -the town’s end. For sweet music hath through all the ages the “force” -we wot of to “tame the furious beast,” and there was never a Pied -Piper of genius but could count on his audience of rats to follow him -over half the world if he pleased. - -And this man had genius, for all it went unrecognized; but that was -accident, and no moral whatever attaches to the fact. He communicated -it from his finger-tips to the strings, hypostatically as it were, -bestowing on them that gift of tongues which, speaking one language, -speaks all. To his own ears it might appear that he was uttering no -more than his native accents; to all others, gentile and barbarian, it -seemed that he spoke in theirs. And that it is to command genius, the -universal appeal, the gift of the Holy Ghost. - -Yet outside this solitary faculty or inspiration there was nothing -noteworthy about the creature but his gloom; and even that might have -been no more than the shadow cast by the brighter half of his dual -personality on the other. Born musicians are not as a rule remarkable -for their intellectual brilliancy, and Sad Jack was, I am afraid, no -exception to the rule. He was a dull fellow, in truth, in all that did -not appertain to his exquisite art. - -Now, it so happened that Fortune one bright spring morning directed -the wandering harpist’s footsteps towards that quarter of the town -which has already been mentioned, when, attracted perhaps by the sunny -quiet of the spot, or by some suggestion in it of acoustic -possibilities, he turned into Duke Street, and, choosing a convenient -place, unslung his harp and stool, and stood for some moments glassily -appraising the constitution of the little throng which had followed -him into that retreat. He was inured by now to open-air criticism, and -easily master of its moods. He could afford to tantalize expectation, -sure of his ability to win the heart out of any crowd at the first -touch of those long, nervous fingers of his which for the moment -caressed his chin reflective, and with no more apparent sensibility in -them than the fingers of a farmer calculating the profits on a flock -of sheep. And, indeed, these were sheep, in their curiosity, in their -shyness of the challenging human eye, in the way in which each refused -to be thrust forward of his fellows, lest his prominent position -should argue his readiness to be fleeced. But they all gaped and hung -aloof, while the musician, anticipating their sure subjection, -leisurely keyed up his strings to the concordant pitch; when at last, -satisfied and in the humour, he began to play. - -Then it was curious to note the hush which instantly fell upon the -throng. Sure, of all the instruments of the senses--ear, eye, palate, -nose, and finger--there is none so subtle in its mechanism as the -first, nor so defiant of analysis in the way it transmits its message -to the soul. The nature to which taste and vision and smell and touch -may never prove holier than carnal provocations will yet find its -divinity in music. Sound, perhaps, built the universe, as Amphion with -his lyre built the walls of Thebes. Children of light, we may be -children of sound also, if only we knew. - -Now the kennel-sweeper leaned upon his broom, and dreamed of starry -tracks where no rain ever fell; the cadger hated himself no longer; -the little climbing-boy sat on the rim of the tallest chimney in all -the world; the pretty sempstress hid with a little hand the furtive -patch upon her chin, and flushed to know it there; the hackney -coachman pulled on his rein and sat to listen, a piece of straw stuck -motionless between his teeth. One and all they dwelt like spirits -intoxicated, hearing of a new message and drunk with some wonderful -joy of release. And then the sweet strains ended and they came to -earth. - -“It was like heaven,” said the sempstress, wiping a tear from the -corner of her eye with her apron. - -“Was it, indeed?” said a full-bodied, good-humoured-looking gentleman, -who had paused on his way to his official duties to listen, and who -now pushed himself forward with an easy condescension. This was Mr. -Pepys himself, no less, who, brought to a stop between sense and -sensibility, had discovered no choice but to fall slave to those -transports with which emotional music always filled him. Yet, -astounded as he was by the performance, his eye--a pretty shrewd and -noticing one--had been no less observant than his ear. He wrinkled it -quizzically at the little beauty. “Was it?” says he. “Well, faith, -pretty angel, you ought to know.” - -He was very handsomely dressed in a blue jackanapes coat, then come -into fashion, with silver buttons, a pair of fine white stockings, and -a white plume in his hat; and he appeared if anything a little -conscious of his finery. But whether it was from his assurance, which -seemed unjustified of any exceptional good looks, or the thickness of -his calves, which were stupendous, he failed to impress the -sempstress, who, heaving a petulant shoulder at him, with a “La, sir, -I know I am no angel!” tripped about and away, her nose in the air. - -Mr. Pepys chuckled into his chin (though no more than twenty-eight, he -possessed already an affluently double one), and, looking a moment -after the retreating figure, turned to the musician, who all this -while had been gazing into vacancy, his hat, placed crown downwards on -the stones, his sole petitioner. But, before any could respond to that -mute invitation, the new-comer had stooped to snatch up the -dishonoured headgear, which he presented with a great bow to its -owner. - -“’Tis the privilege of kings, sir,” said he, “to go bonneted before -their subjects. Prithee put this to a nobler use than a beggar’s bowl. -’Tis we that should doff to the prince of harpists,” and he suited the -action to the word, standing bareheaded before the musician. - -He, for his part, sat staring, doubtful whether he was honoured or -derided. - -“Sir,” he stammered, “have I not played to your liking?” - -“So much so,” answered Pepys, “that my liking is you play no more on -the streets. Will you be sensible, sir, and discuss this business? I -can introduce you where your talent will receive justice; and I ask no -other reward for my pains, which is indeed a duty. Sir, I confess your -playing ravished me beyond anything I have heard. Rise, if you will, -and walk with me.” - -Looking dumbfoundered, the musician obeyed. He appeared on closer -acquaintance a much younger man than the other had suspected, which -was all in his favour as a prodigy. The offer, nevertheless, had been -a quite disinterested one--a point to the fine gentleman’s credit; for -in truth he was not above expecting commissions on occasion. But in -the question of music he was always at his most altruistic. Now he -conducted his discovery into the court of the Admiralty House, the -better to shake off the throng which followed, and there put to him -the few inquiries which came uppermost in his mind--as to the -stranger’s genesis, to wit, his social standing, his calling, the -circumstances which had thrown him, thus gifted and unpatronized, upon -London streets, and so on. But he learned little to satisfy his -curiosity. The man was reticent, awkward of speech, proud perhaps; -and, beyond the facts that he was self-taught, had been a pedagogue in -a country school, and had voluntarily abandoned an uncongenial task -for one more to his fancy and potential well-being, the listener was -able to glean little. But one thing stood out clear, and that was the -genius which proclaimed this oddity as exalted a natural musician as -any that had ever captured the heart of the world, and on that -assurance Mr. Pepys proceeded. The upshot of this interview was that -he came to introduce him, having a pretty wide acquaintance in -professional quarters, among the right influential people, with the -result that “Sad Jack,” from being a wandering street performer, -became presently one of the most fashionable soloists in the town, -with the command of a salary in proportion, and engagements covering -the most popular resorts from Spring Gardens to the new Spa at -Islington. - -And with that we will leave him for the time being; while as to Mr. -Pepys, having served his purpose, he must walk here and now out of the -picture. - - - - - CHAPTER V - -The Earl of Chesterfield, entering his apartments one afternoon, was -informed by the porter that a young person, lately arrived, waited on -his convenience in the audience-room, to which she had been shown--not -ushered. Thus Mrs. Moll, to the menial instinct, be it observed, was -still subtly, and in spite of all her fine new trappings, the -unclassified “young person.” She might impose on the master, but never -on the man. - -His lordship demanded tartly why his lady had not been informed. He -was told that she was out. The stranger, it appeared, had entered with -an assured air, stating that she was expected on a visit. Expected by -whom? She had bridled, but in a manner twinkling-like, to the -question. By whom did he, the porter, suppose? By one of the servants, -curse his impudence? And so he had admitted her, with her smart -baggage, assuming that, if she was the invited guest of either his -master or mistress, it must be of the former. Why? O! for only the -reason that she looked most like a gentleman’s lady. - -“A gentleman’s lady”! My lord grinned, then looked serious. - -“Did she give no name?” - -“The name of Davis, please your lordship. Mrs. Moll Davis she called -herself.” - -Chesterfield’s brow went up; he whistled. Of course, now, he -remembered, this must be Kate’s young country friend of whom he had -been advised, and her manners, no doubt, were to be accounted to mere -rustic gaucherie. He had better see her at once in his wife’s absence, -and judge of her suitability, from his point of view, for the part for -which Hamilton had cast her. She might prove, after all, an impossible -instrument to play on. And yet the rogue had seemed confident. - -He turned on the porter harshly. “Why did you not say so before? Mrs. -Davis is her ladyship’s friend and guest, and as such is to be lodged -fitly. See to it, fellow, and that you keep that free tongue of yours -out of your cheek.” - -He went on, and at the door of the audience chamber was received by a -couple of lackeys, who, throwing wide the oak, announced him in form-- - -“My lord Chesterfield, for Mrs. Davis!” - -She had been peering into costly nooks and corners, and was taken by -surprise. But that did not matter. The blush with which she whisked -about from contemplating herself in a remote stand-glass became her -mightily, and seemed offered to his lordship like a flower gathered -from the mirror to propitiate him for the liberty she had been caught -taking. He accepted and pinned it over his heart, so to speak. If this -was rusticity, he was quite willing, it appeared to him, to become a -country Strephon on the spot. The danger, he foresaw at once, was of -falling in love with his own pretence. - -And, indeed, Mrs. Davis, with her pert young face and forget-me-not -eyes, made an alluring figure, and one seeming admirably efficient to -the part she was dressed to play. As to that, Hamilton had advised -with taste and discretion; so that, in her plain bodice and pannier, -with her slim arms bared to the elbow and tied above with favours of -ribbon, and the curls shaken over her bright cheeks from under a -coquettish hat-brim, she might have passed for the very sweet moral of -a provincial nymph, conceived in the happiest vein between homeliness -and fashion. She curtsied, as she had been taught to curtsey on the -stage--latterly, for her sex had only quite recently won its way to -the footlights--and boldly, with a little musical laugh, accepted the -situation. - -“Sure,” she said, “if you hadn’t caught me at it, my cheeks ’ud betray -me. I was looking in the glass--so there!” - -It put him at his ease at once. With no rustic coyness to conquer, he -was already half way to the end. It mattered little, he felt -confident, what he might venture to say; and so he gave his tongue -full rein. - -“So there!” said he; “and faith, Mistress Davis, if I were you, I -could look till my eyes went blind.” - -“_Could_ you?” she said. “Then you’d be a blind donkey for your -pains.” She came up and stood before him, her chin raised, her hands -clasped behind her back. “So you’re Lord Chesterfield,” she said. “How -do you like it?” - -“How do you?” he asked, grinning. - -“H’m!” she said critically, bringing one hand forward to fondle her -baby chin. “’Tis early days to say. But, on the face of you, you look -very much like any other man. But perhaps you’re different -underneath--made of gold, like the boys in the folk-tale.” - -“O! I’m not made of gold, I can assure you.” - -“Aren’t you, now? I’ve heard of some that are said to be.” - -“I’m made just like anybody else.” - -“There, now! What a disappointment! And you call yourself a lord!” - -“Why, how would you have me?” - -“I wouldn’t have you at all. What a question from a married man!” - -He was a little vexed; he made that sound of impatience between tongue -and palate which cannot be rendered in spelling. - -“I see you’re a literal soul,” said he. “I must be careful how I put -things.” - -“You’d better,” she said. “Now I come to look at you, you’ve got a -sinful eye.” - -“And now I come to look at you, I don’t wonder at it.” - -“Don’t you? Well, for all you’re like to get, you may put it in there -and see none the worse.” - -He laughed, a little astounded. “Troth!” thought he; “this is a -strange acquaintance for Kate to have made!” - -“Why,” he said, “what have I asked or expected but the right of every -man to see and admire?” - -“O! you may admire as much as you like,” quoth she. “I wouldn’t -deprive you of that gratification.” - -“Or yourself, perhaps?” - -“No!” she said, with indifference; “you needn’t consider me. I’ve more -than I can do with already.” - -“What!” he said, “but not of the town quality? ’Tis only sheep’s-eyes -they make at you in the country.” - -“All’s fish, for that, that comes to a woman’s net. ’Tis a question -with her more of quantity than quality.” - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“Do you love the country?” - -“Sure,” she said. “I love the pigs and the cows and the horses, and -the ducks and the geese; but, after all, there’s no goose like a -lord.” - -He laughed, but a little uneasily. He was not quite so confident as he -had been of the simple nature of his task. He would just like, for an -experiment, to eschew badinage, and insinuate a thought more feeling -into the conversation. - -“I think I agree with you,” he said. “A lord is a goose.” - -“Unless he’s a gander,” said she. - -“You called him a goose,” he answered with asperity; “and a goose he -shall be.” - -“Well, don’t quarrel about it,” she protested. “Goose and gander and -gosling, they say, are three sounds but one thing. Why is a -lord--whichever he is?” - -“Well, what was _your_ reason for calling him a goose?” - -“I never did. I said there was no goose like him.” - -“That was to flatter the goose, I think.” - -“Was it, now? And I meant it to flatter the lord.” - -He raised appealing hands. “No, I prithee! Flattery--the very mess of -pottage for which he sold his birthright as a man! A lord, Mrs. Davis, -from the very moment he becomes one, hath parted with sincerity.” - -“No, sure?” - -“Yes, indeed; and for it exchanged the eternal adulation of the -hypocrite, paid not to his merits but his title. The base thenceforth -surround him; the worthy keep their distance, lest old friendships, -once frankly mutual, be suspected of self-interest. He knows no truth -but such as he may read in its withholding; he knows no love but such -as loves his rank before himself. Was he not a goose to be a lord--to -part with truth and love--to give himself to be devoured by parasites -in a hundred forms?” - -He smiled, appealing and a little melancholy. The lady lifted her -brows. - -“Lud!” she said. “And to think we in the country only know but -two--the one that hops and the one that doesn’t!” - -His lordship gave a slight start and cough. - -“Exactly,” he said: “yes, exactly.” He stiffened, clearing his throat, -then smiled again, but painfully. “So flatter me not,” he said. “Be -your sweet, candid self, to earn my gratitude. You cannot know what it -would mean to me to win at last a woman’s unaffected sympathy. Will -you not extend to me the friendship which is already, I understand, my -wife’s?” - -Her eyes twinkled, her mouth twitched, as she stood before him. - -“What is the matter?” he asked, in mild surprise. - -“You--you do look so droll,” she said, and burst into a fit of -laughter. - -He was inclined to be very incensed, but with good sense made a moral -vault of it, and landed lightly the other side of his own temper. Once -there, he could afford to echo the hussy’s merriment. - -“You are a bad girl,” he said, grinning, and shaking a finger; “but I -can see we are going to be great friends. Hist, though!” - -He looked about him cautiously, and then approached her. - -“Stand and deliver,” said she, and backed a little. - -“No, no,” he said; “on my honour, I only wish a word in confidence.” - -“O, I know that word!” she said. “I’m not so young but I’ve learned to -crack nuts with my own teeth.” - -“Here it is, then,” he said, coming no farther. “There’s this -difficulty in the way of our good understanding--that it can owe no -encouragement to my lady, your friend.” - -“Why not, now?” - -“Why, the truth is, we’re--we’re not on speaking terms.” - -“Lord-a-mussy! What’s the matter?” - -“O, these little domestic differences; they will occur! Unsuited, I -suppose. It was her suggestion; but it makes things somewhat awkward -for the moment.” He heaved a profound sigh. “Alone--always alone, you -see! What a goose to be a lord!” - -She eyed him roguishly. - -“She’s been finding out things about you: don’t tell me!” - -He sighed again. “What a goose, what a goose!” and then started, as if -remembering something. “O! and there’s another secret.” - -“Another?” said she, thrilled; and irresistibly she leaned her ear -towards him. - -“Listen!” he said, and, with a single step, had dived and snatched a -kiss. - -“You devil!” she cried, starting away. “If I don’t pay you for -that----” - -The word died on her lips. They were both simultaneously aware that -the young Countess had come unnoticed into the room, and was standing -regarding them with stony eyes. - -My lord, coughing and feeling at his cravat, tried to hum a little -nonchalant air, failed conspicuously, and, hesitating a moment, -yielded incontinent to the better part of valour, and swaggered out by -the door, with a little run at the last as if he felt behind him the -invisible persuasion of a boot. Some minutes of pregnant silence -succeeded his departure. Mrs. Davis was the first to break it. - -“I’m--I’m glad to see your ladyship looking so bonny.” - -As if it had needed but the sound of this voice to galvanize her into -life, to assure her of the incarnate reality of the insult with which -she had been threatened, the young wife started, and, advancing a few -hurried paces, paused, recollected herself, and went on deliberately -to a table, on which she proceeded to deposit the gloves which she -stripped leisurely from her hands. She was just come in from riding, -and, in her dove-grey habit, with the soft-plumed hat on her -head--steeple-crowned, but coaxed into that picturesque shapelessness -which only a woman can contrive--looked a figure sweet enough to set -Mrs. Davis wondering over the criminal blindness of husbands. Mr. -George Hamilton, you see, had let her into only so much of the truth; -a half-knowledge which his lordship’s behaviour had certainly done -nothing to rectify. - -My lady, whose fingers had gripped a silvered riding-switch, put down -that weapon, as if reluctantly, and drew off her gloves. If this woman -was what she supposed, there could be no course for her to adopt more -contemptuous than that of overlooking her as if she did not exist for -her. - -“Sure, it must have been a surprise for you,” said Moll, after waiting -vainly for some response, “to find me come, unbeknown to you, on a -visit to my kinsman. But la! we never know what’s going to happen -next--now, do we?” (_No answer._) “‘Look in any time you’re in the -neighbourhood,’ he says to me, ‘and there’s always bed and board for -you at Whitehall.’” (_No answer._) “You’ve a pretty place here, my -lady. We’ve got none such in the country, saving it’s the Manor House -where Squire Bucksey lives; and him but half a gentleman, having lost -a leg and an arm at Worcester fight.” (_My lady takes up a book, which -she affects to read in._) “Well,” said Moll, “if you’ve nothing to -say, I think I’d better be following his lordship.” - -She moved as if to go. The book slapped down. My lady turned upon her -peremptorily, with crimson cheeks. - -“Stay! Too intolerable an insolence! This affectation of rustic -artlessness! I had thought to be silent, but it transcends my -endurance. I had been warned of your coming, and I know who you are. -Your name is Davis; deny it not.” - -Impudence was not offended; but her sauce was up. She turned to -counter, and the two faced one another. - -“Deny it? Not I,” she said. “What if it is?” - -“What? How dare you speak to me? Is not your presence here offence -enough?” - -“What have I done now?” - -“Done? No wonder your right cheek flushes for its shame.” - -“He kissed it--not I. Another moment, if you hadn’t come in, and I’d -have clouted his ears for him.” - -“What made him kiss you?” - -“That’s for him to say. You can ask him if you like.” - -“_I!_” - -“Old acquaintance’ sake, he’ll tell you, perhaps.” - -“Ah!” - -“What are you ‘ahing’ about? Did it look like a habit between us? Take -my word, if you care, that he’s never kissed me in his life before.” - -“Care? Not I.” - -“I thought you looked as if you didn’t.” - -“His kisses and his fancies are subjects of supreme indifference to -me.” - -“What’s the matter, then?” - -“My self-respect is the matter--a thing beyond your comprehension. To -have to sit and suffer such a guest--in silence--as though I seemed to -countenance her presence! That is the matter.” - -Mrs. Davis, half-whimpering, put her knuckles to her eyes. - -“Why don’t you speak to him, then,” she said, “and have me turned out? -O, dear, O, dear! A nice way this to treat a harmless visitor!” - -Harmless! For the first time a wonder seized her little ladyship. Was -she really maligning in her heart a rustic simpleton? No, there was -something here _adroite_, practised, something indescribable, which -precluded the idea. And yet the thought had come to puzzle and disturb -her. Though she could not believe, her tone was less uncompromising -when she spoke again. - -“I speak to him? It is not for such as you to understand. To answer to -an insult is to flatter it. Let him answer for his own, so it be one, -to himself and you. Never fear that I shall complain.” She turned away -and back again. “I ask no questions about you,” she said. “I desire to -hear and know nothing. Your conduct, if you speak truth, need be your -only voucher.” - -She took up her gloves, preparing to leave the room, then stopped, as -if on a resistless impulse, and looked into the slut’s eyes. - -“You have a pretty face, child,” she said. “I know not whence it -comes, or what designs; but I would fain think no evil of it.” - -And she gathered up her things and went, without another word. - -It had been a brief interview, but a stupefying. For some moments -after she was left alone Moll stood motionless, as if afraid to stir. -Then, gradually, expression came back to her face, and she gave a soft -whistle. - -“Lud! the first is over,” she murmured; “and I would I could think the -worst. I stand to have my eyes scratched out, seemeth to me. But, -never mind. George must be accommodated, and the fool lord caught in -the snare of his own laying. We’ve not, for that matter, begun so -badly.” - -She rubbed her cheek viciously, then, executing a little noiseless -_pas-seul_, shivered to a stop, and looked about her inquiringly. She -was as light on her feet as a kitten, as graceful and as pretty. - -“What next?” She tittered. “Will nobody fetch me or tell me? And -O!”--she pressed a hand to the seat of suffering--“_when_ do great -folks dine!” - -She stiffened on the word, like a soldier to “attention.” A liveried -gentleman who had come into the room stood bent and bowing before -her--and kicking a furtive heel to another, who stood sniggering in -the shadow of the door. - -“Will your ladyship,” said the first, speaking from the root of his -nose, “condescend to be pleased to be shown your ladyship’s chamber?” - -Moll whisked about, her cheek on fire. “Yes, she will, turnip-head, -when you’ve got over that stomach-ache of yours.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - -It must be explained at this point that the comedy with which we are -especially concerned formed only one of innumerable kindred sideshows -in the endless junketing fair at Whitehall Palace, where, ever since -the first days of the Restoration, the high revel which that reaction -from Cimmerian glooms had come to inaugurate had been steadily -degenerating into a Saturnalia as unblushing as it was universal. It -represents, in fact, but one among many such performances, and, though -isolated by us for purely dramatic purposes, is none the less to be -understood as constituting part of the general entertainment. Thus, -you can picture our little company, if you will, as joining, in the -intervals between the acts, in the common hilarity, as forming part of -the glittering personnel which daily, in that idle, pleasure-loving -Court, laughs and fribbles away the hours. The young Countess is -there, _ingénue_, childish, but already a mark for predatory eyes, -and not, alas! in her proud revolt, wholly, or wholly innocently, -unconscious of the fact. My lord her husband, secretly watchful of the -change, conceals, under an affectation of _insouciance_, the jealousy -which is beginning to set him speculating as to any reason which may -exist for it. Hamilton, who holds in his hand, or imagines that he -holds, the strings of all the puppets implicated in this play of -cross-purposes, pervades the entire scene, a figure of wit and grace, -handsome, urbane, and popular wherever he chooses to distribute his -favours. Of the Court and its demoralizing atmosphere are all these -lives, is all this complication of unscrupulous intrigue; and, if we -leave that Court out of our account, it is not to imply thereby that -the aforesaid lives are not nine-tenths subject to its baneful -influences, but simply because to mix any such complex ingredients -with a plain tale were hopelessly to confuse the issues thereof. -Wherefore we will continue to confine our _mise en scène_, if you -please, to that district of the huge, rambling palace in which my lord -of Chesterfield has his quarters. It is there that the sole business -with which we are concerned develops itself. - -Now, it comes to include, this business, in the process of its -unfolding, a certain illustrious figure, with whose name we have dealt -hitherto but in parenthesis. His Royal Highness the Duke of York was -at this date a young man of twenty-seven, and somewhat notable, in a -reckless community, for the comparative propriety of his conduct. At -least, he kept his lapses within reasonable, if infrequent, bounds, -and, in erring, showed some occasional capacity for shamefacedness. He -had virtues--courage, truth to his word, fidelity, and application; -vices--parsimony, excessive hauteur, and an implacable enmity for his -foes. Yet, commonly master of himself, he possessed one cardinal -weakness, and that showed itself in a remarkable susceptibility to -feminine allurements--showed itself, I say, for he seemed unable to -conceal it; he was, according to Grammont, the most completely -unguarded ogler of his time. - -Fresh, unspoiled, and possessed of the double recommendation of having -a husband, and notoriously an indifferent one, the little Countess -with the rose-leaf face was not long, you may be sure, in attracting -the rather prominent inquisition of those wandering orbs, and not -altogether, be it said, without some flattered consciousness, on her -part, of their interested scrutiny. The Duke, though austere to -severity, was not an uncomely Stuart; he was tall, well formed, and -the sallow melancholy of his look, when tempered to a soft occasion, -could be sufficiently moving. Satisfied as to first impressions, he -began to consider his further policy; and in the meantime he ogled. - -His ogling, it seemed, was not, in spite of its temerity, suspected by -Hamilton. Perhaps Cousin George’s confidence in his own most-favoured -position was too absolute to cherish a thought of any rival influence -outside it. But, whatever the case, it is certain that, even if he -observed, he gave himself no concern whatever about an ocular -blandishment which was generally at the service of any _beaux yeux_ of -a pattern finer than the common. - -But, if he remained indifferent, it was far otherwise with the -husband, whose vision in a night had changed its blindness for the -thousand-lensed optic of spiderous jealousy. Realizing, too late, his -own infatuated folly, reduced to a vain coveting of what was by all -legal right his own possession, forced into an attitude of apparent -insensibility to the promiscuous gallantries offered to his lady on -the strength of their estrangement, and prevented, both by policy and -pride, from confessing to his altered sentiments, the unhappy man was, -in these days, suffering all the pangs the most vindictive wife could -have wished. And yet she would have forgiven him, even now, could he -have brought that obstinate devil in him to submit to the one -condition she had dictated, and have owned to his iniquity and asked -absolution for it. But to that extreme he could not go; it was still a -point of honour with him to force her into being the first to break -the silence; and so he continued to ground what hopes he had on the -nature of the compromise suggested by Hamilton. To that absurd faith -he clung, soon wearying of the little malapert instrument lent, though -he never guessed it, to his purpose, but desperately continuing to -play her for the success he looked to achieve. And, in the meanwhile, -if his part in private was a difficult one, in public it was an -endless anguish. It was not only that, cursed to that compact of -silence, he must be perpetually manœuvring to avoid its discovery by -others--and always on the edge of a fear lest what he so carefully -concealed should be mockingly made known, in a spasm of feminine -perversity, by the capricious partner thereto--but that he was wholly -debarred by it from uttering a word of warning or menace to that same -partner on the subject of the perils, to which her own wilfulness was -subjecting her, from oglings, princely or otherwise. He himself was so -acutely sensitive to the danger that he found a suggestive meaning in -every appreciative glance, every small natural homage paid to a beauty -which could not be seen but to be admired. The attractions which -should have been his pride had become his torment, while his mind -revolted from the memory of a dead infatuation as from something -noisome: and in so much the Nemesis of deserved retribution had -swiftly overtaken him. From his jealous misery he could find no relief -at last but in confiding its fancied justifications to his friend -Hamilton. Him, for some inexplicable reason, he never suspected. - -“Curse it, George!” he would say. “I am so driven and harassed, curse -it! A little more and I shall pack her off to the Peak!” - -He spoke of the Peak in Derbyshire, near which his country seat, -Bretby Hall, was situated. The phrase at Court came to pass into a -jocular proverb; so that to rid oneself of a tiresome wife was to send -her to the Peak. But the threat a little alarmed Hamilton. It was true -that, if carried into effect, it might prove itself the short cut to -his own desired goal, since friends come doubly welcomed into killing -solitudes; still, that welcome, gained at the sacrifice, perhaps, of a -month in town, was a prospect altogether too wry to be entertained -with composure. No, he must certainly counter the suggestion with all -his wits. - -“Why?” he said. “What is poor Kate’s new offence?” - -“Did I speak of any?” snarled Chesterfield. “The old is wide enough -and long enough to serve the purpose of a score.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“How, says he! Why, does she not take advantage of my tongue-tied -state to flaunt her coquetries in my very face?” - -“Speak to her, then.” - -“You know I cannot.” - -“O, you can, indeed!” - -“I’ll see her damned first!” - -“Why, there you are. You’ll see her damned first, and so you will.” - -“So I will? What do you imply by that?” - -“Did you not say you would? Your word on it, then, you will.” - -“Curse you! You mean the Duke.” - -“Curse you! What Duke?” - -“Don’t you know very well?” - -“O, a pox on these conundrums! What Duke, I say?” - -“York, then.” - -“What! Is _he_ the villain?” - -“I’ve watched them exchange glances.” - -“Why, so have I, and so have hundreds.” - -“You own it?” - -“With perfect equanimity. Such frank barter of the eyes is your surest -proof of innocence. Give me your stolen look for mischief.” - -“You think he means none, then?” - -Hamilton laughed, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. - -“O, Phil!” said he, “thou art surely possessed. The Duke hath other -fish to fry; his net is full. Believe me, on my sincerity” (and he -meant it), “your jealousy corrupts your judgment. And more--it -dishonours your wife. Come, tell me--how goes it with the little -country skit, Kate’s friend?” - -Chesterfield, but half convinced, shook his head and growled. - -“She wearies me. A tasteless business.” - -“What!” said the other, again perturbed: “you are not crying off?” - -“No”--he shrugged--“O, faith, no! But, ’tis uphill work.” - -“The looser rein to give yourself. A plague on distaste! That is to -put on the brake uphill.” - -“A common creature, nevertheless, to appear my more natural -choice--and when _she_ is by. I think Kate must hold me despicable.” - -“Is the skit so common?” - -“Troth, you’d think it: though, to do her justice, she makes one -laugh.” - -“Still, though against your inclinations, you play the part?” - -“O! I play it.” - -“And with what effect so far?” - -“None that you promised--unless rank mutiny lay in your scheme. She -seems determined to show me that, of all men she encounters, I stand -least in her regard.” - -“So you are signalled out for her slights. What could you wish more? -I’d rather be the one scorned by a woman than the fifty favoured. ’Tis -to stand alone in her estimation, and be thought of always for -yourself. She’s jealous, take my word. These coquetries you speak of -are but retorts on you in kind. Be thankful that she thinks you worth -them. It works, Phil--believe me, it works.” - -“Do you really think so?” - -“I’m sure of it.” - -“Come, visit us this night, and make sureness surer.” - -Hamilton feigned to reflect. - -“To-night? Why, the truth is----” - -Chesterfield, breaking into a chuckle, nudged him roguishly. - -“Hey-hey! I see: an assignation. Well, another night.” - -“Nay; to prove you’re wrong, I’ll come.” - -It so happened that, passing along a corridor that afternoon, Hamilton -encountered the Duke of York, who took his arm and held him in -friendly talk as he paced the matting with him up and down. His Royal -Highness was in a suit of plain black, which became his sombre visage -very well, and wore no ornament but the “George” suspended from his -neck by a blue ribbon. - -“I know your love for music, Geordie,” says he. “What is this new -saraband that all seem suddenly crazed about?” - -Hamilton told him. It was by the Signor Francesco Corbetti, that -famous master of the guitar, who had lately come from Paris to -Whitehall, and with such good result for himself that the King, who -loved his art, had actually appointed him a groom of the Queen’s privy -chamber, with a princely salary, in order that he might attach him -permanently to the Court. - -“’Tis nothing else, both morning and noon,” said the young man, with a -groan: “till, for my very love of music, I could throttle these -mutilators of it with their own guitar strings. Not a doting coxcomb -or lang’rous amourette but murders the ‘jealous-pated swain’ six times -a day. I wish he were rotten. Is it not strange how vanity will never -learn that to sing the nightingale’s song is not necessarily to sing -the nightingale!” - -The Duke smiled tolerantly. - -“Are they all such bunglers?” said he. “I have heard of some reputed -to handle their instruments well.” - -“Arran is one,” said Hamilton, “and there is another accomplished -performer among them--your Royal Highness’s self. But, for the rest, -it is not that I object to their twanging to their hearts’ content; it -is that they must all do it to the same tune. This saraband is indeed -a ravishing air--as Corbetti plays it; but watered nectar was never to -my taste. God forbid I should quarrel with a vogue his Majesty -started, or curse to hear this discordant plucking of strings come -wailing eternally like the wind through a hundred keyholes; all I ask -is an occasional change in the theme.” - -“You think, nevertheless, the air itself beautiful?” - -“O! it is. Your Royal Highness should hear it.” - -“What did you remark of Lord Arran, Geordie?” - -“Why, he knows and plays it, after Corbetti, the best of all.” - -This Earl of Arran, Kate Chesterfield’s younger brother, was a little -callow perfumed exquisite, a little lisping buck, who could play many -parts prettily, but none to such effect as that of minstrel, for -which, like Moore, and Leigh Hunt, and other twitterers of a later -date, he had a small natural aptitude. So, when the Italian, by the -King’s grace, brought guitars into that fashion that no lady’s toilet -table was thought complete without it included a beribboned instrument -among its rouge and powder-puffs, this curled darling found his -opportunity, and earned through it a more devoted attention than any -of his puppyish charms had hitherto been able to procure him. - -“He must play it to me,” said the Duke. “The boy has a fine touch, -though something due, no doubt, to the quality of his instrument. They -say ’tis the best in all England.” - -“No, that it is not,” said Hamilton unguardedly. “His sister owns the -best.” - -The Duke affected an air of momentary abstraction before he answered-- - -“What did you say? O, my lady Chesterfield! She plays too?” - -“Faith! that is the word for it,” answered the other. “She plays, as -they all do--at playing.” - -“And she has a finer guitar than her brother, was it? She should lease -it to him.” - -“Doubtless she would, if asked.” - -Again his answer seemed to pass unnoticed. Then the Duke started, as -if recollecting himself. - -“Eh?” he said: “we were discussing--what or whom? I’ve forgot. But let -it pass. There was something of interest--what was it?--that I had in -my mind to mention to you.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - -“The same: three days later.” So, in theatrical parlance, we lift -the curtain on a scene the replica of that introduced in the second -chapter of this Comedy of Errors. It was all as before, even to the -parted figures--only with this difference: somewhat equidistant -between the two sat Mrs. Davis. - -That, though an addition seeming insignificant, had all the latent -force in it of a barrel of gunpowder with an unlighted fuse attached. -The moment might come when, the match being applied, the whole of that -artificial stuff of obmutescence would be blown in a flash to the -winds. - -Mrs. Moll was perhaps herself a little conscious of the volcano on -which she was perched. Yet it would be doing her an injustice to hint -that she either felt or showed any perturbation. While fully realizing -that her position was in the last degree precarious, the thrill of the -thing, the exercise of the mental agility needed to prevent, or at -least postpone, that final catastrophe, was compensation enough, while -it lasted, to reconcile her to her utmost danger. And in the meanwhile -she was having, in the slang of to-day, the time of her life. Lapt in -a perfumed luxury, which was as foreign as it was agreeable to her -nature, and enjoying it none the less because it was stolen fruit, -soon to be consumed; like a born actress living in her part, but like -an astute woman keeping an unsleeping eye to the business side of her -engagement, she gave herself wholly to the situation, and endeavoured -to extract from it the best that mischief and ingenuity could devise. -Morally, she was in her own eyes merely the naughty little _tertium -quid_ needed in a drama of love and jealousy to effect a certain -purpose of separation. - -And, incidentally, she regarded the feelings of no one. The play was -the thing, and nothing outside it mattered. She was not, personally, -taken with his lordship, while, professionally, she coquetted with, -and, as she supposed, captivated him. If, in the course of those -antics, he should be so obsessed as to propose to make her his -mistress in actual fact, she might possibly, for reasons of -self-interest, be induced to accept. But she was quite contented -without. The entertainment to her lay in the successful management of -the double deception which was to end by procuring Hamilton the fruit -of his elaborate intrigue. She was not jealous of him, though he was -the man, handsome and daring, for her fancy. They were small souls -akin, and she would like to please him, if only to hear his praise. - -My lord read, my lady worked, and Mrs. Davis sat with her hands on her -lap and yawned. When she addressed either, it had to be with a careful -view to maintaining with each the fiction that she was the other’s -friend--a task not to be under-estimated for its difficulty, and, -indeed, only rendered possible by the stubborn avoidance by the two, -in replying to her, of any reference to her position in the house as -the guest of one of them. But their mutual pride was in that her -safety. For any self-betrayal they invited, designedly or -undesignedly, she might actually have been their known and accepted -visitor. They spoke not so much to her as through her--shafts designed -by each to gall the other. It was for her usefulness in that respect -that my lady had condescended to condone her presence, and even to the -extent of some verbal interchanges. As a medium, transmitting the -bitter intercourse of soul with soul, she had her negative virtues. - -It was evening, and the girandoles were all a sparkling haze of light. -There was no company but these three; for his lordship had of late -shown a peevish avoidance of his friends, and his implied intimation -of a desire for solitude had been generally respected--infinitely to -the disgust of his young Countess, who, never wedded to domestic -dullness, found in this infliction of it, under the circumstances, an -intolerably aggravated grievance. She sat like a figure of fate, -distilling frost. - -Moll, leaning back in her chair, linked her hands behind her head, -stretched deliciously, gave a prodigious yawn, and rattling her little -heels on the floor, came erect again, and looked in a collapsed way at -her ladyship. - -“Sure, you’d find stitching easier, wouldn’t you,” she said, “if you -took off that black sling of a thing.” (The injured wife still -advertised her hurt on occasion.) - -“No,” answered the lady shortly, pursing her lips. “I shouldn’t.” - -“Wouldn’t you, now?” said the slut, and settled herself down for a -tease. She was a born chatterer, as glib at retort as she was -garrulous, and the bump of reverence had been wholly denied her. She -looked very pretty, nevertheless, in her evening frock of flowered -lutestring, with her bright hair tumbling over her bright cheeks, and -dressed at each temple with a knot of pink ribbon. “Well, there’s no -accounting for tastes. If I’d hurt my arm, I should either forget the -bruise or forget my work. They don’t pull together.” - -“I haven’t hurt my arm.” - -“Not?” - -“It was bitten by a dog.” - -“Sakes, now! What made him do it?” - -“What makes any dog bite? An evil disposition, I suppose.” - -“You weren’t taking his bone away from him, by chance?” - -“Not I. He’s welcome to a whole skeleton of bones for me.” - -“All except the spare-rib, maybe.” - -His lordship, from his place apart, went “Ha-ha!”--and immediately -looked furiously solemn. My lady, beyond a slight flushing of the -cheek, showed no consciousness of the interruption. Moll turned in her -chair, leaning her arms on the back and her chin on her crossed hands. - -“That’s you,” she said. “Is your book so funny?” - -“Killing,” answered Chesterfield. “’Tis--’tis a tract on drainage.” - -“Lord, now--how humoursome! No wonder it makes you roar. But, sure, -there’s no laughter in your face. You look as cross as a Good Friday -bun.” - -“Zounds! I’m amused, I tell you,” he said; “as amused as a dog when a -cat arches her back at him.” - -“I’ve seen more amused things than that. Come, prithee, leave your -book and let us talk. What do you want to read for when a guest is -by?” - -“O! just to occupy my mind.” - -“Put something into nothing, do you mean? Well, ’tis better empty than -filled with drainage.” - -He laughed, without hilarity, but laid aside his reading. - -“Well,” said he; “I am at your service.” - -“That’s right,” she said. “And so we’ll make a merry company, we -three--the best in the middle and the bread on each side, like a duck -sandwich.” - -“Little merriment in a sandwich, to my thinking.” - -“Why, so there isn’t. ’Tis a poor substitute for the stomach.” - -“A very poor substitute. A man might better own a bread-basket.” - -But that was too much for Mrs. Davis. She bridled, instantly offended. - -“You vulgar beast! I’ll have you know I’m not to be spoken to like -that, curse you!” - -There is nothing more incommensurable, to be sure, than the particular -standards of decorum which obtain with people of Mrs. Moll’s -station--now as then. - -Chesterfield’s eyebrows went up; he shook with a little inward -laughter. - -“Why,” says he, “I’m all amazement! ’Twas but a _façon de parler_; -or, as we call it, a figure of speech.” - -“Well, you can keep that part of speech’s figure to yourself.” - -“I will; though I’ve got enough of my own. Come--forgive my offence. -What were we discussing? Sandwiches?” - -“Well, I say they’re a poor manner of food. The man that invented them -meant well, but he went the wrong way about with it. They should be a -slice of bread between two slices of meat, to my taste. He must ha’ -been like Kit’s friend, who always did the right thing and did it -wrong.” - -She was constantly referring to this “Kit.” Neither of her hearers had -a notion as to who was the individual alluded to, though each supposed -it to be some one familiar to the other’s knowledge. The lady, of -course, thought it a woman, the gentleman a man. The name, you see, as -applicable to a member of either sex, was one very well chosen for -abstract purposes. It enabled her to keep up an assumption of -understood references, while avoiding the danger of specific -instances. “Kit” was made the mouthpiece of quite a number of -imaginary characters. He--or she--might or might not have had some -existence in fact--even to a certain association with that mythical -personage her husband (in whom, by the by, Hamilton had scant belief); -but for oracular purposes it mattered nothing whether “Kit” were a -derivation or a creation. The enigma, however, had this whimsical -effect--both husband and wife became presently consumed with such an -insatiable curiosity to penetrate the secret of “Kit’s” identity, that -they felt like to burst under the weight of silence which the irony of -circumstance had imposed on them. - -“What friend of Kit’s was that?” inquired his lordship. - -“He was a plumber,” answered Moll--and turned on her hostess. “Have -you ever had a friend a plumber?” - -It was as though she had suddenly shot a jet of iced water over the -daughter of the Duke of Ormonde. Kate started, quivered, and sat -rigid. - -“Never!” she gasped out. - -“Well,” said Moll, “I don’t blame you. They’ve a smell about them of -putty and warm tallow that isn’t appetizing. But this friend of Kit’s -was worse than most. He never mended a broken pipe but what he shut up -some of his tools in it first, or stopped one leak without opening -two. Aren’t you feeling well?” - -“Never mind my feelings,”--the response came Arctic. “I’m not -accustomed to having them considered”--“by the friends of plumbers,” -was implied. - -“What a shame, now! If ’tis your arm that’s hurting you, don’t stand -on ceremony, but get to bed. We can manage alone somehow.” - -The Earl raised his eyebrows, positively petrified. How dared the -baggage mock the other thus, however much her friend? It could be -nothing but her obsession about himself and his fatal attraction which -emboldened her so to range herself, as it were, under the protection -of his guns. - -Lady Chesterfield, her cheek aglow, rose to her feet. - -“This is becoming insufferable,” she began; and stopped, biting her -lip. - -“You’ve forgotten your sling,” said Moll. - -“You’ve forgotten _yourself_,” said Kate disdainfully; and, with a -shrug, resumed her seat. “But perhaps that is an advantage.” - -Mrs. Davis jumped up, with a ringing laugh. - -“What a company of crosspatches!” she cried. “The sandwich doesn’t -seem to be a success. You come in the middle, Phil, and be the duck.” - -He grinned, but in a half-scared way. She had never yet ventured so -far as to call him by his Christian name. He was feeling suddenly -rather helpless--taken off his feet by the excess of the storm he had -himself invited. When she ran to him and pulled at his coat, he -resisted feebly. - -“Come and be the duck.” She chirped with laughter. “What a face to -grin through a horse collar! O! look intelligent!” She shook him. -“What shall we do--play games? Hot cockles, say, or----” she released -him, and stood with deliberating finger on lip. “No, that would never -do. Dumb-crambo--what do you say to that?” She glanced with comical -plaintiveness from one mute figure to the other. “But you don’t look -very playful, either of you. I wish Kit was here. You’d never be able -to resist Kit, whatever you do me.” - -Chesterfield cleared his throat, fingering the cravat at it. - -“Is Kit such a wag?” said he. - -“Just,” was the answer. - -“And good at games?” - -“There was never such a one for make-believe.” - -“A happy disposition. But then, as to happiness--Kit isn’t married, of -course.” - -Her ladyship, in an uncontrollable spasm, whisked about. - -“Kit, Mrs. Davis, has never suffered that most cruel of -disillusionments.” - -And then they went at it alternately, each pointedly addressing _not_ -the other, and tossing the hypothetical Kit between them, as if that -epicene individual were the most familiar of shuttlecocks. - -“Kit is to be congratulated, Mrs. Davis,” said his lordship. - -“Kit has chosen the better course, Mrs. Davis,” said her ladyship. - -“Matrimony is the shadow of felicity, Mrs. Davis, for which men, like -the dog in the fable, drop the substance.” - -“Men, you see, are beasts, Mrs. Davis; and not only beasts, but silly -beasts.” - -“They don’t know when they are well off, Mrs. Davis.” - -“But women do, Mrs. Davis, when men insist on remaining single.” - -“A pity for them, then, Mrs. Davis, that they don’t insist on -remaining single too.” - -“A great pity, Mrs. Davis; but women are in everything -self-sacrificing.” - -“They know how to take consolation for their injuries, Mrs. Davis.” - -“The one lesson for which they are thankfully indebted to men, Mrs. -Davis.” - -“Take care what you’re confessing to, Mrs. Davis!” - -“Or what calumnies you are making poor Kit responsible for, Mrs. -Davis,” said her ladyship, with a little contemptuous laugh. - -“O, Kit is the devil!” shouted the Earl, his wrath, till then steadily -crescendo, exploding in a clap. - -Moll, with a shriek of laughter, put her little hands to her ears. - -“Lud!” she cried. “I’ve never confessed to so much before without -knowing it! And to think Kit is come to be the devil after all!” - -She lowered her hands to clap them; and at that moment the doors were -flung open and Mr. Hamilton was announced. He came in from attending -the Court, a brilliant figure all silk and velvet, with bows to his -shoes a foot wide, and deep ruffles of lace falling from his knees -over his calves. His teeth showed in a little tentative smile, their -whiteness emphasized by the thread of moustache, no thicker than an -eyebrow, which adorned his upper lip; while his glance, swift and -comprehensive, took in the essentials of the situation on which he had -alighted. His young kinswoman sprang to greet him with a cry of -gladness. - -“_Oh, bien rencontré, mon beau cousin!_ You are welcome as health -after sickness!” - -She positively seemed to fawn on him, while Chesterfield, black and -splenetic, scowled from his place across the room. - -Hamilton was hugely gratified; but prudence necessitated his -discounting this demonstration in the kindest way possible. He -laughed, and very gently putting aside the caressing hands, answered, -sufficiently audibly-- - -“Troth, Kate, if this is your malady, it appears in a more attractive -form than most.” And then, lowering his voice, he spoke her aside: -“Who is this stranger?” - -“You should know,” she replied, hardly deigning to respond in kind. -“Was it not you that warned me of her coming?” - -“Ah!” he said, seeming enlightened, and just perceptibly shrugged his -shoulders. “Is that so? Well, make us known to one another, child; for -there’s no situation possible here without.” - -“You said you had seen her.” - -“Never to be remembered by her. I prithee, Kate.” - -She could not; it stuck in her throat; but she conceded this much--she -waved him with her hand towards the other two, where they stood -together. Hamilton made the best of it. - -“Will you, Phil?” says he, skipping up before, with a killing smile -for the lady. - -Chesterfield had no choice but to respond. - -“Mrs. Davis,” he said, in a voice that seemed to carry an oath behind -it; “this is my friend, Mr. George Hamilton.” - -Moll curtsied, “a wicked little winkle” in her eye; and the gentleman, -left hand on chest, right extended, and right toe advanced and -pointed, swept a bow the very exaggeration of courtly. - -“Charmed,” said he. - -“Sure,” said Moll. - -“You were speaking,” said he, “when it was my misfortune to interrupt -you.” - -“Was I?” said she. “Now I remember--it was about Kit.” - -“Was it, faith? And who’s Kit?” - -“Kit’s the devil.” - -“The devil he is!” - -“I never said _he_, now.” - -“She, then.” - -“Nor _she_. Kit’s Kit.” - -“Zounds! Neither man nor woman?” - -“Zounds! Why not? Doesn’t something come between man and woman?” - -“What comes?” - -“Why, the devil, sure.” - -“Ah! Then Kit _is_ the devil.” - -“Indeed, Kit is not. Kit is what the devil comes between.” - -“Wait, now. I scent a quibble. Kit stands for Christopher, and Kit -stands for Katherine--both man and woman. They go arm in arm.” - -“Not they. Why, Chris could never look at a woman without blushing.” - -“And how about Kate?” - -“O, _she_! _She’d_ go arm in arm with a pair of breeches.” - -My lord laughed, half vexedly: “She never could, you know.” - -Moll turned on him. - -“’Twas you, not me, called Kit the devil. Why don’t you answer for -your own?” and, with a manner of playful fretfulness, she began to -tease and rally him _sotto voce_. - -Hamilton looked, with a grin, at his cousin, then moved to rejoin her. -She stood with set lips and a disdainful frown on her brow. - -“How can you encourage such intolerable stuff?” she said, in an -undertone, as he approached. - -“Come with me into the window,” he answered low; and, rebelling a -moment, she succumbed. It was a large room, and the movement secured -them a relative privacy. - -“Stuff it may be,” said he; “but ’tis the sort of ready flippancy -which leads your Philip Stanhopes by the nose. Is there any truth in -this Kit?” - -“How should I know or care? Some former flame of his, belike, with -whom they play to perplex and insult me. It is no concern of mine. I -am done with him.” - -“Is that true, cousin?” He looked at her very earnestly. “Nay, I can -see you are not speaking the truth.” - -“Can you see? What true masculine eyes! I tell you that, having formed -my resolve, I am quite unconcerned and happy!” - -“Ah! Women think themselves what they want to be. That is why they -never understand when they are accused of being what they are.” - -“Indeed! And pray what am I that I do not think myself?” - -“Jealous.” - -“Never!” - -“Jealous, I say--or you were not still so obsessed that you could fail -to play the game I set you.” - -“What game?” - -“O! ‘What game?’ says she. Why, _his_ game--or fatuity. Make _him_ -jealous; hoist him with his own petard, and see this common jade -deposed.” - -Affecting, while he spoke, the simplest conversational manner, he had -an acute eye all the time for the two across the room. He observed the -little attention the Earl was paying to the wiles besieging him, his -disturbed glances his way, the morose suspicion of his expression; and -he knew that the man was still too corroded with jealousy to play -adequately the part assigned him. And in so far the decoy had failed, -it seemed, to justify her uses. It was evident that, as Chesterfield -had stated, she had begun to weary him--a perilous situation, which -must be stopped from developing itself at whatever cost. But this -mischief had reserves of fascination not yet brought into action. -Kate’s own guitar--the famous instrument--lay on a table hard by. The -sight of it brought one of these reserves most opportunely into his -mind. If he dared--but he _must_ dare. - -Kate looked at her beguiler queerly. “I had forgotten,” she said. -“Thank you, cousin. Is your advice very disinterested?” - -“To that extreme,” said he, “that I offer myself, if you will, the -fond instrument to this provocation. Purely to serve you, believe me. -Why, watch him now, and judge if, for all his misbehaviour, he would -relish that sort of retort on his infidelity.” - -“I will not watch him,” she said, “or even look at him. You are very -kind to me, cousin. I will think on what you say.” - -He was so elated that he decided on the venture. Lifting the guitar, -he ran his fingers over the strings. - -“This, Mrs. Davis,” said he, advancing a few steps, “is thought, as no -doubt you have been informed, the finest instrument of its kind in -London. Do you play?” - -The girl’s eyes sparkled. If she had a soul, it was to be evoked, -small and indefinite, through music. Hamilton had calculated on that -effect. - -“I play,” she said. “Give it me.” - -Her ladyship exclaimed angrily-- - -“No! Put it away, cousin. I will not have it so misused.” - -He laughed. - -“O, Kate! Never so churlish. Those fingers, I’ll go bail, were not -made for hurt or discord. I prithee, sweet Kate.” - -“Give it me,” said Moll entreatingly. “I’ll use it so I’ll make you -all love me.” - -Too indignant and too proud to protest further, the young Countess -contented herself by flinging into a chair, where she sat with her -back turned obstinately on the performer. - -And Moll played, her fingers fluttering over the strings like -butterflies, and drawing honey wheresoever they alighted. It was not -great music, accomplished, soul-stirring; but it was very natural and -very moving, quite true, quite simple, welling from the little spring -that was her one pure sincerity. And presently--just as, -sympathetically, when notes and chords are struck you may see a caged -bird’s throat swell and throb, until the responsive rapture comes -irresistibly bubbling forth and overflowing--her voice melted into, or -took up, the melodious refrain her hands were shaping; and in a moment -she was singing a little song, as sweet as a thrush upon a tree-- - - When my love comes, O, I will not upbraid him! - He meant but for kindness the gift that he gave. - Is he to blame for the Heaven that made him - A heart full of tenderness meet to enslave? - - When my love comes I will promise him roses, - Gift for the gift that he laid in my breast. - O, for that promise his kindness discloses, - Will he not kiss me and make me his blest? - - There’s a cry in the air of the cuckoo, sweet comer; - The daffodils blow and there’s green on the tree; - There’s a nest in the roof that is empty since summer-- - When my love comes will he warm it for me? - -It took her hearers by surprise, Hamilton not least. He was so moved, -indeed, for the moment, that he failed to observe its effect on -Chesterfield. They all dwelt silent for a little, while the girl, -conscious of the impression she had made, looked down, still softly -touching the strings. And then in a twinkle her mood changed. She -shook her curls, laughed, touched out a lively air, and began to -dance. - -Her dancing was like her playing, her singing--native, unaffected, -captivating, a rhythm of lightness, seeming to mock gravitation. It -was to help to make her famous by and by--in days when the susceptible -Mr. Pepys was to go into raptures over seeing “little Miss Davis” -jigging at the play-end; and, indeed, it was very pretty, so elf-like, -so unforced. It roused the enthusiasm of at least two of her company. -When, laughing and rosy, she ceased, Chesterfield came to her all in a -glow. - -“It was prettier than the frisking of your own lambs,” said he. “Did -you learn it of a shepherd’s piping, and your song of the nightingale? -I vow I envy the country its possession of such a Corisande.” - -My lady rose from her chair, and, without turning her head, walked -erect from the room. Hamilton, watching the Earl with a furtive smile, -heard her go, and breathed a silent benediction on his own success. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - -Mr. Pepys--to mention him once again--kept, as we know, a -commonplace book, in which he was accustomed to jot down (in -shorthand, let us hope) the good stories, post-prandial and otherwise, -which came his way. It must have been a rich if unseemly collection, -and is ill lost in these days to a world which, whatever its mental -capital, has never more than enough of refreshing anecdotes to go -round. Included in it, one may be sure, were those gems of information -(as related in the Diary) proffered at my lord Crewe’s table by one -Templer on the habits of the viper and the tarantula. This Mr. -Templer, we note, was a clergyman, and by virtue of his cloth should -be exonerated from the suspicion, otherwise irresistible, that he was -pulling our Samuel’s fat leg. But it is worth quoting the passage _in -extenso_ that the reader may judge for himself-- - -“He told us some [i.e. serpents] in the waste places of Lancashire do -grow to a great bigness, and do feed upon larkes which they take thus: -They observe, when the lark is soared to the highest, and do crawl -till they come to be just underneath them; and there they place -themselves with their mouth uppermost, and there, as is conceived, -they do eject poyson upon the bird; for the bird do suddenly come down -again in its course of a circle, and falls directly into the mouth of -the serpent; which is very strange.” - -It _is_ very strange; and that lark at his highest, be it -observed--how many hundred feet up?--and the stupendous accuracy of -the aim! But Mr. Templer was “a great traveller”--and, of course, -therefore, not at all a great liar--and necessarily, on the other -hand, too shrewd a man to be himself taken in by the gammoning of -local naturalists. Of the tarantula he goes on to say that “All the -harvest long” (in Italy presumably) “there are fiddlers go up and down -the fields everywhere, in expectation of being hired by those that are -stung.” Bless him! and bless his admirable chronicler, who never -recorded a more ingenious tale--save that, perhaps, which relates of -his friend, Batalier, the jovial but conscienceless, cheapening a butt -of Bordeaux wine of some merchant, on the score that it was soured by -a thunderstorm, the said storm having been just produced by an artful -rogue hired to counterfeit the noise of one, with rain and hail, “upon -a deale board”--an incident which reminds one of Peter Simple and -Captain Kearney. - -But, for Mr. Pepys’s book of tales; no part of it survives, so far as -I know, to supplement the Diary, or very possibly there might be found -in it some mention of the adventure of Jack Bannister with the -cly-faker. This adventure had befallen our musician some time before -his encounter with the Clerk of the Acts, which had turned out so -signally to his advantage, and one may be certain that the grateful -protégé, in the course of unburdening his heart to that generous -patron, would not have omitted to mention an incident so poignantly -associated with his recent hard experiences. The story, however, may -be given in our own words. - -In the days precedent to that lucky contretemps in Duke Street, Sad -Jack had once possessed a donkey. Acquiring the beast, by a stroke of -good fortune, through a raffle conducted in an inn yard over the -effects of a deceased tinker, he had used her to bear the burden of -the instrument which, in his ploddings abroad, made so heavy physical -an addition to the weight of melancholy which oppressed him. -Thenceforth patient Griselda acted the part of minstrel-boy to the -wandering harpist, bearing on her sturdy little back the dumb -intervals between performance and performance, and standing apathetic -by while the pence for her night’s board and lodging and her master’s -were being charmed from a reluctant public. She was a docile little -ass and intelligent, and between her and her owner was quickly -established a comradeship which made their too soon severance a source -of poignant grief to at least the human one of them. It happened in -this way-- - -They came chancing together one day into the broad thoroughfare of -Cornhill, where, about the neighbourhood of the great conduit, near -the east end, they halted and prepared for their parts. Here, hard by, -stood the “tun,” or lock-up, a square detached building used for the -temporary impounding of night offenders; and it may have been their -contiguity to that place of ill savour which procured them the company -which was responsible for their separation. Rogues gravitate of -instinct towards the gallows, and your thief is never to be found -hovering so certainly as about the buildings where Justice inhabits. - -However that might be, and whether it were owing to the insolvency or -the insensibility of his audience I cannot say; but the net result to -the musician showed itself in such a beggarly taking, that he was -driven to bring his performance to a short end, with a view to -shifting his ground and endeavouring to discover a more profitable -pitch. He loaded up Griselda and moved off, his expression, perhaps, -reflecting the nature of his inward disappointment. - -But he had not trudged fifty paces when his dismal preoccupation -became conscious of a voice that pursued and arrested him. - -“Hillo, my troll-away!” - -He turned about, to see a figure approaching. It was that of a common -young fellow, white-faced, dirty, but with a world of shifty cunning -in his diminutive optics. His dress--some refuse of finery cheapened -from the hangman--overhung his puny limbs, he had packthread in his -shoes, and he wore his hat with a jack-a-dandy cock that did nothing -but emphasize its extreme age and greasiness No one less unworldly -than our musician would have stopped to parley with a creature so -obviously questionable. But in truth Jack was, in the slang of the -canting tribe, a born “buzzard,” or pigeon. - -“What now?” demanded he. - -“Heard ye,” said the stranger, coming up with a rather panting grin, -“harping it yonder, over against lob’s pound; and, thinks I to myself, -‘Here be the very man for my master.’” - -“What master?” - -The stranger jerked his thumb over his shoulder. - -“Salvator they call him--a great learned doctor.” - -“Well, what about him?” - -“A needs a merry-Andrew, so to speak.” - -“I fail to smoke you, friend.” - -“One to play outside his door and attract custom.” - -“Ah!” - -He thought he understood. It was being suggested that he should devote -his gift to the services of an empiric, by drawing, siren-like, chance -patients to his lure. - -Well, why not? There was no moral degradation implied in the business. -This Salvator might be a perfectly honest practitioner; and in any -case his own art would be used for no purpose baser than its wont--to -procure him, that was to say, a profitable audience. And with that his -responsibility would cease. The issue, for Salvator, would be his own -affair. He thought of the comparative rest implied, of his empty -pockets. - -“What sayest thou, Grisel?” said he. - -The little she ass grunted--a small purr of affection. - -“Would he make it worth my while?” asked Jack of the pallid rogue. - -“Take my word for’t,” says he, “and demand your own terms.” - -The musician hesitated a moment longer, then succumbed. After all, he -was committing himself to no more than an interview. “Lead on,” he -said, and, the rascal going before, he followed, with the beast, in -his tracks. - -They were here in a wide place of gabled houses, all having stalls -below, with a common pent-roof over, and signs of trades innumerable -hung, like flags, from its eaves. Out of this spacious thoroughfare -they turned sharply into an alley, sunless like a ravine from the -overtopping of its tenements, but full of life and bustle. This was -Birchin Lane, much inhabited of dealers in second-hand frippery and -upholstery, yet with spaces of quiet between, where in the shadows -lurked here and there a doorway enclosing some business less officious -in its character. And before one of these doors the stranger stopped. -A modest sign hung over it, showing the inscription, “Salvator, -Physician,” with a tiny pestle and mortar depicted in the top outer -corner, and its base was sunk a single step below the street level. - -“Wait you here,” said the fellow, “the whiles I go before to acquaint -my master.” - -He rapped on the door with the iron knocker, shaped like a sphinx, -that hung there, and in a little it was opened to him by a strong, -hard-faced woman, who inquired his business. That fact again should -have warned our harpist; but the man was a dreamer and simpleton. He -noted only that his escort was admitted, and thereafter was content to -await his reappearance with patience. - -Salvator sat alone in an upper room when the rogue was shown in to -him. The physician was of a piece with his chamber, moth-blown and -fusty. He wore a long black robe with a fur tippet, and a fur cap was -on his head, from which his locks hung down, the colour of dry ginger. -He looked spoiled and stained, from much handling of medicaments, and -his jaw seemed to goggle with his eyes. The room, beyond a table, an -astral globe, a bookcase stuffed with treatises, and a chair or two, -possessed little furniture, and no sign whatever of the usual -mummified paraphernalia of a dealer in the healing arts. He turned, -from his occupation of filling a test-tube from a glass phial, to -face, somewhat impatiently, the visitor. - -“Well, friend, and what is thy need?” - -The rogue fumbled his doffed hat. - -“None of my own, master, but my brother’s. A waits in the street -below, unwitting of my purpose.” - -“What need? What purpose? State, state, and be done with it.” - -“The purpose to have his wits cured, if so be I can entice him into -your honour’s presence.” - -“What, then, hath befallen his wits?” - -“What not, great sir? A thinks every one he meets doth owe him money, -and importunes the same for payment.” - -“A kleptomaniacal symptom; from mental possession to material. You did -well to approach me timely. Since when---- But I can judge nothing -without I see him. Send him up to me.” - -“Mayhap he’ll be persuaded so he come alone. But he’ll ask you -payment.” - -“That were to put the cart before the horse; to fee the -patient--_husteron proteron_. But dispatch, dispatch.” - -The rogue descended to the street, and took Griselda’s bridle from her -master. - -“Go, make your own terms,” said he, as if well pleased, “while I hold -this. A waits you up above.” - -Soberly, and without suspicion, the musician mounted the stairs. At -the top Salvator met him, and, conducting him into his room, shut the -door. - -“A moment,” said he, “while I examine your eyes.” - -He took a lens to the astonished man, and effected a minute scrutiny, -muttering the while-- - -“A visible wildness; dilation of the pupil and congestion. You have -never slept in the moonlight, now?” - -“Never, sir.” - -“H’m! Nor been disappointed of a fortune, nor suffered a blow on the -head, nor brooded on the covetous infidelity of a loved mistress?” - -“Will you tell me plainly, sir, what are the terms you offer for my -services?” - -“We’ll come to that. Though ’tis true a physician usually asks a fee, -not gives it. My services are to you, good man.” - -“Then, sir, I decline at once. What? pay you for bringing you custom!” - -“You bring me none, I assure you, if not yourself.” - -“I’ll bring you none, indeed, nor prostitute my art to such a bargain. -Why, do you think I lead the life I do for pleasure?” - -“What life, now?” - -“The life of a beggar, sir; the life of one who harps about the -streets for alms.” - -“Harps?” - -“Do not you know? Else why was I brought here?” - -“Why, indeed? Your brother must explain.” - -“Brother! What brother?” - -“Him that came first.” - -“A stranger, sir, who accosted me in the streets not half an hour -gone, and brought me, on plea of an engagement, to you his master.” - -“His master? Not I. I’d never set eyes on the man before.” - -One blank minute the musician stood staring at the speaker, then -turned and, pounding down the stairs, half crying, half sobbing, as he -went, “A thief, a thief, a rogue! Stop him! He’s robbed me!” burst -from the door and into the street. The stranger had disappeared, the -beast, the instrument--beloved pet and the means to a livelihood all -vanished at a stroke. - -Aimless, distracted, with skirts flying, Bannister flew hither and -thither seeking and questioning. Some scoffed at him, some -sympathized; not one had any clue to offer. Amid that labyrinth of -lanes and byways, stretching its network to the very waterside, it had -been easy for the scamp to make good his escape. Exhausted and broken, -the musician had to desist at last from his efforts. - -To do him justice, the poor fellow lamented more for his Griselda than -for his instrument, though the loss of the latter presented the more -desperate problem to him. He could not afford from his scanty savings -enough to buy him a new harp, and without one how was he to procure -himself a living? In a last hope that he might find his conclusions -premature, and the truants back where he had left them, he was -returning dejectedly to the scene of his bereavement, when he caught -sight of the figure of Salvator peering from his own doorway. - -“What fortune?” quoth the medicus, with anxiety, and the other, his -lips grimly pursed, only shook his head. - -“Come in, good man, and explain,” said the physician kindly, “since I -perceive there is more here than meets the eye, and that I have been -in some manner I wot not of the unconscious instrument of your -undoing. Nay, by your favour. I, who have been giving good advice all -my years of discretion, may yet find enough to help a -fellow-creature’s necessity.” - -It was such a revelation of human charity that Sad Jack was moved to -comply. He followed that Good Samaritan to his sanctum, and there, -with some heartfelt lamenting for his ravished pet, frankly confided -to sympathetic ears his circumstances and the nature of the trick -which had victimized him. He had no reason to repent his candour. A -practised, if a generous, reader of humankind, Salvator was soon -enough convinced of the innate honesty and simplicity of soul which -underlay the frozen surface of this nature. He saw a man here to be -commiserated and trusted, and, in the end--to cut the story -short--agreed to advance him the price of a new instrument, on the -mere undertaking that he should repay the loan in such instalments as -his success might justify. And to that arrangement, very delicately -suggested, Bannister was persuaded to subscribe. - -It was indeed an oasis to have discovered in this desert of a great -city; and when, in the course of months, fame and fortune, at the -instigation of an appreciative patron, leaped upon the humble street -player, he did not forget to whom his success had been primarily due, -but he sought out Salvator in his abode, and insisted on renting from -him at a princely figure a suite of upper rooms in the house in -Birchin Lane. And there he made his lodging, greatly to the -satisfaction of his landlord, who, for all he was in no need of having -patients harped to his door, was yet by far too upright a man ever to -be counted a rich one. - -“Phlebotomy, the conduct of a clyster, the sane mixing of a potion, -the spreading of an adequate plaster--what more,” he would say to his -tenant, “is needed to fulfil the functions of an honest practitioner? -There be some, plain quacksalvers, who, seeking to supplement the -legitimate by abstruse suggestion, adorn their chambers with the dried -bodies of toads, crocadilloes, venomous asps contained in spirit, and -other such _monstra horrenda_ of a cheating fancy; whereby, indeed, if -they show their improbity, they exhibit a true knowledge of the uses -of the imagination, which will for ever pay to mystery the treble of -what reason would pay to knowledge. But not of such _suggestio falsi_ -is my dealing: and, though I suffer by it, I would rather suffer in -the company of Galen than prosper in that of Cornelius Tilbury.” - -“Yet,” says Bannister, pointing to the astral globe, “you are not, it -seems, for limiting your prescriptions to the terrestrial?” - -“Why,” answered Salvator (whose real unprofessional name, by the way, -was Shovel), “am I so dense and blind to the sources of light and life -as to claim an independence for our planet? The herb is as much of -heaven as the star, and the sign-manual of our origin is printed on -man and flower alike. So must we consult man for heaven and heaven for -man, his lines, his indications, whether derived from this celestial -House or the other. For which reason I believe in astrology as in -chiromancy, since both guide me to the association of a particular -humour in a patient’s blood with its corresponding cause and remedy, -they all being contained in his nativity, or horoscope, that is to -say--man and season and herb alike. Without subscribing to the -fantastical conceits of Gaule and Indagine, who profess to find in the -palm of the hand a country of seven hills, each, as it were, a -watershed laced with innumerable descending rivulets of tendency, I -confess that I see no reason why what life hath marked on a man the -Source of life had not in the first instance predestined there. Light -is what I seek, and that comes not from the earth.” - -So was this worthy doctor, sane, humane and religious in one--a very -practical Samaritan. Yet, as it came to appear, not all his honest -theories were able to serve him in the single direction where most he -pined to see them vindicated. He was a widower, and possessed of an -only child, a hopelessly crippled boy of fifteen. - -Bannister had been an inmate of the house for a full week before he -learned of the existence of this pathetic incubus. The building was -well-sized, its upper part, until he came to occupy it, delivered to -gloom and emptiness, and, to reach his rooms, he had to pass by a door -on the first landing which, in his early notice of it, was invariably -closed. But one night, as he went by, he observed the door ajar, and -saw a light and heard a voice within. The voice was not that of his -landlord, nor of the hard-faced woman who acted as his sole servant -and housekeeper. It was a weak voice and a querulous, and it seemed to -be expostulating over the meagreness of some concession grudgingly -vouchsafed. The musician paused in some astonishment, resting -momentarily the foot of the harp he shouldered on a stair-tread. He -never parted from his loved instrument, though in these days he used a -good packhorse to convey it to and from the places where he performed. - -It was near midnight, and the house, but for the voice, was dead -silent. The woman, after admitting him, had preceded him up the flight -and vanished. It had never occurred to him that the place contained -other than the two with whom he was familiar. He stood, petrified for -the moment, and, as the sound of his footstep ceased, so did that of -the low and feeble complaint. And then suddenly the woman came to the -door and appeared before him. - -Bannister had always rather mentally recoiled from this person--her -bony sallowness, her silence, the gloom of seeming tragedy in her -eyes. He never learned from first to last what was her history; and -yet, if tragedy there were connected with it, it had likely proved a -tragedy no more heroic than that of lovelessness, and drudgery, and -the hard resignation to that lot of unfulfilment which, foredoomed of -personal ill-favour, is perhaps, to a woman, the bitterest tragedy of -all. She served him, and waited on him well; she did everything -efficiently save smile. Yet, for all her unemotional presence, he -thought he perceived now, in the guttering light of the landing lamp, -a sign of perturbation on her face. - -“I was surprised,” he said; “and stopped--no witting eavesdropper. I -thought I heard a voice I did not recognize.” - -“’Twas Colin’s,” she said. - -“Anan?” He used, being country bred, the country expression. - -“Colin’s,” she repeated--“the master’s child.” - -“I never knew he had one.” - -“One.” She responded like an echo. - -“And ill?” - -“He’s always ill.” - -“Poor boy! Does this vigil signify----?” - -She answered the unfinished question. - -“He wanted the door left ajar that he might see you pass with your -harp.” - -“See me pass?” - -“Aye, since he cannot hear you play.” - -He looked at her in silence; then, in a quick, unaccountable impulse, -placed a firm hand on her arm. “Let me go in;” and, almost to his -wonder, she acquiesced, and moved aside to admit him. - -It was a fair-sized room, and quite handsomely appointed. What -luxuries the house could command seemed mostly accumulated here. There -were soft mats on the floor; jewels of stained glass let into the -diamond-paned casements; a silver lamp glowing among books and -illuminated manuscripts strewed over a table. And, in the midst, in -vivid contrast with the dark panelling, on a white bed lay a white -boy. His face, which, for its structure, might have been a pretty one, -was wasted to the bone; his eyes were prominent and of an unearthly -blue; though fifteen, he looked in weight and size less than a child -of nine. Sad, sad is it to see young life in any sickness--its -pathetic patience, its uncomplaining acceptance of its cruel, -uncomprehended heritage; but sadder is the sight of one doomed from -his cradle to pain and helplessness. To be born, like this, to death, -not life, to the visible processes of dissolution from the very -threshold of existence; to be fated never to know but by report the -meaning of health, as the blind must shape in their imaginations the -world they can never see--truly that is to suffer the worst loss of -possession, which is never to have possessed, while reading in the -happiness of others the measure of one’s own eternal deprivation. Here -was some constitutional atrophy, already, fifteen years ago, disputing -with its unborn victim the world to come, and proving, on release, -stronger than the life it clung to. The boy had been an invalid from -his birth--a lamp guttering before it was well lighted--a nativity -most fondly lending itself, one would have thought, to the triumphant -vindication of its parent doctrines. But that vindication never came; -the father could not cure his child, and there was the anguish. The -life he loved most on earth was the life that most baffled his efforts -to mend and prolong it. His arts could not even win it surcease from -the mortal languor and weariness which accompanied its dissolution. He -felt himself a hypocrite, an impostor, in the eyes that, turning to -him for relief, found only helplessness and impotence. He who to all -others was so glib in professional assurance had nothing here to offer -but empty commiseration and an agony of devotion. It was very pitiful. - -Bannister, pausing a moment on the threshold, stepped softly in, with -wonder and compassion at his heart. The boy, propped up on his -pillows, regarded his entrance with shy, fascinated eyes. But the -grave face of the new-comer, its simplicity, its kindly melancholy, -were nothing but reassuring adjuncts to the midnight quiet of the -room. The musician shifted the harp from his shoulder. - -“Would you like to hear me play,” he said: “here and now, in the -silence of the house?” The instant rapture called to the emaciated -features was his sufficient answer. He smiled. “Cannot you sleep?” he -said. “It is late to lie awake.” - -The boy shook his head. - -“What is time to me, sir?” - -He said it without affectation. It had seemed less touching otherwise. - -“Well,” said Bannister, “it must be a Lydian measure, lest those more -concerned with sleep than we resent it. Lie still, child, while I drug -thy tired brain.” - -He knew his own power in that way which is the last from vainglory. -True genius has no self-consciousness. It was his soul that played, -his fingers obeying; and what conceit can there be in immortality? -Seated, he touched the strings, and his soul spoke--spoke all the pity -and soft sympathy which were its burden. It was tender music, sighing, -sweetly subdued to the occasion. And as he proceeded he lost himself -in it, lost all but the sense of that divine compassion which was -moving and inspiring him. Still, the sure instinct of the artist came -presently to decree a period; and ending, short of surfeit, on a dying -note, he came to earth. - -The child was lying with closed lids, heavy tears trickling from them -upon the pillow; the woman stood in the shadows, one hand placed over -her eyes. What faint, angelic melodies must have stricken, half -fearfully, half joyfully, the ears of dark watchers in the streets -that night! Stepping very gently, the musician bent above the boy. - -“Good-night, Colin,” he whispered. “And shall I come again anon?” - -With a convulsive movement, two thin arms were flung about his neck. - -“O, come, come again and play to me!” - -“I will come. But now, my child, I am very weary. See, I will leave my -harp to stand with you all night in earnest of my promise.” - -As he opened the door a gaunt and ghastly apparition faced him. It was -the father himself, awakened, and brought from his bed in doubt and -trembling. He closed the latch, and, turning on the musician, seized -him by the arms in a fierce and strenuous grip. - -“I was listening, I was watching!” he whispered hoarsely. “Shall I -curse you or love you!” And then he fell upon his knees, pawing and -mumbling the sensitive hands. “No, no,” he gasped in a broken voice; -“be you his true physician--not like this empty charlatan, who, for -all his pretended knowledge, hath never learned the magic that one -touch of thy hands can dispense.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX - -And so the musician and the dying boy were made friends--a quaint, -brief intimacy which the former could never recall in after-years -without a pang, half pitiful, half humorous, for its oddity. Its -relation here is purely in the nature of an interlude, and may be -wholly skipped, without hurt to the main narrative, by those who have -an unconquerable repugnance of sentiment. But for those -others--whether the majority or not I do not know--who like to warm -their hearts now and then at the little fire of compassion, the -episode, as constituting an odd chapter in the life of a famous -executant, may possess a transitory charm. It is for them it is -narrated. - -From that poignant midnight, Bannister, both by day and evening, was -often in the sick boy’s room. By nature tender-hearted, how, indeed, -could he deny to suffering that wonderful new emollient discovered in -his art? His music succeeded where all dietetics, therapeutics, -pharmaceutics, lenitives, palliatives, analeptics, galenics, and other -such “ics” and “ives” as appertain to orthodox leechcraft, had failed, -however fondly applied, to give relief. It was an anodyne under which -peace and resignation came gradually to be substituted for the weary -fretfulness which long, fruitless devotion had only helped to -aggravate. The father saw, and sighed, and was sadly grateful. Often -he would come and listen to the throbbing strains, sitting quite -quietly apart, and watching, with a furtive wistfulness, the rapt -face, on which all his ministering love had never been able to draw -such lines of restful content. And the slackness of his jaw on these -occasions seemed somehow to add a curious pathos to the moral. He had -meant so well and done so little. - -But it was not alone on the subject of music that the stranger and -child drew together. One could not, for that matter, always be -harping; and in the intervals, at odd times, they conversed much, and -familiarly, and generally on recondite themes. They were both, in -their different ages and degrees, mystics--the older from temperament, -the younger from his spiritual isolation. Lying there through the -age-long seasons, what commune was possible to him but with fancies -and unrealities? The world was a shadow to him; only his dreams were -actual. For them his fruitfullest pastures lay in the spars and -splinters of jewelled light which glowed from the stained glass in the -casement. Thence he gathered, or thereinto read, the strange -phantasies which haunted his brain--thoughts and visions which were -like things glimpsed from beyond the veil. This glass was old work, -acquired piecemeal from many sources, and let into the upper halves of -the windows, without correlation in its parts and with no regard but -for effect--a disarrangement infinitely more suggestive than any -formal pattern. A few leaves, a golden apple, a section of trellis, a -hand grasping a sword-hilt, here and there a head of saint or -warrior--such, interspersed with spaces of plain glass, crimson, or -deep blue, or sunny yellow, formed the embroidered patchwork for a -thousand fancies to play about. One had to remember, hearing the -child’s strange brooding rhapsodies thereon, the years which his -shrunken appearance belied. Moreover, the intellectual light in him, -as is frequently the case with cripples, was precocious, abnormally -brilliant. And though he confessed his dreams to a lesser intellect, -it was to a corresponding sympathy. The simple of heart are often the -purest of vision. Bright wits must whet themselves on the concrete; -they cannot sharpen on abstractions. It is for the unworldly to know -what they cannot speak. And so it was with this harpist. - -There was one fragment which, more than any other, fascinated the boy. -It was in colour a splendid azure, mysteriously liquid, and on it hung -from nowhere a little white hand, minutely finished to the nails. -Whose had it been--what queen’s or angel’s? - -“Sometimes,” he would say, “when the lamp is low and there is -moonlight in the street, I see it move; and then a shadow grows above, -and out of it a face, too dim to distinguish; but if I shut my eyes, I -know it has come down and is bending over me.” - -“The Lady Mother, belike, Colin.” - -“Think you so, dear Jack? It were sweet to have a mother in my room. -Do you ever see faces, framed in little blots of light, when you close -your lids hard?” - -“Surely I do!” - -“What are they? Whence do they come? I have no memories of such in all -my life. They are strangers to me, yet as clear and actual as yours I -look on now. Human--the faces of men and women--some good, some evil; -but, if I try to hold and fix ’em, they slide and melt, this one -laughing, that wickedly deriding.” - -“I know them, evanescent phantoms, that poise, like the shining -dragonfly, one instant on wing, and, so you make a movement to look -closer, are gone--darted to extinction. Well, may they not be the -faces of those we saw through former eyes of ours, in lives before -this life?” - -The boy lay staring at him, pondering his words as if half tranced. - -“I think you say truth,” he answered presently. “What odd surprises -come floating sometimes into one’s head, like glimpses of a great -secret--bright bubbles that break just as you seem on the point of -remembering what the lovely little pictures in them are reflections -of. That is a bubble of yours I have often tried to catch.” - -“What does it seem to tell you, child?” - -“It seems to tell me how I that am I must have _been_ since the -beginning of things; how I must have lain in the life that was the -first life as surely as I lay in the life that was my mother. Think -back, and you will find it must be. All through the countless ages I -have been passed on from prison to prison, waiting the release which -is to come to me at length in Death--is to come to me through this -last phase of conscious existence, which is indeed my trial and -sentence. And then the scaffold, Jack; we all have to mount the -scaffold; and at last the opened door--the escape--the rapture--and I -shall remember why it all was!” He clasped his thin hands; his face -seemed lit up with an inward glow, like a porcelain lamp enclosing a -dim flame. “Is not that what you mean?” he said. - -“I think it is, Colin. Yet what could that imperishable seed have -known, until this last phase of realities? For _it_ the faces could -not have existed.” - -“Why not, since they existed for the lives of which it was?” - -“That is true. Life is not contained in this or that of me, but is the -sum of all.” - -The casement formed a shallow recess of five lights. It stood opposite -the bed, looking out on the street. Dimly, seen through its latticed -lower half, the houses across the lane towered like dark phantoms. -With their faces to the north, they were never but plunged in gloom; -but when the south sun was high, and struck upon the stained glass, -the contrastive glow, to tranced eyes, made them appear impalpable -things. That was how the boy liked to regard them--silvery abodes of -mystery, where any strange things might be happening, and appearing -framed between the floor and that upper frieze of glowing -transparencies. Then the lower windows looked mere cobwebs, in which -sparks and glints of light hung caught like fireflies. It was all a -dream of mist and sparkle, in which the sense of close confinement -seemed dissolving. - -But it was not so for the most part. He hated the houses in their -common, hard aspect of nearness and oppression. Only when the rain -fell thickly, spouting from their eaves and gutters, and half hiding -them behind a veil of dropping water, or when the snow, clinging to -their sills and window-frames, seemed to cut them into sugared -sections, could he endure to look on them without impatience. They -were the jealous barriers which imprisoned him from the infinite. Some -boys, so conditioned, would have found their main pathetic interest in -such sights and sounds of outer life as might penetrate to them in -their isolation. It was not so with him. His spirit, like an entombed -flower, yearned always towards the light, stretching pallidly in a -vain passion to attain the blue heaven of health and freedom. - -Perhaps, strange little soul, he was happiest in those long moonlit -nights when, the curtains being drawn about the lower casement, he and -his jewelled book of stories in the window were left alone together. -Then he would lie for hours, quite motionless, as if hypnotized, his -eyes fixed on the dimly luminous scroll, dreaming what unearthly -dreams only the painted heads themselves might tell. He liked to hear -the watchman crying out the hours, hollow and mysterious, in the -streets below; he loved to see by day the not unrare vision of a -pigeon pecking and preening on his window-sill, or the shadow of a -hopping sparrow cross the panes. Those were his events, until the harp -came. And then all at once he was transformed. Some long-dumb chord in -his soul leaped and vibrated to the rapture with a force that shook -the life out of him. I think that was the truth. He died to all -intents of joy. The frail frame could not stand the exquisite tension -of the bliss evoked in it. - -Now, in the days of that brief friendship, scarce one day passed but -found the boy and man at some time together. There was no more -midnight playing; but Bannister would look in as occasion offered, and -mostly with his instrument accompanying. Then there would be sweet -music a spell, and talk a spell, and perhaps unutterable silences to -link them. Somehow it suggested the soul affinity, formal but -transcendent, between a dying saint and his confessor. There was a -subtle thrill in the atmosphere, of which all were -conscious--Bannister himself, the father, the woman with the hard, -pathetic face, whose eyes were always hidden by her hand when she was -privileged to listen to the music. They felt it like an unseen -presence--a sense of warning, of change, as when one feels spring -moving in the grass under one’s feet. And not one would own to itself -that it knew. Yet they all knew. - -Always to the last it was the little white hand in the blue pane which -most fascinated the boy. His wandering fancy would lose itself among -the cluster of leaves, as in an antique forest; would find in the -glowing fruit a very garden of Hesperus, sweet with nightingales and -the warm scent of flowers; would endow with a hundred characters the -faces peering from that arras of bright hues: but it was to the hand -he for ever returned, its beauty, its severed mystery. “I should -dearly like to learn to whom it belonged,” he would say. “But this I -know very well--if I could only reach it, it would help me up and -away. It is the boy Christ’s, I think.” - -It was on a dark midsummer morning, chill and stormy, that the end -came. There had been signs, and in their hearts they were prepared. -The father sat by his child’s pillow, holding one of the frail hands -in his, the woman, dry-eyed and silent, busied herself noiselessly -among the shadows; near the foot of the bed sat the musician, his harp -before him, touching little more than a melodious murmur from its -strings. He faced the casement, which, because of the wind, had been -close shut. - -Perhaps it was the drugged stillness of the room, the spell wrought -upon his brain by the soft “woven paces” of the chords his fingers -trod; perhaps he really dreamt; but this is what seemed to happen -before his eyes. He was gazing, unconscious that he was gazing, on the -window, when he saw the shadow of a dove moving on the sill outside. -It dipped and strutted, curtseying back and forth, as if restless or -impatient; and as it hurried, now this way now that, of a sudden the -noise of the wind ceased utterly, and a flood of sunlight broke upon -the window. And in that same moment the player noticed a little white -hand at the latch, and the casement swung noiselessly open. There was -a sigh as of wings--within, without--and his fingers stopped on a -broken chord. And as he stared, dazzled, incredulous, he heard a quick -rustle behind him, and a startled cry: “My God! He’s gone!” - -He rose, he turned, half stupefied, and saw the father on his feet, -bending with an agonized expression over the face on the pillow. It -was quite still; a ray of sunlight touched it; a smile of the most -rapturous peace was on its lips. In a spasm of emotion he caught the -poor man’s hand in one of his, and with the other pointed mutely to -the open window. The physician, giving vent to his tears, leaned -himself upon his shoulder. - -“’Twas thy music,” he said, “broke his prison and freed his soul.” - -“’Twas thy unselfish love,” said Bannister, “freed the music.” - -The woman, her stern face all softened and agitated, went to close the -casement. - -“Nay, dame,” said the father--“let be; he cannot take cold now. To -think he is seeing the blue sky and the white clouds for the first -time!” - -And at that she cast herself upon the floor and hid her face. Only the -convulsive heaving of her body witnessed to the breaking of the storm -which had been so long pent up within her. Alas! what unsuspected -woman was revealed here, what passion undercrushed, and what -desolation! - -It was remarked that night in Spring Garden that never yet had the -famous harpist so divinely justified his reputation. He played like -one transported, lost to earth. Many of his ravished audience were in -tears, while the very pigeons, petted and fearless, seemed to gather -about his feet. Nay, there was one, it was said, a tender white dove, -that flew to his shoulder and settled there for a while, making love -at his ear. But that may pass for a legend. - - - - - CHAPTER X - -It may appear to some people that Hamilton was taking a prodigious -amount of trouble to reach by a roundabout way a conclusion at least -as presumptively attainable by direct means as by sinuous; and, in -this connection, Montrose’s quatrain may possibly occur to them-- - - He either fears his fate too much, - Or his desert is small, - Who dares not put it to the touch - To gain or lose it all. - -Without, however, stopping to defend or disallow the moral -applicability of these lines to our case in point, it may be offered -to such objectors that, generally speaking, the rewards most hardly -won are the rewards most highly prized by men, that five-sixths of the -satisfaction of success lie in the difficulties surmounted to achieve -it (the thing may be be-adaged to infinity), and that if there was a -scamp in this world alive to that truism, it was your Restoration -scamp, with his plethora of experience in the ways of facile conquest. -Who, indeed, could for ever take joy or credit of shooting the sitting -pheasant, of hunting the fox or the hare if his quarry, the moment it -were pursued, squatted down to be trodden on? Rather, would it be his -object to scare away, with a view to stalking and circumventing, the -affrighted game, than, by coming to straight conclusions with it, to -miss all the excitement of the chase. - -Now, I do not say that, in this particular scoundrelism he was bent -on, Hamilton went deliberately about it to complicate an issue he -ardently desired; only, intrigue in such matters being the recognized -process, it never occurred to him, perhaps, that satisfactory -conclusions could be reached without. It was a superstition of his -time that beef to be tender must be first baited; and certainly the -sport added a zest of its own to the subsequent feast. Moreover, the -relish in the sport itself owed much of its savour, as always with -sport, to the fact that the winner’s gains involved the loser’s -losses. To the account of his triumph, if triumph it should be, must -be put, not only the corruption of the wife but the fooling of the -husband. The humour of that result were enough to vindicate in itself -the most tortuous of courses; and the fact that the husband happened -to be his connection and confidential friend only added in his eyes a -touch of exquisite drollery to the situation. In the process of -engineering that situation he tasted all the thrilling delectation of -the spy, who, conscious of his sole possession of momentous secrets, -plays the apparent tool to this side and the other, himself the master -of both and the real arbiter of their destinies. - -He was walking one afternoon near the Ring in Hyde Park, watching the -solemn circumambulation of the coaches about that damned and dusty -arena, when a voice hailed him, and he saw Chesterfield’s glum visage -protruded from the window of a chariot which had drawn up hard by. - -“Prithee come in, coz,” said the Earl, “and help a poor foundered -wretch to forget himself in livelier company than that of his own -thoughts.” - -Hamilton, with a laugh, acceded, and the two rolled on together. - -“Is your mood so lugubrious?” asked the rogue. “Why, what a -weathercock it is, now pointing hot, now chill, without a devil of a -reason that I can see in this temperate climate! But the last time I -met you you were all for sultry, and now, to mark your face! I’ve seen -a gargoyle, with an icicle hung to its nose, look less dismally -frosty.” - -“Pish!” exclaimed the other testily. “If ’tis to the Corisande you -allude, my fire that night was but a flash-in-the-pan.” - -“A touch of the real sulphur in it, nevertheless, I believe.” - -“A touch-and-go it was, then. The skit can dance and sing to make a -man’s pulses leap--I admit it; but herself soon serves to kill that -transitory glamour. She’s her own corrective.” - -“Well, I say the more the pity.” - -“Why do you say it? I don’t understand.” - -He glanced at his companion, a sudden wrath of suspicion in his eyes. - -“What don’t you understand?” asked Hamilton, bridling, though with an -appearance of extreme urbanity, to the other’s tone. - -“That you should deplore my not burning my fingers in the fire I play -with. Did you design that I should when you recommended that hussy to -me?” - -“H’m! In a measure--yes,” drawled Hamilton. - -“For what reason? Curse it, I say, for what reason?” - -“For what reason?” - -“Do you repeat me to gain time, groping for an excuse? Do you, I say?” - -“You are full of questions. Will you have me answer them in one, or -one by one? Zounds, man, behave less like a pea dancing on a drum.” - -“Now, by God, George----!” He set his teeth, hissed in his breath, -shook his fists at nothing at all, and fell suddenly calm. “I’ll be -reasonable,” he said, apostrophizing space--“quite temperate and -reasonable. Is it reasonable to suppose that one, a family connection -and my friend, in my close confidence, could make such an admission -without some motive designed to serve me--unless, indeed, it pointed -to a treachery on his part so black as to constitute a devilry -unthinkable?” - -Hamilton’s brow corrugated. By a curious psychological perversity he -felt as much incensed over the insinuation as if there had actually -been no warrant for it. Such is often the case with your wrongdoer; he -will justify himself to himself, while remaining perfectly firm on the -question of abstract morality. - -“You are a master of reason, Phil, we know,” said he, with a sneer; -“the which, if I doubted, would not your proviso convince me? So, I -have openly confessed my hand--to beguile you to an infatuation that -should leave the coast clear for me--_me_--to play the villain?” - -“I never said so.” - -“O! did you not?” - -“I said specifically the thing was unthinkable.” - -“Showing you had thought of it.” - -“George, don’t torture me. You said, you know, it was a pity I was not -more really touched.” - -“I say it again.” - -“Why, in God’s name?” - -“So your attitude would be more convincing. As it is, the hollow -pretence of it would not deceive a child.” - -“Is that all you meant? Forgive my words to you--I am so torn and -harassed--and you are my only friend, I think. I’ll try to be more -natural with the wretch; more--more convincing, damn her! Yet I drove -it home with Kate the other night; you saw how she left the room?” - -“There you are! because for the moment you were really what you had -pretended to be--under the spell. Could you ask a better proof?” - -“No, that’s true. But it’s hard to feign the fire you do not feel.” - -Hamilton laughed indulgently. - -“You take things too seriously. Convince yourself you do not care -whatever happens, and Fortune will be kind to you. It is the jade’s -way, being a woman. Indifference to her is the only thing she cannot -resist. And it isn’t as if the fruit you were asked to handle were -rotten medlers. Here’s a sweet country nectarine for which a very -epicure might envy you.” - -“A country crab, I think, as biting as she’s little. Well?” - -“Well, is this to forget yourself in livelier company? Marry, Phil, if -you can laugh at nothing else, laugh at yourself--always the best fool -in a man’s household. But, come, I’ll give you distraction. Here’s a -story just on the town of two rogue apothecaries, partners, which -might point the moral of an Æsop’s fable. Have you heard it?” - -Chesterfield, his eyes perfectly lacklustre, muttered some incoherent -response. The other proceeded, undaunted-- - -“Nixon and Carter were they called, and both attended, among others, -on a certain ailing miserly old widow, waiving their fees in hope of -some rich bequest half promised to them for their devotion. The day -before she died she sent them two old shabby worn-out cloaks, one -cloth, one velvet, in reward of their long services to her, and of -these garments, Nixon, as the elder, was to choose which he would, the -other going to his partner. They were well mad, I can promise you, -but, making the best of it, Nixon chose the cloth, as being the more -serviceable, and after, in derision, offered to part with it to Carter -for a shilling. Which, promptly agreeing to, and securing his bargain, -Carter, the more astute knave, discovered each of its twelve buttons -to be a gold Carolus hidden under cloth. And so they were at it, Nixon -demanding back his goods and Carter resisting, till from quarrelling -they came to blows and Nixon killed Carter, for which Nixon is to be -hanged. And now comes in the lovely moral; for it seems they were both -Fifth Monarchist men, owing their lives to the Act of Indemnity, yet -who would have cut off their right hands rather than help the King to -a tester of his own coin. And the end is these twelve gold pounds are -forfeit to the Crown. What think you of that for a rare combination of -law and justice?” - -Receiving no answer, he looked at his companion, and perceived him -patently oblivious to every word he was saying. He exclaimed, and laid -his hand on the door. - -“What now?” said Chesterfield, waking up. - -The other cursed him fairly. “A pox on your insensibility! Here have I -been pouring my precious wine of eloquence into thy cracked measure of -a head that hath retained not one drop. I’ll up and begone.” - -“No, don’t. Have you been talking in truth?” - -“O, listen to him! _Have_ I been talking! No, sir; I’ve been thinking -aloud; and if my thoughts ran on jackasses in their relation to the -creature called a mute, you have only to speak without braying to -prove yourself not half the donkey you seem.” - -“Don’t be offensive, George. Why do you apply such a word to me?” - -“Are you not a donkey, to go brooding on thistles when I offer you -grapes?” - -“I cannot help but brood. Have patience with me, coz. There’s a -thought in my mind I cannot rid it of.” - -“A thought? What thought?” - -“This cursed Kit.” - -“Kit?” - -“The Kit her friend is for ever alluding to.” - -“O! that.” - -“There’s some purposed innuendo, I’m convinced, in the hussy’s -mockery--perhaps to some former flame of my wife’s known to both. I -believe, before God, it is that. You should have heard my lady before -you came that night. On my soul, she had almost confessed bare-faced -that she used this Kit to console herself for my neglect.” - -“The devil she did!” - -It was a new and surprising suggestion for Hamilton himself. It seemed -to open out a wholly unexpected vista of mortifying possibilities. -Could there be anything in it? Little signs--an odd look, a queer -inflection of the voice, unsuspected of any significance at the -time--occurred to him now in the connection of his cousin’s -confidences. Was she really playing a double game with all of them, -this little artless-seeming Thais? No! she was altogether too -unsophisticated; he could not believe it. Besides, of course, he was -actually forgetting that she and Mrs. Moll were but recent -acquaintances. They could not have a knowledge of that name in common, -unless---- - -“Did she specifically say ‘_him_’?” he asked Chesterfield. - -“What do you mean?” demanded the Earl. - -“You know Mrs. Davis would not admit Kit’s sex when I rallied her.” - -Chesterfield shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. - -“Pooh! The merest subterfuge, to mislead and torment me. The dog’s a -male dog; there’s no question whatever about it.” - -Hamilton sat frowning a while. It was true that that fact of the -women’s unacquaintance counted for little. Moll, the prying and -mischievous, might easily have made a discovery; or, again, granted -the alternative of Kate’s double-dealing, the two might be in a -naughty confederacy to punish the master of the house. Truly, if it -were no worse than that, he could forgive them, though their -understanding meant a certain treachery to himself. But at least it -would ease his mind of a qualm which had suddenly overtaken it. - -He meditated, on the whole ill at ease. He must find some opportunity, -of that he was decided, to question Mrs. Moll more particularly about -this Kit, and, though he foresaw well enough an evasive response, he -believed he would be able to extract from her some indication of the -truth sufficiently illuminating to guide him in his further actions. -He turned to his companion with the suggestion-- - -“Leave the matter to me, Phil, for the moment. I’ll question the slut, -and, like the persuasive, artful dog I am, worm the truth out of her.” - -“Will you, George? Zounds, if my suspicions should be verified, and -there’s secret meetings between them! Though he be a Kit of nine -lives, I’ll skewer them every one on my rapier like slivers of dog’s -meat. When will you come?” - -“When is it safe?” - -“My lady rides abroad each day at noon.” - -“To-morrow, then.” He put an impressive warning hand on the other’s -sleeve. “This must not affect your behaviour to the visitor. Never, -whatever you do, relax your attentions there, but rather emphasize -them.” - -“O! why?” - -“Why--why?” He spoke with some impatient irritability. “Are you really -so dense? Why, because--if you must be instructed--any slackness on -your part might rouse your wife’s suspicions. We want, if it’s to be a -question of taking her off her guard, to lull her into a sense of -false security; and the more infatuated you appear, the more careless -of precaution will she become. Strange that I should have to teach -_you_ sexual strategy.” - -He would not dismiss the whole suggestion at once, you see, as -incredible and preposterous; he was too well versed in the thousand -duplicities of which woman is capable ever to accept her innocence at -more than its face value. Nor is mere youth a guarantee with her of -harmlessness. The little two-inch viper can bite to poisonous effect -the moment it is hatched from the egg. No, it was judicious, for the -sake of all concerned, to attempt to establish the identity of this -hermaphroditic individual. And he thought he could do it. - -He went to essay the experiment the next day. A little to his -confusion he learned that his cousin, whom he had calculated upon -finding out, was not yet departed, but was strolling, pending her -horse’s arrival, in the garden. After a moment’s hesitation, he went -to seek her there, and encountered her loitering about the paths which -led down, among ordered parterres and hedged alleys, to the -river-side. She looked very pretty in her scarlet riding habit _à la -mode_, with the long-skirted coat, fashioned after a man’s, which was -just then come into vogue, and the little plumed hat tilted over one -ear; and the picture she made went straight down through his eyes to -his heart. _Her_ eyes opened a shade as she turned to recognize him. - -“Are you coming to offer to ride with me?” she said. “Because, if you -are----” - -“Yes?” he asked. - -She tossed her head suddenly, with a little shrug. - -“O! no matter. What the world can see the world will not suspect. -Come, if you wish it.” - -“Meaning by the world, I suppose, your husband. Then you have thought -better of my suggestion?” - -“What suggestion?” - -“That you should use me to stimulate his jealousy.” - -“I have thought of you as my kinsman and his friend.” - -“Is that a reproof, Kate Chesterfield?” - -She ruffled a box border with her little pointed toe, looking down the -while. - -“Why should you think it so, cousin? You are a man of honour, are you -not? And I have your own word for it your offer was a quite -disinterested one.” - -“That may be; but to turn it to no better account than riding -innocently in company is not the way to make it effective.” - -She did not reply for a moment, then looked him straight in the eyes. - -“What would you have us do?” - -“I could answer for one thing,” he said. His gaze was on a knot of -rosebuds fastened in her bosom. “These walls are argus-eyed. Grant me -a token from that sweet nest.” - -“And earn,” she said, “a credit I do not deserve. Why should I go out -of my way so to damn myself?” - -“_He’ll_ hear of it.” - -“The only one of all that would not care.” A sudden flush came to her -face. She leaned forward a little, and spoke three words: “_Who is -Kit?_” - -It fairly took him aback. He was so startled that for a moment he -could not answer. - -“Kit!” he stammered then. - -“You are my husband’s friend,” she said--“in his confidence; you know -and have shared, no doubt, the secrets of his past. Was it not enough -to force upon me the daily insult of this Davis creature’s presence, -but he must make a jest through her lips of other infamies in which it -seems they were both implicated? Who is this Kit, I say?” - -Now, one thing, in his astonishment, was made clear to Hamilton. Kate -was as innocent of Kit as Kit of Kate. That reassurance was consoling, -though it left him more confounded than ever as to the identity of the -strange being. - -“On my honour, cousin,” he said, “I have no idea.” - -“You have not?” - -“Not a shadow of one. But, whoever she is, if she she is, what reason -have you to connect Phil with her?” - -She made a sound of scorn. - -“What reason? Am I deaf and blind to all hints and innuendoes--to -their conspiracy to mock me with veiled references to the part she has -played in his life? O, reason, indeed!” - -“I think, on my soul, you are letting your imagination master you. Has -he ever really confessed to this Kit?” - -“You did not hear him? No, it was before you came. He did as much, -referring to her as the substance of happiness for which he had -exchanged its shadow--the shadow--the wife--O, I am in truth a shadow -of a wife!” - -“Then, I say, if that be so, he deserves no mercy.” - -“I intend to show him none.” - -“Give me the rose, then.” - -“Why do you want it? In reward of your disinterestedness?” - -“Just that.” - -She gazed at him a moment--a fathomless look; then--O, woman, -microcosm of all incomprehensibilities!--detached a bud from the group -and held it out to him. He received it in rapture, and dared to put it -to his lips. But at that she flushed pink, and turned from him. - -“I will ride alone,” she murmured. “Nay, do not press me further.” - -He forbore to. It suited his plans to remain behind, and he let her go -without protest. And the moment he was sure of her departure he went -to seek Mrs. Davis. His veins were hot; there was a glaze over his -eyes. “She hath put foot within the magic circle,” he thought, “and I -have her.” - -He went to find a servant, and to dispatch him in quest of Mrs. Moll. -The baggage came down to him presently into the great room, and, when -they were left alone together, danced gleefully up to him and dropped -a curtsey. - -“Is not that to the manner?” she said. “Or is it the bong tong to -offer you my cheek?” - -“Come,” he said, with a shadow of impatience. “I want to have a -serious talk with you.” - -“Lud! What mischief have I been up to?” - -“Not mischief enough--that is my complaint.” - -“Well, that’s easy remedied.” - -“Is it? I’m beginning to doubt.” - -“Ah! You don’t know me.” - -“You are enjoying yourself here, are you not?” - -“Passably. ’Tis dull sometimes--too much confinement, and not enough -fresh air.” - -“You’d like to be released, perhaps, from your duties?” - -“Should I? What makes you think so?” - -“It has occurred to me. Supposing I were to tell you you might go?” - -“Supposing? Well, I shouldn’t go, that’s all.” - -“You wouldn’t? Do you mean to say you’d defy me?” - -“Yes, I do mean to say it.” She came close before him, put her little -fists behind her back, and tilted her chin at him. “What’s all this -about? Aren’t I wanted any more, or have you changed your mind? That -’ud be a pity, because I’m not the sort, you know, to be taken or left -just as it suits a man’s convenience.” She laughed--not pleasantly. -“Has it never occurred to you, George, that you happen to be just a -little bit in my power?” - -“The devil I am!” - -“So am I--on occasion. You might find that out if you provoked me.” - -“Why, what could you do?” - -“I could blab, couldn’t I--make havoc of your little plot?” - -He was a trifle staggered. Here was something overlooked in his -calculations. He had only designed, in fact, to stimulate her efforts; -this threatened rebellion revealed some mistake in his methods. - -“And lose for ever your chance of promotion,” said he. “Well, if you -wish to make me your enemy----” - -She nodded her head once or twice. - -“I don’t. But I’d lose twenty kings sooner than sit quiet under a -dirty trick like that.” - -“Do you propose staying on, then, till this imposture is discovered, -as every day makes more probable? As well betray me at once.” - -“You know I wouldn’t do that. But I like the fun and I like the life, -and I see no more risk of discovery now than when I came. Why do you -want me to go?” - -“I never said I did. I don’t, as a matter of fact, if you will only -not like these things so well as half to forget your purpose in them.” - -“My purpose? That’s to make the lord creature in love with me. Well, -haven’t I?” - -“I miss the conclusive evidence--the proof of the pudding that’s in -the eating.” - -“That wasn’t in the bargain. Be fair, George. I’m doing all that was -asked of me, and doing it faithful.” - -She was, in fact; yet he had actually hoped for more. She was so -excessively alluring that he could not believe Chesterfield capable, -in spite of his apparent insensibility, of ultimately resisting her -charms, were she fully resolved he should not. - -“And is that,” he said, “suggesting the little piece too much? You’ve -grown very fastidious of a sudden. I told you I was beginning to -doubt.” - -She looked at him queerly a moment. - -“Isn’t it going as well with you as you expected?” she asked. - -“Your finishing him could do my cause no harm, at least,” said he, and -bit his lip. - -“Well, I vow I’m sometimes a’most sorry for her,” she said. “She’s but -my own age, and--and the man’s in love with her all the time, and at a -word she’d be with him. Don’t I know that? What a brace of blackguards -we are, George!” - -“Speak for yourself, Mrs. Moll,” said Hamilton, a little hotly. “Love -absolves all sinners. It knows no villainy but incompetence.” - -“Sure, you must be a saint, then. But betwixt this and that, and your -doubt’s despite, it wasn’t in the bargain and I won’t do it.” - -“Then that settles it, and we must manage without.” - -“As you like.” She brought her hands to the front, and, linking them -in the most decorous of love-knots, stiffened her neck and tossed her -head backwards and a little askew. “Besides,” she said, “you seem to -forget that I’ve got a husband myself.” - -He burst into a laugh, vexed but uncontrollable, and immediately -checked himself. - -“I had forgot--I confess it,” he said. “Kit, is it not?” - -“Kit!” she ejaculated, in deep scorn. And then she, too, laughed -derisively. - -“Not Kit?” said he. - -“If you knew Kit you wouldn’t ask such a silly question,” she -answered. - -“Well, why shouldn’t I know Kit? He seems an attractive person.” - -“O! Kit’s attractive.” - -“I see, I see. Pardon my stupidity.” - -“What do you see?” - -“Kit’s a--hem!--friend of yours.” - -“Indeed, Kit is--the best, a’hem, friend of mine that ever hemmed a -hem.” - -“What! a woman?” - -“Either that or a tailor.” - -“Damn it! Not a tailor?” - -“Damn it, why not? Though it takes nine tailors to make a man, one -woman can make a tailor.” - -“Come, Moll, thou art goosing me.” - -“A tailor’s goose, maybe.” - -“Tell me, who is this friend of yours?” - -“I wonder.” - -“Frankly, is it man or woman?” - -“Frankly, I’ve never asked.” - -“Ah! you won’t tell me. Are we not good comrades now, and as such -should have no secrets from one another?” - -“What do you want to know?” - -“What is Kit?” - -“Sometimes this, sometimes that. We all have our moods.” - -“I believe he has no existence but in your imagination. Who is he? -Tell me.” - -“Will you kiss me, George, if I tell?” - -“That I will.” - -He suited the action to the word, putting his lips to hers, while she -submitted quietly. - -“Now,” said he. - -“But I haven’t told,” she protested. - -He could have boxed her pink ear; and he did fling from her with some -roughness. - -“P’sha!” he said. “I am wasting time.” - -“And that is not all,” said she. - -He saw a warning flush in her cheek, and forced his vexation under. - -“Well,” he said, with a propitiatory laugh, “if you tell me nothing, -I’ve got the kiss for nothing; and so mine is the best of the bargain. -But I count you a little unkind, Mollinda.” - -“I don’t mean to be that, George,” she answered, somewhat penitent. -“But I shouldn’t tell secrets not my own; now should I?” - -That only served to restimulate his doubts and perplexity; but he said -no more on the subject, feeling it wiser to desist. - -“Never mind,” he said. “You have your own good reasons for silence, of -course, and it’s no business of mine to press them. What is more to -the point is this question of your scruples regarding his lordship. So -you won’t go to extremes? Then, what is to be the course? With all -deference, Mrs. Moll, you can’t surely be planning to stay on here -indefinitely.” - -“Well, I’ll work up to any conclusion you like, short of that.” - -“You will?” - -“Sure.” - -“Even if it were to an appearance--of that?” - -“Why not? ’Twould be enough for me to know my own innocence, since I’m -the only one that ever believes in it.” - -He pondered, musing on her. “I’ll think it out, faith. We’ll arrange -some trick between us--some _coup de grâce_ for her ladyship. Shall -we?” - -“O, go to grass yourself!” she said. “Speak English.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - -To the Duke of York’s chambers in Whitehall came a mincing -exquisite, with a guitar slung from his neck by a broad silver ribbon. -He was dressed in silvered white from chin to toe, and he strutted -exactly like a white leghorn cock surveying his seraglio. His long, -straw-coloured hair was elaborately curled over his temples; the -lashes to his eyes were like pale spun glass; a tiny cherished -moustachio, pointed upwards at the tips, stood either side his round -nose like a couple of thorns to a gooseberry. He hummed as he walked, -flourishing a beringed and scented hand to such palace minions as met -and saluted him by the way, and reaching the Duke’s quarters, -acknowledged, with a charming condescension, the respectful greetings -of M. Prosper, gentleman of the Chamber to his Highness, who accosted -him at the door of the anteroom. - -“Ha, my good Prothper! I thee you well, _j’ethpère bien_?” - -“Vair well--most--milord of Arran. You are to come this way, sair. His -Royal ’Ighness ’e expectorate you.” - -Bowing and waving his arms, as if he were “shooing” on a fowl, M. -Prosper conducted the visitor by a private passage to the Duke’s -closet, where, committing him to the hands of a page, he bobbed and -ducked himself away. And the next moment the Earl found himself in the -presence of the Lord High Admiral. - -James Stuart was seated at a table liberally strewn with documents, -writing, and mathematical implements. There were no gimcracks visible -on it, unless a little bronze ship, which served for a paper-weight, -deserved the title. The aspect of the room, like his own, inornate, -businesslike, severe, was in odd contrast with the silken frippery -which came to invade it. One would have guessed some particular -purpose to lie behind the permitted violation of those austere -privacies. His Highness was minutely examining a chart when the -lordling entered. Standing over him and occasionally dabbing a -forefinger, like a discoloured banana, on some specified shoal or -anchorage, was a huge individual, in a full-skirted blue coat, trimmed -with the coarse lace called trolly-lolly, whose bearing spoke -unmistakably of the sea. This was Captain Stone, of the _Naseby_ -frigate, in fact--a practical sailorman, much in favour with his royal -master. He was a rough-and-ready specimen of his class, with manners -as blunt as his features. He turned to stare at the sugary apparition -as it sailed into view, and a grin of derision, which he made no -effort to conceal, widened his already ample features. - -“Ha, my lord!” said the Duke; “you are welcome. Be seated, sir, be -seated. I shall be disengaged in one moment. Stone, oblige me by -removing your hat from that chair, that my lord of Arran may come to -anchor.” - -The bulky sea-captain, with a most offensive affectation of alacrity, -skipped to obey. He swept the chair with his hat; more, he produced -from somewhere an enormous blue handkerchief like a small ensign, and -elaborately polished the seat with it. - -“Now,” says he, “if your lordship’s breeches will deign to -reconsecrate the altar my top-gear hath profaned.” - -The Duke, his elbow leaned on the table, shaded his face with his -palm, and laughed noiselessly. As for the sweet puppy himself, -self-esteem had thickened his moral cuticle beyond penetration by -anything less than a pickaxe of ridicule. He closed his lids, and, -with an ineffable smile and wave of the hand, dropped languidly into -the proffered place. Duke and Captain continued for a while their -investigation of the chart. Then the former put it away, and, leaning -back in his chair, addressed a question to the latter. - -“What is this I hear, Captain, of decent folk impressed illegally in -the City by order of my Lord Mayor?” - -The burly seaman shrugged his shoulders. - -“He’s an ass, sir, that Bludworth, yet an ass in some sort deserving -commendation.” - -“In what way?” - -“Why, in the way that leads by short-cuts to disputed ends. He gets -there, while your wise man talks.” - -“Aye, but he tramples rights to do it.” - -“He may. We must have men.” - -“They were given no press money, I understand.” - -“He had none to give them. Still, we must have men.” - -“The thing should be in order. There were those among them, I hear, of -quite respectable estate.” - -“Aye, but we must have men, I say. Your fool, on occasion, can have -his uses.” - -The Duke, as if involuntarily, shot a swift glance towards the seated -figure. - -“Could they, under the circumstances,” he said, “be broke for -desertion?” - -“I leave that,” answered the seaman dryly, “to your Highness.” - -“’Tis not the way, at least, to make the King’s service popular.” - -“Well, I could venture a better way.” - -He meant, of course, the settlement of long arrears of pay--a chronic -scandal in the Navy. But the obvious was not palatable. The Duke, just -raising his eyebrows at the speaker, bent them in a frown, and sat -drumming for some moments with his fingers on the table. Suddenly he -turned to Arran. - -“What would _you_ suggest, my lord,” said he, “to make the Navy -popular? The lay opinion, given an intelligence such as yours, is -often valuable in these matters.” - -His lordship, exquisitely flattered, sat up. - -“I should offer a handthome bounty, Thir,” said he--with perhaps some -vivid recollection of personal sufferings endured in the Channel--“to -the man who should devith or invent a thertain cure for -thea-thickneth.” - -Captain Stone, regardless of his company, burst into a roar of -laughter. - -“By Gog, your Highness!” cried he, “here’s the pressman for our money. -To make the Navy popular, quotha--give them stomach for it! Aye, why -not? And lace our sails with silver twist, and hang a silken tassel at -the main, and pipe to quarters on a hurdy-gurdy! O, we’ll have our -Captain’s monkey yet with lovelocks to his head and white ribbons to -his shoon!” - -His lordship, on whom this pickaxe had wrought at last, flushed up to -the eyes with anger and resentment. He rose to his feet. - -“Thith monthtruth inthult,” he began; “I crave your Highnetheth -grath----” and stuck for lack of words. - -The Duke, whose cue was nothing if not propitiation, turned in some -genuine wrath on the seaman. - -“You forget yourself, sir,” he said sternly. “You will favour me by -retiring. Waiving the question of respect for his lordship’s opinions, -you fail in it to me, who invited them. Nor need you be so cocksure in -your own. Who knows what inclinations might have served us but for -dread of that malady! You must go.” - -The Captain, not venturing to remonstrate, but seeing, as he thought, -through the other’s motive, obeyed, and so much without rancour that -he could not forbear some subdued sputtering laughter as he left the -room--an ebullition which, in fact, found its secret response in the -Duke’s own bosom. He addressed himself, the man gone, with a rather -twinkling blandishment to his remaining guest. - -“A rough, untutored fellow, my lord; but reliable, according to his -lights. They are not penetrating, perhaps; yet clear as regards the -surface of things. You must forgive him. That was an original -suggestion of yours. He would not grasp its inner significance, -naturally. To cure sea-sickness, now. There is something in it.” - -“I am happy,” minced the bantling, “in your Highnetheth commendation. -That _mal-de-mer_ is a very dithtrething thing. It maketh a man look a -fool; and a man dothn’t like to look a fool.” - -The Duke considered. - -“But for the character of the remedy? What do you say to music? Music -will not, according to Master George Herbert, cure the toothache: but -is sea-sickness the toothache, my lord?” - -“Not the toothache; no, Thir.” - -“Is it not rather, by all reports, a surging or vertigo of the brain, -induced by that reversal of the laws of equilibrium which transposes -the offices, as it were, of matter animate and matter inanimate?” - -“I--I take your Highnetheth word for it.” - -“Why, it is clear. We are designed and organized, are we not, to be -voluntary agents on a plane of stability?” - -“Yeth, yeth, O yeth!” - -“Very well. So we lie down or rise at will, the solid earth abetting. -But supposing the parts reversed, ourselves the willingly quiescent, -the earth the one to rise or fall? Would not our brain, devised on the -opposite principle, be naturally upset, carrying with it the stomach, -its most intimate relation?” - -“I’m thure it would; quite thure to be thure.” - -“Take my word for it. When we go to sea we are transposing the -functional processes of mind and matter. How, then, to render that -exchange nugatory? The sense of it is conveyed through what? The eyes, -is it not?” - -“O yeth, indeed! You thee the heaving before you heave yourthelf.” - -“Exactly--a sympathetic emotion, or motion. Our vision, then, is the -direct cause of sea-sickness. Why? Because in pursuing an unstable -thing it becomes itself unstable. And there I see light. The eyes are -at right angles to the ears, are they not? And we are agreed that the -sense of instability is conveyed through the eyes?” - -“Through the eyeth.” - -“Well, supposing now we introduce a second appeal to the senses -through the ears; that second appeal would traverse the first appeal, -would it not, at right angles, the two forming together a sort of -sensory cross-hatch, or truss, which would immediately produce the -stability necessary to keep the otherwise unsupported sight from -accommodating itself to the action of the waves? You follow me?” - -“I think---- O yeth!” - -“Your suggestion was a really very able one, my lord, and it speaks -loudly against the folly of scorning all ex-official criticism in -these matters. But, to follow our theorizing to a practical end. We -are at one, then, in believing it possible that the sense of sight -could be trussed and stiffened by the introduction of the sense of -sound. To make an effective business of it, however, that sense of -sound would have to be compelling enough to arrest and neutralize the -visual tendency; it would have to be, that is to say, exceedingly -strong and exceedingly sweet. It might be possible to introduce on -each of our ships a professional harpist, or lutist, to supply with -their music a prophylactic against sea-sickness; but one has to -remember that not all musicians are sailors, and that it might prove -disastrous to the moral should one fail in his own sea-legs at the -very moment he was trying to provide another with his.” - -“Yeth; that ith very true.” - -“Then, again, as to the force of the appeal. Not all performers have -that convincing mastery of their instruments, my lord, which according -to what I hear, is peculiarly your own.” - -“O, truth, your Highneth flatterth me!” - -“You shall prove it.” He smiled very pleasantly. “But, believe me, my -lord, I am infinitely your debtor for a suggestion which _may_ go far -to revolutionize the whole question of impressment and the popularity -of the Navy. Now, will you not give me a taste of the quality which -has come to enter so aptly into the context of our discussion? You -know I play a little on the guitar myself, but not so well as to -refuse a hint or two from a master of the instrument. There was a -question of a saraband. I would fain take a lesson in its -presentation.” - -“Corbetti’th, your Highneth meanth.” The puppy--strange scion of a -house distinguished, in the persons of its head and firstborn, for -both courage and nobility--glowed with gratified vanity. He really -believed at last that ’twas he himself had originated that exquisite -specific against the curse of the ocean, and that the Duke was his -admiring debtor for it. He struck an attitude, slung his guitar into -position, and, receiving a nod from his auditor, forthwith touched out -the measure of Signor Francesco’s saraband. It was a quite graceful -composition, and he played it well. - -The Duke was enraptured. - -“It is in truth a most sweet and moving piece,” he said, “and masterly -rendered. I have never known to be displayed a more perfect accord -between composer, performer, and instrument. Yet, if they were to be -considered in order of merit, I should put, without hesitation, the -executant in the first place and the guitar in the least.” - -“Yet it’th a good guitar, Thir,” ventured the glowing youth. He lifted -and eyed with beatific patronage that faithful recorder of his genius. - -“Good,” answered the Duke; “yet good is not good enough to be the -servant of the best. But where, indeed, could one look for an -instrument worthy of an Orpheus?” - -“O, I bluth, your Highneth! Yet I will not thay but what I might give -a better account of mythelf on an inthtrument pothethed by my -thithter, my lady Chethterfield. It ith a wonder, that. Corbetti -himthelf hath declared it.” - -“Indeed?” James spoke abstractedly, seeming hardly to attend. “Now, -will you make me your debtor, my lord, for a hint or two. It would -flatter my poor skill to expend it on so rare a melody.” - -He was so full of compliment and ingratiation, that the first -diffidence of the sweet Earl was soon exchanged for a vanity -approaching condescension. He took his royal pupil in hand, and -conducted him over the opening bars of the composition. But the Duke, -strange to say, proved himself a most sad bungler. He could not, for -some reason, master the air, and finally, with a shrug of impatience, -he desisted, and begged his instructor to repeat to him his own -version of certain ingenious passages. - -“I will murder the innocents no longer,” quoth he, handing back the -instrument. “Render them again in living phrase, and so take the taste -of my own villainy out of my mouth.” - -“It is thith way,” said his lordship, and went on thrumming most -mellifluously. - -“Ah!” said the Duke. “If one could take the way of genius only by -having it pointed out to one! Yet, did not that last note ring a -little false?” - -“No, by my fay, Thir.” - -“You may be right. Yet methinks I have a very hair-splitting ear. It -will quarrel on so little as a fraction of a tone. Not the player, but -the string, maybe, was to blame. Even your best of instruments will -lack perfection, betraying weak places in their constitution, like -broken letters in a printed type. Sound it again. ... Ah! it is not -quite true, indeed.” - -“Your Highneth, thith ith a very ordinary fair guitar; but, ath I -thay, I know a better.” - -“True; my lady Shrewsbury’s.” - -“No.” - -“Not? I thought you mentioned hers?” - -“Not herth. My lady Chetherfield’th.” - -“O! Your sister’s. So, she is the possessor of that masterpiece. Is it -indeed so excellent?” - -“None better, I dare to venture, in all the world.” - -“My lord, you must let me hear you on it. So near the perfect -achievement, and yet to fall short of it by a hair! ’Twas not to be -endured. We must visit your sister, you and I together, and beg this -favour of her kindness.” - -Now, even the Court of the Restoration had its codes of -etiquette--more particular, in some odd ways, than to-day’s--and among -them was none which permitted a prince of the blood royal to -condescend to social intercourse with a young married woman without -danger to her reputation. Arran, to be sure, knew this well enough, -shallow dandiprat as he was, and the slight qualm he felt over the -proposition was evidence of a certain suspicion awakened in him for -the first time. But it was faint, and no proof against his vanity. He -was not so base as to design any deliberate treachery to his own flesh -and blood; but his conscience was an indeterminate quantity, easily at -the mercy of any plausible rascal. He considered, and decided that the -inclusion of himself in the Duke’s suggestion was the surest proof -that there could be no _arrière pensée_ behind it. An intrigant, -bent on some nefarious conquest, would not propose a brother to assist -him in his purpose. He gave a little embarrassed laugh, nevertheless, -and hung his foolish head. - -“If your Highneth thinkth it worth your Highnetheth while,” he said. - -“Worth, my lord, worth?” said the Duke warmly. “What is this genius of -yours worth, if not the most perfect of mediums through which to give -itself expression?” - -“You are very good.” - -“I am very impatient, and shall continue so, until we have given -effect to this arrangement.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - -Little Lady Chesterfield sat in her private boudoir, looking out on -a glowing section of the palace gardens. Thirty feet away a marble -basin, shaped like a tazza, bubbled with a tiny jet of water; and on -the rim of the basin, as if posed for a picture, sat a single peacock. -Great white clouds loitered in a sapphire sky, a thousand flowers -starred the beds, the box borders were lush with growth, and all -between went a maze of little paths, frilled with green sweetness. It -was an endearing prospect, spacious and peaceful, hardly ruffled by -the murmurs of the great life in whose midmost it was cloistered; yet -small consciousness of its tranquillity was apparent in the blue eyes -whose introspective vision reflected only the mists and turbulence of -a troubled heart. - -Now, as regards physical infection, one may be susceptible to the -predaceous germ on one occasion and not on another: it is a question -of bodily condition. So, there is a moral microbe whose insidious -approaches may find us pregnable or not according to our spiritual -temper of the time. The healthiest constitutions enjoy no absolute -immunity in this respect, and those which do escape harm often owe -their reputation for incorruptibility to no better than the accident -which found them free from attack at the weak moments. Evil -disposition makes no more sinners than the lack of it does saints. It -is mostly a question of coincidence between the alighting seed-down -and the soil suitable to its germination. - -Well, there are soils and soils, and as one seed which sickens on a -rich loam will wax bursting fat in an arid crevice, so sand will not -produce roses. Yet, I should say, if one sought a common denominator -in this matter of proneness to moral infections, one could not -instance a state more typically susceptive to all than that of -idleness and boredom. - -And to that perilous condition had poor Kate succeeded. She was -ennuyée, sick of soul, tired of everything and everybody. Her -matrimonial barque, she felt, had been flung on a shoal, where it lay -as divorced from wreck as from rescue. There appeared no alternative -but to abandon it; and yet all her instincts of faith and decency -still fought against that seeming treachery to her vows. She had -really at one time believed in the poor creature her husband--even -though necessarily at the modified valuation imposed upon wives of her -date and condition: she had not utterly abandoned her hope in him yet. -But little of it remained, and that little so tempered with scorn and -disgust as to seem hardly worth the retaining. Still, the wifely -instinct clung by a thread, and was so far her resource and safety. -Yet not much was needed to snap that last strand, and she knew it, and -felt it, and was wrought thereby to a state of nervous irritability -which halted, in its sense of sick isolation, between fidelity and -revolt. She was susceptible, in fact, when the germ made its -appearance. - -It was a flattering germ, garbed royally, with a melting eye and an -insinuative manner. She may have been already conscious in herself of -premonitory symptoms betokening its approach, as the wind of the -avalanche heralds the fall thereof; I will certainly not commit myself -to any statement to the contrary. But even were that the case, it is -not to say that her hold on the thread continued less fond and -desperate. It is likely, indeed, that it acquired a more urgent grip, -as foreseeing a particular strain upon its resources. Royalty could -pull so hard with so little effort of its own. However that may be, it -is worthy of note that she displayed at least the courage of her sex -in facing the possibility of infection instead of flying from it. - -Now, as she sat, gazing out on the quiet scene with unregarding eyes, -and obsessed with the sole thought that she was the most aggrieved and -weary-spirited woman in the world, she heard a sound in the room -behind her, and turned to see her second brother, young Arran. He -minced forward, the darling, and saluted her with the most -unimaginable grace, though there was certainly a little tell-tale -flush on his callow cheek. - -“Thithter Kit,” quoth he, “I have taken the privilege of a brother to -introduth a vithitor to your private apartment.” - -“A visitor!” She rose, uncertain, to her feet, and was aware, with a -little shock of the blood, of the figure of the Duke of York standing -in the doorway. His Royal Highness, with a grave smile, in which there -was nevertheless a touch of anxiety, advanced into the room, closing -the door behind him. - -“Uninvited, but not too greatly daring, I hope,” said he. “Formality, -ceremonial, were all incompatible with the boon we designed to ask of -your ladyship.” - -A vivid flush would rise to her cheek; she could not help it, nor -control, with all her will to, the self-conscious instinct betrayed in -her drooped lashes. For a moment, in the embarrassment of her youth, -she stood dumb before this realized liberty. - -“A privilege, your brother called it,” continued the Duke. “Then, if -for him, how much more for me! Of its extent, believe me, I am so -fully sensible, that, accepting your silence for condonation of my -presumption, I hesitate to abuse a favour so freely vouchsafed by -taking advantage of it to beg another.” - -She raised her lids, and again dropped them. The shadow of a smile -twitched the corners of her mouth. And then her breath caught, -suddenly and irresistibly, in a little half-hysterical laugh. The -pomposity of this prelude was after all too much for her. - -“O, my lord Duke,” she said, “if I were to assume the nature of this -favour from the solemnity of its introduction, I should have no -alternative but to refuse it offhand, as implying something grave and -weighty beyond my years. I pray you bear my youth in mind.” - -He smiled, relieved and at ease. - -“Most tenderly, madam. For all that resounding symphony, you shall -find the piece, when we come to play it, a very _pastorale_ in -lightness. Will you not be seated?” - -“By your favour, your Highness--when you have set me the example.” - -She sought to take refuge from her fluttering apprehensions behind -that shy insistence on punctilio. The Duke bowed, and accepting a -chair from his lordship of Arran, signified his entreaty that the lady -should occupy another contiguous. Kate had no choice but to obey. She -was not yet mistress of her blushes, and she blushed as she seated -herself. But there was a strange excitement in her heart, -nevertheless. - -“Now,” said his Highness, “I am in the position of a litigant, who -hath engaged an advocate to plead his cause for him. So, like a -sensible client, I leave the first word to him.” - -He waited, in a serene confidence. Lady Chesterfield looked at her -brother. - -“What is it, Richard?” - -His lordship giggled, “hem’d,” pulled at his cravat, and spoke. - -“Nothing in the world, thithter Kit.” - -“O!” she said, “nothing is easily granted. I give you the case, your -Highness.” - -“He rates his own genius too lightly,” cried the Duke. “I see that, -for the sake of his modesty, I must reverse the parts. Take me for -advocate, then, and hear my plea. It is that, saving one factor, your -brother is the most accomplished guitarist at Court.” - -“O, fie, your Highneth!” said Arran, squirming in every limb. “Think -of Corbetti.” - -“A master, I grant,” said the Duke, “but with the faults incident to -professionalism. A perfect executant, art hath yet despoiled him of -nature. For pure sympathy, give me your born musician before your -trained.” - -Again Arran squirmed. “O, your Highneth, your Highneth!” - -The Duke turned to Kate. - -“Do you not love your brother’s playing?” - -“Indeed,” answered the girl, perplexed, “Richard plays well.” - -“Well?” he echoed, protesting. “Have you heard him in the new -saraband?” She shook her head. “Ah!” he said: “not Corbetti himself -could so interpret the loveliness of his own composition. I speak as -one who knows. My lord’s performance, to eschew superlatives, was -divine. Yet there was a flaw. The perfect master lacked the perfect -instrument. To attain the latter, or at least more nearly approximate -it, only one resource offered. Your ladyship, as he informed me, was -owner of the finest guitar in all England. To hear him on that guitar -became then a necessity with me--a fever, a passion. It was to entreat -that opportunity that I ventured this descent upon your ladyship’s -privacy.” - -She heard; she opened her eyes in ingenuous wonder. Before she could -consider the words, they were on her lips. - -“Is that all?” - -“Nay, not all,” he answered softly--“not all. But that _you_ might -hear and feel.” - -Involuntarily she shrank away a little. - -“Richard knew,” she said, “that he could always have my guitar for the -asking.” - -“Is that so?” said his Highness. “But he did not tell me--perchance -because he would have his sister learn the estimate in which he is -held by others, to show his power to move me in your presence. Ah!” he -waved a playful hand--a very white and shapely one: “relations are -notoriously grudging critics of their own.” - -Still she struggled faintly. - -“This is a poor room for resonance, my lord Duke. The audience-chamber -would have been better chosen.” - -“Nay,” he said; “are we not private here?” - -“Private, Sir?” - -“Is not privacy the very essence of all sweet sounds and thoughts? To -risk interruption is to risk the jarring of their lovely sequence. No, -we are happiest where we are, apart and secluded. The loneliest bower -is that where the bird sings his song to an end.” - -She rose hastily, and with an effort to control her agitation. - -“I will go and fetch it,” she said. “It is not here.” - -He sought to detain her. - -“Does not your brother know the place?” - -Arran interposed. Some vague uneasiness, perhaps, was making itself -felt in the shallow brain of the nincompoop. - -“No, by my thoul, your Highneth,” he said, “nor underthtand if she -told me.” - -Kate hurried to the door. As she did so, a feminine form outside -whisked into the near shelter of some hangings. Then, foreseeing -certain detection if she remained where she was, waited until the -issuing figure had vanished down a passage, when she herself slipped -away incontinent in another direction. - -The Duke in the meanwhile sat frowning and silent, half suspecting a -ruse on the lady’s part to escape him. But in that he did the Countess -too much or too little justice. For whatever reason--of honour or -perversity; you may take your choice--Kate acquitted herself -faithfully of her errand, and came back with the guitar; whereat the -royal brow cleared wonderfully. - -And Arran played the saraband--this time to perfection, exclaimed his -Highness. Sweet melody, sweet touch, and sweetest atmosphere--it had -been all a banquet of delight, served, as it were, amidst the -tenderest surroundings, in a self-contained corner of Eden, by the -most paradisical of chefs. The Duke was transported; he was really -transported, though it is true some ecstasies stop short of heaven. -There are sirens in Campania to see to that. - -And Kate was also moved; she could not well help but be. Her heart was -in too emotional a state to be safe proof against such soft besieging. -When the Duke leaned towards her, she did not stir, but sat with eyes -downcast, her bosom plainly turbulent. - -“Was I not right,” he said, “and could any gain in resonance have -improved on this faultless unison of parts? Perfection must know -bounds, even like a framed picture, or the soul cannot compass it. To -have enlarged these but in one direction would have been to sacrifice -the proportions of the whole--the harmonious concord of place, and -sound, and tenderest feeling. Give me this bower, lady, for your -rounded madrigal, wherein sweetest music lends itself with love and -beauty to weave a finished pattern of delight. My lord, grant me the -instrument a moment.” - -He took the guitar, somewhat peremptorily, from the Earl’s hesitating -hands; but he was in no mood, at this pass, to temporize or finesse. -And, having received it, he went plucking softly among the strings, -gathering up sweet chords and sobbing accidentals, as it were flowers, -to present in a nosegay to the heart of his moved hearer. There was a -knowledge, a sure emotionalism, in his touch which went far to -discount his earlier pretence of inadequacy; and Arran in his weak -brain may have felt somehow conscious of the fact, and of a suspicion -that he had been subtly beguiled into lending his own vanity for a -catspaw to the other’s schemes. But he had no wit to mend the -situation he had encouraged; and so he only stood silent, with his -mouth open--sowing gape-seed, as they say in Sussex. - -The Duke, ending presently on a “dying fall,” sighed and looked up. - -“Lady,” he said, “there is a test of the interpretative power of music -(which some deny), to render the very spirit of a flower in sound, so -that one listening, with closed eyes, will say, ‘That be jonquils,’ or -‘That be rosemary,’ or lavender, or what you will. Only the player -must have that same blossom he would explain nigh to him, that his -soul may be permeated by its essence while he improvises. What say -you, shall we put it to the proof? Poor artist as I am, if my skill -prove but twin-brother to my wish I will interpret you my blossoms so -that you shall cry, ‘That’s for the one in flower language called -Remembrance,’ or ‘That’s for gentle Friendship,’ or ‘That’s for Love.’ -Will you be so entertained? Only--for the means.” - -He looked to the Earl. This was no more than a ruse, devised on the -moment to rid himself of that simple incubus. - -“My lord,” said he, with an ingratiatory smile, “will you favour me so -far as to go gather me a posy from the garden?” - -But before the sappy youth could fall into that palpable trap, Kate -had risen hurriedly to her feet. - -“Nay, brother,” she said, “stay you here. I know better than you where -to find the blooms most meet to his Highness’s purpose”--and she was -going, half scared and yet half diverted. - -But scarce had she taken a step or two, when a sudden voice singing -outside the window brought her to an instant standstill-- - - “_Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me_, - _For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me_”; - -so sweet and unexpected, they all whisked about in surprise to mark -the singer. She loitered, in seeming unconsciousness of their -neighbourhood, among the beds, a slender girl figure, on whose face, -as she stooped and rose, the sunlight went and came as if it fought -her for a kiss. She looked a very stillroom fairy of the gardens, -herself expressed from all their daintiest scents and colours. - -And so, no doubt, the men thought; but, for my lady Chesterfield, the -apparition wrought in her a revulsion of feeling which was as instant -as it was startling. Her wrongs, the empty vanity of her scruples, all -rushed upon her in a moment, and she stood stock still. And then she -gave a chill little laugh, a woman of ice in a moment, and said she, -small and quiet-- - -“But it were ill manners for a hostess to desert her guest; and after -all, Dick, thou art the musician to feel a musician’s needs.” - -My lord looked suddenly gratified. - -“Ath you will, thithter Kit,” said he; “unless your friend outthide -would prefer your company.” - -“Friend!” cried her ladyship; “she is no friend of mine.” - -“Of whoth, then?” - -“You may ask her if you will. Nay, I see that you are all excitement -to put his Highness’s pleasant fancy to the test. Go, then--leave your -sister, and gather flowers.” - -He answered with a little foolish shamefaced snigger; then turned and -stole away a-tiptoe, as if he feared to be detected, while she watched -his departure with a twitch of scorn upon her lips. The Duke, with an -amused smile on his, regarded her furtively, her rigid attitude, the -flushed curve of her cheek, which alone of her face was visible as she -stood with her back to him. But much expression can be conveyed in a -curve. - -“No friend of yours, my lady?” he asked softly. - -“No,” she said, and, lowering her head, began plucking at her -handkerchief without turning to him. - -“Of your husband’s, perhaps?” he asked, in the same tone. - -“Of any man’s,” she answered. - -“O!” He rose and, just glancing through the window at the pretty -figure, now joined in company with that of the young nobleman, took a -step or two which brought him within close range of the averted face. -“Is that so?” he said. “And she lies in this house?” - -She did not answer; and, venturing quite gently to capture her -reluctant fingers, he led her by them to the window. The couple -outside were already, it appeared, on friendly terms. They laughed and -chatted together, making a sport of the flower-choosing, in which, -with all pretty coquetries, the lady would defer to her companion, -plucking this bloom and that, and holding it to his button nose, and -throwing the thing away in a pretended pet if he shook his head to it. -The Duke stood some moments regarding the scene. - -“Why, young, but practised,” he said presently. “He has met her -before?” - -“Never, to my knowledge.” - -She spoke low, trembling a little now--perhaps from that sudden chill. - -“Not?” he said, and drew in a quick breath, as if scandalized. “I see, -I see. And how is she known?” - -“Her name is Mary Davis.” - -“Ah! Some wanton fancy of your----” - -“Your Highness, I beg you to let me go.” - -She broke from his too sympathetic hold, and went back from him, until -a space separated them. - -“Believe me,” said he gravely: “I had no wish to surprise this unhappy -secret out of you.” - -“I know,” she said hurriedly--“I know. But, learning it, you will be -considerate--considerate and compassionate.” - -“On my royal faith,” he answered. “It shall be an inviolable -confidence between us. Have I not myself too good reason to sympathize -with the ill-mated?” - -He did not say whether on his own account or on his wife’s. Perhaps, -if on hers, that ill-starred woman would have preferred his fidelity -to all the sympathy in the world. But, as in such matters the feminine -prejudice is always in favour of the man, so Kate, in no ways an -exception to her sex, was quite prepared to accept the sentiment at -its obvious significance. A faint sigh lifted her innocent bosom. - -“I may not speak of that,” she said. “Is--is marriage always so -unhappy?” - -He sighed too. - -“Always? I know not. It _may_ chance to include that natural -correlation of sympathies, that perfect soul affinity, which was no -doubt in the original scheme of things before the Fall. Blest, -immeasurably blest the nuptials in that case; yet how rare a -coincidence! A man and woman, both virgin, both unspoiled, may here -and there find, as predestined, their rapturous conjunction, and so -achieve themselves in flawless unity. But, for the most part, we must -be resigned to forgo that heavenly encounter until, caught fast in -alien bonds, we meet and recognize for the first time our elective -affinities. Too late, then? I cannot say. Only is it possible that -Heaven could blame us for consummating its own ideal at the expense of -the social conventions made by man? Ah! if we could only, in the first -instance, be safe to meet with her, the heartfelt, the unmistakable, -the lovely ordained perfecter of our imperfect beings! What happiness -would be added to the world and what sin avoided!” His very voice was -like a wooing confidence. He bent to gaze into her face. “Ill-mated! -Alike in that, at least,” he said, and sought her hand again. “Come, -sweet soul, be seated, and let me play to you once more.” - -Kate started, as if to an electric shock. - -“No, your Highness.” - -“You will not?” - -“I must not. Let me call my brother.” - -He intercepted her. “Say at least I may visit you again--see -you--speak to you.” He spoke low and vehemently. - -“No, no,” she said, almost weeping--“not now. O, let me go, Sir! I was -wrong to complain--wrong to encourage you.” - -She made past him, and hurried to the open window. “Richard!” she -cried. “Richard! How long you are! His Highness waits the flowers with -impatience.” - -Arran had no choice but to obey. She saw his companion, with a pert -laugh and toss of the head, thrust the nosegay into his hand, and -watch him, with a mocking lip, as he retreated from her. And the next -moment he was in the room. - -But, for the Duke, he was quite content with his progress. She had put -her confidence in his keeping, and, for a sound beginning, that meant -much. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - -The Earl of Chesterfield entered his drawing-room in a very morose -frame of mind, which was scarcely improved by his discovery of a young -lady already seated there before him. She was yawning over an -illuminated missal; but, at sight of the intruder, she clapped the -volume down with a bang, stretched, put her arms behind her head, and -smiled with an air of relieved welcome. Any male to Moll was better -than none. - -“Come along,” she said. “Don’t be shy of me.” - -He was pacing forward, his hands behind his back, and stopped to -regard her sourly, his head askew. - -“Yes? You remarked----?” he said. - -Mrs. Davis went into a noiseless shake of laughter. - -“Don’t do that,” she cried, “or you’ll give yourself a stiff neck. -What a face, sure! Has my lady been putting bitter aloes on your -nails, naughty boy, to stop your biting ’em?” - -“Mrs. Davis,” said my lord, not moving, and with an air of acid -civility, “I am really constrained to impress upon you that it is -possible to presume on one’s privileges as Lady Chesterfield’s friend -and guest.” - -“Is it?” was the serene answer. “And I’m really constrained to impress -upon you that it’s possible to presume upon one’s position as the -husband of that guest’s hostess.” - -“Presume, madam, presume--in my own house!” - -She jumped up, and came at him with such a whisk of skirts that -involuntarily he retreated a step before her. - -“You dare!” she said: “when the very first time we met you had the -brazen impudence to kiss me. Presume, indeed--and in your own house! A -nice house, this, to pretend to any airs of propriety.” - -“There are distinctions to be made, madam, which perhaps you can -hardly be expected to appreciate.” - -“Between me and another? Why, deuce take you!” cried the lady. “Are -you telling me I’m not respectable?” - -She quivered on the verge of an explosion. He was a little alarmed. It -had been foolish of him to lay aside, just because his wife was not -by, the part he was affecting to play. He had forgotten, in his -peevishness, that it was as necessary to mislead the visitor as to his -sentiments as it was her ladyship. Yet he could not command his temper -all in a moment. - -“Are you telling me,” he said, “that my house is not?” - -Her eyes sparkled at him. - -“I can’t appreciate distinctions, you know,” she said, “or I might -understand why my lady may do just what I do, and be respected for it, -while I for my part have to suffer all manner of sauce and impudence. -One of these days I shall be taking two of those precious grooms of -yours and knocking their heads together.” - -He frowned, setting his lips. - -“I am sorry if you have reason to complain of the conduct of my -household. I was not aware of this, and will take immediate measures -for the punishment of any servant you may point out as having shown -you discourtesy.” - -“O, all’s one for that!” cried Moll, with a toss. “I can look after -myself. Only don’t talk about my presumption in treating you with the -familiarity that you treat me, or be so sure of the holy propriety of -your house in everything where I’m not concerned.” - -He looked at her with a gloomy perplexity, but did not answer. - -“Liberties!” cried Mrs. Moll, snapping her fingers. “But where the -master sets the example, the mistress can’t be blamed for following -him, I suppose.” - -“Do you allude to her ladyship?” he demanded. - -“Yes, I do,” she answered, with a saucy laugh. - -“To what ‘liberties’ do you refer--as applied to yourself, perhaps?” - -“Myself be damned!” cried the lady. “I talk of _her_ being closeted -alone, in her private apartments, with gentlemen visitors.” - -His lordship started and stiffened, as suddenly rigid as a frog popped -into boiling water. - -“What visitors?” he said, in a suffocated voice. - -Moll laughed again. - -“Wouldn’t you like to know, crosspatch?” - -He took a furious step forward, and checked himself. - -“Her brothers, belike. And so much for your mischief-making, Mrs. -Davis.” - -He said it with a sneer; but his eyes glowed. - -“Then that’s all right and settled,” replied the girl. “And so now you -can be at peace.” - -“Wasn’t it?” - -“You say so.” - -“What do _you_ say?” - -“O! I mustn’t mention Kit, I suppose.” - -“Kit!” He uttered a blazing oath under his breath. “So my suspicions -are confirmed about that reptile! By God, if you and my lady are a -pair and in collusion, after all!” - -“Fiddle-de-dee!” she said, putting out the tip of her tongue at him. -“What do you mean by collusion? That I’m abetting her in carrying on -with my own particular friend? Not likely!” - -He stamped in impotent exasperation. - -“Why do you tell me, then? But I see what it is. She has robbed you of -this creature, and you want to be revenged on her for it. And by God -you shall! Tell me, when was this?” - -“This very afternoon.” - -“And how long was he with her?” - -“Who?” - -“O, you know!” - -“I thought you might mean the other.” - -“The other? There was another, then?” He positively squeaked in his -fury. “Who was it? Curse it, I _will_ know!” - -“Sure, you’re so hot, I’m afraid to tell you,” she said. - -He broke away, positively dancing, took a rageful turn or two, and -came back relatively reasonable. - -“Now, Mrs. Davis,” he said; “will you be so good as to acquaint me -all--all about this visit? Come, let us kiss and be friends.” - -He advanced towards her, with hands extended and a twisted smile, -meant to be ingratiatory, on his lips; but she backed before him. - -“No, sure,” she said. “That would be friendship at too high a price. -What does it matter to you who visited her? Aren’t you ready to throw -her over, stock and block, for me?” - -“Yes, yes. Only--h’m!--’tis a question of justification, don’t you -see--of proof--damn it!--of her guilt.” - -“You won’t want to kiss me, now?” - -“No; on my word.” - -“And you won’t call the gentlemen out to answer for their -misbehaviour?” - -“Curse me, no!” - -“Then, I’ll tell you. It was---- You are sure you won’t kiss me?” - -“Not for a thousand pound.” - -“What, not for a thousand? Was ever woman so insulted!” - -“Then I’ll kiss you for nothing.” - -“You will? So, then, my mouth’s shut.” - -“O!” He threw up his hands and eyes, giving vent to the remarkable -utterance, “The foul fiend grant me virtue!” Then he waxed dangerous. -“Mrs. Moll, if it’s to be kissing after all, I’ll pay you, and with -interest, here and now.” - -She gave a little scream. - -“O, mussey! I’ll tell you. It was the Duke.” - -He stood looking at her, grinning like a dog. - -“The Duke? What Duke?” - -“How should I know?” - -“You saw him?” - -“Sure.” - -“How?” - -“O, I just looked through the keyhole.” - -Still he stared, the grin, or snarl, fixed on his face. - -“And what did you see?” - -“Only the two gentlemen and my lady.” - -“What! They were there together?” - -“Why not?” - -“Why not, why not! Now, what does it all mean? And which was the -favoured one with her?” - -“It was his Highness stayed longest.” - -“His Highness!” - -“So they called him. He looked a very nice tall gentleman, though over -grave for my taste.” - -“Yes.” Chesterfield’s manner had suddenly fallen ominously quiet. “I -think I know whom you mean. And so he, the Duke, stayed longest, did -he? And what became of the other?” - -“O! he came out to me in the garden, whither I’d run after peeping.” - -She saw it rising in him, and likened it in her own mind to a saucepan -of milk coming to the boil. There was a flickering under the surface, -and then a heave and rise, and the next moment it was overflowing with -a tumultuous ebullition there was no stopping. Yet his voice -maintained its intense suppression, only doubly envenomed. - -“He came out to you, did he? I understand. Your particular friend, -your particular pander to dishonourable royalty, came out to you, -having effected his purpose of infamous procuration--to congratulate -you and himself, I suppose, on the success of your joint villainy. So -this is the solution of the mystery, and this your return for the -hospitality you have received? Indeed my lady chooses her intimates -cleverly.” - -Now, Moll was a mischief-making naughtiness, and knew it; but no -woman, however self-consciously guilty, can take abuse without -recrimination. - -“You suppose so? Do you, indeed?” she said. “And I say if you apply -those names to me and Kit you’re a liar and a beast. A nice character -you, upon my word, to call shame upon your lady for doing in all -innocence what you are doing out of the wickedness of your soul every -day of your life. She mustn’t entertain a great gentleman, mustn’t -she; but _you_ may practise your dissembling arts on her own friend, -and think none the worse of yourself for it. Pander, forsooth! I throw -the word back in your ugly teeth, as I throw your dirty attentions. I -don’t want them, and I don’t want you!” - -“My teeth may be ugly,” says my lord, with a savage grin; “but they -can bite, as this friend of yours will find to his cost when once I -track him down--as I shall do.” - -“Poor Kit!” cried Mrs. Moll, with a mocking laugh. - -“And as to my attentions to you,” said the other, “you may count them -for what you like, only don’t include any inclination of mine in the -bill. I paid them because it suited me, and not because you did--for -anything but a catspaw. And now that I know your true character, why, -you may take yourself off for any attraction I find in you, and the -sooner the better for all parties concerned. I do not consider you a -fit companion for my lady.” - -“That’s plain,” said Moll, a little cowed in spite of herself. - -“I wish to make it so,” answered his lordship frigidly. “For what -purpose my lady invited you here I know not, nor in what degree that -purpose tallied with your command of a confederate, the hired -instrument, as I take it, of a more exalted infamy. It is enough that -you have used your position here to consolidate the discord and -misunderstanding you found already unhappily existing----” - -“And what have you done, I should like to know?” cried Mrs. Moll. - -“And with an object,” went on the gentleman, not deigning to answer -her, “which is only perfectly apparent to me at a late hour. But that -recognition, now it has come, imposes a duty on me, and on you the -perhaps unwelcome realization that I am the master of this house. I -neither ask nor expect you to betray to me this creature of yours and -of my lord Duke: I shall identify him in good time, and then he will -not have reason to congratulate himself on his amiable participation -in your designs. But, as to yourself, I have merely to intimate that I -shall esteem it a favour, and to avoid unpleasantness, if you will put -an early period to your visit here.” - -He bowed with such an immense and killing stateliness, that the young -lady was quite overawed, and for the moment had not a word to answer; -and so, walking deliberately, with his head high, he left the room. - -Mrs. Davis sat for some minutes after he was gone, her face a lively -play of emotions. - -“Why, deuce take it!” she thought, her lids wide, “if he doesn’t -believe as I’ve used Kit for go-between with Madam and the Duke -creature. Mussey-me!” - -Her eyes half closed, her little nose wrinkled, stuffing her -handkerchief into her mouth, she went into a scream of laughter. But -her mood soon changed. Panting, she rose to her feet and struck one -little fist into the palm of the other. - -“So I’m to go, am I!” she said. “Not before I’ve paid you for that -insult, my lad. I don’t quite know how, yet, but somehow, the last -word’s got to be with me.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - -The tormented nobleman, craving for advice and sympathy, lost little -time before he sought out his friend and kinsman, Mr. George Hamilton. -He found that gentleman, who had just returned from a game of -pell-mell with his Majesty, refreshing himself with a pot and sop in -his own chambers, before committing himself and his mid-day toilet to -the hands of his valet. Chesterfield drove out the man incontinent, -and closed the door on him. - -“I want a word with you, George,” said he, breathless and -agitated--too disturbed and full of his subject to apologize or -finesse. “It’s all out; I’ve discovered the truth; and, curse me, if -’twere the King himself, I’d bury my sword in his treacherous heart. -As it is----” - -Hamilton, his face half hidden by the quart pot, put up an -expostulatory hand, and bubbled amphorically. - -“As it is, let me finish my ale.” - -“O, you can jest,” cried the other; “but I tell you ’tis no jesting -matter. So he hath wronged me, I’ll have his life, were he twenty -James Stuarts rolled into one.” - -George set down the tankard, drained. His eyes gaped a little. - -“The Duke of York?” - -“Damn him!” cried the Earl. “I always said it was he, but you would -never believe me. And now he hath been to visit her, on what false -pretext I know not, and they have been closeted alone, -together--alone, in her private apartments.” - -“When was this?” asked Hamilton, astonished and disturbed enough, for -his part. - -“Yesterday afternoon,” replied the other; and he hissed between his -clenched teeth. “And I’ll not forgive the dishonour done to my house, -or spare him though he wore the crown.” - -“Nay, coz,” said Hamilton. “Command yourself. How got you this -information?” - -“How? Why, from that little cursed, prying, eavesdropping skit, her -friend. And that is not all. ’Twas through ‘Kit’ the meeting came -about--a common pitcher-bawd, who shall pay for it with every bone in -his body broke.” - -“Through Kit?” - -“Aye; she confessed to him at last. He brought the Duke--was the tool -arranged between them, no doubt. O, what measure can gauge the perfidy -of woman!” - -“Who do you say confessed to him?” - -“O, a curse on your dullness! Who but Mrs. Davis.” - -“What, and to Kate’s collusion in the plot?” - -“Of course.” - -“Then she lied; and if she lied in one thing, the truth of all is to -question.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean that, unless you can conceive my cousin as the most -double-faced, artful little villain in the world, Mrs. Davis was lying -to you in pretending that Kate could be a party to this employment of -the creature Kit.” - -“Why?” - -“Because she knows so little about Kit, that ’twas only the other day -she was charging Kit to you as some probable light of your fancy -before you married her. _She_ thought Kit a woman.” - -“Well, she knows better now.” - -“But, don’t you see----?” - -“I see nothing and know nothing but that my lady has granted the Duke -a secret interview, and that I’ll call them both to account for it.” - -“Now, Phil, be reasonable. Even if that’s the case--and I question -it--there can be harmless interviews.” - -“Between a Stuart and a beautiful woman? P’sha! And what grounds have -you for questioning it?” - -“I’ve told you one. Take it from me--and I had the confession from -Kate’s own lips--she’s as jealous of you and Kit as ever you can be of -Kit and her.” - -The shaft went somewhat home. Chesterfield stood glowering and gnawing -his finger. - -“Then who the devil _is_ Kit?” he said suddenly. - -“Ah!” replied Hamilton. “Who? We are all the gulls, I sometimes think, -of that little scheming hussy, your wife’s friend. But do you mean to -say she actually went so far as to assert that the Duke’s visit was -due to Kit?” - -Chesterfield reflected, still devouring his finger. - -“Well, now I come to think on’t, she didn’t explicitly, in so many -words, say as much.” - -“Perhaps she didn’t mention Kit at all?” - -“O, yes, she did! But----” - -“But what?” - -“Curse it, George!” he burst out in helpless distraction, “she has a -non-committal way, I admit it, of forcing upon one conclusions which -she might say she never meant to suggest. She may have been mocking -me, to lead me astray. I wish she had never come; I wish I had never -consented to the part you laid on me. What hath it all ended in, but -disaster? Whatever the truth of the other charge, there is no blinking -the fact of the Duke’s visit.” - -“How do you know? The whole thing may have been a fable to torment -you. From all accounts, you haven’t played a very wooing part with -her.” - -“No, I can’t believe it. But anyhow ’tis easy proved. And, though Kit -may prove a legend, I’ll never doubt but that she herself was somehow -instrumental in bringing about this meeting.” - -“And yet, you say, she reported on it to you.” - -“Aye, a keyhole report.” - -“Why, look there. In that case she must be a very arch-traitor--false -to both sides.” - -“’Tis like enough. But I’ll have no more of her. I told her in so many -words she must go.” - -“You did?” - -“Why not? Why not? What have you to say against it?” - -“I’m not sure I’ve anything. I think perhaps you did right.” - -“O! I’m vastly obliged to you for your condescension.” - -“You deserve no consideration, Phil, upon my soul. If you choose to -adopt that tone with me, I’ve done with the matter.” - -He was vexed and bothered enough for himself, truth to tell. The visit -of the Duke--if, as he hardly doubted, it had actually taken -place--was a subject for confounding thought. He cared nothing for -Kit’s part in the business, real or pretended; his little cousin’s -attitude towards it was what concerned him. Did that point to -artlessness or design? He had believed, or chosen to believe, that, in -a certain eventuality, he himself had a prescriptive title to “the -most favoured treatment.” He had always, in full confidence, proceeded -upon that supposition; and now, if he had been deceiving himself -throughout? All his elaborate hoax would prove itself waste trouble, -and he might just as well have spared himself the complication. He had -been already, as it was, beginning to question the practical wisdom of -the imposture to which he had subscribed, and to wonder if more direct -means might not have served his purpose better. The reflection, -occurring to him now with aggravated force, inclined him to regard -this difficult and exasperating husband as the source of all his -worry. He was moved to throw prudence to the winds, and take his -unswerving course for the object he had in view. And Chesterfield’s -own temper lent itself immediately to that provocation. - -“Consideration! Matter!” said the nobleman, with the loftiest acidity. -“I’ll ask you to bear in mind, George, that the part I requested of -you was sympathy, and not dictation.” - -Hamilton had remained seated all this time; he rose now, in a white -fume of anger. - -“O, was that it?” he said in answer. “Well, I’ll tell _you_ that I -have never yet felt sympathy with a cuckold, or counted the man who -couldn’t command his wife’s fidelity as deserving less than he got. -’Tis just a question of resourcefulness, in more ways than one; and -the woman who has reason to like her bonds doesn’t strain at them. Now -you may go hang for me; and, as to your damned Duke----” - -“Temper, temper!” interrupted the other, quite pale and furious. “Upon -my soul, your manner might almost proclaim you his disappointed -rival.” - -The two stood glaring at one another. - -“Do you say that deliberately?” asked Hamilton at length. - -“What if I do?” retorted the other. - -“Then, by God, you’ll provoke me to disprove it.” - -“On your kinswoman?” - -“I’ll not be insulted for nothing.” - -“You shall not be. I’ll see to it. Forewarned is to have my answer -ready to the occasion.” - -He smacked his hand to his sword-hilt, and, turning very haughtily, -stalked out of the room. Hamilton, breathing hard, watched his -departure, and presently dropped back into his chair, with a sneering -laugh. - -“The sword is the only resource of a fool,” thought he. “The Duke, and -now me--’tis his one solution for everything. But he’ll think better -of it--never give away his cuckoldom so openly. His----” He frowned -heavily, as he pondered. “Has it come to that, and _was_ Mrs. Moll -instrumental in arranging this meeting? And is she making us all her -dupes--me included? I’d give something to look into her mind. But -she’s to receive her _congé_; and ’tis as well, I think--especially -as it saves me the necessity of settling with her. Yet, as to her -reputed traffic with the Duke--and this Kit’s part in it? O, mercy on -us all! I must see her somehow, and set my wits to hers--_fin contre -fin_, or, if need be, _fort contre fin_. O, what a plaguey difficult -and fascinating world this is! If a man can’t hate without wrong and -can’t love without wrong, where is the ethical mean to justify his -creation? I’ll go be an oyster.” - -He didn’t do that; but, hearing of the Earl being on duty that evening -with her Majesty, and assuming the Countess’s coincident attendance at -Court, he slipped over to the Chesterfields’ quarters, in the hope and -expectation of finding Mrs. Davis yawning away the hours there with -only herself for company. - -But, to his surprise, and irresistible gratification, he found, not -Moll, but her little ladyship herself in solitary possession of the -great chamber; at which discovery his eyes glowed and his pulses -thrilled. - -“What, Kate!” says he, glibly lying. “I never hoped to find you -alone.” - -She had received him with no sign of fervour corresponding to his own, -and now looked up from her work a little chill and unresponsive. - -“Why should you have hoped it, cousin?” she said. “Why should you show -pleasure now that it is so?” - -“Why, are we not near and dear kinsfolk?” said he. - -“Not near enough for the forbidden degrees,” she answered, “and -therefore not near enough to be alone together.” - -His brows went up. - -“You were not wont to speak to me like this. What have I done to -change you?” - -“O! nothing.” - -“That is quite true. Well, _my_ feelings have not changed.” - -“I was sure they had not.” - -“Were you?” He looked at her curiously, but her impassive face gave -him no clue to her thoughts. - -“Did you expect to find my lord?” she said, again quietly busy at her -work. “Or was it, perhaps, Mrs. Davis you sought?” - -“If I sought one I sought the other,” he answered. “They are not long -to be caught apart.” - -“Thank you for the reminder,” she answered, and he bit his lip with -vexation. “Well, he hath taken her to attend on her Majesty, I -presume, since that is where his duties detain him. You had better -seek them there.” - -A thrill shot through his veins in the sudden thought that she was -jealous. - -“Not I,” he said. “I know where I am well off, if Phil does not.” - -A faintest increase of colour flushed her cheek, but she worked on -steadily. - -“Still,” she said, “in spite of their inseparability, as you consider -it, I do not doubt but that she is in the house at this moment. Shall -I send her a message that you are here?” - -“What are you implying, if you please, cousin?” he said. - -“Why,” she answered quietly, “you knew very well that my lord was -elsewhere, and concluded my absence from his. Who other than Mrs. -Davis, then, could have been the object of this clandestine visit?” - -He heard; he smiled to himself; he drew his chair a little closer. - -“Kate,” he said, “are you in very truth jealous?” - -She cast one startled glance at him, but, though her bosom betrayed -its own disquiet, maintained her self-possession. - -“Jealous?” she said. “Of Mrs. Davis and my husband?” - -“No,” he answered, “but of Mrs. Davis?” He sought to convey a world of -meaning into his look, his tone. “Shall I confess the truth?” he said. -“It _was_ Mrs. Davis I expected to find alone here.” - -“I will send her to you.” She rose. - -“No, no!” He begged her, with a gesture, to be seated again; but she -refused to respond. “Be your kind and reasonable self. You misconceive -me--indeed you do. I had come to a resolution--it was to see this -young woman, and urge upon her, by every motive of decency and -consideration, to leave this house, and cease to take advantage of a -grotesque situation to persecute and humiliate you.” - -She stood looking down at him, still impassive, still inscrutable. - -“I should be grateful to you, cousin,” she said; “but I am humiliated -in nothing but your thinking me so.” - -“At least you are unhappy.” - -“O no, indeed!” - -“Not? Well, it is true that freedom has its compensations, sweeter by -contrast than any rich possession. And morally you are free, cousin.” - -“I know I am.” - -“Free to choose.” - -“I choose freedom.” - -“Ah! but with love!” - -He caught lightly at her skirt; but she withdrew it sharply from him. - -“There is no need to act,” she said, “when there is no audience.” - -“Indeed, I am not acting,” he answered. - -“I am glad of it,” she said, “because it is a bad play. I prefer you -in your part, cousin, of the disinterested friend.” - -Then he was stung to a foolish retort. - -“Like the Duke of York.” - -She started, ever so slightly. - -“What about him?” - -“Was that the character he came to play when he visited you yesterday -in your private apartments?” - -To his surprise she answered him with perfect apparent serenity. - -“Of course. He merely came to borrow my guitar of me.” - -Was she really innocent or dissembling? He believed the latter, and -looked at her with some genuine admiration for her subtlety. - -“O!” he said, “was that all? And, being in Julia’s chamber, to melt -‘melodious words to lutes of amber,’ I suppose?” - -“He played,” she answered. “Indeed, they both played.” - -“Both?” He laughed. “So his Highness came accompanied?” - -“O yes!” she said. “He would never have come alone.” - -“And who was his friend?” - -“One of mine.” - -“Ah! You will not tell me.” - -“Are you not interesting yourself a little too much in my personal -affairs?” she said. She held out her hand coldly. “Good-night.” - -“Am I to go, then?” - -“No, I am. I am really dropping with sleep. Good-night, cousin.” - -He got up in a pet. - -“I am sorry my company has proved so fatiguing. There was a time when -you could endure it with a better grace. But that was before your days -of freedom and happiness.” And he strode out of the room, resisting a -violent temptation to bang the door. - -But her ladyship stood looking after him rather piteously, and with -tears sprung suddenly to her eyes. - -“I was so sorry, cousin,” she murmured, with a grievous sigh; “but I -am afraid you are a bad man.” - -And outside, on the gravel under the moonlight, Master George, -hurrying away, stopped to grind his vicious teeth. - -“_Has_ he stolen a march on me? And _who_ was the other?” - -For, you see, that problem of Kit was again disturbing his mind. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - -Hamilton, making moodily for his quarters, took a somewhat deserted -by-way, which led him shortly under a long covered passage connected -with the stables. He had but entered this unlighted tunnel, when, -aware of a couple of figures approaching its further end, he backed -instinctively into the shadows, prepared, with the amiable humour of -his kind, to detect an intrigue or surprise a secret. Therefrom -peering, himself unseen, he saw the two, man and woman, stop in the -moonlight at the mouth of the archway, where he could very clearly -distinguish the identity of one of them, and almost as certainly guess -that of the other. His ears pricked to catch their whispered -confidences, but he was too far off to distinguish more than an -inarticulate giggling murmur. - -And then there appeared to occur a little scuffle between the pair, -and to the sound of a distinct smack the lady broke away and entered -the passage alone. Obviously an attention of her cavalier’s having -been promptly acknowledged by her, any further escort on his part had -been peremptorily declined. He did not attempt, indeed, to follow, but -standing alone in the moonlight a moment, holding his hand to his -cheek, suddenly turned tail and vanished. - -The hooded lady came on, all unconscious of the watcher, and was -nearing the point of emergence when Hamilton stepped across her path -and barred her way. She gave a small, irrepressible squeak, and stood -stock still. - -“Come,” he said; “let us see what little Tib is after her Tom this -amorous night.” - -She recognized his voice, and let him lead her impassively to near the -mouth of the passage, just so as the entering light might fall upon -her face. And then he turned back the shrouding wimple, and saw a very -rosebud. - -“The blush must be hot,” said he, “that shows by moonlight. And now, -Mrs. Moll, what have you got to say for yourself?” - -She laughed, quite recovered, and backed a step from him. - -“Gentlemen first,” said she. “How did you find my lady? Alone, for a -guess.” - -“I came to find you.” - -“Sure?” - -“And by God I’ve found you--out!” - -“Yes, I’m found out. You wouldn’t have me spend all my time stifling -within?” - -“You favour moonlit walks, it seems?” - -“Why, for precaution’s sake, and to oblige you.” - -“I’m doubtful about my obligation to you of late, Mrs. Moll. Who were -you walking with?” - -“I never asked him his name. I didn’t suppose it would be _camel fo_.” - -“It was my lord Arran, was it not?” - -“Was it, now? What an eye you’ve got!” - -“And you had met him, I suppose, by appointment?” - -“No, it was by the yew-tree.” - -“Come, my lady, you’re playing some game of your own in all this, and -I want to know what it is. I brought you here for a specific purpose, -and I’ve more than an idea that you’re converting the opportunity to a -purpose of your own. What is it?” - -“What’s what? I was only taking a stroll.” - -“How did you make the acquaintance of my lord Arran?” - -“O! Is that his name?” - -“You know it is.” - -“Well, to be sure, many more people know Tom Fool than Tom Fool -knows.” - -“Doesn’t he know you?” - -“He does now, I’m thinking. His cheek will keep him in mind of me for -the next hour.” - -Had the limb been no more than the victim of a chance gallantry? -Hamilton looked at her perplexed. A saintly innocence spoke from her -eyes. But, with a vexed laugh, he dismissed the absurdity. And then -his brows lifted to a sudden inspiration. He had recalled on the -instant some seeming casual words of the Duke of York addressed to -himself. They had related to a saraband, and to a certain superlative -guitar possessed by Arran’s sister. Now he actually blinked in the -dazzling illumination of an idea. Kate, and the guitar, and the royal -strummer, and Arran--lured by Moll at the Duke’s instigation--the -unconscious procurer of that meeting! There, however ordered, was the -connection, the explanation of the visit. He felt as sure of it as if -he had himself planned out the process. Why, in the name of intrigue, -had he never hit on the trail before? But, now it was found, it led to -certain conclusions. With a dog’s smile showing his teeth, he clapped -his two hands on the girl’s shoulders, and held her grippingly before -him. - -“I’ve been thinking,” said he. “You told Lord Chesterfield, and he -told me, that you’d been witness of the Duke of York’s visit to his -wife. Isn’t that so?” - -“Sure,” said Moll, her heart going a little in spite of herself. “I -looked and listened through the keyhole.” She confessed it, quite -unabashed; nor did Hamilton regard the act as anything but “cricket,” -in the modern meaning. Honour, with gentlemen of his kidney, was just -a phrase to toss on swordpoints. - -“How,” he said, “did you know it was the Duke of York?” - -“I heard them say so.” - -“You are lying. You pretended to Lord Chesterfield that you did not -know who the visitor was, and so you give yourself away.” - -“Do I? And a very pretty gift, too, though I say it.” - -“Ah! You are quite shameless, I see.” - -“Now, what cause have I for shame? Tell me that.” - -“What cause? You can ask that!” - -“O, I can ask anything.” - -“Enough of this equivocating. What did you mean by stating you heard -_them_ say it was the Duke?” - -“Why, I meant it.” - -“Who were _they_?” - -“Just my lady and the other.” - -“O, the other! Who _was_ the other?” - -“Why, the one that wasn’t my lady, of course.” - -“Was it Kit?” - -“I never said so, you know.” - -“What do you say now?” - -“I say what I said before.” - -“Come; was it man or woman?” - -“How should I know? I’m ashamed of you, George.” - -His strong fingers quivered with an almost irresistible desire to -shake the life out of her. Possibly--for she had a liking for him--he -might have won the truth from her even now by a show of tenderness; -but his temper, exacerbated by a recent disappointment, had got the -better of him, and any further finessing was at the moment beyond his -power. - -“Very well, my lady,” said he, drawing a deep breath. “I shall know -how to deal with a traitor whom I had thought a confederate. I have -done my part fairly by you----” - -“Wait there,” said the girl, stopping him. She had abundance of -spirit, and carried the sharpest little set of claws at the ends of -her velvet fingers. “You promised to let the King see me.” - -“I promised to let you see the King.” - -“O, well! isn’t that the same thing--if he’s got eyes? Anyhow, you -haven’t done it.” - -“It was to have been the reward of your service to me; and in that, by -God! you’ve failed, and I believe failed of purpose. I don’t reward -traitors.” - -“How have I been a traitor?” - -“Don’t you know very well? But perhaps you’ve come to the conclusion -that, saving the King, the Duke of York might suit you for second -best.” - -“George!” - -“Don’t ‘George’ me, madam!” - -“You’ll make me dangerous.” - -“O, I know what you mean! But who’ll believe such a little rogue and -liar! And who do you think will get the best of a contest of wits -between us? But tell his lordship if you will. I’m at that reckless -stage I should welcome a sharp decision with him. For you, you’ve -proved yourself a worse than useless partner in the business--earning -the man’s aversion instead of his love, and by your hints and antics -bringing the pair nearer, through a mutual jealousy, than you found -them. But I understood now why it was, and just the value of the -scruples you were so nice in expressing. They waited on the highest -bidder, didn’t they? and I wish you luck of him now you’ve got him. -Upon my soul, Mrs. Davis, you have my sincere respect as one of the -artfullest little timeservers that ever knew how to take a profit of -circumstance.” - -“I don’t know what you mean.” - -“O! of course not. Innocence in a wimple, like a very pansy of the -fields.” - -“You want me to go, I suppose?” - -“Why, your talents, I confess, seem wasted in this dull corner of the -palace. There are livelier quarters for their exercise--the Duke of -York’s, for instance.” - -He took his hands from her shoulders; but their grip might still have -imprisoned her, so rigid remained her attitude. - -“You won’t let me see the King?” she said. - -“Hey-day!” jeered he. “Not short of the very highest will content this -country chip. But nothing for nothing, say I.” - -She stood quite motionless, conning him--stood for a full minute, -without a word. And then she shook her shoulders, and laughed, and -held out her hand to him. - -“Well, then, good-bye, George,” she said. “I think you’re hard on me; -but I bear no malice, and we’ll part friends, won’t we?” - -“Advice isn’t dismissal,” said Hamilton; “and you’re not my guest.” - -“No, I know,” she answered. “But, truth is, his lordship was equally -emphatic about my wanting a change--or perhaps it was himself wanted -it; I’m not sure. Well, I’ll take a day to consider of it. You -wouldn’t think better of me, I suppose, if in the meantime I were able -to put you right about a certain question you’ve been puzzling -yourself over?” - -“What question, fubbs?” He felt quite kindly to her again, since she -had yielded so submissively to his suggestion. The little rogue’s face -of her, drawn in silver-point and just touched with pink, looked a -sweet spiritual flower in the moonlight. - -“O, I mustn’t tell,” she said, “or it would spoil everything.” - -“Then how can I answer for my better thoughts?” he protested. - -“No, you can’t, of course,” she said. “Only I don’t want us to part -enemies.” - -“Come,” he said; “kisses are more proof than words.” - -But, at that, with a light laugh, she sprang past him, and ran. At -twenty yards she turned, blew him a mocking salute, and again turning, -disappeared round a corner. - -“In truth, a fascinating little devil,” thought Hamilton, with a grim -smile, as he continued his way. “It goes to my heart to lose her. But, -if anything were needed to prove the justice of my surmises regarding -her double-dealing, the equanimity with which she accepted her -dismissal should supply it. And yet she loves me well enough to wish -to coax my good opinion at the end. How? What is this mystery of -mysteries? Poor Moll!” - -“Poor Moll” herself had got home meanwhile, and, crouching catlike by -an unlatched window, with her eyes peering above the sill to see if -the coast were clear, had presently re-entered the house by the way -she had emerged from it. Once in, she stood up, shaking her cloak from -her shoulders, touched her hair into order with rapid fingers, and -exhaled a tragic sigh. - -“So,” she whispered, with the tiniest of giggles; “one and one makes -two, and two and one makes three. If _she_ asks me to go, I shall -begin to think I’m not wanted here any more. Will it come, I wonder?” - -It came, in fact, quite punctually, and entirely to her surprise. As, -stealing noiselessly across the room, she pushed open the unclosed -door, it made her jump to find the Countess herself standing awaiting -her spectrally on the threshold. She stopped, fairly staggered, and -for the moment had not a word to say. - -Her ladyship advancing, Moll fell back before her, and the two stood -facing one another in the empty chamber. It was remote and unused, and -bare of everything save the entering moonbeams, which gave it an -aspect as of its windows being shored up by ghostly buttresses. - -“I congratulate you, Mrs. Davis,” said Kate, in the most curiously -inward of little voices. “It is apart, and well chosen, and only the -merest accident led to my discovery of your use of it. But, having -seen you slip out, I could not but watch and wait to welcome you home -again.” - -Moll rallied her wits for the inevitable combat. - -“Sure,” she said, “hasn’t your ladyship ever felt the delight of -climbing in by the window when you might enter by the open door?” - -“I prefer direct ways to underhand,” was the chilling response. - -“Try a stolen kiss before you answer for that,” said Moll. - -“Thank you. I leave that sort of thing to you.” - -“What do you mean, now, by ‘that sort of thing’? Does a Royal Duke -count in it? because ’tis not every time he’s to be found coming in by -the open door.” - -“Your knowledge of the customs of princes,” said Kate icily, but with -a curious little tremble in her voice, “is, of course, very profound; -so you will be aware that they can claim privileges denied to others.” - -“Is that so, now? Then what call had my lord your husband to get into -such a tantrum about it, when I told him that the Duke of York had -been paying you a visit?” - -Seismographically, as it were, she was conscious of the shock her -words produced. Kate shivered, and seemed to stiffen. - -“I am not answerable for his lordship’s tantrums, as you call them,” -she said in a stifled way, “any more than for his tastes and -predilections. If any malicious wretch has chosen to carry slanderous -tales to him, and he to listen to them----” - -“That was me,” said Moll, “and I’m not going to be abused for just -peeping through a keyhole and telling him what I saw behind it. How -should I know, in my innocence, that it wasn’t all quite right and -proper, and the last thing to make him explode over?” - -Her little ladyship seemed to catch her breath over the mere audacity -of this self-vindication; and then she answered in volume, though -always careful to subdue her voice to the occasion-- - -“Innocent--you--without heart or conscience! monster of guile and -ingratitude! viper on the hearth that has warmed you! Spy and informer -that you are, to dare that brazen confession, and in the same breath -to pretend to an artless innocence of the fire your vile calumny was -intended to blow into a blaze! _You_ innocent! You anything but the -shameless wanton your every act proclaims you!” - -She paused, panting. “Go on,” said Moll, unruffled. “Get it all out -and over.” - -“It does not move you,” said Kate. “Why should it?--deaf to every -appeal of honour and decency. Shame on your woman’s nature, that can -so wrong and vilify one of your own sex, whose only fault has been too -great a tolerance of the insult and humiliation imposed upon her by -your presence.” - -Again she stopped, and Mrs. Moll took up the tale, very pink and cool. - -“Gingumbobs!” she said. “If I’m so wicked, aren’t you a little giving -away your own innocency? If all was so in order in the great -gentleman’s visit, why are you so warm about my peeping and telling of -it?” - -“Because, by making a secret of it you designedly make it appear the -very scandal it was not.” - -“I made no secret of it, bless you! Why, I’ll go tell everybody about -it this very moment, if you like. There now; ain’t I forgiving?” - -“Forgiving!” Poor Kate put back a stray curl from her damp forehead. -“You dare to throw the burden of compunction upon me! What have I not -to forgive, since the day of your arrival--in this room--now?” -Desperately she grasped to recover the moral lead, and to elude the -charge to which the other wickedly sought to pin her. “Why are you -here, I say?” she went on hurriedly. “What is the meaning of these -secret exits and entrances? But no need to ask; your insolence betrays -you. Did you meet your lover? Did he slip out from the Queen’s -presence just to kiss and dally a wanton moment with the fond, -inseparable object of his fancy? Could neither of you wait the hour of -reunion in the house you insult and pollute by your presence? Poor, -severed, unhappy couple, rent apart by the only brief interval which -my lord is forced against his will to devote to duty and decency!” - -She stopped of her very passion. - -“I wouldn’t be sarcastic, if I were you,” said Moll. “It fits you -about as well as the Lancashire giant’s breeches would. And ’tis all -thrown away; because, if you mean his lordship, I wouldn’t trouble to -walk out of one room into another to meet him, much less climb through -a window.” - -Kate, her bosom still stormy, looked her scornful incredulity. She -pointed to the casement. - -“Why that way, then?” she said. - -“For no reason,” answered the visitor, “except that when a body’s -watched and pounced on for her every movement she has to take her own -measures to steal a little freedom. The air isn’t so fresh or the -company so lively here that one isn’t driven once in a while to play -truant. Aye, you may sneer and doubt, madam”--she was waxing a little -warm--“but ’tis true, nevertheless, that if I were to spy your -precious husband in my walks, I’d go a mile out of my way to avoid -him. Love _him_, indeed! I tell you that he fair sickens me. I tell -you that if I drew him in a lottery, I’d tear the ticket up under his -very nose.” - -Indeed, she snapped her fingers viciously, as if rehearsing the act, -and then stood with her arms akimbo, breathing defiance. - -“Then why,” said her ladyship, with an extremely wrathful hauteur, yet -with an instinctive wincing from the pugnacious little claws, “do you -persist in this daily offence of imposing your company where it is -least admired or desired?” - -The naughty girl broke into a laugh, and clapped her hands. - -“It’s come,” she cried, “it’s come, as I knew it would!” and her face -fell twinklingly grave “So you want me to go?” she said. - -“I should have thought,” responded Kate, “it could have been small -gratification to you to stay on to contemplate the failure of your -designs on a virtue on which you would meanly seek to revenge yourself -by pretending to scorn what you have been powerless to corrupt.” - -Moll fairly whistled. - -“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “Virtue! Do you mean his? And is that -your way of putting it? So it’s sour grapes on my part, is it? But I -never said, you know, that I had that effect on him that he has on -me.” - -“Who would expect you to say it, vain and heartless creature? But, -whatever the truth--and I look to only distortion of it from your -lips--these clandestine flittings, be their object what or whom they -may, can no longer be suffered to impair the reputation of this house. -They must either cease or you must go.” - -Moll, her lip lifted, brought up her right hand with a slow flourish, -and once, twice, thrice, snapped thumb and second finger together with -great deliberation. - -“Very well, my lady,” said she. “I will go, and leave the reputation -of this house in _your_ keeping. I have done my little best to purify -it during my brief time here; but I am afraid the disease is too -deep-seated for anything but a chirurgical operation. When _you_ have -been removed, perhaps, by his royal physicianship of York, the place -may have a chance of recovery.” - -And she dropped a little insolent curtsy, and without a tremor, her -nose exalted, brushed by my lady and stalked out of the room. - -At which Kate, having no word to say, nor courage to say it, fell -against the wall, with a white face, and had a hard to-do to fight -away an inclination to tears. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - -Mrs. Davis, conscious that her position was no longer a tenable one, -and driven to naughty extremities by the three-sided investment which -left her no alternative but to retreat--fighting--retired to her -chamber to consider the course by which she could best inflict a -Parthian stroke on the three enemies who, each from a different -motive, were responsible for her coming ejectment. She contemplated -nothing very terrible, it is true--only some exaggerated form of -mischief in keeping with her little lawless, whimsical nature. She was -not a tragic vengeance, and she nursed no very grievous resentment -over a treatment which, she was perfectly aware, she had done much to -deserve and little to be entitled to deprecate. She _had_ taken -advantage of a temptation to play, especially of late, a game of her -own rather than that of Hamilton, her employer and confederate; and -she _had_ wasted her opportunities rather on personal enjoyment than -in pursuance of any consistent effort to serve that gentleman’s -designs. She knew all this, admitted her own shortcomings; and yet, -though she had a physical liking for the rascal, she was not going to -let him escape scot-free, without any endeavour to retaliate on him -for his cool repudiation of her at the eleventh hour. She wished and -intended him no great harm; only she felt it a moral obligation on -herself to speak the last word in this comedy of misunderstandings. It -was worth while to show him that his supposed easy command of women -was subject to some little accidents of discomfiture and humiliation -where he chose to presume too much in his dealings with the -sharp-witted among them. After which she would be quite willing to -call quits with him. - -Now, Hamilton, for his part, in leaping to a certain conclusion as -regarded Moll’s connection with the guitar incident, had shrewdly -approximated, but only approximated, the truth. Mrs. Davis, as we -know, had had nothing to do with the Duke’s visit; nevertheless the -Duke’s visit came to have something to do with Mrs. Davis. His -Highness--a singularly close observer, though with a congenital -incapacity for profitable reflection--had not failed to take stock of -the attractive little figure in the garden, nor to consider to what -possible uses he might convert the fact of its offence in the eyes of -the lady of whom he was enamoured. He might, for instance, by -privately threatening that offence with punishment for its -wrong-doing, terrify it into lending itself as an instrument to his -own designs. It should be worth trying; only it was necessary first to -secure an interview with the person of the offence. There was no -difficulty to be foreseen in that, save the one difficulty of eluding -scandal in the process; and, indeed, from the lady’s point of view, -there was no difficulty at all. For in very truth, from the moment -when, listening and peeping at the keyhole, Moll had realized the rank -of the Countess’s visitor, that amazing young person had been actually -busying her brain with speculations as to her own possible eligibility -as a royal favourite, though in the regard of the “second best” only. -It had been under the spur of that inspiration, indeed, that, deterred -by no false modesty as to her personal qualifications in the way of -looks and witcheries, she had appeared, singing, at the window, with -the view that questions might be asked about her--a piece of -effrontery which, seeing that it was ventured in the very face of the -high-born rival to be supplanted, might fairly be considered -unsurpassable. But diffidence was never one of Moll’s weaknesses. - -So far, then, Master George’s native acumen had led him to within -sight of the facts; he had been wrong only in assuming the meeting to -be already a _fait accompli_. It was not, so far, and the reason was -this. The Duke could not afford to bid directly for the services of a -great nobleman’s presumed _chère amie_: but he could employ an agent; -and for this purpose he had selected Arran--as much through his -imbecility as through his relationship with the family a convenient -instrument--for the task of enticing the quarry into his preserves. - -It was easily done, and after all at a minimum expense in tactics. -Arran, acting as his Highness’s decoy, and with no thought but to -accommodate his master in the sort of jest approved and applauded by -the gallants of his day, found no difficulty in getting into -communication with Mrs. Davis, or in arranging an accidental meeting -with her. Of course, at that, Moll refused utterly to be beguiled -offhand into committing herself to the mysterious interview entreated -of her; she was pettish, wilful, distracting; she showed a complete -obtuseness in realizing the nature of the rank which stood behind the -summons; she was wholly childish and adorable, and she ended by -chastising the impertinence which her innocent flirtations had seemed -meant to provoke. - -And all the while she was calculating how best she could invite those -second approaches to which she was resolved in her mind to succumb. -The issue of that night decided her. The next day she sent a little -private note of penitence to Arran, and that same evening saw her -closeted with the Duke of York. - -There was none other present but the young Earl, retained, possibly, -by his Royal Highness for the part of chaperon--a precaution not -ill-advised, the Prince may have been disposed to think, when he came -to re-view the visible attractions of his visitor. They were such, -indeed, that he felt he would have to keep a definite guard on his -susceptibilities if he were to come out of the interview unscathed. He -would have had no objection in the world to take this sugared bonbon -by the way, as a man might crunch a salted almond to add a zest to his -wine; only the stake at issue was too instant. The bottle might pass -while he was enjoying the appetizer. Wherefore he assumed from the -first an air of coldness and restraint. He bowed to the lady, and -assigned her a seat with a gesture. - -“My lord has informed you,” he said, “of my reason for desiring this -meeting?” - -Mrs. Davis shook her pretty head. “Not he!” - -“O!” said the Duke. “It is explained in a few words. During a recent -visit of ceremony I was paying to--how shall I name her--your -unofficial hostess, I chanced to hear you singing outside the window -of the room in which I was seated.” - -“La!” said Moll, with a shrug of her white shoulders; “to think of it! -And I never guessed but I was alone.” - -She was not in the least overawed by the sacrosanctity of her company; -she would have “answered back” to the Pope himself in his own coin of -excommunication, or anything else, and certainly not less to a lay son -of his, however illustrious. She had no bump of reverence whatever on -her little noddle. - -“You have a rare voice, Mrs. Davis,” said the Prince. “It is a -pity--is it not?--that it should be wasted on discord, when it might -be so much more profitably employed in winning you a way to legitimate -and decent fame.” - -Moll opened her eyes. This, for a beginning, was not at all the sort -of thing she had expected. - -“What discord, if you please?” said she. - -“Tut-tut!” answered his Highness, hardly smiling. “Is not that a very -unnecessary question? We have not got eyes for nothing, ears for -nothing, intelligence for nothing. If the form of discord need not be -specified, it need none the less be understood. I will speak plainly, -however, and to this effect. Your position in a certain quarter of -Whitehall Palace is not, by whomsoever franked, a desirable one. It -constitutes, in short, a scandal to the place, and an insult to one -who is forced, against her will, to condone it.” - -Moll rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling. - -“Why?” she said. - -“There is no need, nor desire on my part,” said the Duke coldly, “to -go into particulars. It is enough that the situation I have hinted at -must terminate.” - -And this was all--this the sole reason for which she had been trapped -and beguiled into this interview with the great person? It appeared -so, and Mrs. Davis had nothing for it but to bear her disappointment -and chagrin with what philosophy she could. - -And on the whole she bore them amiably. After all, Moll’s philosophy -fished in large waters, and if she failed in a catch, she was always -ready without complaint to rebait her hook and try again. There is a -sort of self-complacency in certain beauties which is too serenely -un-selfconscious to be called vanity. It is largely founded, I think, -on the flawless digestion which generally goes with physical -perfection. - -“I suppose she has been putting you up to this,” she said, quite -coolly. “I call it mean of her, when she knows perfectly well that she -is the scandal, and not me. But, I see what it is; she wants to rid -herself of a witness she’s done nothing to make a friendly one; and -so, being afraid to tell me downright I must go, she hands over the -business to the one----” - -His Highness put up his hand with such a grim, authoritative -expression that the young lady stopped, though with a rebellious gulp. - -“My lord,” said the Duke, very smoothly addressing the Earl, “I think -perhaps this interview will not suffer by being confined to the two -most interested in it.” - -He smiled and nodded. Arran, with an answering grimace, expressive at -least of as much mental vacuity as understanding, bowed low and -withdrew. - -The moment they were alone, the Duke turned in his chair, and, -crossing his knees and leaning on one arm, bent his melancholy brows -on Moll in deliberate scrutiny. - -“By _she_, madam,” he said, “you allude to----?” - -Moll laughed shortly. - -“O! don’t you know very well?” - -“Don’t _you_ know,” he said, “that the young gentleman just left is -her brother?” - -“Of course I do,” answered Moll, “and that that was why you wanted to -shut my mouth.” - -He sat regarding her some moments longer, and then a little sombre -smile dawned on his face. - -“You have a quick understanding, I perceive, Mrs. Davis,” he said. -“That may be a profitable or a perilous possession, according as it is -employed. I wonder it has never yet led you to realize the supreme -asset you have in your voice.” - -“O! I see well enough you too want me out of the way,” said Moll, -perking a scornful nose. “What is the good of going round about it -like this? I’m dangerous where I am, I suppose. Very well, then I must -be got rid of.” - -He laughed. - -“Too impulsive, too impulsive, my little lady. Dangerous you could be, -that’s patent, to any man’s peace of mind. But, as to the sense in -which you mean it----” - -She broke in with a little imperious stamp. - -“As to that, I’m not to be misjudged by you or any one. When I said -the scandal wasn’t in _my_ position, I meant it. If you think I’m -there as my lord’s doxy, you’re precious well mistaken. I hate the -beast--and if it’s a question of scandal, ’tis her ladyship ought to -go. There, she ought; and you know why.” - -“I don’t, on my honour.” - -“Then, you’d like to.” - -“Ah! that, maybe, is quite another matter.” - -He looked at her, she looked at him. - -“Come, Mrs. Davis,” he said, after a minute of silence: “I’m sure we -are on the way to understand one another.” - -“O! are we?” said Moll, with a sniff. - -“Scandals,” he said, “have nothing to do with facts. An apparition -might cause one. You may be as innocent as a babe, but appearances are -against you. Therefore you must suffer for appearances. Now, about -this voice of yours.” - -“Well, what about it?” - -“With that and your face for fortune, you might, under proper -auspices, prove an incalculable success.” - -“What do you mean by auspices?” - -He leaned forward, lightly touching his breast with his fingers. - -“Patronage: a Royal Duke’s. And in the meantime, pending developments, -we might consent to condone this offence, leaving you undisturbed in -your present position.” - -“I see,” said the girl, after a pause, her eyes rather glowing--“I -see. And that, you mean, is to be your reward to me by and by for -consenting, if I do consent, to act now as your creature and decoy to -help you to your fancy. You’ve no objection to letting me remain on -the spot, in spite of my polluting it, if only I’ll act my best for -you as an informer and go-between.” - -“Such intelligence,” said the Duke, “combined with gifts so sweet, -should ensure you, properly directed, a prosperous future.” - -“Well,” said Moll, “it’s a bargain if you like. Only wait while I -think.” - -A sense of mischief was already alive in her. Defrauded in her higher -expectations, she cared nothing for that conditional promise of -patronage, except that it humiliated even her to be thought worthy of -it. She had the wit and the gifts, if she chose to exercise them, to -prevail in that direction without any help from outsiders. Feeling -rather at bay, in the midst of this group of self-interested plotters, -she was driven at last to abandon her position in a revel of -retaliation on them all. Only how could she manage it--how? Let her -think. - -“You’re a great gentleman, I know,” she said suddenly; “but, where -love’s concerned, even princes have to take their place among the -ranks. Have you never fear of a rival?” - -He gazed at her sombrely some moments, without speaking. - -“Do you know of any?” he asked at length. - -“I know of a coming meeting,” she said. - -“With whom?” - -“Kit’s his name. I’ve learnt no more.” - -“How did you learn that?” - -“Never mind how. I’ve not been in her company these weeks for -nothing.” - -“And when and where is this meeting to take place?” - -“At half past eight o’clock to-morrow evening, in the--in the Mulberry -Garden”--she chose the place and time at haphazard. - -“What!” cried his Highness, biting his lip: “so public!” - -“O!” said Moll; “there’s nothing so private, for that matter, as a -vizard. And--and he’s to wear a green scarf in his hat to be known by -her, and she a green bow in her bosom to be known by him. If you -doubt, you’d better go and see for yourself.” - -My lord Duke’s countenance had fallen very glum. A shadow seemed to -overspread his face. - -“It is a good thought,” he said. “Kit, did you say?” - -“Kit, sure.” - -“Supposing I were to be Kit?” - -Moll clapped her hands in delight. - -“And pretending it,” she cried, “find out all about the other!” - -“H’m!” - -His Highness was plainly disturbed. He sat awhile pondering, a gloomy -frown knotting his forehead. Presently he looked up, with a deep sigh. - -“Well,” said he, “you have already proved your title to my favour. I -will consider of this matter; and, in the meantime, keep, you, as -silent as the grave.” He rose, put a finger to his lips: “Not a word -to any one,” he said. “You shall hear from me again.” And he led her -to the door, smiled on her, hesitated, laughed away the temptation, -and bade her go. - -And then he returned to his seat, and sat gnawing at his nails for the -next half-hour. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - -On the morning succeeding the conversation last recorded the -following anonymous communication was received by three of the -individuals most concerned in this history-- - - _An assignation (vizards) with Kit is arranged for 8.30 this evening - in the Mulberry Garden. The parties to it will be distinguished by, in - the gentleman’s case, a green scarf about the hat, in the lady’s, a - green bow at the bosom._ - - A Well-wisher. - -This note, in facsimile and in a palpably feigned hand, was delivered -by the twopenny post--through its recent establishment in Cloak Lane -near Dowgate Hill--to his lordship the Earl of Chesterfield, to my -lady Countess his wife, and to Mr. George Hamilton, my lady’s kinsman. -Each, in its private turn, pooh-pooh’d over it, each concluded that it -was without question the work of Mrs. Davis, and therefore not worth -consideration in any shape, and each decided, after long and irritable -reflection, that it would lose nothing by going to verify the -falsehood or accuracy of the report. And to each, in conclusion, -succeeded the same inspiration (was it possible that perspicacious -Mrs. Moll had clearly foreseen that contingency?), which was to adorn -itself with the fateful badge, with a view to surprising such secrets -as might reveal themselves to that verdant enigma. - -His lordship considered: “This may be nothing but the hussy’s -retaliation on me for my rejection of her advances. And yet--curse -it!--how can she afford to be so definite in her facts without some -ground to go upon? ’Tis my lady that’s meant--that’s sure. There must -be something in some way in it; and, if so, how to surprise and expose -them? Ah! by God, I know.” - -My lady thought: “Is she really by chance telling the truth? And is -this her way of revenging herself on me for my reflections on her -character? Yet, if it is all an imposition? A barren vengeance that -would be, defeating its own object. No, there must be something at the -bottom of it, some mischief, some wickedness. ’Tis my lord that’s -meant, without question, and in that case I have a right, a duty, to -perform in being present. But how to penetrate such perfidy, supposing -it to exist? O, I know what I will do! If only I can be there first, -and lead him to betray himself!” - -Mr. Hamilton reflected: “What is this, my Mollinda?--for Mollinda’s -work you are. Kit, and an assignation--with whom? Is it man or woman, -you little devil? And so is the enigma to be resolved at last? I don’t -believe a word of it. It is some pretty trick of yours to requite me -for my late unkindness to you. Well, I’ll defeat it. Find me, with a -green scarf to my hat, at the rendezvous, and kiss me for Kit whoever -you may be. Who would have thought of that, now, George, but your own -ingenious self?” - -But, in spite of their pretended confidence, they were all three -properly puzzled and nervous, bless you. And one after the other, in -an inconsequent sort of way, they put themselves into positions where -they might hope to run across Mrs. Davis by accident, and question her -casually as to her plans for the evening. But, exasperatingly enough, -Moll was never once in evidence the whole day long, and no one knew -what had become of her. She had vanished from all human ken like the -“baseless fabric of a vision.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - -Where the grounds of Buckingham Palace now extend, there stood in -the seventeenth century the old flowery pleasaunce known as Mulberry -Garden, a place long appropriated, like its Spring prototype at -Whitehall, to _al fresco_ entertainment. Ex-mural and mural as things -then went, there was to the ordinary cit a _soupçon_ of adventure -suggested in a visit to this remoter fairyland; and, as a little -enterprising beyond the confines of the orthodox adds a zest to the -soberest merry-making, Mulberry Garden possessed an attraction for the -town, which was certainly due as much to its comparative removedness -as to any diversions it might offer in the way of dancing and -junketing. There was a mild thrill in achieving it, its wild and -tangled acres, only gathered into cores of brilliancy at certain -definite centres, where, after dark, the scattered threads of lamps, -like gossamer hung with dew-drops, constellated thickly about groups -of arbours, set in open spaces among the trees, where glittering forms -circulated, and laughter rang, and cheese-cakes were eaten and lips -kissed under fragrant ambushes of boughs woven into a thousand pretty -devices of green garters and lovers’ knots. There was here none of the -structural artifices which later came to vulgarize, and, alas! -popularize, the more ordered vistas of Vauxhall across the -water--cascades, and sham ruins, and side shows, and so forth; but -Nature was allowed for the most part her own sweet, untrammelled way; -and, where the wildernesses _were_ converted, it was to no more than -an artless religion of green swards and bowers, whereon and wherein -the tripping frolic of foot and heart might adapt itself, if it would, -to “the music of the moon” and the song of the innocent nightingale. - -Not that to those chaste warblers of the night was entrusted the whole -provision of music for the company. Skies might be moonless, and birds -silent or out of season; wherefore there was generally to be found -engaged to the service of romantic hearts and ears some performer, -skilled on lute or harp, whose melodious utterances, thrilling through -grove and clearing, were calculated to awaken such emotions as were -compatible with the sweet understanding of sylvan solitudes. - -Now, that is a true picture, though very certainly a one-sided. For -where innocence goes sin is sure to follow; and the atmosphere of -Mulberry Garden was by no means all of harmless frolic compact. Being -relatively remote, and consisting, moreover, for three-fourths of its -space of unredeemed wilderness, it formed a tempting rendezvous for -spirits kept better apart; and too often, it must be confessed, a -meeting among its waste thickets was tantamount to an intrigue. Still, -in its popular centres the whole may be said to have leavened the -parts, and it was to those, nominally, that the town gravitated, and -in them found its entertainment. - -Mulberry Garden was aristocratic, and remained so until its vogue came -to abate--which it was already threatening to do--through the growing -reputation of that “Jardin Printemps” at Lambeth, to the entrance of -which a trip across the water made such a pleasant prelude. Never -popularly patronized, there were times when--robuster novelties -attracting--the exclusive might enjoy its green walks and -hospitalities with the sense almost of being a privileged company -invited to a _fête champêtre_. It had, of course, its central -restaurant--without which it could not have existed -aristocratically--in the building known as Mulberry Garden House, -where quite _recherché_ little dinners could be eaten; and, indeed, -it was there that Mr. Pepys (to mention him but once again) discussed -that “Spanish Olio,” chartered by one Shere, and mentioned in the -Diary, which he found so richly delectable--“a very noble dish such as -I never saw better or more of.” In this room Fashion would dine--and -often too liberally wine, too--before emerging to tickle its -pseudo-pastoral sentiment with pretence of neo-Arcadian groves and -flowery shepherdesses; and it was from this room that, vizard on brow, -Mr. George Hamilton issued at about a quarter past eight o’clock on a -certain soft and windless June night. - -He looked sharply about him, as he descended the steps into the open, -searching among the company within his range for a particular token. -It was one of those exceptional occasions when the visitors were -relatively few, and as such widely scattered among the walks and -trees. All the space before him was strung with tiny lamps, festooned -from branch to branch, or ambushed in cloudy green like glow-worms. -They cast a diffused light, enough to distinguish people by, but -clothing one and all in a romantic glamour very soft and mystic. Many, -most, in fact, of the company wore vizards. Women, indeed, on view in -public places, seldom appeared unmasked, not from blushing modesty, -but to hide their inability to blush at all where a blush was called -for. That was understood, and derided; yet, while wit and address -might effect what they could in the way of persuasion, it was an -article of the strictest punctilio that no vizor should be removed by -force--a rule so respected that any abuse of it was like enough, in -those hot times, to lead to bloody reprisals on the offender. - -Now, not distinguishing what he sought--and, indeed, the hour was yet -early for an expected trysting--Master George sauntered away, with the -purpose to seek some retired spot, where he might pin about his hat -the green emblem of identification which he had brought with him in -his pocket. On his way, reaching an open space where much company was -congregated, he stopped to ascertain the cause of the assembling, and -perceived, seated upon a green knoll in the midst, the long, grey-clad -figure of a harpist, who was in the act of tuning up his instrument -before performing. - -“_Quel qu’il soit?_” he asked of a scented exquisite who stood near -him. - -“What!” exclaimed the gallant, turning in a fainting affectation on -his interlocutor. “Not know him? Not know our divine Orpheus, the -rare, the inspired, the man to whose finger-tips the bees come -a-sipping for honey, the man the tweak of whose thumb will ravish a -heart from its bosom as clean as a periwinkle from its shell!” - -“I asked for a name,” said Hamilton caustically, “and you have given -me a catalogue, of which the least desired part was the note of -exclamation at the end.” - -“Well, ’tis Jack Bannister,” said the stranger, much misliking the -other’s tone, but recognizing a potential something in it which kept -him civil. But, having furnished the information, he first edged and -then swaggered away. - -Hamilton had heard speak of the prodigy, but had never yet chanced to -alight on him. He lingered now, to endorse or not the extravagant -eulogies lavished on this eighth wonder of his age. And, having -listened, he admitted to himself that the verdict was justified. There -was something in this man’s performance which surpassed anything he -had hitherto experienced. It illustrated in the extremest degree what -is called genius, but which is really soul--that spiritual utterance, -born with a few men like an unknown language, which would be -transcendental were it not for the medium--paint, or ink, or chord, or -marble--through which it must materialize in order to reach the -senses. “Ah!” he thought: “if he could only say all that without the -harp; if Shakespeare could only have conveyed his mind to us without -pen or paper, what a divine and cleansing understanding would be ours! -But the senses are cloudy interpreters.” - -He was moved, but he would not applaud. “As well cry ‘Brava!’” he -thought, “to the divine Speaker of the Sermon on the Mount. I will not -so degrade him to exalt myself.” - -But there were others who lacked his understanding, and the clapping -of hands was general. It offended this paradoxical being, and he -strode away, the perfection of his impression sullied. As he dived -into a dusk, unfrequented walk, a new strain of music pursued him; but -he would not stop to listen to it. That applause had spelt the surfeit -which had spoilt the feast. - -Presently a little stealing figure in front of him barred his way. -There was but an occasional lamp here, and the path was dim. But he -could make out that it was a woman, and young, and alone. It was easy -to overtake her, and a matter of course to stop and accost, because -she was masked and unaccompanied, which was in itself a challenge. As -he stood, a sudden thought seizing him, he looked down at her bosom; -but no green emblem was there to inform him, only a rather tell-tale -tawdriness of ornament and material; and he laughed, and put his hand -on the truant’s arm. - -“He is under the gooseberry-bushes beyond,” he said. “Shall we go -stoop and seek him there?” - -She started from him, wincing up her shoulders in alarm, while she -clutched a handkerchief between her palms; and then he heard her -breath catch, and saw that she had been crying. - -“O! don’t touch me!” she said, with a gulp. “Please to let me go past, -good gentleman.” - -The address, her intonation, betrayed her plainly enough for what she -was--some little town skit, sempstress or servant-maid, broken loose, -and now frightened over her own temerity. - -“Why,” said he. “If you are in distress, I am a rare comforter. Come, -let me remove this before it dissolves.” - -She could offer no resistance to so beautiful a gentleman, and he -slipped the vizard from her face. It was a blowzed and plain one so -revealed, its only recommendation youth. - -“Let honesty spare to deny itself,” said Hamilton. “There was no need -to cover this away, child. What are you doing here?” - -“I don’t know,” said the girl, distraught and sobbing. “I didn’t ought -to have come. O, let me go!” - -“What made you come, then?” - -“’Twas my young man, there! He called me a name; and I thought--I -thought, if I was to be called that----” - -“You’d not be called it for nothing? Now, you know, that was foolish, -because to answer wrong with wrong is like patching a worn-out gown -with a piece cut from itself.” - -“Yes, sir; so it is.” - -“Mend bad with good, child, and”--he positively seemed to -expand--“forgive injuries. Tell me, what wrought this change of -feeling in you, this sense of an error realized and repented?” - -She began to sob again, but quietly, and hanging her head. - -“’Twas--’twas him there, I think, a-playing so beautiful; and--and, I -seemed overtook, all of a sudden, with my wickedness. I want to get -out, to escape, from--from----” - -“Why, from yourself, child; and so you shall. But whither? To him?” - -“O no, no! To mother.” - -“Come, then; I will see you on your road.” - -“O, don’t, sir!” - -“Pish! I am sincere. What is thy name?” - -“Betty, sir.” - -“Harkee, Betsinda! I also heard the harpist, and was ‘overtook,’ and -repented me of my sins--for the time being. Now for the nonce I am to -be trusted; but you must hurry. This virtue will certainly last to the -gate, where I will see you safe bestowed. Go home, then, and be a good -girl, and never think to sin this way again.” - -She still hesitated, tearful and in doubt, but quickly surrendered to -his insistence, and went beside him submissively. He led her by a -circuitous route to the great wicket of the place, where it stood in a -blaze of flambeaux facing the dining-hall; and there outside waited a -throng of chairs and vehicles, the most having brought visitors, but -among them several hackney coaches, driven over, as they might be -to-day, on the chance of a fare. And into one of these Hamilton -bundled his charge, having first settled with the coachman; and he -sent her off with his blessing, smiling on her timid benedictions. And -then he turned his back on the gate, and smacked his chest with -ineffable unction, and threw a glance at the sky, as if to observe if -the recording angel were there making a note. - -Yet, what if the girl had been pretty?--but he shall have the benefit -of the doubt. - -He strolled back the length of the lighted building, savouring by the -way his own laudableness; and, coming presently to the starry, -tree-haunted sward beyond, was aware in one instant of a lady, with an -emerald bow in her bosom, standing fanning herself apart near a -rhododendron thicket, and of a cavalier, whose hat was adorned with an -apple-green scarf, striding across the grass to join her. He was so -near the two that he was able, unobserved, to slip, though with a -little jump of the heart, behind a tree-trunk, within earshot of the -coming colloquy. - -The gentleman walked up to the lady, and bowed, and stood silent. She -responded with the minutest toss of her head, and remained as mute. -She fanned herself, he whistled. “Hem!” said he. “Hem!” said she. -Hamilton chuckled, though in an exasperated way. - -“By the lord,” he thought, “if ’tis not my cousin Kate and Phil! And I -perceive what is their game, which is for each to make the other speak -first.” - -He watched like a cat. “Hem!” coughed the lady again, and “Hem!” -coughed the gentleman, only more aggressively. At that moment a second -lady, having a green bow at her bosom, came rapidly from the direction -of the gate, and, passing across the observer’s near field of vision, -went on and vanished among the trees. She was seen both by him and by -the stationary lady, who started ever so slightly; Chesterfield, -having his back to the flitting figure, stood unmoved. - -“I think,” said the lady, in an odd, repressed little voice, and -seeming to make up her mind of a sudden, “that you have made a -mistake.” - -Chesterfield uttered a sort of triumphant snarl. - -“No, by God!” said he. “I have made no mistake. And now acknowledge, -madam, that you have been the first to break the silence between us.” - -“What, then?” she protested. “You have made a mistake, I say. Whoever -you may think me, I am not she.” - -Now Hamilton, struck with an idea, had been privily, during these few -moments, pinning his own scarf about his hat. And at these words he -came from his ambush. - -“No _guet-apens_, but the grass, sir,” said he, “must explain my soft -approach. This lady speaks truth. You are mistaken in her.” - -Chesterfield’s eyes glared red through his vizard holes. He sneered -horribly. - -“If I were mistaken before, sir,” said he, “judge what I may be now.” -Then he turned with a whirl on the other. “Is this the way you hope to -convince me against your shameless perfidy? But you are betrayed, -madam, as much in your purposed visit here as in the object of your -wanton escapade. Will you still pretend you do not know your husband?” - -“Indeed,” she said, “I know him very well.” - -He uttered an oath. - -“Then you know his way with villains”--and, white with passion, he -whipped out his sword. - -They were all standing apart, screened by shrubs from the general -view. For the first time the lady showed some trepidation. She moved -hurriedly to interpose herself. - -“For shame! Put it up,” she said. “I tell you again you are mistaken.” - -“And you may say it a hundred times,” he cried, “and I shall not -believe you.” - -“Sir,” said Hamilton frigidly, “I too wear a sword, though I have not -drawn it.” - -“You shall not lack the need,” cried the other. But he left him for -the moment, and, addressing the lady, stamped with fury. - -“You dare to face me with that lie, and the very witness to it -standing here to refute you! But there’s a way to settle it. Take off -your vizard.” - -“I’ll not.” - -“Ah! Take it off, I say.” - -“Never, while I live!” - -“Then, by God, I’ll do it for you!” - -He actually meant it; she retreated before him. “Kit!” she cried, -“will you see me so insulted?” - -Now, at that, my lord stopped dead, mowing and grinning like an ape. - -“So convict out of your own mouth,” he cried, “will you dare to deny -longer?” And then he turned his fury on the other. “Liar and betrayer, -whatever your cursed identity, this point shall penetrate it. Look to -yourself!” - -Hamilton was ready, the swords tinkled, the lady screamed. - -“There she goes again--the green favour! Look! Is it for her you have -mistaken me? Wretch, hold your wicked hand!” - -As by one consent, the two belligerents lowered their points. The -figure, which had once before revealed itself hurrying past, was again -come into view, walking this time with a gentleman, about whose hat -was wound a scarf of green sarcenet. - -Hamilton gaped, a surprised grin on his face. Already somewhat -confounded by his cousin’s appeal to him, this suggestion of a further -entanglement seemed fairly to take his breath away. Was the -coincidence accidental or deliberate? And, if the latter, what the -mischief was at the bottom of it all? He might have thought “who,” -rather, but that was superfluous. There could be only one. Anyhow, -being in for it, he would make the best he could of circumstance. For -the rest, he was rather tickled with the hussy’s impudent daring, and -curious to see how her plot worked out. Where was she herself? he -wondered. Somewhere watching the game, no doubt. - -But, as for my lord, he stared like one petrified. All his assurance -was knocked out of him. He looked--goggle-eyed and gasping like a -landed fish--from his adversary to the lady, and from the lady to -Hamilton, and again from them both to the rapidly receding couple. It -seemed minutes before he could find his voice. - -“But--but----” he said, and stuck again. - -“Very well, sir,” said Hamilton. “Take your guard.” - -But the other, with a muttered oath, slipped his blade into its -scabbard. - -“I’m damned if I do!” he said, and looked stupidly at the lady. “You -called him Kit, you know,” he muttered. - -“And why not?” she said. “Is he to be killed for being christened?” - -“You may realize by now, sir,” said Hamilton, “that you have made an -error. If I may suggest, the way to rectify it is by not imposing -yourself longer on our company.” - -The glare came again into Chesterfield’s eyes; and then doubt, -confusion, indecision. Was this, in truth, his errant wife? He had -never questioned it before; but now--was there not something seeming -more familiar in the pose, the walk of the other? And yet---- - -He bent, bewildered, to search the secret of the impenetrable mask. -Certainly the dim light, the artificial atmosphere, were trickish -things; they confused the visual sense, no less than that of voice and -hearing. Was he mistaken after all? And what was his folly, in that -case, in bandying words with these while the actual delinquents -escaped! - -One moment longer he hesitated; then, with a curse, turned on his heel -and hurried off in pursuit. - -The two remaining watched his retreat in silence; and then Hamilton, -resheathing his sword with a snap, gave a low laugh. - -“Nothing, my Phil,” muttered he, “will make thee a gentleman”; and he -turned on his companion. She stood quite still, observing him. “What -made you call me Kit?” said he. - -“Why, are you not Kit?” she asked. - -He peered at her, inquisitive. Surely she could not have failed to -recognize him? No! that was incredible. And he, her? There could be no -doubt about it. Her voice, her figure, her manner of dressing her -hair; even the trick of her speech, moulded on soft wilful lips; even -the fashion of her gown, which he seemed vaguely to recall--they were -all Kate, indubitably Kate. No, he must seek another reason for her -caprice. And could it be this--that all the time in “Kit” had been -meant himself? that all the time she had been taking this playful -symbolic means to avow her love for one she dared not admit by name? -It was a revealing, a rapturous thought; it might explain much which -had seemed inexplicable. And yet, if it were true, what had decided -the crisis? Was it possible that it was she herself who had written -that anonymous letter, confident in her bait to allure him hither? -But, in that case, how had her husband got wind of the ruse? And who -were those others, all, apparently, in the emblematic secret? Well, at -least she had claimed him, and that was sufficient for his present -satisfaction. If some eavesdropping mischief, possessed of knowledge, -was manœuvring to complicate the issue, they must set their own wits -to outwit hers. For the moment it was only his obvious policy to -answer that question in kind. - -“Yes, I am Kit,” he said. “I understand at last--your very Kit, sweet -cousin. And now, let us away to covert where we can talk.” - -“Which way?” she said. Her voice seemed to suggest some tiny inward -struggle. - -“The shady way,” he answered, with a laugh; and she went compliantly -with him. “You made sure of my coming?” he asked tenderly. - -“O yes,” she answered--“sure.” - -He sighed. “I have waited long, trying to dissemble, but trust a woman -to know. Come this way, little cousin. There are labyrinths of wild -darknesses beyond, where none may hope to track and find us. Is not -the night sweet? So Phil hath sinned at last beyond forgiveness? -Come--why do you linger?” For she had stopped. - -“I hear music,” she said. - -“It is only some harping fellow. Come!” - -“Where is he?” - -“Yonder in the grove.” - -She stood as if spellbound, took a hurried step or two, paused, and -caught her hands to her bosom. - -“Let us go listen,” she said; her breath came quick. “Where is he? I -will go, I tell you,” and in a moment she was running. He followed, -calling to her: “Cousin, wait! What hath taken you? Stop for me at -least!” But she paid no heed to him, and sped on. Her feet twinkled on -the grass, in and out between the hanging lamps; he found her, lost -her, found her again among the thickening throng; and in another -moment, hard pressing on her tracks, he had pursued her into the ring -which stood about the player--through it, to the very front, where she -stopped, breathless and panting. - -And now let us follow the footsteps of that other green-bowed lady, -the seeming double or replica of this, whom we can leave for the time -being. She was Kate herself, in fact, the little outraged wife, intent -on her design to personate the object of her faithless spouse’s -pursuit, and, by figuring to him under false colours, to draw him into -an unconscious confession of his guilt. - -She had driven over in her coach, and--though some accident had -delayed her by the way--in time, she still hoped, to enable her to -forestall the other. Alighting, she had hurriedly traversed the -distance between the gates and the open sward beyond, where the -company were most wont to congregate; but, though she used her eyes -for all the inquisition they were worth, without result. Eager and -flurried, then, she was turning to retrace her steps, when she saw -_him_ making towards her from the shadow of a clump of trees, whence, -obviously, he had been watching. She stopped instantly, and let out a -shaking breath to ease the turmoil of her heart. - -It was he, her husband; it never occurred to her to doubt it; the -height, the figure, were sufficient, not to speak of the damning token -in his hat. And, once assured, she hardly looked his way, I think. And -yet, so susceptible is jealousy to false witness, it was not my lord -at all, but the Duke of York. - -He came up to her where she stood, and, gazing intently through his -mask, waited silently a while. And then he sighed, with extreme -audibility. Still, she vouchsafed him no recognition or encouragement, -but stood as cold and motionless as one of the white lilies in the bed -beyond. He was forced at last into taking the initiative. - -“Not one word, madam,” said he, “to him that wears your favour? Will -you not reassure my anxiety?” - -He was aware of the faintest odd response to this appeal; it might -have been a whispered note of exultation. - -“For whom, sir,” she said, still white, still inflexible, “do you take -me?” - -“Ah!” he said, “is not that bow in your bosom sufficient answer?” - -With a quick, fierce action, she pulled the vizard from her face, -looked him in the eyes one moment, and, replacing it, half turned her -back on him. - -“Now,” she said, “are you satisfied of your error?” - -“Satisfied,” said he, “but not of my error, for indeed there is none.” -And, indeed, there _was_ none, from his point of view. - -She turned on him irresistibly, unable to control her indignation-- - -“You can dare to say it, trapped and detected in the very act? There -is no error--none?--and I am she, I suppose, whom you expected to find -revealed under this token? O! shameless! But your dissembling does not -deceive me--instant and ready as it proves itself. Go seek her, sir, -the vile party to your iniquity--she is doubtless somewhere in the -garden; and bear with you the scorn and detestation of the insulted -wife you thought vainly to overreach, and who now denounces and -repudiates you for evermore.” - -She made as if to leave him, but again turned, a quivering smile on -her lips-- - -“And bear with you, Philip Stanhope, this reflection, which I know -will gall you above any sense of guilt expressed: it was you broke the -long silence between us, and it was I that trapped you into doing so. -If you can feel any humiliation greater than your own discovered -wickedness, it will lie in that, I know.” - -“Stop!” cried his Highness, as she was going. The truth had dawned -upon him through that torrent of invective. Not Kit was he, in her -assumption, but her own recreant husband. The discovery was -illuminating--and, indirectly, gratifying, inasmuch as it seemed to -dispose, so far as she was concerned, of that hypothetical intriguer. -And yet was it possible she was only manœuvring to justify her own -frailty through her husband’s example? “Where are you going?” he said. - -She answered in one straitened monosyllable: “Home.” - -And that reassured and decided him. It was a cruel ruse, perhaps; but -he saw no other hope, in her excited state, of detaining and reasoning -with her. Doubtless, when the inevitable discovery ensued, the -emotional reaction consequent on it would prove his forgiver and -abetter. - -He had to hurry to keep pace with her. “Nay,” he whispered in her ear, -“believe me when I say there was no error. Could I have failed, think -you, to recognize my Kate, though in a subtler disguise than this? -Trust a husband’s eyes and senses, sweetheart. Come, be reasonable; we -cannot talk here. Turn with me, and let us seek a spot more private to -our confidences in the solitudes beyond.” - -Indeed, as they advanced, it was to make themselves more and more “the -cynosure of neighbouring eyes.” But the wife was not to be moved. She -was deaf and blind now with a passion she could not surmount. As he -persisted in accompanying her, she stopped suddenly, and stamped her -little foot on the grass. - -“Will you cease to importune me,” she said, “and go?” - -“Only turn and come away,” he entreated, “and I will explain -everything.” - -“Never!” she exclaimed vehemently. “I do not believe you--not one -word. It is all over between us. Leave me, and go and seek your -paramour.” - -“I will not,” he persisted doggedly. “There is none but yourself for -me.” - -“I am going home, I say.” - -“Then I will go with you.” - -She hurried a few steps farther; then, as he kept beside her, turned -with a flounce, and went off in the opposite direction. He wheeled to -follow--and so suddenly, that he ran into the very arms of a masked -gentleman who, the moment before, had been advancing upon him from the -rear. He snapped out a half-angry apology, and was for speeding on; -but, to his astonishment, the other gripped and held him like a vice. - -“Unhand me, sir!” cried the Duke. “What! do you dare?” - -For the moment he was beside himself with fury, seeing his light -quarry, who had taken advantage of the check, in the act of making her -escape. But his struggles availed him nothing. - -“Aye, I dare,” said the stranger viciously; and he turned his face, in -a white fume, to regard the flight of the fugitive. “Go your way,” -said he between his teeth, as if addressing the receding figure. “You -are marked down at last, my lady, and will be called on in due time to -pay the reckoning. And as for you, you villain”--he whisked like a -devil on his prisoner--“you have got to answer for this here and now.” - -He had to, somehow. His Highness, with that acute perception of his, -saw the necessity, and ceased to strive. He was fairly trapped, and -very certainly by the injured husband himself. He had nothing for it -but to bring all his finesse to the solution of so embarrassing a -problem. - -“Sir,” said he, with a good deal of haughtiness, “will you please to -quit this rude grasp on me? You need not fear. I am a man of honour.” - -“O, of honour!” said Chesterfield, with a sneer. But he released his -hold. “You surprise me, on my word. But, being so, perhaps you will -inform me, man of honour, where you would like to come with me to have -your throat cut.” - -“We will discuss the necessity of that,” said the Duke civilly, “when -I know your name.” - -“So particular?” mocked the other. “But will it not inform you -sufficiently to be told that I am the husband of the lady you have -just parted with?” - -“Indeed, it informs me nothing,” replied the Duke most suavely. - -“What! you dare to pretend to me that you know her not?” - -“Sir,” said the Duke, “I would disdain to answer to your insolence -were it not that there must be something in appearances which, it -seems, justifies it in you. I cannot presume your name from that of -the lady who has just vanished, because I do not know her.” - -“You are lying to me, I know.” - -“You deserve no explanation; which I vouchsafe, nevertheless, solely -for her good credit’s sake. I admit I accosted the lady in question; -but it was under a misapprehension, being misled by a certain token -she wore in her dress, and for which I had been directed to look. My -importunities are explained by my reluctance to believe that a -coincidence so remarkable as the wearing of that same token by another -was even conceivable.” - -Truly a plausible defence; but there is a craft, as well as a -credulity, in jealousy, and Chesterfield showed it. - -“Well, sir,” said he, “I will take your word for’t on a condition; and -that is that you return me your name for my own. I am the Earl of -Chesterfield.” - -“And I,” said the Duke, “prefer to be known to you for the moment as -‘Kit’--simply ‘Kit,’ at your service.” - -It was no sooner spoken than he realized his blunder. It would be this -very anonymity, the presumptive second party to the liaison, whom the -husband, being here, would be in search of. Chesterfield, in fact, -showed his instant sense of the admission. He let out a laugh that was -wholly diabolical. - -“Ha-ha!” cried he. “Damned and condemned, thou dog, out of thine own -mouth!” - -Conscious that all this time they were objects of some curious -attention on the part of the nearest company, he thought it well now -to subdue his voice, and affect a nonchalant manner. - -“Mr. Kit,” said he, in an undertone, “you will hardly continue, in -face of that confession, your pretence of innocence, nor, by denying -me the satisfaction I demand here and now, force me to the necessity -of whipping you, like the hound you are, in public. There are level -spaces in the wildernesses beyond, and something of a rising moon, -sufficient for the business we have in hand. Will you walk with me, -sir--or----” - -“Without admitting anything,” said his Highness, very haughty and -wroth, “or condescending to further remonstrance, I answer to your -effrontery as it deserves. It must be chastised, at whatever cost to -the truth. Follow me, sir,” and he stalked off in high choler. - -He was horribly perplexed, nevertheless, though for the moment so -offended as half to mean the bellicosity he threatened. But reflection -soon cooled him of that temper, and he recognized that, if nothing -else intervened, there would be no alternative for him but to make -himself known, at the critical pass, to his adversary. - -The two gentlemen disappeared in the direction of the thickets. - -And so, leaving them, we will return to Hamilton and _his_ green bow. - -The harper harped his sweetest, and the lady stood and listened -entranced. She seemed as one fascinated, half hypnotized, oblivious of -the soft reproaches her companion kept whispering in her ear. She paid -no heed whatever to his babble, but always her gaze was fixed on the -long swaying form of the musician and the melancholy-wrapt eyes of -him, lost, like her own, to all outer influences and impressions, and -wholly absorbed in the visions conjured up of his unconscious soul. -And when at length he ended on a triumphant chord, she sighed, and -seemed to come awake, and, first joining in the applause with her -little hands, plucked off her vizard, being quite carried away by her -feelings, and, waving it in the air, cried “Brava!” in a manner to -make the people about her laugh. - -Hamilton, momentarily pressed back by the thrusting forward of the -crowd, saw that ebullition, and frowned and wondered a little over -such a _grossièreté_ in his cousin; but she had the thing on again -before he could reach her to remonstrate; and, indeed, he never had -the chance to. For all of a sudden he found himself witness of an odd -scene. Attracted, it seemed, by the little acclaiming voice, the -performer, who was seated not ten yards away, got suddenly to his -feet, and, after standing staring a minute, came striding across the -grass towards the spot whence the demonstration had issued. Those -about the lady may have thought that he was bent on some graceful -acknowledgment to her of an approval so spontaneous and so unusual; -but, whatever the attention he designed, she did not wait to receive -it. As if seized with a sudden panic over the publicity she had called -down upon herself, she whipped round, and, taking advantage of an -opening in the crowd, slipped through it, to a roar of laughter, and -was gone in an instant. So quick had she been, that Hamilton, taken by -surprise, and hemmed in as he was, could not extricate himself from -his position in time to mark the direction of her flight; but, once -clear of the press, he stood completely baffled and cursing his evil -luck. - -And in the meantime green-bow was making good her escape; she ran as -if some spectre were at her heels. Across the thronged grass, in and -out between the trees, heedless of the attention she attracted, making -instinctively for the outer glooms, onward she sped, and never paused -until the covert of green shadows coming thickly about her gave her -comfort and reassurance of an asylum reached at last. And then she -stopped, panting and dishevelled, but with a little inclination, -nevertheless, to some hysterical giggling. - -“O, mussey me!” she whispered, as she fought for breath: “O, mussey -me!” And then she looked hurriedly about her. She was still so near -the fringe of the thickets as to have a clear view of the lighted -swards she had left. Not safe from detection yet, she must penetrate -deeper into the wilderness, if she hoped to baffle pursuit. Away from -her ran a little glow-worm track, dim but discernible, and threaded -with lamps, always attenuating, until they seemed to cease altogether -in the leafy depths. She followed it, and found it to conduct her deep -into an open space among the trees, about which was hung a slender -coronal of lamps, and in whose midmost stood a rustic arbour, “for -whispering lovers made,” but at the moment, it seemed, unoccupied. And -here she stopped, to recover her breath and her self-possession, and, -with a laugh, began to preen her tumbled plumes like a bird escaped -from the fowler. - -“I never did--there, never!” she said aloud, and instantly looked up -with a start. A masked lady, with a green bow at her bosom, had come -silently, it seemed, from the direction of the bower, and was standing -regarding her with stony eyes. This was poor Kate, indeed, whom -accident had precipitated upon the same refuge. - -Moll, after that first little shock, continued her preening -unperturbed. - -“You fair took my breath away,” she said, “coming on me that fashion -like a ghost.” - -Kate’s head was bent forward; her dove-like eyes glared. - -“Who are you?” she said, scarce audibly. “How dare you thrust yourself -upon me like this?” - -“Highty-tighty!” said Moll, still comfortably busy. “I might ask that -of you.” - -“Of me!” cried Kate desperately. “I think I hardly know myself”--for -indeed the other had taken pains to duplicate her in many particulars, -both dress and voice. “What are you doing here? But I understand the -cunning infamy of it all at last. It was to throw dust in the eyes of -scandal by feigning ’twas his own wife he came to meet.” - -“He? Who?” said Moll, readjusting her breast knot. - -“Do not you well know, false creature? But you are betrayed through -that very token in your bosom you used to further your wicked -designs.” - -“What!” says saucebox: “mayn’t I wear a green bow if it suits my -complexion?” - -“Lies and duplicity,” cries the other, “are your complexion. It suits -them very well.” - -“Green stands for ‘forsaken,’” says the vixen. “Is that why you wear -one yourself?” - -It was a stab that made the poor lady wince. Her face went from pink -to white. - -“Cruel and inhuman!” she gasped. - -“Come, call fair, my lady,” said Moll, in some heat. “If he’s been and -mistaken you for me, _whoever he is_--and I take it that’s the -truth--you’ve only got what you asked for. Look through the keyhole, -you know, and you’ll get a sore eye.” - -Her white teeth showed a moment under the hem of her vizard. With a -dart, her ladyship was upon her. - -“I will see it--that face”--she could hardly articulate in her -passion--“abandoned wretch that you are--masquerading under a false -name. I will know this ‘Kit’ of his for whom she is. Take it off, I -say.” - -But the facile jade easily repulsed and eluded her. - -“Give over,” she said. “You’re no match for me.” - -And indeed it was obvious to the poor girl that she was not. So she -desisted in a moment, and resolved upon the better part of dignity, -which is contempt. - -“Keep your secret,” she said, panting. “After all, its shame is better -hidden out of sight. Do you know who I am?” - -“I can guess,” said Moll. - -“Go to him, then. You will find him seeking for you, yonder in the -open. Tell him that he is welcome to his goods for me; that I have -seen them and understand their attraction to one so sunk in base -corruption as himself.” - -“Come, now,” said Moll. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.” - -Did Kate suspect? She glanced anyhow, in a startled, puzzled way, at -the dim face menacing her, before she turned on her heel, and, with -her head held erect, swept away. She made for the narrow track, -leaving the other standing where she was, and had passed but half-way -down it, when she met Hamilton face to face. The scarf in his hat was -plainly distinguishable; she took him for her husband, and stood -rigidly aside to let him pass. - -“Ah, little wicked truant!” said he; “but I have run you to earth at -last. What made you scamper from the great musician in that panic -fashion?” - -His voice insensibly perplexed her; but her emotions were in too -prejudiced a state to serve her for trusty interpreters. - -“Are _you_, then, the great musician?” she said, hard scorn in her -tone, “since it was you alone I sought to escape from, and--and for -ever.” - -“From me?”--a grieved amazement marked his voice--“after what hath -passed between us?” - -She stood back, peremptorily signing him on with her hand. - -“Passed? Are you again in error? Proceed, sir--’tis but a little -distance--and find her, the brazen partner of your guilt, for whom you -have already once mistaken me.” - -He cried out: “You are mad! How could I ever mistake you? Were we not -listening together but now to the harpist, when you turned and ran?” - -“_I_ ran? I have heard no harpist. It was from your lying -importunities I escaped.” - -“My lying--before God I spoke my very heart. And you were kind, -cousin.” - -“Cousin!” - -“Am I not your cousin, though your lover?” - -“George Hamilton!” - -“Do you not know me, cousin?” - -She sighed, seemed to sway a little, then to stiffen. - -“O!” she said. “I know you now, indeed.” - -He laughed, relieved. - -“Why, what misled you, Kate?” - -“Never mind.” She was a serpent all at once, subtle, wooing, alluring. -“Let us go back this way. There is something I want to show you. Will -you come?” - -Come? He would have followed her to the pit. Yet what surprise had she -in store for him, what unknown witness to her own mistake, what -solution of this mystery of her denial about the music? She had -appeared strangely affected by that performance; was it possible it -had wrought upon her to forgetfulness? Well, he would know in a -moment. - -She meant that he should--meant to face him with the proof of his own -misconception and his intended betrayal of herself. It was somehow -that woman wretch’s doing, of that she felt certain, though she was -bewildered with the complication of it all. But at least her course -here was clear: it was to expose and denounce the would-be seducer in -the presence of the wanton who had entrapped him. - -Mrs. Moll, however, was not to be caught so easily. She had, in fact, -having followed stealthily in Kate’s footsteps, and whisked behind a -tree at the psychologic moment, overheard the gist of this colloquy, -and it imbued her with no desire to return and face the music. She -just waited until the couple had passed out of sight, then slipped -into the track with a view to making her escape by it. - -But, alas for “the best-laid plans of mice”--and monkeys! This little -monkey was nabbed before she had well set foot on the path. For there -suddenly appeared advancing towards her along the narrow way the -figures of a couple of gentlemen--and each had a green scarf adorning -his hat. - -“Well, I’m damned!” she whispered, and stood stock still. - -His Highness, coming first, saw her at once, and paused--as he thought -recognizing her--in some amazement. It was an embarrassing moment, and -he was standing in frank indecision, when Chesterfield, coming up, -pushed by him, and in his turn jerked to a stop. - -“What, by God!” said he. “So we have tracked you to your lair, my -lady.” - -He ran at her, with a scowl, and seized her by the wrist, so roughly -that she cried out. - -“Aye, howl!” said he. “You will have full reason for your lamentation -before I have done with you and this fancy beau of yours. Come, my -pretty faithful Kate, and watch us fight. You shall stand by, and clap -your husband victor, while I cut him into ribbons for love-knots to -your gown. Come, stir--there is a green hard by where he shall caper -for you, dancing to very prick-song. Will you not come?” - -She could not help herself, indeed. His grip was iron; he dragged her -with him, so that he half pulled her arm out. “O, lud!” she thought. -“I’m in for it now!” - -A few steps farther, and they broke into the clearing. My lady and -Hamilton were just before them; it was plain they had both overheard. -They stood as if petrified, Kate with white face and bewildered eyes, -her companion with the grin of a dog at bay lifting his lip. - -“Curse it!” said Chesterfield. “What’s this?” - -Involuntarily he released his hold; on which Moll, with a naughty -laugh, sprang from him and stood apart, nursing her angry wrist. And -so they remained a full minute, Chesterfield and my lord Duke facing -the other two, the girl covertly watching. - -The Earl looked from one woman to the other, and more than once; but -always his eyes returned to his true wife, on whom they finally -rested. - -“If this,” said he, in a gripping voice, and pulling off his mask, “is -to make me the victim of some foul conspiracy, it fails with you, my -lady. I know you. You need pretend no longer.” - -She plucked off _her_ vizard, and, throwing it with a gesture of scorn -on the grass, stood proudly up before him. - -“Well guessed, sir,” she said. “But you were not so happy in your -choice a moment ago. Was it the green bow deceived you?” - -“Yes, by God, it was, madam, though you may sneer. I looked for it on -none but you.” - -“On me?” Her eyes opened, amazed. “And why, please?” - -“Because I was privily informed you were to wear it.” - -“Indeed? And for whose benefit?” - -“Will you ask it”--he stepped aside, flinging out his arm towards his -Highness, who stood silent, gnawing his forefinger--“and this Kit, -this damning witness to your guilt, to answer for it to your face? Did -I not find you with him but now? For shame, madam! But he shall pay -for his temerity with his life.” - -“You are mad,” she said, in a voice of wonder. “I never saw you. I -thought him you, and that he had accosted me, taking me for Kit.” - -“_You_ Kit? Why, in God’s name? Kit’s a man.” - -“No, a woman.” - -“A man, I say. He’s here.” - -“And so is she here.” - -“She? I tell you, no! What cursed coil is this? And you thought him -me, you say? Why--answer that.” - -“He wore the scarf in his hat the secret letter spoke of.” - -“The secret letter? What! you have received one too?” - -“I have received one.” In a sudden thought she whipped round on -Hamilton. “And you, also, cousin, judging by your token.” - -“Cousin!” roared Chesterfield. “What, you too, George!” For, seeing -further disguise useless, that gentleman had also discovered himself. -“Damme! am I to fight you all?” He stamped with fury. “Who and what is -at the bottom of this juggling?” - -“Why, Kit,” said Hamilton coolly--he guessed pretty well the truth, -and was only mad with himself for having walked so tamely into the -trap--“whoever Kit may be. I had the letter, sure enough, and acted on -it. ’Twas the green bow, nothing else, for which I went. How could I -know your wife behind it?” - -“Why, not at all,” quoth my lady, “by what you said to her. I think, -cousin, you were the most mistaken of us all.” - -He felt the cold, sarcastic sting in her tone, and knew himself -revealed and dismissed from that moment. - -Chesterfield clinched and convulsed his fists in impotent desperation. -“But--but----” he shouted, and turned on his wife again. “Kit was to -wear a scarf, I tell you.” - -“No, a bow,” said she. - -“And nothing else, madam?” he cried. - -“There would be no disputing Kit’s sex in that case,” said Hamilton -pleasantly. And then he laughed. “But there are still two potential -Kits in the field--and both unmasked. Why not ask them?” - -Obviously it was the simple course. Chesterfield pounced on the Duke-- - -“You hear? Kit or the devil, man--whichever you are, confess -yourself.” - -His Highness hesitated--it was an awkward moment for him--and -succumbed, finally, to the tyranny of circumstance. - -“I could claim my privilege, and refuse, sir,” said he, “were it not -that by persisting in this disguise the fair fame of an innocent lady -might appear to lack its vindication. I took her, if not for another, -at least not for herself,” and he pulled off his vizard in his turn. - -“The Duke of York!” muttered the Earl, falling back a little, with a -stupefied look; while Kate, on her part, her face flushing crimson, -bent her eyes on the ground. - -But in a moment she looked up, and, clasping her hands, took a -passionate step forward. - -“My lord Duke,” she said, urgently and pitifully, “tell him--you owe -it to me--that I knew nothing of your presence here, that I guessed -you as little as he did himself. My behaviour proves it.” - -“Surely, madam,” said his Highness, rather grimly. “It should be -self-evident to any reasonable man. But to put the matter beyond -dispute, I confess myself a victim to the same mischievous agency -which, it seems, has been working this havoc amongst us. From private -information received, I understood that here, on this night, a green -scarf was to rally to a green bow, the pass-word ‘Kit,’ and ’twas in -a mere spirit of frolic that I undertook to be present in order to -confuse the issue. If I had guessed for a moment----” - -“But you did not guess, Sir,” said Chesterfield dryly, and only half -convinced. - -“I did not guess,” said the Duke, mildly and piously. “And now comes -in the question, who is the one responsible for all this -misunderstanding?” - -“Kit!” cried Moll. She was standing a little apart on a rising mound. -“Kit!” she cried, with a ringing laugh. “Here’s Kit!” And she took -from her pocket a little impish, sexless doll, a mere thing of cloth -and wire, which she flourished in the air. “My darling,” she said, -hugging and kissing the fetish. “Look at them! Look at it, good -people! It’s always been with me, everywhere, from the time I was a -baby; and sometimes it’s a girl, and sometimes a boy; and I never can -tell from one minute to another what it will be up to next. O, you -dear!” and she held the rubbish to her young breast, swaying it as if -it were an infant. - -They had all turned on her, like a pack baying a little speared otter. -Stupefaction marked their faces; a dead silence ensued. - -And suddenly, in the midst of it, awoke a sound--music--the plucking -of fingers on harp strings; and with one impulse they turned. - -It came from the darkness of the trees--sweet, wild, unearthly; it -rose on the starry night like incense, like a drug, like a spell, -taking their brains captive. And in a moment it had slipped into a -symphony, preluding some wonder--and the girl, as if irresistibly -compelled, was singing-- - - “My lodging is on the cold ground, - And hard, very hard, is my fare, - But that which grieves me more - Is the coldness of my dear. - Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, - turn to me, - For thou art the only one, love, - that art ador’d by me. - - I’ll twine thee a garland of straw, love, - I’ll marry thee with a rush ring, - My frozen hopes will thaw, love, - And merrily we will sing. - Then turn to me, my own love; - I prythee, love, turn to me, - For thou art the only one, love, - that art adored by me.” - -The voice ceased, and the music. A sort of universal sigh seemed to -breathe from the hearts of the listeners. It was like a sigh of -waking. The girl wiped her eyes, and sniffed, and laughed. - -“Well, what next?” she said defiantly. - -Chesterfield, the least impressible of the group, took a furious step -forward. - -“That mask,” he said hoarsely, “that mask!” and without the least -demur she whipped it from her face, and stood saucily before them. He -turned on his wife. - -“You see, madam? Your friend!” - -“No friend of mine!” cried her ladyship. “How dare you so insult me?” - -He stared bewildered. - -“No friend of yours? Did you not invite her to our house?” - -“Never! You know you did yourself.” - -“I? Before God, no! I thought she was your guest.” - -“What is this, my lord? And I thought her yours.” - -“Mine? I had never seen her in my life before. That hussy!” - -Again that amazed inquisition of the delinquent. - -“Hussy yourself!” cried Moll. And then she screamed with laughter. “O! -don’t look so perplexed, good people! It’s all right. Neither of you -invited me. I invited myself.” - -“Yourself?” cried my lady, dumbfounded. - -“Why, you see, my dear,” said Moll, “as you weren’t on speaking terms, -I thought I might risk it, as each of you would suppose the other had -asked me. And so I did; and so it turned out; and I’ve had a good -time, a killing time, and I thank you both for it. And I’m glad to see -your little difference is made up at last, and to know that I’m after -all the one you’ve got to thank for it.” - -“You?” cried her ladyship, with infinite scorn. - -“Yes, me, my dear,” said Moll. “Now don’t be nasty about it. ’Twas I, -you know, wrote all those letters and arranged this little mixture, by -which you’ve come to profit.” - -“You infamous creature!” said Kate. “Who suggested this trick to you?” - -Hamilton, if he did not look, felt, supremely uncomfortable. But he -need not have feared his confederate’s loyalty. “Honour amongst -thieves” was a good enough motto for her. - -“Kit,” said Mrs. Moll. “’Tis a rare little impy when it chooses.” - -He breathed again. As for his Highness, he had already, realizing that -he had been well fooled, and unwilling to risk any further -compromising revelations, slipped quietly and unostentatiously away. - -Kate breathed her disdain. - -“I will know,” she began, and paused. Perhaps, after all, she _did_ -know--or guess. Her indignant eyes sought her cousin. - -“Be wise,” said Hamilton, with a laugh, “and leave it at that. When -all’s said, you know, ’tis very truth that she’s to thank, however she -chose to work it, for this--this tender reconciliation.” - -She turned her shoulder on him and his sneering, and again addressed -Moll-- - -“Was it not enough to impose yourself on us, as you did, without -setting your wicked wits to work to spite us in this fashion? Why did -you do it?” - -“O!” said Mrs. Davis nonchalantly, “I was tired of you all and your -tragic ways; and I wanted some fun; and there was none to be got out -of that jealous grumps of a husband of yours; and--and so I played for -a general post. What then, and what cause have you, of all people, to -blame me for it?” - -Now, at that, Chesterfield, uttering an oath, made a run for the saucy -creature, as if he were minded to strike her. - -“No, damn it, Phil!” cried Hamilton, moving to interpose--“hold your -hand. What cause have you either, for that matter!” - -“Cause!” cried the nobleman, glaring round. “What the devil do you do -defending her? Are you in her confidence? Cause, by God! I’ll have her -by the heels for a common rogue and impostor--I’ll----” and he was -making for the girl again. - -She struck out at him, with a little shriek. - -“Jack Davis,” she cried, “are you going to see your wife ill-treated -before your eyes?” - -There was a rustle in the shadows, and a long form came bounding out, -and seemed to tumble towards the mound. - -“Zounds!” ejaculated Hamilton, “his wife! If it isn’t the harping -prodigy!” He whistled. “’Tis all plain now.” - -“Hold, sir!” cried the musician. “This is indeed my wife.” - -He ascended the mound, and stood shoulder to shoulder beside that -injured lady. Chesterfield fell back, snorting, while Kate ran to him -and clutched his arm. That touch, so desired, so unfamiliar, seemed to -fall like balm on his passion. - -Moll looked up, with a twinkle of dismal resignation, at the sad, -adoring face above her. - -“So you’ve found me at last, Jack,” she said, “and all my fun’s over, -I suppose, for the present. Well-a-day!” and she heaved a great sigh. -“How did you know me?” - -“Know you!” he exclaimed; and O, the aching tragedy, to him, implied -in those two words! “Was not your voice enough, child, when you cried -‘Brava!’ There is none other like it in all the world. I followed -it--when I could, and some instinct led me hither. And then and -then--O, I wondered if you could be moved in the old way; -and--and----” - -“And I was moved, Jack; I had to sing when you made me. Lud, if you -could only be always the angel your playing makes you! But”--she -heaved her shoulders pettishly--“well, I must come back to be your -wife again, I suppose.” - -“Will you, Molly?” Poor wretch--the rapture and the marvel! - -“O yes!” she said indifferently. “Well, what have you been doing with -yourself all this while?” - -“Playing for bread,” he answered. “I took another name--Bannister--my -mother’s; and I think it blessed me. I have been making a reputation -and a fortune, Molly.” - -“A fortune!” cried the lady, opening her eyes. “Then I’ll come with -you, sure. La, now! what must all these folks think of us, making love -in public?” - -She led him down from the mound, up to the listening group, astonished -spectators of this domestic reunion. She was quite cool and impudent. - -“These are some of my friends, Jack,” says she--“or were, till a -moment ago. You don’t ask me what I’ve been doing since we quarrelled -and parted. Well, they’ll tell you, if you are curious, only don’t you -believe all they say.” And then she addressed the company: “My -lord--hem!--ladies and gentlemen. I’ve found, though quite unexpected, -the husband I came to London to seek, not the one I meant but an old -one I had thought used up. Never mind for that; and I daresay both my -lady and me know what it is to wear a turned gown; but the point is -that, if you ever doubted of my respectability--and some of you may; -not all, perhaps, recognizing the thing when they see it--here’s the -proof of it to answer you, and so shall remain, until we quarrel again -and go our ways as before.” - -“No, no!” said the radiant creature, with a patient smile. - -“No, no!” croaked Hamilton, with a laugh. - -“To spite _you_,” cried Moll, blazing on him, “I’d live with him for -ever--at least, for part of it!” - -“Poor man! what a vengeance!” said her ladyship, and turned with cold -disdain on the mocker (she still held her husband’s arm). “I trust you -appreciate your punishment, cousin,” she said, “and will submit to it -without resorting to the bad counsel of jealousy.” And so she faced -the lady. “I congratulate you, Mrs. Davis, on your--your proof. We had -not learned, I confess, to associate you with angels in any form, and -the very opportune arrival of this one--whether in the conspiracy or -not--must serve you, I suppose, for a means to escape the chastisement -you have so richly deserved at our hands. Under what circumstances and -at whose instigation you were moved to venture on this audacity it is -idle to inquire--we should never extract the truth. Nor, the air being -cleared of you, need we now wish to. When one has thrown off a -sickness, one likes to dismiss its unpleasantness from one’s thoughts. -Your boxes, with their green bows, and vulgarities, and thrice-turned -gowns, and whatever other stage ‘properties’ or ‘perquisites’ they may -contain, shall be sent to your direction. Come, my lord”--and she -turned very stately, and, entering the track with her husband, -disappeared along it. - -“There’s gratitude!” cried Moll; and, positively snivelling, threw -herself upon Sad Jack’s sober bosom. - -Hamilton, looking on, with a grin wrinkling his nose, shrugged his -shoulders, began to whistle, and sauntered off in another direction. - -My lord and lady, in the meantime, walked like reconciled lovers. - -“Do you know,” she said, with an arch smile, “that ’twas you first -broke the silence between us?” - -“No, no,” said he, stopping. - -“Ah! but it was.” - -“It was not, I say.” - -“And I say it was.” - -They had edged apart. For the moment it seemed as if it was all to -begin over again. - -“Curse it!” muttered my lord. - -“Why, do not you remember,” said she, rallying to sweetness, “that you -declared you knew me?” - -He bit his lip, scowled, and brightened. - -“That’s true, my lady. But I have not gone down on my knees to you.” - -And on the very word, advancing a pace, he tripped over a stump and -went down on his knees. - -She checked an impulse to laugh, and did the tactful thing. As he got -to his feet, she gazed at him with dear dove’s eyes, and said she-- - -“And now _I_ will ask the pardon. O, I would ask anything, do anything -for you, my lord, since learning--since learning----” - -He tucked her arm within his, and they went on together. - -And on the green, in the light of the fading lamps, Moll snivelled. - -“What does this all mean? What mischief hast thou been up to, thou -incorrigible one?” asked the fond fellow, her husband, as he held her. - -“Not I, but Kit,” said the girl, and, with a tearful laugh, she -produced the fetish, and held it up to his face. - -“What!” said he, smiling. “Dost thou still carry that absurd imp about -with thee?” - -“Always, and wherever I go,” she answered solemnly. And then, with a -sigh: “I think he is the only one my heart hath ever really loved--the -first, as he shall be the last. There, don’t gloom, Jack, but kiss -him--kiss him!” - - [The End] - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - -Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ mussey-me/mussey me, -whimple/wimple, etc.) have been preserved. - -Alterations to the text: - -Add TOC. - -[Chapter II] - -Change “was already _susspected_ of a leaning in” to _suspected_. - -[Chapter XVIII] - -(would be ours! But the senses are cloudy interpreters”) add missing -period. - -[End of text] - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLL DAVIS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Moll Davis</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bernard Capes</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 7, 2023 [eBook #69720]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLL DAVIS ***</div> - -<h1> -MOLL DAVIS -</h1> - -<p class="center"> -A COMEDY -</p> - -<p class="center mt2"> -<i>By</i> BERNARD CAPES<br> -<span class="font80">AUTHOR OF<br> -“THE LAKE OF WINE,” “A JAY OF ITALY,” ETC., ETC.</span> -</p> - -<p class="center mt4"> -LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.<br> -RUSKIN HOUSE MUSEUM STREET W.C. -</p> - - -<h2> -[COPYRIGHT] -</h2> - -<p class="center"> -<i>First published in 1916</i> -</p> - -<p class="center mt4"> -(<i>All rights reserved</i>) -</p> - - -<h2> -CONTENTS -</h2> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch01">Chapter I</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch02">Chapter II</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch03">Chapter III</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch04">Chapter IV</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch05">Chapter V</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch06">Chapter VI</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch07">Chapter VII</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch08">Chapter VIII</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch09">Chapter IX</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a> -</p> - -<p class="toc_1"> -<a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a> -</p> - - -<h2> -MOLL DAVIS -</h2> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01"> -CHAPTER I -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Somewhere</span> about the western angle now formed by the junction of -Oxford Street and the Charing Cross Road, there stood in the year 1661 -“The Mischief” Inn. It was a substantial building, consisting of two -gabled sections, divided by a third and wider having a pent-roof, and -forming with the others a deep recess, in whose ground quarters was -plentiful accommodation for the stabling of horses. At the level of -the first story ran a railed wooden balcony, common to all the -bedrooms behind; and in the yard below were rough benches and -trestle-tables disposed about, where customers might forgather to -discuss, over their pipes and purl, such topics as went seasonably -with them—it might be his popular Majesty’s latest roguery, or “Old -Mob’s,” almost as great a thief and favourite. -</p> - -<p> -“The Mischief,” standing as it did on the great highway running east -and west, formed a convenient terminus for travellers journeying from -the contiguous wilds of Berkshire and Wiltshire, the majority of whom, -for reasons of economy, came by “waggon.” This was a vast road craft, -with a tilt, and tyres to its wheels a foot wide, whose consistent -record of progress never exceeded three miles to the hour. It was -drawn commonly by six sturdy roadsters in double harness, and bearing -yokes with swinging bells at the hames of their collars; and time was -never of the essence of its contract. But it was safe, if slow, being -well prepared and armed against surprises, which were by no means of -infrequent occurrence by the days-long way, especially as London was -approached. -</p> - -<p> -Oxford Street itself, indeed, bore a villainous reputation. It -stretched somewhat on the borders of the town, with wild and wooded -country going northwards from it, and was handy therefore to the -gentry whose profession it was to cut purses from the skirts of -civilization. Latterly, its heterogeneous domiciles had shown a -tendency to increase and multiply, and, by adding to their number on -either side the way, to extend the boundaries of the comparative -security which obtained about the central regions of Westminster and -Whitehall. But it was still a perilous district, the very expression -and moral of which appeared epitomized in the sign which swung on a -high gallows, beside a wooden water-trough, before the front of our -inn, and which depicted a poor unhappy citizen bearing upon his -suffering shoulders a drunken scold. In the neighbourhood of the -building clustered, like disreputable relations, a knot of tenements, -which included a pawnbroker’s and a gin-shop; and southwards from it -zigzagged a muddy bridle-way—known appropriately as Hog Lane—which, -traversing a motley course, half town, half rookery, debouched finally -upon the village of Charing, where in an open place stood the monument -with its gilt cross. -</p> - -<p> -So, approximately, appeared this particle of our London in the year -following that of the King’s Grace’s restoration, A.D. 1661. It is -easier to explain a frog of to-day out of a Pliocene leviathan than it -is to trace the growth of a huge metropolis from such paltry -beginnings. The tendency of Nature is to reduce from the unwieldy to -the workable, while that of man is to magnify his productions out of -all proportion with the simple necessities they are wanted to supply. -That is why towns increase while animals grow smaller. -</p> - -<p> -The yard of “The Mischief” Inn was fairly crowded on that particular -June morning which witnessed the encounter between its landlord and -Mrs. Moll Davis. This young lady had come to town out of Wiltshire, by -waggon, some fortnight or more earlier, and, putting up at the inn, -had succeeded already in outstaying a welcome which was wont to be -continued to such angels only as came franked with a sufficiency of -their golden namesakes. In short, Mrs. Davis could not, or would not, -pay her score; and, since she failed to quit the landlord, and he -declined to release her without settlement, a state of deadlock had -arisen between them, which seemed to promise no conclusion but through -the better ability of one or the other to “throw” its adversary in a -wrestle of wit—a contest in which the lady, at least, need expect no -“law.” And it was at this juncture that Mr. George Hamilton appeared -upon the scene. -</p> - -<p> -He was a very agreeable young gentleman, of cavalier rank, debonair -and smart to foppery, which as yet, however, stopped short of the -extravagance which later came to characterize it. He wore his own long -chestnut hair, and a lingering tone of sobriety marked his dress. The -times, in fact, had not quite pulled free their damasked wings from -the Puritan case which had enclosed them, though certain foreshadowed -iridescences gave promise of the splendour to come; and, moreover, the -gentleman had ridden in that morning from the country, and had been in -no mind to stake his sweetest trappings against the habitual quagmires -of Oxford Street. He dismounted at “The Mischief” for his morning -draught, and, giving his horse to hold to his servant, sat down at a -table in the yard, and hammered for the drawer. -</p> - -<p> -George was a bold youth of his inches—which were sufficient—but -quite immoral and unscrupulous. He fitted amiably into his age, which -expected nothing better of a man than good company. That he supplied, -and could have supplied in purer brand if good-fellowship had been its -inevitable corollary. But there he lacked. Generally he wished no man -good but where he saw his own profit of the sentiment; and he could be -an inhuman friend. He had regular, rather full features, and a rolling -brown eye which took in much that had been kindlier left unobserved; -and, like most of his order, he was infernally pugnacious. While his -ale was bringing, he sat, one arm akimbo, the other crossed on his -knee, conning, as if they were cattle, the group about him, and -humming an abstracted tune. There was no one who interested him much, -or who touched a note of originality in all the commonplace crowd -which surrounded him. Grooms, carters, local traders; a seedy rakehell -or two; a lowering Anabaptist, sipping his ale with a toast in it, and -furtively conscious the while of the scrutiny of a yellow trained-band -Captain lolling by the tap door; a prowling pitcher-bawd, lean, -red-eyed, and hugging his famine as he ogled about for custom—one and -all they conformed to type, and presented nothing beyond it worth -considering. George felt quarrelsome over the matter, as if he had -been defrauded of a legitimate expectation. True, mankind in its -ordinary habits and conversation could hardly be looked to at the best -for more than diluted epigram; yet there should be a limit to the -insipidity of things, and he felt it almost his duty to insist upon -the fact. Possibly his brain was a little fevered from last night’s -debauch. -</p> - -<p> -The seedy Mohawks were his nearest neighbours. Said one to his fellow, -in the words of Banquo’s murderer: “It will be rain to-night.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton turned on him. -</p> - -<p> -“Who says so, clout?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir!” exclaimed the young man, startled aback. -</p> - -<p> -“I say, who says so?” -</p> - -<p> -“I say so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then a pox on your profanity! Are you to arrogate to yourself the -Almighty’s prerogatives? It shall rain or not as the Lord decrees.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hallelujah, young sir!” boomed the Anabaptist. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you say it will not rain?” demanded George, addressing him. -</p> - -<p> -“Nay,” answered the Fifth-Monarchist; “but I trust it will not.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you are as bad as the other,” said George, “since you are as -ready to lament the Almighty’s dispensations.” He snapped again on the -luckless first speaker. “I am a man of submission, for my part, and -content to accept whatever comes—even if it be a fool to spit himself -on my rapier-point. I’ll take you on that question of your damned -divinity.” -</p> - -<p> -The landlord came up at the moment, bringing his drink, and -simultaneously there appeared, on the balcony above, the figure of a -young girl. A certain hush had fallen on the crowd, expectant of a -fracas. -</p> - -<p> -“Zoons!” said Boniface sourly; “we’ll have no talk of swords, by your -leave. No swords, my lord, none. This is no hedge-tavern; we want no -fire-eaters here! We’ve a reputation to maintain.” -</p> - -<p> -He was a gross, club-fisted man, with a sooty underlip. It needed such -to keep a grip on the sort of company he dealt with. -</p> - -<p> -“A reputation for mischief, by the token,” said Hamilton derisively, -“or you fly false colours.” -</p> - -<p> -The landlord grumbled violently. “No steel, by God! I say. I’m master -here.” He was already out of temper, and, glancing up, found a timely -butt for his wrath in the figure on the balcony. With an exclamation -of fury, he heaved his shoulders through the mob until he came under. -</p> - -<p> -“Here, you!” he roared. “Who let your ladyship out of duress?” -</p> - -<p> -She nodded and smiled down. -</p> - -<p> -“A hairpin,” she said. “I managed to pick the lock with it.” -</p> - -<p> -She was young—almost a child, with blue eyes laughing in a saucy -face. From under a black whimple, set coquettishly on her head and -garnished with a sprig of rosemary, filched from the kitchen, hung -thick brown curls over dolly-pink cheeks. A deep-falling collar, quite -plain, was set about her slender throat, and loosely knotted into it -was a tasselled cord. An underskirt of stone blue, and an upper one of -brown, bunched at the tail into a little pannier, completed a very -attractive picture. Hamilton, his attention drawn to it, sat up, -interested and mollified at once. -</p> - -<p> -“Then,” cried the landlord, with an oath or two, “you’ll e’en return -whence you came, or I’ll bring the law on you for house-breaking! -Bing-awast! Back you go to your chamber, bobtail!” -</p> - -<p> -The lady nodded again, pursing cherry lips; and prompt the answer came -from them— -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll see you damned first!” -</p> - -<p> -The crowd bawled with laughter; but the landlord, purple in the face, -turned to storm the heights by way of a flight of steps which gave -access to the balcony from the yard corner. Before he had well -started, however, Hamilton’s voice stayed him— -</p> - -<p> -“Hold, vintner! Steel or no steel, I take up this quarrel!” -</p> - -<p> -He had risen, and now advanced to the scene of action, the press -giving way to him. His air, his obvious rank, no less than his hint of -a dangerous temper, were his sufficient passports, not only with the -company but to the landlord’s better consideration. The man scowled -and muttered; but he stood halted. Hamilton blew a kiss to the rosy -nymph before he turned on her persecutor. -</p> - -<p> -“Duress! House-breaking!” quoth he. “What terms are these to hold an -angel fast? Tell us her crime, bluffer!” -</p> - -<p> -“Angel!” responded the landlord deeply. “Aye, a pretty angel, to cully -a poor innkeeper out of his dues! Look you here, master—you that are -so righteous—will you pay your angel her shot?” -</p> - -<p> -“She owes you board and lodging?” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, she does; seven days and more.” -</p> - -<p> -George looked up at the balcony. -</p> - -<p> -“Is that true, child?” -</p> - -<p> -The girl had already produced a little handkerchief, which she now -dabbed to her eyes, her breath catching very touchingly. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure I would find the money if I could,” she said. “He might give me -credit for my good intentions.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll give you credit for nothing!” roared the landlord. “God -A’mighty! She’ll be asking for a cash advance on her good intentions -next!” -</p> - -<p> -George hushed him down. -</p> - -<p> -“Whence do you hail, child,” he said, “and whither make?” -</p> - -<p> -She whimpered. “I’m but a poor maid, out of Wiltshire, kind sir, and -’tis a husband I seek.” -</p> - -<p> -“A husband!” quoth he. “Alack that I’m none myself, to accommodate -your need. But if a bachelor might serve——” -</p> - -<p> -The crowd hooted again. -</p> - -<p> -“Pay her shot, Captain, and hold her hostage for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Shall I?” said Hamilton. He addressed the childish countenance above, -observing for the first time the tiniest of patches placed under the -corner of its baby mouth. That gave him some sniggering thought. It -seemed to suggest the footlight Chloe rather than the genuine article. -Moreover the baggage appeared, for all her seeming innocence, quite -self-possessed. He wondered. “What do you say, child?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -She had fallen back a little, using her handkerchief. Now she started, -as if conscious of some question, and leaned forward again. -</p> - -<p> -“Was it the gentleman with the plum-pudding eye that spoke?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -A clap of new laughter greeted the seeming artless sally. George -cachinnated with the rest, but in a mortified fashion. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” says he; “and a very sweet simile, my dear.” He turned to the -landlord. “What is she, vintner?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>God</i> knows,” answered the man morosely. “A strolling play-actress, -like as not. She’s no good, whatever she is.” -</p> - -<p> -“No good is a better woman than you, you radish!” cried the girl. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s certain,” said Hamilton. “You are answered, bluffer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Answered?” said the man. “Aye, I know her. Trust her young tongue to -answer, though you provoked it in the middle of a song.” -</p> - -<p> -“Song? Does she sing?” -</p> - -<p> -“Does she <i>not</i>—like the wicked young syrup she is. Sings like a -kettle.” -</p> - -<p> -The lady laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“And best when in hot water. Shall I sing to you now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sing for your supper, like Master Tom Tucker,” said the Cavalier. -“Yes, sing, by all means; only come down to do it. I’ll go bail for -her,” he assured the landlord. -</p> - -<p> -The man grumbled, but submitted, and George beckoned the nymph. -</p> - -<p> -“Descend,” said he, “and give us of your quality. You shall not lose -by it.” -</p> - -<p> -She nodded, disappeared for a moment, and returning with a lute, ran -to the stairs, descended to the yard, and stood among the company, -confident and unabashed. And straight and readily she touched the -strings, with slender fingers seeming oddly native to that tuneful -contact, and sang the little song which afterwards came to be the most -associated with her naughty name. -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">My lodging is on the cold ground,</p> -<p class="i1">And hard, very hard, is my fare,</p> -<p class="i0">But that which grieves me more</p> -<p class="i1">Is the coldness of my dear.</p> -<p class="i4">Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn</p> -<p class="i5">to me,</p> -<p class="i4">For thou art the only one, love,</p> -<p class="i5">that art ador’d by me.</p> - -<p class="i0 mt1">I’ll twine thee a garland of straw, love,</p> -<p class="i1">I’ll marry thee with a rush ring,</p> -<p class="i0">My frozen hopes will thaw, love,</p> -<p class="i1">And merrily we will sing.</p> -<p class="i4">Then turn to me, my own love;</p> -<p class="i5">I prythee, love, turn to me,</p> -<p class="i4">For thou art the only one, love,</p> -<p class="i5">that art ador’d by me.</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -There was silence as she ended, for indeed the child’s voice was of -the sweetest, as full and natural as a bird’s; and then came a round -of applause. Hamilton hushed it, rather angrily. “Would ye slam down -the lid of the virginal while the last notes still ring in it?” he -said. “Unfeeling dolts!” -</p> - -<p> -Sweet music touched him; perhaps it was the only gentleness that -could. It wrought a glamour which willy-nilly fooled his better -reason. It did so now, conscious as he was of his own enthralment. -Here was no longer a child adventuress, but a plaintive innocent, -melodiously sorrowing in Nature’s very voice. He was never a giver in -the disinterested sense; now the song decided a point on which he had -hitherto wavered. He turned impulsively to the landlord. -</p> - -<p> -“What is her debt?” said he. “I discharge it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thirty shillings and a groat,” answered the other promptly. -</p> - -<p> -“Knock off the groat,” said Hamilton, “for your contribution. What, -man, who calls the tune must pay the piper.” -</p> - -<p> -He would hear no remonstrances, but waved the innkeeper away. “Come -aside with me,” he said to the girl; and, very willingly it seemed, -she obeyed. He led her to a table apart, where he sat her down, -himself facing her, and there was none of the company rash enough to -question by so much as a snigger that implied claim to privacy in a -public place. Most dispersed about their business, while the few who -remained gave the couple a respectfully wide berth. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said Hamilton, “who are you, pretty one?” -</p> - -<p> -“A poor deserted wife, kind sir,” she answered, “as ever wedded a -villain.” -</p> - -<p> -“A wife—you baby!” -</p> - -<p> -“Please, I was married in long clothes,” said she. -</p> - -<p> -“And who taught you that song?” -</p> - -<p> -“Grief,” she said—“and Mr. Bedding.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your husband?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, no!” says she. “There was no bedding with him.” -</p> - -<p> -He conned her shrewdly. He was already beginning to recover himself, -and to suspect a hussy under this rose. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“He was that jealous,” she answered, “if the moon looked in at the -window, he would accuse me of making eyes at the man in her.” -</p> - -<p> -“That was in Wiltshire?” -</p> - -<p> -“Where our home was, sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“And so you left him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Bedding came by, and took me to sing for him. But a strolling -company was never to my taste.” -</p> - -<p> -“So you left it and came to town?” -</p> - -<p> -“I went home again.” -</p> - -<p> -“To your husband?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, he was gone.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gone?” -</p> - -<p> -“He had taken umbrage, as they call it—he was always one to mind a -little thing—and off’d with it to Jericho, leaving me nothing but his -curse—not so much as a sixpence beside.” -</p> - -<p> -“And so you followed him—to Jericho?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not I. I followed my own inclinations, and they brought me here.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, inclinations spend more than they hoard, as a rule. Haven’t you -found it so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure, I’ve no need to hoard, when kind gentlemen pay my bills for -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s as it may be, Mrs. —— By the by, what <i>is</i> your name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Mary Davis, by your leave, kind sir; but my intimates call me Moll. -Please, what is yours?” -</p> - -<p> -“George Hamilton, Moll.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s a good name, George. Are you of the King’s Court?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been there.” -</p> - -<p> -“I do so long to see the King—a dear, kind gentleman. They call him -in our parts the father of his people. Is he?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,—of quite a number of them. Why do you want to see the King?” -</p> - -<p> -“Only—O, just to see him!” -</p> - -<p> -George wagged a finger at the artless young baggage. -</p> - -<p> -“O-ho! Mrs. Mollinda,” says he. “Does the wind lie that way? You have -begun early, true enough; and you’ll not fail for lack of confidence -in your pretty wits. But it’s a long climb from the cradle to the -four-poster.” He laughed. “Upon my word—the baby’s assurance! and by -way of such obstacles!” -</p> - -<p> -She turned pained, troubled eyes on the scoffer, making as if to rise. -</p> - -<p> -“What have I said in my innocence?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing at all,” says he. “Your innocence never spoke a word. But, by -God! your looks are voluble. I’ faith, you’re the sweetest darling, -Mrs. Moll, and for that I’ll be your friend, if you will, as a decent -young gentleman should. What would you have me do? Find your husband -for you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Alack! Is that to be my friend?” -</p> - -<p> -“The best, maybe—but by and by. Who knows? He may come to serve us -with royalty yet. Do you trust me, Moll?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure a poor girl like me must live on trust.” -</p> - -<p> -“So she must, and live very well too. Did that rogue of a landlord -really keep you fast?” -</p> - -<p> -“On my honour he did.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t swear by false idols.” -</p> - -<p> -“What have I said now?” -</p> - -<p> -“That he put you on your honour.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, that he did not. My honour’s not for such as him.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, indeed. It flies at higher game. Well, he must keep you still, -for a while.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not he!” -</p> - -<p> -“He must, I say. You must bide here till I can arrange of your -fortunes. I’m but by the road, and will come again anon. Never fear; -I’ll see you well provided. But you must lie close for the moment, if -you would have my help.” -</p> - -<p> -“In what?” -</p> - -<p> -“To see the King, of course.” -</p> - -<p> -She clapped her little hands in artless glee. -</p> - -<p> -“Shall I see the King?” -</p> - -<p> -“See him and sing to him, perhaps. In the meantime you’re mine to -dispose of. Is it a bargain?” He rose, and she with him, her -expression downcast and demure. “That’s well,” said he. “Give me a -buss, Mrs. Moll, in token of our understanding.” -</p> - -<p> -He bent over the table, pulled her to him, and set his lips under the -dangling curls. Then, being released, she ran with a face of fire to -the steps, and, ascending them, to the accompaniment of an -irrepressible guffaw or so from the spectators, paused a moment on the -balcony above, hearing a jackass bray in the stables. -</p> - -<p> -“What an echo there is in this place,” says she to the heads below, -“when you gentlemen all laugh together!” and whisked into her room. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, in the meantime, going to arrange terms with the landlord, -grinned agreeably to his own thoughts. The chit had neither imposed on -him nor, comely limb though she was, disorganized his emotions. -Indeed, being deeply engaged at the moment to an intrigue which -absorbed his most passionate energies, he had no appetite for -supplementary complications. Still, beauty was beauty, and to invest -in it, with whatever view to ultimate profit of one sort or the other, -was never a bad principle. He had no conception at present of any use -to which to put these covetable goods which good fortune had committed -to his hands; but that he could find a use for them, and one that -should be personally gainful, he never had a doubt. The only necessity -was promptitude. He had seen enough to know that his hold on the skit -was to be measured by just the length and elasticity of the tether by -which he might strive to keep her under his nominal control. And that -tether must be provided shortly, or she would scamper free of her own -accord. But he was a man of distinguished resourcefulness in such -matters, and he never questioned his own ability to convert this -capture somehow to a profitable end. And in the meanwhile the girl was -well disposed where no prowling town-bull might come by her to steal a -march on him. Indeed, to make assurance double sure, he hinted to the -landlord of a favour contingent on his holding himself responsible, as -heretofore, for the safe custody of his guest, with a suggestion that -locks which yielded themselves to the insidious manipulations of -hairpins were better supplemented by stouter defences. And, having -satisfied himself as to that, he departed. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch02"> -CHAPTER II -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">In</span> a fine panelled room which gave, through two large windows, upon -the privy gardens of Whitehall Palace, a lady and a gentleman were -seated as far apart as the limits of the chamber would permit. She, in -her place, worked at a sampler, or affected to work; and he, in his, -read in a book, or affected to read. -</p> - -<p> -The room was such as, with the best will in the world, we cannot, -lacking its appropriate human furniture, preserve, or reproduce, in -these days without vital loss to its character. We may possess the -sombre panels, the rich-hued pictures with their gilded frames -sufficiently illuminating the austerity, the Venetian glass -girandoles, reflecting in the polished floor below, as in water, their -starry opalescences; we may have, or acquire, the brass-studded, or -the stamped leather, or the screw-railed chairs, the elaborately -carved or the gate-legged tables, the priceless Persian rugs—which, -by the by, are but an early fashion resumed—the gilt caskets and the -silvered mirrors: we can <i>not</i>, unless to bring great ridicule upon -ourselves, wear the long lovelocks down our cheeks, or the silk -favours at our shoulders, or the jewelled cravats and beribboned hose -and breeches, without which all the rest must figure but as an -anachronism, a discordance, an Elgin marble ravished from its -Parthenon, and lined up for show in a glass-roofed museum. That we do -try to reconcile the irreconcilable in these matters, using Early -English cradles as receptacles for our faggots, and hanging up our -silk hats in antique ambries, is due to the fact that we have lost the -art, or the instinct, for decorative appropriateness. In those remote -but less “original” days the same mind that conceived the idol adorned -its shrine. -</p> - -<p> -But if fashions in dress change and change, there was never in all -history but one fashion in human moods and tempers. Those, whether -figured in love, hate, desire, or jealousy, have been worn since the -Fall to the single unchangeable pattern which wrought and accompanied -it. One could not, in fact, from the fashion of their minds, have -distinguished these two seated apart from any ill-assorted married -couple of to-day. -</p> - -<p> -And yet they had been wedded Earl and Countess not so many months but -that their differences might have less divorced them. That those -amounted to what they did was entirely the fault of the husband, who -had chosen deliberately to provoke an estrangement in perverse spite -of a certain felt premonition that his villainy was about to recoil on -his own head. He really was a villain, this Lord Chesterfield; if only -in one essential a greater than most of the young fire-eating -profligates of his time. That he had fought several duels, and killed -his man in one at least of them, was nothing out of the common; that -he had formed a number of loose attachments with petticoats of sorts -was only to be expected of a gentleman of his rank and fortune; but -that he had wedded with his young Countess on such terms of -opportunism and self-interest as were a disgrace to himself and an -outrage to her—there was the unpardonable sin. He had wantonly -insulted her jealousy; to be rent and mangled by the yellow demon in -his turn would serve him excellently right. -</p> - -<p> -The long and the short of the situation is explained in a few words. A -certain Mrs. Palmer, who had secured the King’s favour to that extent -that letters patent to the Earldom of Castlemaine were already in -process of being prepared for her husband, had not failed to qualify -herself before her exaltation, it was said, for the sort of business -which had procured it; and prominent among her admirers had been named -his lordship of Chesterfield, Philip Stanhope. This mature young -gentleman—some twenty-eight years of age at the time of which we -write—had in consequence found himself a person somewhat “suspect” -and ill-considered in the royal regard, and being very willing, in his -own interests, to propitiate his master by disavowing the least -thought of rivalry with him in the matter of the lady’s favour, had, -as the surest proof of his sincerity, paid forthwith his ardent -devoirs to a daughter of the Duke of Ormonde, a young lady, -conventually bred, of the sweetest looks and innocence. In brief, his -suit had sped so well with this darling that their union had not been -long in following the days of fervid courtship; when, having secured -his object, the perfidious creature dropped his mask, and gave his -young wife indirectly but very plainly to understand that his passion -for her had been a pretence, that a former idol was by no means -dethroned in his heart, and that he had no longer personal use for the -affection which he had been at the pains to excite for no other -purpose than to throw dust in the eyes of a certain distinguished -individual. He had not, of course, said this in so many words; but he -had let his manner, his neglect, his indifference imply what amounted -to a confession of it in a fashion which was unmistakable, and which -no woman, however unsophisticated, could misread, and not one in ten -thousand fail to resent. -</p> - -<p> -The young Countess resented it, naturally. She resented it, I am not -going so far as to say, as one in her situation might resent it at -this day; but she resented it conformably to the different standard of -morals which prevailed in her own, and which did not leave even a -delicately bred <i>ingénue</i> in complete illusionment as to the conduct -of men in general and husbands in particular. She had lived for a -year, moreover, within echo of the scandals at Whitehall—where her -father, as Lord High Steward, held a prominent position—and enough -may have filtered through to her ears therefrom to correct any -extravagant notions she might once have formed as to the ideality of -the married state. Still, and when all is said, the fine depths of her -nature found themselves grievously outraged in this application of a -common rule to her particular case; while, being a girl of spirit as -well as sense, the desire to retaliate in form on such perfidy awoke -in her bosom a passion dangerous to its young security. It was not -enough, she felt, to retort on coldness with coldness; she must teach -this scorner of her affections the estimate placed by others on a -possession of which he did not appear to realize the value, and by -opening his eyes through a sense of loss, make him suffer, helplessly -and in excess, those very pangs of jealousy with which he had wantonly -inflicted her. -</p> - -<p> -A perilous policy; but one actuated, at least in its inception, by the -most righteous of motives. The bee that stings deep, however, too -often destroys itself in the loss of its own weapon; and so it may be -with offended chastity. This young Countess, seeking about for an -instrument with which to achieve her purpose, came near to her -downfall in the choice which opportunity, not to speak of kinship, -imposed on her. Mr. George Hamilton, her cousin-german, was its name. -</p> - -<p> -Now see her as she sits affecting to work, with an occasional glance -askance, half derisive, half wistful, at her husband’s pretended -preoccupation, and admit that she is proposing to herself a very risky -course in thus feigning to lease her charms to a tenant so -unscrupulous as Master George. The young wit of her, the natural -delicacy warring with passion, the emotions engendered of such a -combat; and all housed in a form as pretty as that of a Dresden -shepherdess, as pink and white, as endearing in its childish -bloom—what could these all be but so many provocations to a man of -Hamilton’s antecedents to play, by diverting to his own advantage the -sensibilities so fondly entrusted to his sympathy, the part of -Machiavellian seducer? He never hesitated, as a fact, but started at -once to sort the hand which Fortune had so gratuitously thrust upon -him. It was his good luck at the outset that his cousinship, aided and -abetted by his close intimacy with the Earl, gave him the entrée at -all times into those quarters at Whitehall which Chesterfield enjoyed -in right of his position as Groom of the Stole to her Majesty; but, -like the practised <i>intrigant</i> that he was, he used his privilege with -discretion. He was really, to do him justice, very enamoured of the -lady; and, according to his code, free of all moral responsibility in -seeking to make a cuckold of a man who, though he was his personal -friend and confidant, had chosen deliberately to invite such reprisals -on the part of a faith he had grossly abused. At the same time, he did -not under-estimate the delicacy of his task, or the strength of the -instinctive prejudices he had to overcome; though sure enough such -obstacles but added a zest to the pursuit. What as yet he did not -guess was that his own eyes were not alone, nor even the most -compelling, in having discovered and marked down for capture a tender -prey which circumstances seemed to have made quite peculiarly -attainable. In short, his Majesty’s brother, the Duke of York, was -already suspected of a leaning in the same direction. -</p> - -<p> -Poor little, abused Countess! But perhaps it would be better not to -pity her prematurely. -</p> - -<p> -She threw down her work, on a sudden uncontrollable impulse, and -rising to her feet, looked across at the insensible bear opposite. -Some emotion of love and forbearance was working, it seemed, in her; -she hesitated an instant, gazing with full eyes, the knuckles of her -little right hand held to her lips, then hurried across the room, and -addressed her husband. -</p> - -<p> -“Cannot we be friends, Philip, before it is—too late?” -</p> - -<p> -He did not even stir, but just raised his lids indolently and -offensively. He was, to do him justice, a personable man as to his -upper half, with a fine head of mouse-coloured hair and a ready brain -under it; but irresolution spoke in his legs, which were weedy, and -so, inasmuch as the strength of a rope is its weakest part, affected -the stability of the entire structure, physical and moral. He was, in -fact, a waverer and unreliable, overbearing to others because -uncertain of himself, much subject to moods and passions, and always, -as is the case with those whose vanity is up in arms at the least -suspicion of criticism, more disposed to force his way by rudeness -than to win it by consideration. But he was skilled with his sword, -and that, in a quarrelsome age, procured him a better title to respect -than a hundred courtesies would have done. -</p> - -<p> -“Too late for what?” he drawled languidly. -</p> - -<p> -She made a little gesture of helplessness, then rallied to her task. -</p> - -<p> -“Is this,” she said, “the natural fruit of the love you expressed for -me, before—before I became your wife?” -</p> - -<p> -“When you talk of Nature, madam,” he answered, stirring and yawning, -then relapsing into his apathetic attitude, “you forget that with her -a single season covers the whole contract of matrimony.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then is our season ended?” -</p> - -<p> -“You are Lady Chesterfield,” he said. “Is not that sufficient answer?” -</p> - -<p> -“I want no wifehood without love, Philip. Has so little of me proved -so much?” -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged in a way which might have meant anything or nothing. She -went on— -</p> - -<p> -“Or did you woo me under false pretences from the first, making me, as -I more than suspect, merely your unconscious stalking-horse to the -King’s favour?” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, but a little uneasily. -</p> - -<p> -“You get these fancies into your head,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“I do,” she answered; “but they come, I think, to stay. They are not -like your fancies—for this woman or the other—that can be put off or -on to suit your worldly convenience. The King has claimed one of your -fancies, has he not, my lord—a wedded woman, too, Barbara Palmer by -name? That was a shameful thing for both of you; but most shameful for -the man who could deceive an innocent maid to curry favour with his -sovereign. Did you not marry me to show him your heart was wholly -divorced from that earlier idol?” -</p> - -<p> -He drew in his breath, with an oath. -</p> - -<p> -“By God, madam, this is too much!” -</p> - -<p> -“It is too much, indeed,” she said. And then suddenly she held out -entreating hands, her eyes brimming. -</p> - -<p> -“Philip, I could forgive you that—even that—it was before you knew -me—if only you would be to me again what you seemed. Will you, -Philip? If any suspicion of my learning and resenting the truth has -caused this coldness in you, keeping you aloof in your pride, O, -forget it! I am not exacting; I know what men must be. Say only that -you hold me in your true heart above that—that woman, and I will -pardon you everything. Philip, before it is too late!” -</p> - -<p> -He started furiously to his feet, flinging the book in his hand away -from him. -</p> - -<p> -“Pardon! Too late! That threat again! Zounds, madam, you presume. I -neither guess nor heed your meaning. I cherish an image, do I? Very -well, I cherish it. As to yourself, you are distasteful to me. For -what reason? Simply because you are you—no other in the world, I -assure you. And, if that is not enough——” -</p> - -<p> -He stopped, checked in the midst of his wrath by the look in the eyes -before him. It was not submission or fright; it was the spark of a new -amazed dawn. That he had said the thing he could never recall occurred -to him suddenly with an odd sick qualm. He tried to recover the thread -of his discourse, but only to have it tail off into inarticulate -stammerings. -</p> - -<p> -“Enough?” she said in a low voice. “O, truly—and to spare. -Distasteful! Am I that to you? Why, so are all sweets to the -carrion-loving dog. Well, I am well content to have your loathing, -sir. Will you please be gone: there is nothing noisome here to tempt -your palate. <i>Distasteful!</i>” She took a step forward, a single one, -and his eyes flickered. He thought, perhaps, she was going to strike -him. “Now, listen to this,” she said. “I will never, before God, utter -word to you again till you have gone down on your knees to me and -asked my pardon for that insult.” -</p> - -<p> -She turned her shoulder on him and walked apart. He watched her, -lowering, and forced a laugh he meant for one of mockery. -</p> - -<p> -“Silence between us!” he said. “Be assured I make a second, madam, in -that welcome compact.” -</p> - -<p> -He sat down again, and, picking up his book, affected to become -absorbed in it. But all the time his pulses were thumping and his eyes -furtively conning the rebel over the leaf edges. A spot of bright -colour was on her cheek; she trilled a little air, as she seated -herself in her former position, as naturally and light-heartedly as if -she had never a trouble in the world. “Damn her!” he thought. “To take -the upper hand of me like that!” His fury heaved and fermented in him -like yeast in a dough-pan. He sneered at her pretence of cheerful -abstraction. “She is thinking of me,” he reflected, “as I am of her.” -</p> - -<p> -He tried to escape her image, to get genuinely interested in his book; -but his indignation—and something else, that qualmish -something—would always come between. To be faced and flouted by this -bantling, adjudged and sentenced of her furious young disdain! It was -intolerable—not to be endured. A dozen times he twitched, on the -verge of an explosion, and a dozen times, with an ever-diminishing -heat, restrained himself. It was true enough, he thought, as his fume -evaporated, that he had not condescended to tact in his repulse of -her. Diplomatically, at least, he should have been more tender of her -feelings, have attained his end more surely without brutality. She had -some reason for her resentment; and he must admit she had looked well -in expressing it. A clear conscience burned with a clear fire, and -there was something cleanly piquant in the warmth it emitted. It gave -his arid veins a new sensation. Comparing those immature lines with -the fuller which had hitherto besotted his fancy, he found a curious -interest in studying them. It was like extracting a fresh, slender, -white kernel from its grosser husk—a sweet and rather tasty -discovery. Had his eyes been at fault, and his palate? Infatuation, -perhaps, had blinded the one and cloyed the other. Well, he might come -yet to humour this situation—even to atone in some measure for the -unkindness of which he had been guilty. But not at once! She must be -taught her little lesson before he could afford to unbend. She was -really a pretty child, when all was said and done—a brunette, with -large blue eyes appealing and alluring, and a complexion like china -roses. The rest, did he choose to will it, should come to ripen in the -sun of love, like a peach hung on a wall. There was a thrill in the -sense of that power possessed and withheld. With a sigh that was half -a new rapture, he turned resolutely to his reading. -</p> - -<p> -And at that moment Mr. George Hamilton was announced. He entered -gaily, looking the pink of health and comeliness, and, nodding a -cheery greeting to my lord his friend, went to the lady, like one full -confident of his privileged position. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-morrow, cousin,” quoth he. -</p> - -<p> -She dropped her hands, with her work, into her lap, and, leaning -forward, looked up into his face with a smile. -</p> - -<p> -“You are welcome, cousin,” she answered. “I was bored, i’ faith.” -</p> - -<p> -He just glanced at the husband, and laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“In such company, Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -She raised innocent brows. “What company? My own, do you mean? There -is none other here but sticks and stocks.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, say I meant your own. Can that bore you?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, faith, it can!” -</p> - -<p> -“O, faith, then, you’re hard to please!” -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis proof I’m not, for your saying so pleases me. Lord, what a -novelty to hear a compliment!” -</p> - -<p> -He conned her with a puzzled air, then took the piece of work from her -hands and stood quizzing it. -</p> - -<p> -“What is this?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“A sampler,” she answered. “Have you never seen one before?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not in your hands.” -</p> - -<p> -“It has been in my hands, nevertheless, for—O God, I don’t know! -Fifty years, belike. I began it when I was a little girl, and time -goes slowly in these days.” She jumped to her feet, and stood at his -shoulder, pointing out the figures of the design. “Do you see? Here’s -what I noted most, put down as in a commonplace book—people and -texts, and even animals, including a number of my friends. Am I not a -Lely in portraiture, cousin? Here’s my dear nurse, and here my -governess to the life.” -</p> - -<p> -“To the knife, she looks rather. Who’s this—your father?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course, stupid.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you put in none but those you favour?” -</p> - -<p> -“O no! Here and there is one <i>distasteful</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was this a favourite cat?” -</p> - -<p> -She pouted. -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir, a dog.” -</p> - -<p> -“And here’s your husband?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, another dog.” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m! You can get a likeness, indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -My lord, slamming down his book somewhat violently, got to his feet -with a haste which seemed to belie the leisureliness of the stretch -and yawn which followed. -</p> - -<p> -“Am I not to have my place among the favoured?” says Hamilton. -</p> - -<p> -“Would you like it?” questioned the artful rogue. “I should be hard -put to’t to portray so perfect a gentleman. They have not come my way -of late. What hath happened to your brooch, cousin? Stay while I -refasten it for you.” -</p> - -<p> -He lifted his chin obediently, while she manipulated, with deft, -slender fingers, the jewel at his cravat. My lord, with a quick, loud -clearing of his throat, started and came across the room. -</p> - -<p> -“What, George!” said he. “I vow I was so lost in what I read I hardly -noted you. What’s wrong with your cravat?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, his head still tilted, responded brusquely but nosily—“It’s -chokid be, that’s all.” -</p> - -<p> -Her little ladyship laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll be done in a moment, poor man.” -</p> - -<p> -“Zounds!” blustered her husband. “Here, let me fasten it!” -</p> - -<p> -She ignored him altogether. -</p> - -<p> -“How sweet you smell, cousin!” she said. “Is it kissing-comfits?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s for sweet lips to answer,” gurgled Hamilton. -</p> - -<p> -My lord, in a vicious spasm, gripped the little wrist and wrenched it -from its task. Hamilton cried “Damnation!” and my lady, putting the -wounded limb to her mouth, looked up at him with wide appealing eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Some beast has hurt me,” she said. “Take care of yourself, cousin, -while I go and bathe it.” -</p> - -<p> -Half crying, she turned away and ran from the room. The moment she was -gone the two men bristled upon one another, my lord opening with a -snarl— -</p> - -<p> -“There are limits, sir, to my forbearance.” -</p> - -<p> -“The first I’ve known of them,” was the sharp response. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what I say.” -</p> - -<p> -“My wife——” -</p> - -<p> -“Is she your wife? One would never guess it from the way you treat -her.” -</p> - -<p> -“My wife, I say——” -</p> - -<p> -“We’ll take her word for’t—not yours.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you quarrel with me, George?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ faith, I’m her kinsman, Phil.” -</p> - -<p> -“You take the privileges of one.” -</p> - -<p> -“Better I than another, for your sins.” -</p> - -<p> -My lord gulped, as if he were taking a pill; then forced a -propitiatory smile. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, I confess I have sinned, George; and you mean me well, no doubt. -But I’ll be damned if I’ll be lessoned, even by a cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then learn from a less scrupulous quarter. There’ll be plenty to -gather the fruit you let hang over the wall.” -</p> - -<p> -He was going, but the other stopped him; hurriedly. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that? No, tarry awhile, George. Zounds, man, can’t you see my -state?” -</p> - -<p> -He was so suddenly solicitous, so eager in his entreaty, that Hamilton -paused in wonder, and turned to face him. -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” said he, “let me look at you. I believe—<i>anno mirabile!</i>—I do -believe you’re jealous. Philip Stanhope jealous, and of his wife!” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield chuckled foolishly. -</p> - -<p> -“What are the symptoms?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yellow, sir, yellow—a very jaundice of the eye. Why, what hath -happened between yesterday and to-day?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing, I tell you—or perhaps everything. Is she so much admired?” -</p> - -<p> -“Is Kate? Can you ask, who have eyes and senses?” -</p> - -<p> -“I think I’ve been at fault.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell her so, then.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, that’s the devil o’t. We’re not on speaking terms.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton sneered. -</p> - -<p> -“So, it’s come to a head with her? And who but a blind dullard would -ever have failed to foresee that end? Yet, with one so gracious, it -must have needed a foul provocation to drive her to such extremes. -What, may I ask, was the deciding insult?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll be frank. I told her she was distasteful to me.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton threw up his hands. -</p> - -<p> -“Ye gods! And he can talk of speaking terms! Be thankful if she ever -looks at you again.” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship winced. -</p> - -<p> -“Not? She hath sweet eyes, too. I own I spoke in temper, and said a -silly thing.” -</p> - -<p> -“Silly! Have you never heard of a woman scorned? You’ve lost her -before you’ve found her.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no. I trust you, George: damn it, man, I trust you! I know you -are my friend. Tell me—what shall I do?” -</p> - -<p> -“To reconcile you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye.” -</p> - -<p> -“Too sudden an exodus this! Turn tail, I advise, and get back to your -flesh-pots.” -</p> - -<p> -“Carrion, she called it, and me a dog. The savour sticks somehow; I -can’t go back to carrion. Let the King enjoy his own for me: I’m -content with mine.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>She</i> your own? Any man’s, rather, after that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t say so! George——” He put a twitching hand on Hamilton’s -sleeve. He seemed quite transformed in these few minutes; smitten out -of the blue, and, under that rankling wound, lusting for what he had -despised. There are those who, tyrannous to love’s submission, fall -slaves to love’s disdain. Here was one who, expelled from Paradise, -found himself, as it were, naked and ashamed. “I’d concede something,” -he said, “to be on terms with her again—not all her condition, curse -it, but something substantial.” -</p> - -<p> -“What was her condition?” -</p> - -<p> -“She swore she’d never speak word to me again till I’d gone on my -knees to her to ask her pardon.” -</p> - -<p> -“That was before you’d hurt her, physically. She’ll want more now.” -</p> - -<p> -“What more?” -</p> - -<p> -“Likely a separation.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll not grant it.” -</p> - -<p> -“She’ll take it her own way, never fear.” -</p> - -<p> -“What way?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, the way of all provoked wives. You should know.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield broke from him, and, taking half a dozen agitated steps, -wheeled and returned to the charge. -</p> - -<p> -“Let her, then, and be damned to her! And yet, that ‘carrion’! George, -there’s something in purity.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do <i>you</i> know?” -</p> - -<p> -“I wouldn’t be the cause of her committing herself. That would be a -foul return for her trust.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’re very virtuous and considerate of a sudden.” -</p> - -<p> -“I must go some lengths to save her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Go on your knees, do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“Would she forgive me, if I did?” -</p> - -<p> -“She might pretend to—just to quiet your suspicions.” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse you for a comfortless friend!” He went off again, and again -wheeled and flung back. “Zounds, man, can’t you see what is the case -with me?” -</p> - -<p> -“A case of love at first sight, it seems to me.” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe, on my honour, you’re right.” -</p> - -<p> -“You do? So you’ve never looked at your wife till now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not with these eyes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, on my word, I’m sorry for you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why? Why are you sorry?” -</p> - -<p> -“Late comers to the feast, you know, must be content with bones.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed provokingly. My lord’s jaw seemed to drop. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve no reason to suspect her?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“None whatever.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, why——?” -</p> - -<p> -“Hark ye, Phil; I know my young cousin—and I know women. She’s bound, -in self-respect, to refute your outrageous calumny by offering herself -to be tasted elsewhere.” -</p> - -<p> -“A pox on my peevish tongue! Don’t say I’ve gone too far for hope, -George.” -</p> - -<p> -“We’ll say, at least, for simple remedies.” -</p> - -<p> -“What desperate ones, then, in God’s name?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton considered, frowning heavily, while the other hung feverishly -on his verdict. The young man was, in truth, in a quandary. Everything -hitherto had been favouring his purposed intrigue—the husband’s -indifference, the wife’s grievance, and her natural affection for him, -her cousin. That, under the circumstances, had been easily manœuvred -into a warmer feeling. He had his sympathy with her neglected state -for a leading asset; he had calculated upon Chesterfield’s consistent -callousness and blindness. Now, this sudden and unexpected revulsion -of feeling on the nobleman’s part had upset all his designs. A -reconciliation between the couple was the last thing in the world he -desired to bring about; his interests lay, rather, in widening the -breach. To effect the latter while appearing to assist the former must -be from this time his insidious policy. He cudgelled his brains for -inspiration, and suddenly he looked up. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s only one remedy I can think of,” he said. “No other amends -you could make would be adequate to the offence. You might go down on -your knees to her, and she would forgive and despise you; you might -kiss and be friends, and she would smile, and turn away to wipe her -lips. No self-abasement could atone for such an insult; but it would -rather wake in her disgust for one so poor in spirit that he dared not -back his own slander. Yet what she would never yield, despite -pretence, to recantation and apology, she might to jealousy.” -</p> - -<p> -“Jealousy?” -</p> - -<p> -“Distasteful, Phil—think of that!—you called her distasteful! And so -to see you dally with some fruit more to your liking! What a madness, -then, would be hers, to oust the interloper, to seize her place, to -convince you of the lovelier flavour of that you had insulted and -rejected. Be bold and dare it. Force her into taking the initiative in -this game of passion, and you’ll win her yet, whole and unsullied.” -</p> - -<p> -So spake the wily serpent, his eyes furtive, looking to confirm the -breach while feigning a way to close it. My lord stared before him, -glum and unconvinced. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis a cursed risk,” he said. “What if it should fail?” -</p> - -<p> -“Then everything would fail. The gods themselves are subject to Fate; -and Fate is jealousy. If jealousy cannot work the oracle, then nothing -can.” -</p> - -<p> -“It would be simpler to enforce her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Much; and to drive her straightway upon other consolation. But do as -you will. It is your concern, and if we differ as to the means——” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no. Keep your temper, George! Damn it, man, keep your temper! I -believe you may be right, after all.” He stood glowering, and biting -his nails. “What fruit to dally with? What pretty gull?” he said. “You -don’t say, and it would have to be before her face, I presume?” -</p> - -<p> -A laugh, timely converted into a cough, gurgled in Hamilton’s throat. -Here was the way opened to the working of a certain dare-devil scheme, -which had already flashed upon him in outline while he meditated. With -hardly a thought he jumped to it. -</p> - -<p> -“As to that,” he said soberly, “by the happiest of chances the means -are offered you, and immediately, by Kate herself. She has a young -friend about to visit her, as she tells me—a Mrs. Moll Davis—some -pretty tomrig from the country; and what could better serve your -purpose than she? Kate’s own friend—why, ’tis a very providence!” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield grinned sourly. -</p> - -<p> -“I must see her first.” -</p> - -<p> -A lackey entered at the moment, bringing a summons from the Queen. My -lord was wanted by her Majesty, and he might curse and “pish,” but he -had to obey. He sniggered round, as he made for the door. -</p> - -<p> -“More of this anon. Don’t go till I return. Jealousy it is, George.” -</p> - -<p> -“Jealousy, Phil.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton waved his hand, and turned, as the door shut on the departing -figure. Then, with his fingers at his chin and a grin on his face, he -stood to consider the game to which he had committed himself. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch03"> -CHAPTER III -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Men</span> of pleasure, and of roguery to boot, were not, in King Charles’s -time, much concerned as a rule over the logical consequences of their -pranks. They took the day improvidently, like the grasshopper—“nicked -the glad moments as they passed”—and gave little thought to the -reckonings of the morrow. The “unities,” in any comedy they enacted, -were of less moment to them than the general spirit of frolic, and so -long as the situations afforded entertainment, they bestowed small -thought on the <i>dénouement</i>. In the making or the marring of an -intrigue the fun was in the process, and they seldom looked beyond to -count the costs. So, when Hamilton conceived his plot, he had not, one -must understand, foreseen any definite conclusion for it. It was -enough that what he was proposing to himself served the immediate -purpose of his amiable villainy. -</p> - -<p> -As to that, his business was to make absolute the estrangement between -these two; whence his crafty counsel to the Earl, who had not failed -to rise to that insidious bait. He knew very well that, in spite of -all that had happened, any genuinely contrite advances on the -husband’s part would be sure to be met halfway by the wife, who was -really a reasonable and forgiving little creature; wherefore it was -necessary for him to convince her, timely and by ocular demonstration, -of the vanity of any lingering hopes she might be entertaining of -remorse and repentance on the part of a delinquent spouse. It was -never to be supposed for a moment that she would answer to that test -of jealousy in the manner he had professed to predict; it would be -certain, on the contrary, to alienate the last of her consideration -from one who could so wantonly and callously abuse it. She would turn -from the heartless creature in a final disgust—to seek, according to -all the rules of intrigue, consolation of the nearest sympathy; -whereon it would remain only for him, her cousin and confidant, to -reap the fruits of the emotional situation he had so cunningly -engineered. -</p> - -<p> -That was his hope and belief; but his plan yet lacked completeness. -The deception he had contrived was but half a deception so long as it -missed its counterpart. How to provide that must be his next -consideration. -</p> - -<p> -As he pondered, he heard a light step behind him, and turned to see -the lady herself. She had come in very softly, and now stood before -him, a rather piteous expression on her face. Her right arm, -ostensibly the maltreated one, rested in a sling—black, that there -might be no mistake about it—and, as long as she remembered, she -winced when it was touched. -</p> - -<p> -“Cousin,” she said, “I am very unhappy. What have I done to be so -abused?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ faith, I know not,” said he, smiling; “unless it was you spoke -before his face of a kissing in which he had no share.” -</p> - -<p> -“I spoke but in play. I am an honest wife.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t cry your goods too loud, Kate, or men may question them. The -soundest wares need the least recommendation.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am, I say; and if I were not, how should it affect him that hates -me so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, you go too far.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, he said as much—that I was distasteful to him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Did he say that?” -</p> - -<p> -She set her teeth. -</p> - -<p> -“And shall unsay it; or I will never speak word to him again?” -</p> - -<p> -“So? I’m sorry, on my word, cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -“Did you not quarrel with him?” -</p> - -<p> -“For what he did to you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. You could not know what he’d said.” -</p> - -<p> -“We had words, I confess.” -</p> - -<p> -“About what? Is he jealous of <i>you</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“What if he were, Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -She clenched her little left fist in wrathful glee. -</p> - -<p> -“Is he? I could love to believe it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” He looked at her eagerly. -</p> - -<p> -“To make him suffer for me what I’ve suffered for him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Jealousy?” -</p> - -<p> -“He would not hate me then.” -</p> - -<p> -The face of the arch-plotter fell. -</p> - -<p> -“I see you love him through all,” he said sourly. -</p> - -<p> -“Why should I not love him?” she answered. “He is my husband.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton pulled himself together. “This faith,” he thought, with an -acid thrill, “is worth converting.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why indeed?” said he. “Well, I don’t know if he’s jealous of me or -not; but if that’s your recipe for curing him, we two might make a -plausible conspiracy of it. Shall we rehearse the business now, Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -He put a persuasive hand on her arm. She bethought herself, and -squeaked out. -</p> - -<p> -“You hurt me, cousin”—and she backed a little. “A play like ours is -only make-believe.” -</p> - -<p> -“But sure,” said he, “the best actors are those who, even in -rehearsal, try to realize their parts to the life.” -</p> - -<p> -He approached her again, offering to put his arm about her, and at -that she, forgetting her injury, whipped her little fist out of its -sling, and delivered him a sound box of the ear with it. -</p> - -<p> -“There!” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Emphatically there,” he answered, holding his palm to the suffering -auricle. “You cat!” -</p> - -<p> -She bridled like one, her eyes glittering. He pointed a derisive -finger at the dangling sling. -</p> - -<p> -“Hadn’t you better put off that pretence?” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” she said, and thrust her hand again into the loop. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said he, “you may find another instrument for your purpose. I’m -done with you.” -</p> - -<p> -Her brow puckered, and her lip went down. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re never going to abandon me in my trouble?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -She looked so bewitching so forlorn, his heart could not help -softening to her. -</p> - -<p> -“If I do not,” he said, “it must be on softer terms than yet.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was my hand so hard?” she pleaded penitently. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis for the lips, not the ear to decide,” said he. “Give it me, if -you would hear kinder news of it.” -</p> - -<p> -She hung back a little, then reluctantly acquiesced. He mouthed the -flushed palm, till she snatched it away. -</p> - -<p> -“Be good, please,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“It blushes for its naughty deed,” he declared. “But it is forgiven.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” she said, “will you not be serious and give me good advice?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is not always palatable, you know.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is the way with healing drugs.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! If it might only heal!” -</p> - -<p> -He sighed, and shook his head, with a look of commiseration. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed—“that there is no cure -possible?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m sorry for you, in truth I am,” he said despondently, “if you -still love him as you admit, and I wish I could think that your policy -of silence, or your policy of jealousy, or your policy of anything in -the world would bring Philip Stanhope to his senses. But, alack, my -dear! I fear ’tis all thrown away upon him, and that his inconstancy -is irreclaimable. Why, at this very moment, while you are calculating -a means to his reformation, he is, to my knowledge, scheming to have -to his house here a country fancy of his, one Molly Davis, whom he -calls his cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -She heard and stiffened. -</p> - -<p> -“A country fancy!” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I breathe no wrong of her,” he said; “and she may be his -cousin—left-handed—for all I know. A sprightly wench, at least, that -somehow met and tickled his humour; and he’ll have her to stay with -him on that plea of kinship. But it’s for you to question him, if you -will.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I!</i>” The white scorn of her! the lifted lip, and wrinkle in the -little nose! “Did you not hear me say I had sworn never to speak to -him again?” -</p> - -<p> -“Conditionally, that was.” -</p> - -<p> -“No longer. Never, and never, and never. In this house! Before my very -face. O, it cannot be true!” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, perhaps he only jested.” -</p> - -<p> -She moved, and, forgetting her sling again, put a fierce young hand on -his sleeve. “You called her his fancy.” -</p> - -<p> -“A man may fancy in a woman more or less than she desires. It may be -her wit, when she’d give the world it were her face.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is she witty, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“No doubt he thinks so.” -</p> - -<p> -“And ugly?” -</p> - -<p> -“Betwixt and between.” -</p> - -<p> -“You have seen her?” -</p> - -<p> -“More or less.” -</p> - -<p> -“I only asked of her face.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was a bad light. She lies at an inn in the town called ‘The -Mischief.’” -</p> - -<p> -“She lies well. Well, thank you, cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -Her features relaxed in a wonderful way. One might have thought her -suddenly convinced and at ease. With a sigh that seemed to dissipate -all her scruples, she chassé’d a retreating step or two, and twirled, -and dropped a little mocking curtsey to the gentleman. -</p> - -<p> -“I must go now,” she said. “You have been very entertaining, Signor -George, and—and there is no cure for blindness like——” -</p> - -<p> -“Like what?” -</p> - -<p> -“Like seeing, you know.” -</p> - -<p> -His brows went up, perplexed. “Have I been so whimsical?” -</p> - -<p> -“Infinitely, I assure you—the drollest, most diverting -cousin—tra-la-la!” -</p> - -<p> -“But sympathetic, I hope, Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, believe me, that isn’t the word for it—tra-la-la!” -</p> - -<p> -“You know you can always depend upon me for help and advice?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, <i>most</i> disinterestedly!” -</p> - -<p> -His jaw seemed to stick as he opened it to answer. She laughed, as she -turned her back on him. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he breathed out. “I see you’ll make it up with Philip yet.” -</p> - -<p> -With a stamp of her foot, she flared round on him in a final spasm of -anger. -</p> - -<p> -“You dare to say so! I tell you, once and for all, that from this -moment it is eternal silence between us.” -</p> - -<p> -He watched her, from under lowered lids, and with a furtive smile on -his lips, sweep from the room, then twitched up his shoulders to a -noiseless laugh. To make certain of her fixed resolution—that was why -he had provoked her to that last retort. Now at length it should be -safe for him to act. If only that dubious manner of hers had left him -with more conviction as to his own ultimate profit in the matter! But -like enough it had been mere coquetry. -</p> - -<p> -He left Whitehall shortly, and made his way to “The Mischief” Inn, -where he found Mrs. Davis bored to death over her confinement to her -room, and in a very fractious mood. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you come to take me away?” she said. “You called yourself my -friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, so I am,” he answered. “What have I done to disprove it?” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve done nothing, sure; and that’s what.” -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t I pay your reckoning?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! it’s true you opened the trap door; but you must go and tie me by -the tail first.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas to keep my country mouse from the gib-cats. No reflection on -her.” -</p> - -<p> -“So to keep her from the cats you set a dog on her. A nice one I owe -you for that beast of a landlord.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, he’s called off, and here am I to redeem my word. Will you come -with me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Where to?” -</p> - -<p> -“To the tailor and the haberdasher first of all. Will that suit you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well—if another pays.” -</p> - -<p> -“So? That’s settled, then. We must have you dressed to the part.” -</p> - -<p> -“What part?” She affected, perhaps felt, a passing perturbation, but -it served for no more than to add a thrill to her voice. And then, -suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Have you got me a London engagement, -George?” she said—“perhaps in the King’s theatre!”—and she clasped -her hands rapturously. -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” said he, “an engagement, true enough; but ’tis on the human -stage.” -</p> - -<p> -Her lip fell dolefully. -</p> - -<p> -“O, curse that!” -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. Moll,” he said, “I shall be obliged if you will study to express -your feelings less epigrammatically.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, in your case, ’tis another word for cursing.” -</p> - -<p> -“I only know of one other,” said she; “but I’ll damn it with all my -heart, if that likes you better.” -</p> - -<p> -“I like neither one nor t’other: ’tis to turn to ‘bitter-sweets’ those -cherry-seeming lips of yours, and make poison of their nectar.” -</p> - -<p> -She was sitting at the table, her elbows propped on it, her chin on -her fists, and, so disposed, she put out her tongue at him. -</p> - -<p> -“Gingumbobs!” she said; and that was all. -</p> - -<p> -“And, in short,” said he, rising—for he too was seated—“I think I’ll -say good day to you.” -</p> - -<p> -Sobered at once, she jumped to her feet, and intercepted him. “What -have I said, sure? Don’t never mind a silly wench. I’ll do what you -want of me—there!” -</p> - -<p> -He stood arrested, but as if unwillingly. -</p> - -<p> -“I doubt your capacity, child; or your art to curb your tongue. A fig -for that when Moll is Moll; but once she shapes herself to my designs, -good speech must go with good looks.” -</p> - -<p> -She seemed as if she would cry. -</p> - -<p> -“George, I’ll curb it. I did but jest with you. Haven’t I learned my -speaking parts, and said them to the letter, too, without one extra -oath?” She was stroking his arms up and down; her fingers wandered to -his hands, and gave themselves softly to that refuge; her lifted eyes -were full of azure pain. “Tell me what you desire of me,” she said -with pretty wooing. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, discretion first and last,” he answered. “Have you got it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t I! Why, look how particular I can be in the choice of my -friends.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll have to play a double part.” -</p> - -<p> -“Twice tenpence is two and sixpence, George. It ought to pay me.” -</p> - -<p> -“It ought and shall, if you’re clever. Help me to bring about a thing -I much desire, and your fortunes, as I promised, shall be made my -care.” -</p> - -<p> -He questioned the young uplifted face. Her hands were still held in -his. -</p> - -<p> -“Was the <i>thing</i> born a girl?” she said. He laughed, but did not -answer, and she seemed to muse, her lids lowered. “What a pretty -gentleman you are, George!” she said absently, by and by. “I never -guessed at first, when you came that unhandsome off the road, what -fine clothes could make of you. Why are you going to take me to the -haberdasher’s?” -</p> - -<p> -“To prink you out for great company, child.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked up breathlessly. -</p> - -<p> -“Not the King’s!” -</p> - -<p> -“All in good time,” he said—“if you please me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” she said, looking down again, “I’ll do my best—saving my -honour. Will that please you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Faith,” says the gentleman coolly, “if you save it at the expense of -another’s.” -</p> - -<p> -She drew back a little. -</p> - -<p> -“Not a woman’s?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never fear, Mrs. Moll. ’Tis your pretty rogue’s face and your ready -impudence I wish for a bait, and they’d catch no woman, believe me. -Come, are you prepared to engage them in my service?” -</p> - -<p> -She primmed her lips, holding up a finger. -</p> - -<p> -“Discretion,” she said. “I’ll answer when I’m told.” -</p> - -<p> -He nodded, and, leading her apart from betraying keyholes, seated -himself and pulled her to a chair beside him. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said he, “give me your little lovely ear, while I whisper in -it.” -</p> - -<p> -She sat at attention like a mouse, while he spoke his low-voiced -scheme to her. Mischief, intelligence, secret laughter waited on her -lips and eyes as she leaned to listen, sometimes shaking her curls, -sometimes whispering the softest little “yes” or “no.” And when at -last it was all said, she jumped to her feet with a laugh that was -like glass bells, and clapped her hands merrily, while her companion -sat, one arm akimbo, regarding her with a pleasant waiting expression. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” he said; “you’ll do it?” -</p> - -<p> -She strutted, assuming the grand air, and swept a curtsey. -</p> - -<p> -“I am my lord Chesterfield’s most obliged,” she said throatily. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton rose with a grin. -</p> - -<p> -“You will, I can see,” said he. “It’s really simple if you will only -bear in mind this main assurance—<i>they are not on speaking terms, and -each will think the other has invited you</i>.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch04"> -CHAPTER IV -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Running</span> north from Storey’s Gate, the backs of its western houses -abutting on the network of conduits which fed what is now in St. -James’s Park called the Ornamental Water, but which was then “The -Canal,” was a short road, or row, named Duke Street, in which was -situated the building—subsequently the town home of Jeffreys, the -filthy Fouquier Tinville of an earlier revolution—known as the -Admiralty House. This mansion—or part of it, for the whole of it was -of considerable dimensions—was, in fact, the headquarters of the -recently reorganized Navy, and as such is mentioned here as being -associated, however indirectly, with our narrative, inasmuch as it was -to a member of its staff (a Mr. Samuel Pepys, not then long nominated -to a clerkship of the acts) that Jack Bannister, the famous harpist, -and a figure with whom we have hereafter to reckon, owed his -“discovery,” in the exclusive as apart from the popular sense. -</p> - -<p> -This man, sprung into evidence no one knew whence or when, had for -months been perambulating the town as an itinerant musician, earning a -precarious livelihood by playing before tavern doors, at street -corners, and in marketplaces, and rich only in the soulful tribute of -the many-headed, to whom he had come to be known by the appellation of -“Sad Jack.” For sad, indeed, he appeared, both in face and habit; a -lean, stoop-shouldered fellow, grimly austere, and always clothed in -grey—grey hose, grey breeches, grey doublet, and grey hat, from the -shadow of whose limp wide brim his eyes shone white, like pebbles -gleaming through dark water. His figure was familiar to the streets -as, his instrument strapped to his back, a folding-stool hung over his -arm, and his soul patiently subdued to the philosophy which could find -in unrecognition the surest proof of worth, he plodded his fortuitous -way, with eye grown selective in the matter of “pitches,” and at his -heels, perhaps, a string of ragamuffins, who, for the merest dole of -his magnificence’s quality, would be ready to walk in his shadow to -the town’s end. For sweet music hath through all the ages the “force” -we wot of to “tame the furious beast,” and there was never a Pied -Piper of genius but could count on his audience of rats to follow him -over half the world if he pleased. -</p> - -<p> -And this man had genius, for all it went unrecognized; but that was -accident, and no moral whatever attaches to the fact. He communicated -it from his finger-tips to the strings, hypostatically as it were, -bestowing on them that gift of tongues which, speaking one language, -speaks all. To his own ears it might appear that he was uttering no -more than his native accents; to all others, gentile and barbarian, it -seemed that he spoke in theirs. And that it is to command genius, the -universal appeal, the gift of the Holy Ghost. -</p> - -<p> -Yet outside this solitary faculty or inspiration there was nothing -noteworthy about the creature but his gloom; and even that might have -been no more than the shadow cast by the brighter half of his dual -personality on the other. Born musicians are not as a rule remarkable -for their intellectual brilliancy, and Sad Jack was, I am afraid, no -exception to the rule. He was a dull fellow, in truth, in all that did -not appertain to his exquisite art. -</p> - -<p> -Now, it so happened that Fortune one bright spring morning directed -the wandering harpist’s footsteps towards that quarter of the town -which has already been mentioned, when, attracted perhaps by the sunny -quiet of the spot, or by some suggestion in it of acoustic -possibilities, he turned into Duke Street, and, choosing a convenient -place, unslung his harp and stool, and stood for some moments glassily -appraising the constitution of the little throng which had followed -him into that retreat. He was inured by now to open-air criticism, and -easily master of its moods. He could afford to tantalize expectation, -sure of his ability to win the heart out of any crowd at the first -touch of those long, nervous fingers of his which for the moment -caressed his chin reflective, and with no more apparent sensibility in -them than the fingers of a farmer calculating the profits on a flock -of sheep. And, indeed, these were sheep, in their curiosity, in their -shyness of the challenging human eye, in the way in which each refused -to be thrust forward of his fellows, lest his prominent position -should argue his readiness to be fleeced. But they all gaped and hung -aloof, while the musician, anticipating their sure subjection, -leisurely keyed up his strings to the concordant pitch; when at last, -satisfied and in the humour, he began to play. -</p> - -<p> -Then it was curious to note the hush which instantly fell upon the -throng. Sure, of all the instruments of the senses—ear, eye, palate, -nose, and finger—there is none so subtle in its mechanism as the -first, nor so defiant of analysis in the way it transmits its message -to the soul. The nature to which taste and vision and smell and touch -may never prove holier than carnal provocations will yet find its -divinity in music. Sound, perhaps, built the universe, as Amphion with -his lyre built the walls of Thebes. Children of light, we may be -children of sound also, if only we knew. -</p> - -<p> -Now the kennel-sweeper leaned upon his broom, and dreamed of starry -tracks where no rain ever fell; the cadger hated himself no longer; -the little climbing-boy sat on the rim of the tallest chimney in all -the world; the pretty sempstress hid with a little hand the furtive -patch upon her chin, and flushed to know it there; the hackney -coachman pulled on his rein and sat to listen, a piece of straw stuck -motionless between his teeth. One and all they dwelt like spirits -intoxicated, hearing of a new message and drunk with some wonderful -joy of release. And then the sweet strains ended and they came to -earth. -</p> - -<p> -“It was like heaven,” said the sempstress, wiping a tear from the -corner of her eye with her apron. -</p> - -<p> -“Was it, indeed?” said a full-bodied, good-humoured-looking gentleman, -who had paused on his way to his official duties to listen, and who -now pushed himself forward with an easy condescension. This was Mr. -Pepys himself, no less, who, brought to a stop between sense and -sensibility, had discovered no choice but to fall slave to those -transports with which emotional music always filled him. Yet, -astounded as he was by the performance, his eye—a pretty shrewd and -noticing one—had been no less observant than his ear. He wrinkled it -quizzically at the little beauty. “Was it?” says he. “Well, faith, -pretty angel, you ought to know.” -</p> - -<p> -He was very handsomely dressed in a blue jackanapes coat, then come -into fashion, with silver buttons, a pair of fine white stockings, and -a white plume in his hat; and he appeared if anything a little -conscious of his finery. But whether it was from his assurance, which -seemed unjustified of any exceptional good looks, or the thickness of -his calves, which were stupendous, he failed to impress the -sempstress, who, heaving a petulant shoulder at him, with a “La, sir, -I know I am no angel!” tripped about and away, her nose in the air. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Pepys chuckled into his chin (though no more than twenty-eight, he -possessed already an affluently double one), and, looking a moment -after the retreating figure, turned to the musician, who all this -while had been gazing into vacancy, his hat, placed crown downwards on -the stones, his sole petitioner. But, before any could respond to that -mute invitation, the new-comer had stooped to snatch up the -dishonoured headgear, which he presented with a great bow to its -owner. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis the privilege of kings, sir,” said he, “to go bonneted before -their subjects. Prithee put this to a nobler use than a beggar’s bowl. -’Tis we that should doff to the prince of harpists,” and he suited the -action to the word, standing bareheaded before the musician. -</p> - -<p> -He, for his part, sat staring, doubtful whether he was honoured or -derided. -</p> - -<p> -“Sir,” he stammered, “have I not played to your liking?” -</p> - -<p> -“So much so,” answered Pepys, “that my liking is you play no more on -the streets. Will you be sensible, sir, and discuss this business? I -can introduce you where your talent will receive justice; and I ask no -other reward for my pains, which is indeed a duty. Sir, I confess your -playing ravished me beyond anything I have heard. Rise, if you will, -and walk with me.” -</p> - -<p> -Looking dumbfoundered, the musician obeyed. He appeared on closer -acquaintance a much younger man than the other had suspected, which -was all in his favour as a prodigy. The offer, nevertheless, had been -a quite disinterested one—a point to the fine gentleman’s credit; for -in truth he was not above expecting commissions on occasion. But in -the question of music he was always at his most altruistic. Now he -conducted his discovery into the court of the Admiralty House, the -better to shake off the throng which followed, and there put to him -the few inquiries which came uppermost in his mind—as to the -stranger’s genesis, to wit, his social standing, his calling, the -circumstances which had thrown him, thus gifted and unpatronized, upon -London streets, and so on. But he learned little to satisfy his -curiosity. The man was reticent, awkward of speech, proud perhaps; -and, beyond the facts that he was self-taught, had been a pedagogue in -a country school, and had voluntarily abandoned an uncongenial task -for one more to his fancy and potential well-being, the listener was -able to glean little. But one thing stood out clear, and that was the -genius which proclaimed this oddity as exalted a natural musician as -any that had ever captured the heart of the world, and on that -assurance Mr. Pepys proceeded. The upshot of this interview was that -he came to introduce him, having a pretty wide acquaintance in -professional quarters, among the right influential people, with the -result that “Sad Jack,” from being a wandering street performer, -became presently one of the most fashionable soloists in the town, -with the command of a salary in proportion, and engagements covering -the most popular resorts from Spring Gardens to the new Spa at -Islington. -</p> - -<p> -And with that we will leave him for the time being; while as to Mr. -Pepys, having served his purpose, he must walk here and now out of the -picture. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch05"> -CHAPTER V -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> Earl of Chesterfield, entering his apartments one afternoon, was -informed by the porter that a young person, lately arrived, waited on -his convenience in the audience-room, to which she had been shown—not -ushered. Thus Mrs. Moll, to the menial instinct, be it observed, was -still subtly, and in spite of all her fine new trappings, the -unclassified “young person.” She might impose on the master, but never -on the man. -</p> - -<p> -His lordship demanded tartly why his lady had not been informed. He -was told that she was out. The stranger, it appeared, had entered with -an assured air, stating that she was expected on a visit. Expected by -whom? She had bridled, but in a manner twinkling-like, to the -question. By whom did he, the porter, suppose? By one of the servants, -curse his impudence? And so he had admitted her, with her smart -baggage, assuming that, if she was the invited guest of either his -master or mistress, it must be of the former. Why? O! for only the -reason that she looked most like a gentleman’s lady. -</p> - -<p> -“A gentleman’s lady”! My lord grinned, then looked serious. -</p> - -<p> -“Did she give no name?” -</p> - -<p> -“The name of Davis, please your lordship. Mrs. Moll Davis she called -herself.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield’s brow went up; he whistled. Of course, now, he -remembered, this must be Kate’s young country friend of whom he had -been advised, and her manners, no doubt, were to be accounted to mere -rustic gaucherie. He had better see her at once in his wife’s absence, -and judge of her suitability, from his point of view, for the part for -which Hamilton had cast her. She might prove, after all, an impossible -instrument to play on. And yet the rogue had seemed confident. -</p> - -<p> -He turned on the porter harshly. “Why did you not say so before? Mrs. -Davis is her ladyship’s friend and guest, and as such is to be lodged -fitly. See to it, fellow, and that you keep that free tongue of yours -out of your cheek.” -</p> - -<p> -He went on, and at the door of the audience chamber was received by a -couple of lackeys, who, throwing wide the oak, announced him in form— -</p> - -<p> -“My lord Chesterfield, for Mrs. Davis!” -</p> - -<p> -She had been peering into costly nooks and corners, and was taken by -surprise. But that did not matter. The blush with which she whisked -about from contemplating herself in a remote stand-glass became her -mightily, and seemed offered to his lordship like a flower gathered -from the mirror to propitiate him for the liberty she had been caught -taking. He accepted and pinned it over his heart, so to speak. If this -was rusticity, he was quite willing, it appeared to him, to become a -country Strephon on the spot. The danger, he foresaw at once, was of -falling in love with his own pretence. -</p> - -<p> -And, indeed, Mrs. Davis, with her pert young face and forget-me-not -eyes, made an alluring figure, and one seeming admirably efficient to -the part she was dressed to play. As to that, Hamilton had advised -with taste and discretion; so that, in her plain bodice and pannier, -with her slim arms bared to the elbow and tied above with favours of -ribbon, and the curls shaken over her bright cheeks from under a -coquettish hat-brim, she might have passed for the very sweet moral of -a provincial nymph, conceived in the happiest vein between homeliness -and fashion. She curtsied, as she had been taught to curtsey on the -stage—latterly, for her sex had only quite recently won its way to -the footlights—and boldly, with a little musical laugh, accepted the -situation. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure,” she said, “if you hadn’t caught me at it, my cheeks ’ud betray -me. I was looking in the glass—so there!” -</p> - -<p> -It put him at his ease at once. With no rustic coyness to conquer, he -was already half way to the end. It mattered little, he felt -confident, what he might venture to say; and so he gave his tongue -full rein. -</p> - -<p> -“So there!” said he; “and faith, Mistress Davis, if I were you, I -could look till my eyes went blind.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Could</i> you?” she said. “Then you’d be a blind donkey for your -pains.” She came up and stood before him, her chin raised, her hands -clasped behind her back. “So you’re Lord Chesterfield,” she said. “How -do you like it?” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you?” he asked, grinning. -</p> - -<p> -“H’m!” she said critically, bringing one hand forward to fondle her -baby chin. “’Tis early days to say. But, on the face of you, you look -very much like any other man. But perhaps you’re different -underneath—made of gold, like the boys in the folk-tale.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I’m not made of gold, I can assure you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aren’t you, now? I’ve heard of some that are said to be.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m made just like anybody else.” -</p> - -<p> -“There, now! What a disappointment! And you call yourself a lord!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, how would you have me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I wouldn’t have you at all. What a question from a married man!” -</p> - -<p> -He was a little vexed; he made that sound of impatience between tongue -and palate which cannot be rendered in spelling. -</p> - -<p> -“I see you’re a literal soul,” said he. “I must be careful how I put -things.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d better,” she said. “Now I come to look at you, you’ve got a -sinful eye.” -</p> - -<p> -“And now I come to look at you, I don’t wonder at it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you? Well, for all you’re like to get, you may put it in there -and see none the worse.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, a little astounded. “Troth!” thought he; “this is a -strange acquaintance for Kate to have made!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” he said, “what have I asked or expected but the right of every -man to see and admire?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! you may admire as much as you like,” quoth she. “I wouldn’t -deprive you of that gratification.” -</p> - -<p> -“Or yourself, perhaps?” -</p> - -<p> -“No!” she said, with indifference; “you needn’t consider me. I’ve more -than I can do with already.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” he said, “but not of the town quality? ’Tis only sheep’s-eyes -they make at you in the country.” -</p> - -<p> -“All’s fish, for that, that comes to a woman’s net. ’Tis a question -with her more of quantity than quality.” -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you love the country?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure,” she said. “I love the pigs and the cows and the horses, and -the ducks and the geese; but, after all, there’s no goose like a -lord.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, but a little uneasily. He was not quite so confident as he -had been of the simple nature of his task. He would just like, for an -experiment, to eschew badinage, and insinuate a thought more feeling -into the conversation. -</p> - -<p> -“I think I agree with you,” he said. “A lord is a goose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Unless he’s a gander,” said she. -</p> - -<p> -“You called him a goose,” he answered with asperity; “and a goose he -shall be.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, don’t quarrel about it,” she protested. “Goose and gander and -gosling, they say, are three sounds but one thing. Why is a -lord—whichever he is?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, what was <i>your</i> reason for calling him a goose?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never did. I said there was no goose like him.” -</p> - -<p> -“That was to flatter the goose, I think.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was it, now? And I meant it to flatter the lord.” -</p> - -<p> -He raised appealing hands. “No, I prithee! Flattery—the very mess of -pottage for which he sold his birthright as a man! A lord, Mrs. Davis, -from the very moment he becomes one, hath parted with sincerity.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, indeed; and for it exchanged the eternal adulation of the -hypocrite, paid not to his merits but his title. The base thenceforth -surround him; the worthy keep their distance, lest old friendships, -once frankly mutual, be suspected of self-interest. He knows no truth -but such as he may read in its withholding; he knows no love but such -as loves his rank before himself. Was he not a goose to be a lord—to -part with truth and love—to give himself to be devoured by parasites -in a hundred forms?” -</p> - -<p> -He smiled, appealing and a little melancholy. The lady lifted her -brows. -</p> - -<p> -“Lud!” she said. “And to think we in the country only know but -two—the one that hops and the one that doesn’t!” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship gave a slight start and cough. -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly,” he said: “yes, exactly.” He stiffened, clearing his throat, -then smiled again, but painfully. “So flatter me not,” he said. “Be -your sweet, candid self, to earn my gratitude. You cannot know what it -would mean to me to win at last a woman’s unaffected sympathy. Will -you not extend to me the friendship which is already, I understand, my -wife’s?” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes twinkled, her mouth twitched, as she stood before him. -</p> - -<p> -“What is the matter?” he asked, in mild surprise. -</p> - -<p> -“You—you do look so droll,” she said, and burst into a fit of -laughter. -</p> - -<p> -He was inclined to be very incensed, but with good sense made a moral -vault of it, and landed lightly the other side of his own temper. Once -there, he could afford to echo the hussy’s merriment. -</p> - -<p> -“You are a bad girl,” he said, grinning, and shaking a finger; “but I -can see we are going to be great friends. Hist, though!” -</p> - -<p> -He looked about him cautiously, and then approached her. -</p> - -<p> -“Stand and deliver,” said she, and backed a little. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” he said; “on my honour, I only wish a word in confidence.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I know that word!” she said. “I’m not so young but I’ve learned to -crack nuts with my own teeth.” -</p> - -<p> -“Here it is, then,” he said, coming no farther. “There’s this -difficulty in the way of our good understanding—that it can owe no -encouragement to my lady, your friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not, now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, the truth is, we’re—we’re not on speaking terms.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord-a-mussy! What’s the matter?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, these little domestic differences; they will occur! Unsuited, I -suppose. It was her suggestion; but it makes things somewhat awkward -for the moment.” He heaved a profound sigh. “Alone—always alone, you -see! What a goose to be a lord!” -</p> - -<p> -She eyed him roguishly. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s been finding out things about you: don’t tell me!” -</p> - -<p> -He sighed again. “What a goose, what a goose!” and then started, as if -remembering something. “O! and there’s another secret.” -</p> - -<p> -“Another?” said she, thrilled; and irresistibly she leaned her ear -towards him. -</p> - -<p> -“Listen!” he said, and, with a single step, had dived and snatched a -kiss. -</p> - -<p> -“You devil!” she cried, starting away. “If I don’t pay you for -that——” -</p> - -<p> -The word died on her lips. They were both simultaneously aware that -the young Countess had come unnoticed into the room, and was standing -regarding them with stony eyes. -</p> - -<p> -My lord, coughing and feeling at his cravat, tried to hum a little -nonchalant air, failed conspicuously, and, hesitating a moment, -yielded incontinent to the better part of valour, and swaggered out by -the door, with a little run at the last as if he felt behind him the -invisible persuasion of a boot. Some minutes of pregnant silence -succeeded his departure. Mrs. Davis was the first to break it. -</p> - -<p> -“I’m—I’m glad to see your ladyship looking so bonny.” -</p> - -<p> -As if it had needed but the sound of this voice to galvanize her into -life, to assure her of the incarnate reality of the insult with which -she had been threatened, the young wife started, and, advancing a few -hurried paces, paused, recollected herself, and went on deliberately -to a table, on which she proceeded to deposit the gloves which she -stripped leisurely from her hands. She was just come in from riding, -and, in her dove-grey habit, with the soft-plumed hat on her -head—steeple-crowned, but coaxed into that picturesque shapelessness -which only a woman can contrive—looked a figure sweet enough to set -Mrs. Davis wondering over the criminal blindness of husbands. Mr. -George Hamilton, you see, had let her into only so much of the truth; -a half-knowledge which his lordship’s behaviour had certainly done -nothing to rectify. -</p> - -<p> -My lady, whose fingers had gripped a silvered riding-switch, put down -that weapon, as if reluctantly, and drew off her gloves. If this woman -was what she supposed, there could be no course for her to adopt more -contemptuous than that of overlooking her as if she did not exist for -her. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure, it must have been a surprise for you,” said Moll, after waiting -vainly for some response, “to find me come, unbeknown to you, on a -visit to my kinsman. But la! we never know what’s going to happen -next—now, do we?” (<i>No answer.</i>) “‘Look in any time you’re in the -neighbourhood,’ he says to me, ‘and there’s always bed and board for -you at Whitehall.’” (<i>No answer.</i>) “You’ve a pretty place here, my -lady. We’ve got none such in the country, saving it’s the Manor House -where Squire Bucksey lives; and him but half a gentleman, having lost -a leg and an arm at Worcester fight.” (<i>My lady takes up a book, which -she affects to read in.</i>) “Well,” said Moll, “if you’ve nothing to -say, I think I’d better be following his lordship.” -</p> - -<p> -She moved as if to go. The book slapped down. My lady turned upon her -peremptorily, with crimson cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -“Stay! Too intolerable an insolence! This affectation of rustic -artlessness! I had thought to be silent, but it transcends my -endurance. I had been warned of your coming, and I know who you are. -Your name is Davis; deny it not.” -</p> - -<p> -Impudence was not offended; but her sauce was up. She turned to -counter, and the two faced one another. -</p> - -<p> -“Deny it? Not I,” she said. “What if it is?” -</p> - -<p> -“What? How dare you speak to me? Is not your presence here offence -enough?” -</p> - -<p> -“What have I done now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Done? No wonder your right cheek flushes for its shame.” -</p> - -<p> -“He kissed it—not I. Another moment, if you hadn’t come in, and I’d -have clouted his ears for him.” -</p> - -<p> -“What made him kiss you?” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s for him to say. You can ask him if you like.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -“Old acquaintance’ sake, he’ll tell you, perhaps.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” -</p> - -<p> -“What are you ‘ahing’ about? Did it look like a habit between us? Take -my word, if you care, that he’s never kissed me in his life before.” -</p> - -<p> -“Care? Not I.” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you looked as if you didn’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“His kisses and his fancies are subjects of supreme indifference to -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“My self-respect is the matter—a thing beyond your comprehension. To -have to sit and suffer such a guest—in silence—as though I seemed to -countenance her presence! That is the matter.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Davis, half-whimpering, put her knuckles to her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Why don’t you speak to him, then,” she said, “and have me turned out? -O, dear, O, dear! A nice way this to treat a harmless visitor!” -</p> - -<p> -Harmless! For the first time a wonder seized her little ladyship. Was -she really maligning in her heart a rustic simpleton? No, there was -something here <i>adroite</i>, practised, something indescribable, which -precluded the idea. And yet the thought had come to puzzle and disturb -her. Though she could not believe, her tone was less uncompromising -when she spoke again. -</p> - -<p> -“I speak to him? It is not for such as you to understand. To answer to -an insult is to flatter it. Let him answer for his own, so it be one, -to himself and you. Never fear that I shall complain.” She turned away -and back again. “I ask no questions about you,” she said. “I desire to -hear and know nothing. Your conduct, if you speak truth, need be your -only voucher.” -</p> - -<p> -She took up her gloves, preparing to leave the room, then stopped, as -if on a resistless impulse, and looked into the slut’s eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“You have a pretty face, child,” she said. “I know not whence it -comes, or what designs; but I would fain think no evil of it.” -</p> - -<p> -And she gathered up her things and went, without another word. -</p> - -<p> -It had been a brief interview, but a stupefying. For some moments -after she was left alone Moll stood motionless, as if afraid to stir. -Then, gradually, expression came back to her face, and she gave a soft -whistle. -</p> - -<p> -“Lud! the first is over,” she murmured; “and I would I could think the -worst. I stand to have my eyes scratched out, seemeth to me. But, -never mind. George must be accommodated, and the fool lord caught in -the snare of his own laying. We’ve not, for that matter, begun so -badly.” -</p> - -<p> -She rubbed her cheek viciously, then, executing a little noiseless -<i>pas-seul</i>, shivered to a stop, and looked about her inquiringly. She -was as light on her feet as a kitten, as graceful and as pretty. -</p> - -<p> -“What next?” She tittered. “Will nobody fetch me or tell me? And -O!”—she pressed a hand to the seat of suffering—“<i>when</i> do great -folks dine!” -</p> - -<p> -She stiffened on the word, like a soldier to “attention.” A liveried -gentleman who had come into the room stood bent and bowing before -her—and kicking a furtive heel to another, who stood sniggering in -the shadow of the door. -</p> - -<p> -“Will your ladyship,” said the first, speaking from the root of his -nose, “condescend to be pleased to be shown your ladyship’s chamber?” -</p> - -<p> -Moll whisked about, her cheek on fire. “Yes, she will, turnip-head, -when you’ve got over that stomach-ache of yours.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch06"> -CHAPTER VI -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> must be explained at this point that the comedy with which we are -especially concerned formed only one of innumerable kindred sideshows -in the endless junketing fair at Whitehall Palace, where, ever since -the first days of the Restoration, the high revel which that reaction -from Cimmerian glooms had come to inaugurate had been steadily -degenerating into a Saturnalia as unblushing as it was universal. It -represents, in fact, but one among many such performances, and, though -isolated by us for purely dramatic purposes, is none the less to be -understood as constituting part of the general entertainment. Thus, -you can picture our little company, if you will, as joining, in the -intervals between the acts, in the common hilarity, as forming part of -the glittering personnel which daily, in that idle, pleasure-loving -Court, laughs and fribbles away the hours. The young Countess is -there, <i>ingénue</i>, childish, but already a mark for predatory eyes, -and not, alas! in her proud revolt, wholly, or wholly innocently, -unconscious of the fact. My lord her husband, secretly watchful of the -change, conceals, under an affectation of <i>insouciance</i>, the jealousy -which is beginning to set him speculating as to any reason which may -exist for it. Hamilton, who holds in his hand, or imagines that he -holds, the strings of all the puppets implicated in this play of -cross-purposes, pervades the entire scene, a figure of wit and grace, -handsome, urbane, and popular wherever he chooses to distribute his -favours. Of the Court and its demoralizing atmosphere are all these -lives, is all this complication of unscrupulous intrigue; and, if we -leave that Court out of our account, it is not to imply thereby that -the aforesaid lives are not nine-tenths subject to its baneful -influences, but simply because to mix any such complex ingredients -with a plain tale were hopelessly to confuse the issues thereof. -Wherefore we will continue to confine our <i>mise en scène</i>, if you -please, to that district of the huge, rambling palace in which my lord -of Chesterfield has his quarters. It is there that the sole business -with which we are concerned develops itself. -</p> - -<p> -Now, it comes to include, this business, in the process of its -unfolding, a certain illustrious figure, with whose name we have dealt -hitherto but in parenthesis. His Royal Highness the Duke of York was -at this date a young man of twenty-seven, and somewhat notable, in a -reckless community, for the comparative propriety of his conduct. At -least, he kept his lapses within reasonable, if infrequent, bounds, -and, in erring, showed some occasional capacity for shamefacedness. He -had virtues—courage, truth to his word, fidelity, and application; -vices—parsimony, excessive hauteur, and an implacable enmity for his -foes. Yet, commonly master of himself, he possessed one cardinal -weakness, and that showed itself in a remarkable susceptibility to -feminine allurements—showed itself, I say, for he seemed unable to -conceal it; he was, according to Grammont, the most completely -unguarded ogler of his time. -</p> - -<p> -Fresh, unspoiled, and possessed of the double recommendation of having -a husband, and notoriously an indifferent one, the little Countess -with the rose-leaf face was not long, you may be sure, in attracting -the rather prominent inquisition of those wandering orbs, and not -altogether, be it said, without some flattered consciousness, on her -part, of their interested scrutiny. The Duke, though austere to -severity, was not an uncomely Stuart; he was tall, well formed, and -the sallow melancholy of his look, when tempered to a soft occasion, -could be sufficiently moving. Satisfied as to first impressions, he -began to consider his further policy; and in the meantime he ogled. -</p> - -<p> -His ogling, it seemed, was not, in spite of its temerity, suspected by -Hamilton. Perhaps Cousin George’s confidence in his own most-favoured -position was too absolute to cherish a thought of any rival influence -outside it. But, whatever the case, it is certain that, even if he -observed, he gave himself no concern whatever about an ocular -blandishment which was generally at the service of any <i>beaux yeux</i> of -a pattern finer than the common. -</p> - -<p> -But, if he remained indifferent, it was far otherwise with the -husband, whose vision in a night had changed its blindness for the -thousand-lensed optic of spiderous jealousy. Realizing, too late, his -own infatuated folly, reduced to a vain coveting of what was by all -legal right his own possession, forced into an attitude of apparent -insensibility to the promiscuous gallantries offered to his lady on -the strength of their estrangement, and prevented, both by policy and -pride, from confessing to his altered sentiments, the unhappy man was, -in these days, suffering all the pangs the most vindictive wife could -have wished. And yet she would have forgiven him, even now, could he -have brought that obstinate devil in him to submit to the one -condition she had dictated, and have owned to his iniquity and asked -absolution for it. But to that extreme he could not go; it was still a -point of honour with him to force her into being the first to break -the silence; and so he continued to ground what hopes he had on the -nature of the compromise suggested by Hamilton. To that absurd faith -he clung, soon wearying of the little malapert instrument lent, though -he never guessed it, to his purpose, but desperately continuing to -play her for the success he looked to achieve. And, in the meanwhile, -if his part in private was a difficult one, in public it was an -endless anguish. It was not only that, cursed to that compact of -silence, he must be perpetually manœuvring to avoid its discovery by -others—and always on the edge of a fear lest what he so carefully -concealed should be mockingly made known, in a spasm of feminine -perversity, by the capricious partner thereto—but that he was wholly -debarred by it from uttering a word of warning or menace to that same -partner on the subject of the perils, to which her own wilfulness was -subjecting her, from oglings, princely or otherwise. He himself was so -acutely sensitive to the danger that he found a suggestive meaning in -every appreciative glance, every small natural homage paid to a beauty -which could not be seen but to be admired. The attractions which -should have been his pride had become his torment, while his mind -revolted from the memory of a dead infatuation as from something -noisome: and in so much the Nemesis of deserved retribution had -swiftly overtaken him. From his jealous misery he could find no relief -at last but in confiding its fancied justifications to his friend -Hamilton. Him, for some inexplicable reason, he never suspected. -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it, George!” he would say. “I am so driven and harassed, curse -it! A little more and I shall pack her off to the Peak!” -</p> - -<p> -He spoke of the Peak in Derbyshire, near which his country seat, -Bretby Hall, was situated. The phrase at Court came to pass into a -jocular proverb; so that to rid oneself of a tiresome wife was to send -her to the Peak. But the threat a little alarmed Hamilton. It was true -that, if carried into effect, it might prove itself the short cut to -his own desired goal, since friends come doubly welcomed into killing -solitudes; still, that welcome, gained at the sacrifice, perhaps, of a -month in town, was a prospect altogether too wry to be entertained -with composure. No, he must certainly counter the suggestion with all -his wits. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” he said. “What is poor Kate’s new offence?” -</p> - -<p> -“Did I speak of any?” snarled Chesterfield. “The old is wide enough -and long enough to serve the purpose of a score.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“How, says he! Why, does she not take advantage of my tongue-tied -state to flaunt her coquetries in my very face?” -</p> - -<p> -“Speak to her, then.” -</p> - -<p> -“You know I cannot.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, you can, indeed!” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll see her damned first!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, there you are. You’ll see her damned first, and so you will.” -</p> - -<p> -“So I will? What do you imply by that?” -</p> - -<p> -“Did you not say you would? Your word on it, then, you will.” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse you! You mean the Duke.” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse you! What Duke?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you know very well?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, a pox on these conundrums! What Duke, I say?” -</p> - -<p> -“York, then.” -</p> - -<p> -“What! Is <i>he</i> the villain?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve watched them exchange glances.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, so have I, and so have hundreds.” -</p> - -<p> -“You own it?” -</p> - -<p> -“With perfect equanimity. Such frank barter of the eyes is your surest -proof of innocence. Give me your stolen look for mischief.” -</p> - -<p> -“You think he means none, then?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton laughed, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Phil!” said he, “thou art surely possessed. The Duke hath other -fish to fry; his net is full. Believe me, on my sincerity” (and he -meant it), “your jealousy corrupts your judgment. And more—it -dishonours your wife. Come, tell me—how goes it with the little -country skit, Kate’s friend?” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield, but half convinced, shook his head and growled. -</p> - -<p> -“She wearies me. A tasteless business.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” said the other, again perturbed: “you are not crying off?” -</p> - -<p> -“No”—he shrugged—“O, faith, no! But, ’tis uphill work.” -</p> - -<p> -“The looser rein to give yourself. A plague on distaste! That is to -put on the brake uphill.” -</p> - -<p> -“A common creature, nevertheless, to appear my more natural -choice—and when <i>she</i> is by. I think Kate must hold me despicable.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is the skit so common?” -</p> - -<p> -“Troth, you’d think it: though, to do her justice, she makes one -laugh.” -</p> - -<p> -“Still, though against your inclinations, you play the part?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I play it.” -</p> - -<p> -“And with what effect so far?” -</p> - -<p> -“None that you promised—unless rank mutiny lay in your scheme. She -seems determined to show me that, of all men she encounters, I stand -least in her regard.” -</p> - -<p> -“So you are signalled out for her slights. What could you wish more? -I’d rather be the one scorned by a woman than the fifty favoured. ’Tis -to stand alone in her estimation, and be thought of always for -yourself. She’s jealous, take my word. These coquetries you speak of -are but retorts on you in kind. Be thankful that she thinks you worth -them. It works, Phil—believe me, it works.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you really think so?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m sure of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, visit us this night, and make sureness surer.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton feigned to reflect. -</p> - -<p> -“To-night? Why, the truth is——” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield, breaking into a chuckle, nudged him roguishly. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey-hey! I see: an assignation. Well, another night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay; to prove you’re wrong, I’ll come.” -</p> - -<p> -It so happened that, passing along a corridor that afternoon, Hamilton -encountered the Duke of York, who took his arm and held him in -friendly talk as he paced the matting with him up and down. His Royal -Highness was in a suit of plain black, which became his sombre visage -very well, and wore no ornament but the “George” suspended from his -neck by a blue ribbon. -</p> - -<p> -“I know your love for music, Geordie,” says he. “What is this new -saraband that all seem suddenly crazed about?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton told him. It was by the Signor Francesco Corbetti, that -famous master of the guitar, who had lately come from Paris to -Whitehall, and with such good result for himself that the King, who -loved his art, had actually appointed him a groom of the Queen’s privy -chamber, with a princely salary, in order that he might attach him -permanently to the Court. -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis nothing else, both morning and noon,” said the young man, with a -groan: “till, for my very love of music, I could throttle these -mutilators of it with their own guitar strings. Not a doting coxcomb -or lang’rous amourette but murders the ‘jealous-pated swain’ six times -a day. I wish he were rotten. Is it not strange how vanity will never -learn that to sing the nightingale’s song is not necessarily to sing -the nightingale!” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke smiled tolerantly. -</p> - -<p> -“Are they all such bunglers?” said he. “I have heard of some reputed -to handle their instruments well.” -</p> - -<p> -“Arran is one,” said Hamilton, “and there is another accomplished -performer among them—your Royal Highness’s self. But, for the rest, -it is not that I object to their twanging to their hearts’ content; it -is that they must all do it to the same tune. This saraband is indeed -a ravishing air—as Corbetti plays it; but watered nectar was never to -my taste. God forbid I should quarrel with a vogue his Majesty -started, or curse to hear this discordant plucking of strings come -wailing eternally like the wind through a hundred keyholes; all I ask -is an occasional change in the theme.” -</p> - -<p> -“You think, nevertheless, the air itself beautiful?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! it is. Your Royal Highness should hear it.” -</p> - -<p> -“What did you remark of Lord Arran, Geordie?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, he knows and plays it, after Corbetti, the best of all.” -</p> - -<p> -This Earl of Arran, Kate Chesterfield’s younger brother, was a little -callow perfumed exquisite, a little lisping buck, who could play many -parts prettily, but none to such effect as that of minstrel, for -which, like Moore, and Leigh Hunt, and other twitterers of a later -date, he had a small natural aptitude. So, when the Italian, by the -King’s grace, brought guitars into that fashion that no lady’s toilet -table was thought complete without it included a beribboned instrument -among its rouge and powder-puffs, this curled darling found his -opportunity, and earned through it a more devoted attention than any -of his puppyish charms had hitherto been able to procure him. -</p> - -<p> -“He must play it to me,” said the Duke. “The boy has a fine touch, -though something due, no doubt, to the quality of his instrument. They -say ’tis the best in all England.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, that it is not,” said Hamilton unguardedly. “His sister owns the -best.” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke affected an air of momentary abstraction before he answered— -</p> - -<p> -“What did you say? O, my lady Chesterfield! She plays too?” -</p> - -<p> -“Faith! that is the word for it,” answered the other. “She plays, as -they all do—at playing.” -</p> - -<p> -“And she has a finer guitar than her brother, was it? She should lease -it to him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Doubtless she would, if asked.” -</p> - -<p> -Again his answer seemed to pass unnoticed. Then the Duke started, as -if recollecting himself. -</p> - -<p> -“Eh?” he said: “we were discussing—what or whom? I’ve forgot. But let -it pass. There was something of interest—what was it?—that I had in -my mind to mention to you.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch07"> -CHAPTER VII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -“<span class="sc">The</span> same: three days later.” So, in theatrical parlance, we lift -the curtain on a scene the replica of that introduced in the second -chapter of this Comedy of Errors. It was all as before, even to the -parted figures—only with this difference: somewhat equidistant -between the two sat Mrs. Davis. -</p> - -<p> -That, though an addition seeming insignificant, had all the latent -force in it of a barrel of gunpowder with an unlighted fuse attached. -The moment might come when, the match being applied, the whole of that -artificial stuff of obmutescence would be blown in a flash to the -winds. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Moll was perhaps herself a little conscious of the volcano on -which she was perched. Yet it would be doing her an injustice to hint -that she either felt or showed any perturbation. While fully realizing -that her position was in the last degree precarious, the thrill of the -thing, the exercise of the mental agility needed to prevent, or at -least postpone, that final catastrophe, was compensation enough, while -it lasted, to reconcile her to her utmost danger. And in the meanwhile -she was having, in the slang of to-day, the time of her life. Lapt in -a perfumed luxury, which was as foreign as it was agreeable to her -nature, and enjoying it none the less because it was stolen fruit, -soon to be consumed; like a born actress living in her part, but like -an astute woman keeping an unsleeping eye to the business side of her -engagement, she gave herself wholly to the situation, and endeavoured -to extract from it the best that mischief and ingenuity could devise. -Morally, she was in her own eyes merely the naughty little <i>tertium -quid</i> needed in a drama of love and jealousy to effect a certain -purpose of separation. -</p> - -<p> -And, incidentally, she regarded the feelings of no one. The play was -the thing, and nothing outside it mattered. She was not, personally, -taken with his lordship, while, professionally, she coquetted with, -and, as she supposed, captivated him. If, in the course of those -antics, he should be so obsessed as to propose to make her his -mistress in actual fact, she might possibly, for reasons of -self-interest, be induced to accept. But she was quite contented -without. The entertainment to her lay in the successful management of -the double deception which was to end by procuring Hamilton the fruit -of his elaborate intrigue. She was not jealous of him, though he was -the man, handsome and daring, for her fancy. They were small souls -akin, and she would like to please him, if only to hear his praise. -</p> - -<p> -My lord read, my lady worked, and Mrs. Davis sat with her hands on her -lap and yawned. When she addressed either, it had to be with a careful -view to maintaining with each the fiction that she was the other’s -friend—a task not to be under-estimated for its difficulty, and, -indeed, only rendered possible by the stubborn avoidance by the two, -in replying to her, of any reference to her position in the house as -the guest of one of them. But their mutual pride was in that her -safety. For any self-betrayal they invited, designedly or -undesignedly, she might actually have been their known and accepted -visitor. They spoke not so much to her as through her—shafts designed -by each to gall the other. It was for her usefulness in that respect -that my lady had condescended to condone her presence, and even to the -extent of some verbal interchanges. As a medium, transmitting the -bitter intercourse of soul with soul, she had her negative virtues. -</p> - -<p> -It was evening, and the girandoles were all a sparkling haze of light. -There was no company but these three; for his lordship had of late -shown a peevish avoidance of his friends, and his implied intimation -of a desire for solitude had been generally respected—infinitely to -the disgust of his young Countess, who, never wedded to domestic -dullness, found in this infliction of it, under the circumstances, an -intolerably aggravated grievance. She sat like a figure of fate, -distilling frost. -</p> - -<p> -Moll, leaning back in her chair, linked her hands behind her head, -stretched deliciously, gave a prodigious yawn, and rattling her little -heels on the floor, came erect again, and looked in a collapsed way at -her ladyship. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure, you’d find stitching easier, wouldn’t you,” she said, “if you -took off that black sling of a thing.” (The injured wife still -advertised her hurt on occasion.) -</p> - -<p> -“No,” answered the lady shortly, pursing her lips. “I shouldn’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“Wouldn’t you, now?” said the slut, and settled herself down for a -tease. She was a born chatterer, as glib at retort as she was -garrulous, and the bump of reverence had been wholly denied her. She -looked very pretty, nevertheless, in her evening frock of flowered -lutestring, with her bright hair tumbling over her bright cheeks, and -dressed at each temple with a knot of pink ribbon. “Well, there’s no -accounting for tastes. If I’d hurt my arm, I should either forget the -bruise or forget my work. They don’t pull together.” -</p> - -<p> -“I haven’t hurt my arm.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not?” -</p> - -<p> -“It was bitten by a dog.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sakes, now! What made him do it?” -</p> - -<p> -“What makes any dog bite? An evil disposition, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -“You weren’t taking his bone away from him, by chance?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not I. He’s welcome to a whole skeleton of bones for me.” -</p> - -<p> -“All except the spare-rib, maybe.” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship, from his place apart, went “Ha-ha!”—and immediately -looked furiously solemn. My lady, beyond a slight flushing of the -cheek, showed no consciousness of the interruption. Moll turned in her -chair, leaning her arms on the back and her chin on her crossed hands. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s you,” she said. “Is your book so funny?” -</p> - -<p> -“Killing,” answered Chesterfield. “’Tis—’tis a tract on drainage.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord, now—how humoursome! No wonder it makes you roar. But, sure, -there’s no laughter in your face. You look as cross as a Good Friday -bun.” -</p> - -<p> -“Zounds! I’m amused, I tell you,” he said; “as amused as a dog when a -cat arches her back at him.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve seen more amused things than that. Come, prithee, leave your -book and let us talk. What do you want to read for when a guest is -by?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! just to occupy my mind.” -</p> - -<p> -“Put something into nothing, do you mean? Well, ’tis better empty than -filled with drainage.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, without hilarity, but laid aside his reading. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said he; “I am at your service.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s right,” she said. “And so we’ll make a merry company, we -three—the best in the middle and the bread on each side, like a duck -sandwich.” -</p> - -<p> -“Little merriment in a sandwich, to my thinking.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, so there isn’t. ’Tis a poor substitute for the stomach.” -</p> - -<p> -“A very poor substitute. A man might better own a bread-basket.” -</p> - -<p> -But that was too much for Mrs. Davis. She bridled, instantly offended. -</p> - -<p> -“You vulgar beast! I’ll have you know I’m not to be spoken to like -that, curse you!” -</p> - -<p> -There is nothing more incommensurable, to be sure, than the particular -standards of decorum which obtain with people of Mrs. Moll’s -station—now as then. -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield’s eyebrows went up; he shook with a little inward -laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” says he, “I’m all amazement! ’Twas but a <i>façon de parler</i>; -or, as we call it, a figure of speech.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, you can keep that part of speech’s figure to yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will; though I’ve got enough of my own. Come—forgive my offence. -What were we discussing? Sandwiches?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I say they’re a poor manner of food. The man that invented them -meant well, but he went the wrong way about with it. They should be a -slice of bread between two slices of meat, to my taste. He must ha’ -been like Kit’s friend, who always did the right thing and did it -wrong.” -</p> - -<p> -She was constantly referring to this “Kit.” Neither of her hearers had -a notion as to who was the individual alluded to, though each supposed -it to be some one familiar to the other’s knowledge. The lady, of -course, thought it a woman, the gentleman a man. The name, you see, as -applicable to a member of either sex, was one very well chosen for -abstract purposes. It enabled her to keep up an assumption of -understood references, while avoiding the danger of specific -instances. “Kit” was made the mouthpiece of quite a number of -imaginary characters. He—or she—might or might not have had some -existence in fact—even to a certain association with that mythical -personage her husband (in whom, by the by, Hamilton had scant belief); -but for oracular purposes it mattered nothing whether “Kit” were a -derivation or a creation. The enigma, however, had this whimsical -effect—both husband and wife became presently consumed with such an -insatiable curiosity to penetrate the secret of “Kit’s” identity, that -they felt like to burst under the weight of silence which the irony of -circumstance had imposed on them. -</p> - -<p> -“What friend of Kit’s was that?” inquired his lordship. -</p> - -<p> -“He was a plumber,” answered Moll—and turned on her hostess. “Have -you ever had a friend a plumber?” -</p> - -<p> -It was as though she had suddenly shot a jet of iced water over the -daughter of the Duke of Ormonde. Kate started, quivered, and sat -rigid. -</p> - -<p> -“Never!” she gasped out. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said Moll, “I don’t blame you. They’ve a smell about them of -putty and warm tallow that isn’t appetizing. But this friend of Kit’s -was worse than most. He never mended a broken pipe but what he shut up -some of his tools in it first, or stopped one leak without opening -two. Aren’t you feeling well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind my feelings,”—the response came Arctic. “I’m not -accustomed to having them considered”—“by the friends of plumbers,” -was implied. -</p> - -<p> -“What a shame, now! If ’tis your arm that’s hurting you, don’t stand -on ceremony, but get to bed. We can manage alone somehow.” -</p> - -<p> -The Earl raised his eyebrows, positively petrified. How dared the -baggage mock the other thus, however much her friend? It could be -nothing but her obsession about himself and his fatal attraction which -emboldened her so to range herself, as it were, under the protection -of his guns. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Chesterfield, her cheek aglow, rose to her feet. -</p> - -<p> -“This is becoming insufferable,” she began; and stopped, biting her -lip. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve forgotten your sling,” said Moll. -</p> - -<p> -“You’ve forgotten <i>yourself</i>,” said Kate disdainfully; and, with a -shrug, resumed her seat. “But perhaps that is an advantage.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Davis jumped up, with a ringing laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“What a company of crosspatches!” she cried. “The sandwich doesn’t -seem to be a success. You come in the middle, Phil, and be the duck.” -</p> - -<p> -He grinned, but in a half-scared way. She had never yet ventured so -far as to call him by his Christian name. He was feeling suddenly -rather helpless—taken off his feet by the excess of the storm he had -himself invited. When she ran to him and pulled at his coat, he -resisted feebly. -</p> - -<p> -“Come and be the duck.” She chirped with laughter. “What a face to -grin through a horse collar! O! look intelligent!” She shook him. -“What shall we do—play games? Hot cockles, say, or——” she released -him, and stood with deliberating finger on lip. “No, that would never -do. Dumb-crambo—what do you say to that?” She glanced with comical -plaintiveness from one mute figure to the other. “But you don’t look -very playful, either of you. I wish Kit was here. You’d never be able -to resist Kit, whatever you do me.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield cleared his throat, fingering the cravat at it. -</p> - -<p> -“Is Kit such a wag?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Just,” was the answer. -</p> - -<p> -“And good at games?” -</p> - -<p> -“There was never such a one for make-believe.” -</p> - -<p> -“A happy disposition. But then, as to happiness—Kit isn’t married, of -course.” -</p> - -<p> -Her ladyship, in an uncontrollable spasm, whisked about. -</p> - -<p> -“Kit, Mrs. Davis, has never suffered that most cruel of -disillusionments.” -</p> - -<p> -And then they went at it alternately, each pointedly addressing <i>not</i> -the other, and tossing the hypothetical Kit between them, as if that -epicene individual were the most familiar of shuttlecocks. -</p> - -<p> -“Kit is to be congratulated, Mrs. Davis,” said his lordship. -</p> - -<p> -“Kit has chosen the better course, Mrs. Davis,” said her ladyship. -</p> - -<p> -“Matrimony is the shadow of felicity, Mrs. Davis, for which men, like -the dog in the fable, drop the substance.” -</p> - -<p> -“Men, you see, are beasts, Mrs. Davis; and not only beasts, but silly -beasts.” -</p> - -<p> -“They don’t know when they are well off, Mrs. Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -“But women do, Mrs. Davis, when men insist on remaining single.” -</p> - -<p> -“A pity for them, then, Mrs. Davis, that they don’t insist on -remaining single too.” -</p> - -<p> -“A great pity, Mrs. Davis; but women are in everything -self-sacrificing.” -</p> - -<p> -“They know how to take consolation for their injuries, Mrs. Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -“The one lesson for which they are thankfully indebted to men, Mrs. -Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -“Take care what you’re confessing to, Mrs. Davis!” -</p> - -<p> -“Or what calumnies you are making poor Kit responsible for, Mrs. -Davis,” said her ladyship, with a little contemptuous laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Kit is the devil!” shouted the Earl, his wrath, till then steadily -crescendo, exploding in a clap. -</p> - -<p> -Moll, with a shriek of laughter, put her little hands to her ears. -</p> - -<p> -“Lud!” she cried. “I’ve never confessed to so much before without -knowing it! And to think Kit is come to be the devil after all!” -</p> - -<p> -She lowered her hands to clap them; and at that moment the doors were -flung open and Mr. Hamilton was announced. He came in from attending -the Court, a brilliant figure all silk and velvet, with bows to his -shoes a foot wide, and deep ruffles of lace falling from his knees -over his calves. His teeth showed in a little tentative smile, their -whiteness emphasized by the thread of moustache, no thicker than an -eyebrow, which adorned his upper lip; while his glance, swift and -comprehensive, took in the essentials of the situation on which he had -alighted. His young kinswoman sprang to greet him with a cry of -gladness. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Oh, bien rencontré, mon beau cousin!</i> You are welcome as health -after sickness!” -</p> - -<p> -She positively seemed to fawn on him, while Chesterfield, black and -splenetic, scowled from his place across the room. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton was hugely gratified; but prudence necessitated his -discounting this demonstration in the kindest way possible. He -laughed, and very gently putting aside the caressing hands, answered, -sufficiently audibly— -</p> - -<p> -“Troth, Kate, if this is your malady, it appears in a more attractive -form than most.” And then, lowering his voice, he spoke her aside: -“Who is this stranger?” -</p> - -<p> -“You should know,” she replied, hardly deigning to respond in kind. -“Was it not you that warned me of her coming?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he said, seeming enlightened, and just perceptibly shrugged his -shoulders. “Is that so? Well, make us known to one another, child; for -there’s no situation possible here without.” -</p> - -<p> -“You said you had seen her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Never to be remembered by her. I prithee, Kate.” -</p> - -<p> -She could not; it stuck in her throat; but she conceded this much—she -waved him with her hand towards the other two, where they stood -together. Hamilton made the best of it. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you, Phil?” says he, skipping up before, with a killing smile -for the lady. -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield had no choice but to respond. -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. Davis,” he said, in a voice that seemed to carry an oath behind -it; “this is my friend, Mr. George Hamilton.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll curtsied, “a wicked little winkle” in her eye; and the gentleman, -left hand on chest, right extended, and right toe advanced and -pointed, swept a bow the very exaggeration of courtly. -</p> - -<p> -“Charmed,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure,” said Moll. -</p> - -<p> -“You were speaking,” said he, “when it was my misfortune to interrupt -you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was I?” said she. “Now I remember—it was about Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was it, faith? And who’s Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit’s the devil.” -</p> - -<p> -“The devil he is!” -</p> - -<p> -“I never said <i>he</i>, now.” -</p> - -<p> -“She, then.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nor <i>she</i>. Kit’s Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“Zounds! Neither man nor woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“Zounds! Why not? Doesn’t something come between man and woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“What comes?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, the devil, sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! Then Kit <i>is</i> the devil.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, Kit is not. Kit is what the devil comes between.” -</p> - -<p> -“Wait, now. I scent a quibble. Kit stands for Christopher, and Kit -stands for Katherine—both man and woman. They go arm in arm.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not they. Why, Chris could never look at a woman without blushing.” -</p> - -<p> -“And how about Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, <i>she</i>! <i>She’d</i> go arm in arm with a pair of breeches.” -</p> - -<p> -My lord laughed, half vexedly: “She never could, you know.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll turned on him. -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas you, not me, called Kit the devil. Why don’t you answer for -your own?” and, with a manner of playful fretfulness, she began to -tease and rally him <i>sotto voce</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton looked, with a grin, at his cousin, then moved to rejoin her. -She stood with set lips and a disdainful frown on her brow. -</p> - -<p> -“How can you encourage such intolerable stuff?” she said, in an -undertone, as he approached. -</p> - -<p> -“Come with me into the window,” he answered low; and, rebelling a -moment, she succumbed. It was a large room, and the movement secured -them a relative privacy. -</p> - -<p> -“Stuff it may be,” said he; “but ’tis the sort of ready flippancy -which leads your Philip Stanhopes by the nose. Is there any truth in -this Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“How should I know or care? Some former flame of his, belike, with -whom they play to perplex and insult me. It is no concern of mine. I -am done with him.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that true, cousin?” He looked at her very earnestly. “Nay, I can -see you are not speaking the truth.” -</p> - -<p> -“Can you see? What true masculine eyes! I tell you that, having formed -my resolve, I am quite unconcerned and happy!” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! Women think themselves what they want to be. That is why they -never understand when they are accused of being what they are.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed! And pray what am I that I do not think myself?” -</p> - -<p> -“Jealous.” -</p> - -<p> -“Never!” -</p> - -<p> -“Jealous, I say—or you were not still so obsessed that you could fail -to play the game I set you.” -</p> - -<p> -“What game?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! ‘What game?’ says she. Why, <i>his</i> game—or fatuity. Make <i>him</i> -jealous; hoist him with his own petard, and see this common jade -deposed.” -</p> - -<p> -Affecting, while he spoke, the simplest conversational manner, he had -an acute eye all the time for the two across the room. He observed the -little attention the Earl was paying to the wiles besieging him, his -disturbed glances his way, the morose suspicion of his expression; and -he knew that the man was still too corroded with jealousy to play -adequately the part assigned him. And in so far the decoy had failed, -it seemed, to justify her uses. It was evident that, as Chesterfield -had stated, she had begun to weary him—a perilous situation, which -must be stopped from developing itself at whatever cost. But this -mischief had reserves of fascination not yet brought into action. -Kate’s own guitar—the famous instrument—lay on a table hard by. The -sight of it brought one of these reserves most opportunely into his -mind. If he dared—but he <i>must</i> dare. -</p> - -<p> -Kate looked at her beguiler queerly. “I had forgotten,” she said. -“Thank you, cousin. Is your advice very disinterested?” -</p> - -<p> -“To that extreme,” said he, “that I offer myself, if you will, the -fond instrument to this provocation. Purely to serve you, believe me. -Why, watch him now, and judge if, for all his misbehaviour, he would -relish that sort of retort on his infidelity.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will not watch him,” she said, “or even look at him. You are very -kind to me, cousin. I will think on what you say.” -</p> - -<p> -He was so elated that he decided on the venture. Lifting the guitar, -he ran his fingers over the strings. -</p> - -<p> -“This, Mrs. Davis,” said he, advancing a few steps, “is thought, as no -doubt you have been informed, the finest instrument of its kind in -London. Do you play?” -</p> - -<p> -The girl’s eyes sparkled. If she had a soul, it was to be evoked, -small and indefinite, through music. Hamilton had calculated on that -effect. -</p> - -<p> -“I play,” she said. “Give it me.” -</p> - -<p> -Her ladyship exclaimed angrily— -</p> - -<p> -“No! Put it away, cousin. I will not have it so misused.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“O, Kate! Never so churlish. Those fingers, I’ll go bail, were not -made for hurt or discord. I prithee, sweet Kate.” -</p> - -<p> -“Give it me,” said Moll entreatingly. “I’ll use it so I’ll make you -all love me.” -</p> - -<p> -Too indignant and too proud to protest further, the young Countess -contented herself by flinging into a chair, where she sat with her -back turned obstinately on the performer. -</p> - -<p> -And Moll played, her fingers fluttering over the strings like -butterflies, and drawing honey wheresoever they alighted. It was not -great music, accomplished, soul-stirring; but it was very natural and -very moving, quite true, quite simple, welling from the little spring -that was her one pure sincerity. And presently—just as, -sympathetically, when notes and chords are struck you may see a caged -bird’s throat swell and throb, until the responsive rapture comes -irresistibly bubbling forth and overflowing—her voice melted into, or -took up, the melodious refrain her hands were shaping; and in a moment -she was singing a little song, as sweet as a thrush upon a tree— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">When my love comes, O, I will not upbraid him!</p> -<p class="i1">He meant but for kindness the gift that he gave.</p> -<p class="i0">Is he to blame for the Heaven that made him</p> -<p class="i1">A heart full of tenderness meet to enslave?</p> - -<p class="i0 mt1">When my love comes I will promise him roses,</p> -<p class="i1">Gift for the gift that he laid in my breast.</p> -<p class="i0">O, for that promise his kindness discloses,</p> -<p class="i1">Will he not kiss me and make me his blest?</p> - -<p class="i0 mt1">There’s a cry in the air of the cuckoo, sweet comer;</p> -<p class="i1">The daffodils blow and there’s green on the tree;</p> -<p class="i0">There’s a nest in the roof that is empty since summer—</p> -<p class="i1">When my love comes will he warm it for me?</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -It took her hearers by surprise, Hamilton not least. He was so moved, -indeed, for the moment, that he failed to observe its effect on -Chesterfield. They all dwelt silent for a little, while the girl, -conscious of the impression she had made, looked down, still softly -touching the strings. And then in a twinkle her mood changed. She -shook her curls, laughed, touched out a lively air, and began to -dance. -</p> - -<p> -Her dancing was like her playing, her singing—native, unaffected, -captivating, a rhythm of lightness, seeming to mock gravitation. It -was to help to make her famous by and by—in days when the susceptible -Mr. Pepys was to go into raptures over seeing “little Miss Davis” -jigging at the play-end; and, indeed, it was very pretty, so elf-like, -so unforced. It roused the enthusiasm of at least two of her company. -When, laughing and rosy, she ceased, Chesterfield came to her all in a -glow. -</p> - -<p> -“It was prettier than the frisking of your own lambs,” said he. “Did -you learn it of a shepherd’s piping, and your song of the nightingale? -I vow I envy the country its possession of such a Corisande.” -</p> - -<p> -My lady rose from her chair, and, without turning her head, walked -erect from the room. Hamilton, watching the Earl with a furtive smile, -heard her go, and breathed a silent benediction on his own success. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch08"> -CHAPTER VIII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Mr. Pepys</span>—to mention him once again—kept, as we know, a -commonplace book, in which he was accustomed to jot down (in -shorthand, let us hope) the good stories, post-prandial and otherwise, -which came his way. It must have been a rich if unseemly collection, -and is ill lost in these days to a world which, whatever its mental -capital, has never more than enough of refreshing anecdotes to go -round. Included in it, one may be sure, were those gems of information -(as related in the Diary) proffered at my lord Crewe’s table by one -Templer on the habits of the viper and the tarantula. This Mr. -Templer, we note, was a clergyman, and by virtue of his cloth should -be exonerated from the suspicion, otherwise irresistible, that he was -pulling our Samuel’s fat leg. But it is worth quoting the passage <i>in -extenso</i> that the reader may judge for himself— -</p> - -<p> -“He told us some [i.e. serpents] in the waste places of Lancashire do -grow to a great bigness, and do feed upon larkes which they take thus: -They observe, when the lark is soared to the highest, and do crawl -till they come to be just underneath them; and there they place -themselves with their mouth uppermost, and there, as is conceived, -they do eject poyson upon the bird; for the bird do suddenly come down -again in its course of a circle, and falls directly into the mouth of -the serpent; which is very strange.” -</p> - -<p> -It <i>is</i> very strange; and that lark at his highest, be it -observed—how many hundred feet up?—and the stupendous accuracy of -the aim! But Mr. Templer was “a great traveller”—and, of course, -therefore, not at all a great liar—and necessarily, on the other -hand, too shrewd a man to be himself taken in by the gammoning of -local naturalists. Of the tarantula he goes on to say that “All the -harvest long” (in Italy presumably) “there are fiddlers go up and down -the fields everywhere, in expectation of being hired by those that are -stung.” Bless him! and bless his admirable chronicler, who never -recorded a more ingenious tale—save that, perhaps, which relates of -his friend, Batalier, the jovial but conscienceless, cheapening a butt -of Bordeaux wine of some merchant, on the score that it was soured by -a thunderstorm, the said storm having been just produced by an artful -rogue hired to counterfeit the noise of one, with rain and hail, “upon -a deale board”—an incident which reminds one of Peter Simple and -Captain Kearney. -</p> - -<p> -But, for Mr. Pepys’s book of tales; no part of it survives, so far as -I know, to supplement the Diary, or very possibly there might be found -in it some mention of the adventure of Jack Bannister with the -cly-faker. This adventure had befallen our musician some time before -his encounter with the Clerk of the Acts, which had turned out so -signally to his advantage, and one may be certain that the grateful -protégé, in the course of unburdening his heart to that generous -patron, would not have omitted to mention an incident so poignantly -associated with his recent hard experiences. The story, however, may -be given in our own words. -</p> - -<p> -In the days precedent to that lucky contretemps in Duke Street, Sad -Jack had once possessed a donkey. Acquiring the beast, by a stroke of -good fortune, through a raffle conducted in an inn yard over the -effects of a deceased tinker, he had used her to bear the burden of -the instrument which, in his ploddings abroad, made so heavy physical -an addition to the weight of melancholy which oppressed him. -Thenceforth patient Griselda acted the part of minstrel-boy to the -wandering harpist, bearing on her sturdy little back the dumb -intervals between performance and performance, and standing apathetic -by while the pence for her night’s board and lodging and her master’s -were being charmed from a reluctant public. She was a docile little -ass and intelligent, and between her and her owner was quickly -established a comradeship which made their too soon severance a source -of poignant grief to at least the human one of them. It happened in -this way— -</p> - -<p> -They came chancing together one day into the broad thoroughfare of -Cornhill, where, about the neighbourhood of the great conduit, near -the east end, they halted and prepared for their parts. Here, hard by, -stood the “tun,” or lock-up, a square detached building used for the -temporary impounding of night offenders; and it may have been their -contiguity to that place of ill savour which procured them the company -which was responsible for their separation. Rogues gravitate of -instinct towards the gallows, and your thief is never to be found -hovering so certainly as about the buildings where Justice inhabits. -</p> - -<p> -However that might be, and whether it were owing to the insolvency or -the insensibility of his audience I cannot say; but the net result to -the musician showed itself in such a beggarly taking, that he was -driven to bring his performance to a short end, with a view to -shifting his ground and endeavouring to discover a more profitable -pitch. He loaded up Griselda and moved off, his expression, perhaps, -reflecting the nature of his inward disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -But he had not trudged fifty paces when his dismal preoccupation -became conscious of a voice that pursued and arrested him. -</p> - -<p> -“Hillo, my troll-away!” -</p> - -<p> -He turned about, to see a figure approaching. It was that of a common -young fellow, white-faced, dirty, but with a world of shifty cunning -in his diminutive optics. His dress—some refuse of finery cheapened -from the hangman—overhung his puny limbs, he had packthread in his -shoes, and he wore his hat with a jack-a-dandy cock that did nothing -but emphasize its extreme age and greasiness No one less unworldly -than our musician would have stopped to parley with a creature so -obviously questionable. But in truth Jack was, in the slang of the -canting tribe, a born “buzzard,” or pigeon. -</p> - -<p> -“What now?” demanded he. -</p> - -<p> -“Heard ye,” said the stranger, coming up with a rather panting grin, -“harping it yonder, over against lob’s pound; and, thinks I to myself, -‘Here be the very man for my master.’” -</p> - -<p> -“What master?” -</p> - -<p> -The stranger jerked his thumb over his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“Salvator they call him—a great learned doctor.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, what about him?” -</p> - -<p> -“A needs a merry-Andrew, so to speak.” -</p> - -<p> -“I fail to smoke you, friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“One to play outside his door and attract custom.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” -</p> - -<p> -He thought he understood. It was being suggested that he should devote -his gift to the services of an empiric, by drawing, siren-like, chance -patients to his lure. -</p> - -<p> -Well, why not? There was no moral degradation implied in the business. -This Salvator might be a perfectly honest practitioner; and in any -case his own art would be used for no purpose baser than its wont—to -procure him, that was to say, a profitable audience. And with that his -responsibility would cease. The issue, for Salvator, would be his own -affair. He thought of the comparative rest implied, of his empty -pockets. -</p> - -<p> -“What sayest thou, Grisel?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -The little she ass grunted—a small purr of affection. -</p> - -<p> -“Would he make it worth my while?” asked Jack of the pallid rogue. -</p> - -<p> -“Take my word for’t,” says he, “and demand your own terms.” -</p> - -<p> -The musician hesitated a moment longer, then succumbed. After all, he -was committing himself to no more than an interview. “Lead on,” he -said, and, the rascal going before, he followed, with the beast, in -his tracks. -</p> - -<p> -They were here in a wide place of gabled houses, all having stalls -below, with a common pent-roof over, and signs of trades innumerable -hung, like flags, from its eaves. Out of this spacious thoroughfare -they turned sharply into an alley, sunless like a ravine from the -overtopping of its tenements, but full of life and bustle. This was -Birchin Lane, much inhabited of dealers in second-hand frippery and -upholstery, yet with spaces of quiet between, where in the shadows -lurked here and there a doorway enclosing some business less officious -in its character. And before one of these doors the stranger stopped. -A modest sign hung over it, showing the inscription, “Salvator, -Physician,” with a tiny pestle and mortar depicted in the top outer -corner, and its base was sunk a single step below the street level. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait you here,” said the fellow, “the whiles I go before to acquaint -my master.” -</p> - -<p> -He rapped on the door with the iron knocker, shaped like a sphinx, -that hung there, and in a little it was opened to him by a strong, -hard-faced woman, who inquired his business. That fact again should -have warned our harpist; but the man was a dreamer and simpleton. He -noted only that his escort was admitted, and thereafter was content to -await his reappearance with patience. -</p> - -<p> -Salvator sat alone in an upper room when the rogue was shown in to -him. The physician was of a piece with his chamber, moth-blown and -fusty. He wore a long black robe with a fur tippet, and a fur cap was -on his head, from which his locks hung down, the colour of dry ginger. -He looked spoiled and stained, from much handling of medicaments, and -his jaw seemed to goggle with his eyes. The room, beyond a table, an -astral globe, a bookcase stuffed with treatises, and a chair or two, -possessed little furniture, and no sign whatever of the usual -mummified paraphernalia of a dealer in the healing arts. He turned, -from his occupation of filling a test-tube from a glass phial, to -face, somewhat impatiently, the visitor. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, friend, and what is thy need?” -</p> - -<p> -The rogue fumbled his doffed hat. -</p> - -<p> -“None of my own, master, but my brother’s. A waits in the street -below, unwitting of my purpose.” -</p> - -<p> -“What need? What purpose? State, state, and be done with it.” -</p> - -<p> -“The purpose to have his wits cured, if so be I can entice him into -your honour’s presence.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, then, hath befallen his wits?” -</p> - -<p> -“What not, great sir? A thinks every one he meets doth owe him money, -and importunes the same for payment.” -</p> - -<p> -“A kleptomaniacal symptom; from mental possession to material. You did -well to approach me timely. Since when—— But I can judge nothing -without I see him. Send him up to me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mayhap he’ll be persuaded so he come alone. But he’ll ask you -payment.” -</p> - -<p> -“That were to put the cart before the horse; to fee the -patient—<i>husteron proteron</i>. But dispatch, dispatch.” -</p> - -<p> -The rogue descended to the street, and took Griselda’s bridle from her -master. -</p> - -<p> -“Go, make your own terms,” said he, as if well pleased, “while I hold -this. A waits you up above.” -</p> - -<p> -Soberly, and without suspicion, the musician mounted the stairs. At -the top Salvator met him, and, conducting him into his room, shut the -door. -</p> - -<p> -“A moment,” said he, “while I examine your eyes.” -</p> - -<p> -He took a lens to the astonished man, and effected a minute scrutiny, -muttering the while— -</p> - -<p> -“A visible wildness; dilation of the pupil and congestion. You have -never slept in the moonlight, now?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m! Nor been disappointed of a fortune, nor suffered a blow on the -head, nor brooded on the covetous infidelity of a loved mistress?” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you tell me plainly, sir, what are the terms you offer for my -services?” -</p> - -<p> -“We’ll come to that. Though ’tis true a physician usually asks a fee, -not gives it. My services are to you, good man.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, sir, I decline at once. What? pay you for bringing you custom!” -</p> - -<p> -“You bring me none, I assure you, if not yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll bring you none, indeed, nor prostitute my art to such a bargain. -Why, do you think I lead the life I do for pleasure?” -</p> - -<p> -“What life, now?” -</p> - -<p> -“The life of a beggar, sir; the life of one who harps about the -streets for alms.” -</p> - -<p> -“Harps?” -</p> - -<p> -“Do not you know? Else why was I brought here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, indeed? Your brother must explain.” -</p> - -<p> -“Brother! What brother?” -</p> - -<p> -“Him that came first.” -</p> - -<p> -“A stranger, sir, who accosted me in the streets not half an hour -gone, and brought me, on plea of an engagement, to you his master.” -</p> - -<p> -“His master? Not I. I’d never set eyes on the man before.” -</p> - -<p> -One blank minute the musician stood staring at the speaker, then -turned and, pounding down the stairs, half crying, half sobbing, as he -went, “A thief, a thief, a rogue! Stop him! He’s robbed me!” burst -from the door and into the street. The stranger had disappeared, the -beast, the instrument—beloved pet and the means to a livelihood all -vanished at a stroke. -</p> - -<p> -Aimless, distracted, with skirts flying, Bannister flew hither and -thither seeking and questioning. Some scoffed at him, some -sympathized; not one had any clue to offer. Amid that labyrinth of -lanes and byways, stretching its network to the very waterside, it had -been easy for the scamp to make good his escape. Exhausted and broken, -the musician had to desist at last from his efforts. -</p> - -<p> -To do him justice, the poor fellow lamented more for his Griselda than -for his instrument, though the loss of the latter presented the more -desperate problem to him. He could not afford from his scanty savings -enough to buy him a new harp, and without one how was he to procure -himself a living? In a last hope that he might find his conclusions -premature, and the truants back where he had left them, he was -returning dejectedly to the scene of his bereavement, when he caught -sight of the figure of Salvator peering from his own doorway. -</p> - -<p> -“What fortune?” quoth the medicus, with anxiety, and the other, his -lips grimly pursed, only shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“Come in, good man, and explain,” said the physician kindly, “since I -perceive there is more here than meets the eye, and that I have been -in some manner I wot not of the unconscious instrument of your -undoing. Nay, by your favour. I, who have been giving good advice all -my years of discretion, may yet find enough to help a -fellow-creature’s necessity.” -</p> - -<p> -It was such a revelation of human charity that Sad Jack was moved to -comply. He followed that Good Samaritan to his sanctum, and there, -with some heartfelt lamenting for his ravished pet, frankly confided -to sympathetic ears his circumstances and the nature of the trick -which had victimized him. He had no reason to repent his candour. A -practised, if a generous, reader of humankind, Salvator was soon -enough convinced of the innate honesty and simplicity of soul which -underlay the frozen surface of this nature. He saw a man here to be -commiserated and trusted, and, in the end—to cut the story -short—agreed to advance him the price of a new instrument, on the -mere undertaking that he should repay the loan in such instalments as -his success might justify. And to that arrangement, very delicately -suggested, Bannister was persuaded to subscribe. -</p> - -<p> -It was indeed an oasis to have discovered in this desert of a great -city; and when, in the course of months, fame and fortune, at the -instigation of an appreciative patron, leaped upon the humble street -player, he did not forget to whom his success had been primarily due, -but he sought out Salvator in his abode, and insisted on renting from -him at a princely figure a suite of upper rooms in the house in -Birchin Lane. And there he made his lodging, greatly to the -satisfaction of his landlord, who, for all he was in no need of having -patients harped to his door, was yet by far too upright a man ever to -be counted a rich one. -</p> - -<p> -“Phlebotomy, the conduct of a clyster, the sane mixing of a potion, -the spreading of an adequate plaster—what more,” he would say to his -tenant, “is needed to fulfil the functions of an honest practitioner? -There be some, plain quacksalvers, who, seeking to supplement the -legitimate by abstruse suggestion, adorn their chambers with the dried -bodies of toads, crocadilloes, venomous asps contained in spirit, and -other such <i>monstra horrenda</i> of a cheating fancy; whereby, indeed, if -they show their improbity, they exhibit a true knowledge of the uses -of the imagination, which will for ever pay to mystery the treble of -what reason would pay to knowledge. But not of such <i>suggestio falsi</i> -is my dealing: and, though I suffer by it, I would rather suffer in -the company of Galen than prosper in that of Cornelius Tilbury.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yet,” says Bannister, pointing to the astral globe, “you are not, it -seems, for limiting your prescriptions to the terrestrial?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” answered Salvator (whose real unprofessional name, by the way, -was Shovel), “am I so dense and blind to the sources of light and life -as to claim an independence for our planet? The herb is as much of -heaven as the star, and the sign-manual of our origin is printed on -man and flower alike. So must we consult man for heaven and heaven for -man, his lines, his indications, whether derived from this celestial -House or the other. For which reason I believe in astrology as in -chiromancy, since both guide me to the association of a particular -humour in a patient’s blood with its corresponding cause and remedy, -they all being contained in his nativity, or horoscope, that is to -say—man and season and herb alike. Without subscribing to the -fantastical conceits of Gaule and Indagine, who profess to find in the -palm of the hand a country of seven hills, each, as it were, a -watershed laced with innumerable descending rivulets of tendency, I -confess that I see no reason why what life hath marked on a man the -Source of life had not in the first instance predestined there. Light -is what I seek, and that comes not from the earth.” -</p> - -<p> -So was this worthy doctor, sane, humane and religious in one—a very -practical Samaritan. Yet, as it came to appear, not all his honest -theories were able to serve him in the single direction where most he -pined to see them vindicated. He was a widower, and possessed of an -only child, a hopelessly crippled boy of fifteen. -</p> - -<p> -Bannister had been an inmate of the house for a full week before he -learned of the existence of this pathetic incubus. The building was -well-sized, its upper part, until he came to occupy it, delivered to -gloom and emptiness, and, to reach his rooms, he had to pass by a door -on the first landing which, in his early notice of it, was invariably -closed. But one night, as he went by, he observed the door ajar, and -saw a light and heard a voice within. The voice was not that of his -landlord, nor of the hard-faced woman who acted as his sole servant -and housekeeper. It was a weak voice and a querulous, and it seemed to -be expostulating over the meagreness of some concession grudgingly -vouchsafed. The musician paused in some astonishment, resting -momentarily the foot of the harp he shouldered on a stair-tread. He -never parted from his loved instrument, though in these days he used a -good packhorse to convey it to and from the places where he performed. -</p> - -<p> -It was near midnight, and the house, but for the voice, was dead -silent. The woman, after admitting him, had preceded him up the flight -and vanished. It had never occurred to him that the place contained -other than the two with whom he was familiar. He stood, petrified for -the moment, and, as the sound of his footstep ceased, so did that of -the low and feeble complaint. And then suddenly the woman came to the -door and appeared before him. -</p> - -<p> -Bannister had always rather mentally recoiled from this person—her -bony sallowness, her silence, the gloom of seeming tragedy in her -eyes. He never learned from first to last what was her history; and -yet, if tragedy there were connected with it, it had likely proved a -tragedy no more heroic than that of lovelessness, and drudgery, and -the hard resignation to that lot of unfulfilment which, foredoomed of -personal ill-favour, is perhaps, to a woman, the bitterest tragedy of -all. She served him, and waited on him well; she did everything -efficiently save smile. Yet, for all her unemotional presence, he -thought he perceived now, in the guttering light of the landing lamp, -a sign of perturbation on her face. -</p> - -<p> -“I was surprised,” he said; “and stopped—no witting eavesdropper. I -thought I heard a voice I did not recognize.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas Colin’s,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Anan?” He used, being country bred, the country expression. -</p> - -<p> -“Colin’s,” she repeated—“the master’s child.” -</p> - -<p> -“I never knew he had one.” -</p> - -<p> -“One.” She responded like an echo. -</p> - -<p> -“And ill?” -</p> - -<p> -“He’s always ill.” -</p> - -<p> -“Poor boy! Does this vigil signify——?” -</p> - -<p> -She answered the unfinished question. -</p> - -<p> -“He wanted the door left ajar that he might see you pass with your -harp.” -</p> - -<p> -“See me pass?” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, since he cannot hear you play.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked at her in silence; then, in a quick, unaccountable impulse, -placed a firm hand on her arm. “Let me go in;” and, almost to his -wonder, she acquiesced, and moved aside to admit him. -</p> - -<p> -It was a fair-sized room, and quite handsomely appointed. What -luxuries the house could command seemed mostly accumulated here. There -were soft mats on the floor; jewels of stained glass let into the -diamond-paned casements; a silver lamp glowing among books and -illuminated manuscripts strewed over a table. And, in the midst, in -vivid contrast with the dark panelling, on a white bed lay a white -boy. His face, which, for its structure, might have been a pretty one, -was wasted to the bone; his eyes were prominent and of an unearthly -blue; though fifteen, he looked in weight and size less than a child -of nine. Sad, sad is it to see young life in any sickness—its -pathetic patience, its uncomplaining acceptance of its cruel, -uncomprehended heritage; but sadder is the sight of one doomed from -his cradle to pain and helplessness. To be born, like this, to death, -not life, to the visible processes of dissolution from the very -threshold of existence; to be fated never to know but by report the -meaning of health, as the blind must shape in their imaginations the -world they can never see—truly that is to suffer the worst loss of -possession, which is never to have possessed, while reading in the -happiness of others the measure of one’s own eternal deprivation. Here -was some constitutional atrophy, already, fifteen years ago, disputing -with its unborn victim the world to come, and proving, on release, -stronger than the life it clung to. The boy had been an invalid from -his birth—a lamp guttering before it was well lighted—a nativity -most fondly lending itself, one would have thought, to the triumphant -vindication of its parent doctrines. But that vindication never came; -the father could not cure his child, and there was the anguish. The -life he loved most on earth was the life that most baffled his efforts -to mend and prolong it. His arts could not even win it surcease from -the mortal languor and weariness which accompanied its dissolution. He -felt himself a hypocrite, an impostor, in the eyes that, turning to -him for relief, found only helplessness and impotence. He who to all -others was so glib in professional assurance had nothing here to offer -but empty commiseration and an agony of devotion. It was very pitiful. -</p> - -<p> -Bannister, pausing a moment on the threshold, stepped softly in, with -wonder and compassion at his heart. The boy, propped up on his -pillows, regarded his entrance with shy, fascinated eyes. But the -grave face of the new-comer, its simplicity, its kindly melancholy, -were nothing but reassuring adjuncts to the midnight quiet of the -room. The musician shifted the harp from his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“Would you like to hear me play,” he said: “here and now, in the -silence of the house?” The instant rapture called to the emaciated -features was his sufficient answer. He smiled. “Cannot you sleep?” he -said. “It is late to lie awake.” -</p> - -<p> -The boy shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“What is time to me, sir?” -</p> - -<p> -He said it without affectation. It had seemed less touching otherwise. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said Bannister, “it must be a Lydian measure, lest those more -concerned with sleep than we resent it. Lie still, child, while I drug -thy tired brain.” -</p> - -<p> -He knew his own power in that way which is the last from vainglory. -True genius has no self-consciousness. It was his soul that played, -his fingers obeying; and what conceit can there be in immortality? -Seated, he touched the strings, and his soul spoke—spoke all the pity -and soft sympathy which were its burden. It was tender music, sighing, -sweetly subdued to the occasion. And as he proceeded he lost himself -in it, lost all but the sense of that divine compassion which was -moving and inspiring him. Still, the sure instinct of the artist came -presently to decree a period; and ending, short of surfeit, on a dying -note, he came to earth. -</p> - -<p> -The child was lying with closed lids, heavy tears trickling from them -upon the pillow; the woman stood in the shadows, one hand placed over -her eyes. What faint, angelic melodies must have stricken, half -fearfully, half joyfully, the ears of dark watchers in the streets -that night! Stepping very gently, the musician bent above the boy. -</p> - -<p> -“Good-night, Colin,” he whispered. “And shall I come again anon?” -</p> - -<p> -With a convulsive movement, two thin arms were flung about his neck. -</p> - -<p> -“O, come, come again and play to me!” -</p> - -<p> -“I will come. But now, my child, I am very weary. See, I will leave my -harp to stand with you all night in earnest of my promise.” -</p> - -<p> -As he opened the door a gaunt and ghastly apparition faced him. It was -the father himself, awakened, and brought from his bed in doubt and -trembling. He closed the latch, and, turning on the musician, seized -him by the arms in a fierce and strenuous grip. -</p> - -<p> -“I was listening, I was watching!” he whispered hoarsely. “Shall I -curse you or love you!” And then he fell upon his knees, pawing and -mumbling the sensitive hands. “No, no,” he gasped in a broken voice; -“be you his true physician—not like this empty charlatan, who, for -all his pretended knowledge, hath never learned the magic that one -touch of thy hands can dispense.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch09"> -CHAPTER IX -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">And</span> so the musician and the dying boy were made friends—a quaint, -brief intimacy which the former could never recall in after-years -without a pang, half pitiful, half humorous, for its oddity. Its -relation here is purely in the nature of an interlude, and may be -wholly skipped, without hurt to the main narrative, by those who have -an unconquerable repugnance of sentiment. But for those -others—whether the majority or not I do not know—who like to warm -their hearts now and then at the little fire of compassion, the -episode, as constituting an odd chapter in the life of a famous -executant, may possess a transitory charm. It is for them it is -narrated. -</p> - -<p> -From that poignant midnight, Bannister, both by day and evening, was -often in the sick boy’s room. By nature tender-hearted, how, indeed, -could he deny to suffering that wonderful new emollient discovered in -his art? His music succeeded where all dietetics, therapeutics, -pharmaceutics, lenitives, palliatives, analeptics, galenics, and other -such “ics” and “ives” as appertain to orthodox leechcraft, had failed, -however fondly applied, to give relief. It was an anodyne under which -peace and resignation came gradually to be substituted for the weary -fretfulness which long, fruitless devotion had only helped to -aggravate. The father saw, and sighed, and was sadly grateful. Often -he would come and listen to the throbbing strains, sitting quite -quietly apart, and watching, with a furtive wistfulness, the rapt -face, on which all his ministering love had never been able to draw -such lines of restful content. And the slackness of his jaw on these -occasions seemed somehow to add a curious pathos to the moral. He had -meant so well and done so little. -</p> - -<p> -But it was not alone on the subject of music that the stranger and -child drew together. One could not, for that matter, always be -harping; and in the intervals, at odd times, they conversed much, and -familiarly, and generally on recondite themes. They were both, in -their different ages and degrees, mystics—the older from temperament, -the younger from his spiritual isolation. Lying there through the -age-long seasons, what commune was possible to him but with fancies -and unrealities? The world was a shadow to him; only his dreams were -actual. For them his fruitfullest pastures lay in the spars and -splinters of jewelled light which glowed from the stained glass in the -casement. Thence he gathered, or thereinto read, the strange -phantasies which haunted his brain—thoughts and visions which were -like things glimpsed from beyond the veil. This glass was old work, -acquired piecemeal from many sources, and let into the upper halves of -the windows, without correlation in its parts and with no regard but -for effect—a disarrangement infinitely more suggestive than any -formal pattern. A few leaves, a golden apple, a section of trellis, a -hand grasping a sword-hilt, here and there a head of saint or -warrior—such, interspersed with spaces of plain glass, crimson, or -deep blue, or sunny yellow, formed the embroidered patchwork for a -thousand fancies to play about. One had to remember, hearing the -child’s strange brooding rhapsodies thereon, the years which his -shrunken appearance belied. Moreover, the intellectual light in him, -as is frequently the case with cripples, was precocious, abnormally -brilliant. And though he confessed his dreams to a lesser intellect, -it was to a corresponding sympathy. The simple of heart are often the -purest of vision. Bright wits must whet themselves on the concrete; -they cannot sharpen on abstractions. It is for the unworldly to know -what they cannot speak. And so it was with this harpist. -</p> - -<p> -There was one fragment which, more than any other, fascinated the boy. -It was in colour a splendid azure, mysteriously liquid, and on it hung -from nowhere a little white hand, minutely finished to the nails. -Whose had it been—what queen’s or angel’s? -</p> - -<p> -“Sometimes,” he would say, “when the lamp is low and there is -moonlight in the street, I see it move; and then a shadow grows above, -and out of it a face, too dim to distinguish; but if I shut my eyes, I -know it has come down and is bending over me.” -</p> - -<p> -“The Lady Mother, belike, Colin.” -</p> - -<p> -“Think you so, dear Jack? It were sweet to have a mother in my room. -Do you ever see faces, framed in little blots of light, when you close -your lids hard?” -</p> - -<p> -“Surely I do!” -</p> - -<p> -“What are they? Whence do they come? I have no memories of such in all -my life. They are strangers to me, yet as clear and actual as yours I -look on now. Human—the faces of men and women—some good, some evil; -but, if I try to hold and fix ’em, they slide and melt, this one -laughing, that wickedly deriding.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know them, evanescent phantoms, that poise, like the shining -dragonfly, one instant on wing, and, so you make a movement to look -closer, are gone—darted to extinction. Well, may they not be the -faces of those we saw through former eyes of ours, in lives before -this life?” -</p> - -<p> -The boy lay staring at him, pondering his words as if half tranced. -</p> - -<p> -“I think you say truth,” he answered presently. “What odd surprises -come floating sometimes into one’s head, like glimpses of a great -secret—bright bubbles that break just as you seem on the point of -remembering what the lovely little pictures in them are reflections -of. That is a bubble of yours I have often tried to catch.” -</p> - -<p> -“What does it seem to tell you, child?” -</p> - -<p> -“It seems to tell me how I that am I must have <i>been</i> since the -beginning of things; how I must have lain in the life that was the -first life as surely as I lay in the life that was my mother. Think -back, and you will find it must be. All through the countless ages I -have been passed on from prison to prison, waiting the release which -is to come to me at length in Death—is to come to me through this -last phase of conscious existence, which is indeed my trial and -sentence. And then the scaffold, Jack; we all have to mount the -scaffold; and at last the opened door—the escape—the rapture—and I -shall remember why it all was!” He clasped his thin hands; his face -seemed lit up with an inward glow, like a porcelain lamp enclosing a -dim flame. “Is not that what you mean?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“I think it is, Colin. Yet what could that imperishable seed have -known, until this last phase of realities? For <i>it</i> the faces could -not have existed.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not, since they existed for the lives of which it was?” -</p> - -<p> -“That is true. Life is not contained in this or that of me, but is the -sum of all.” -</p> - -<p> -The casement formed a shallow recess of five lights. It stood opposite -the bed, looking out on the street. Dimly, seen through its latticed -lower half, the houses across the lane towered like dark phantoms. -With their faces to the north, they were never but plunged in gloom; -but when the south sun was high, and struck upon the stained glass, -the contrastive glow, to tranced eyes, made them appear impalpable -things. That was how the boy liked to regard them—silvery abodes of -mystery, where any strange things might be happening, and appearing -framed between the floor and that upper frieze of glowing -transparencies. Then the lower windows looked mere cobwebs, in which -sparks and glints of light hung caught like fireflies. It was all a -dream of mist and sparkle, in which the sense of close confinement -seemed dissolving. -</p> - -<p> -But it was not so for the most part. He hated the houses in their -common, hard aspect of nearness and oppression. Only when the rain -fell thickly, spouting from their eaves and gutters, and half hiding -them behind a veil of dropping water, or when the snow, clinging to -their sills and window-frames, seemed to cut them into sugared -sections, could he endure to look on them without impatience. They -were the jealous barriers which imprisoned him from the infinite. Some -boys, so conditioned, would have found their main pathetic interest in -such sights and sounds of outer life as might penetrate to them in -their isolation. It was not so with him. His spirit, like an entombed -flower, yearned always towards the light, stretching pallidly in a -vain passion to attain the blue heaven of health and freedom. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps, strange little soul, he was happiest in those long moonlit -nights when, the curtains being drawn about the lower casement, he and -his jewelled book of stories in the window were left alone together. -Then he would lie for hours, quite motionless, as if hypnotized, his -eyes fixed on the dimly luminous scroll, dreaming what unearthly -dreams only the painted heads themselves might tell. He liked to hear -the watchman crying out the hours, hollow and mysterious, in the -streets below; he loved to see by day the not unrare vision of a -pigeon pecking and preening on his window-sill, or the shadow of a -hopping sparrow cross the panes. Those were his events, until the harp -came. And then all at once he was transformed. Some long-dumb chord in -his soul leaped and vibrated to the rapture with a force that shook -the life out of him. I think that was the truth. He died to all -intents of joy. The frail frame could not stand the exquisite tension -of the bliss evoked in it. -</p> - -<p> -Now, in the days of that brief friendship, scarce one day passed but -found the boy and man at some time together. There was no more -midnight playing; but Bannister would look in as occasion offered, and -mostly with his instrument accompanying. Then there would be sweet -music a spell, and talk a spell, and perhaps unutterable silences to -link them. Somehow it suggested the soul affinity, formal but -transcendent, between a dying saint and his confessor. There was a -subtle thrill in the atmosphere, of which all were -conscious—Bannister himself, the father, the woman with the hard, -pathetic face, whose eyes were always hidden by her hand when she was -privileged to listen to the music. They felt it like an unseen -presence—a sense of warning, of change, as when one feels spring -moving in the grass under one’s feet. And not one would own to itself -that it knew. Yet they all knew. -</p> - -<p> -Always to the last it was the little white hand in the blue pane which -most fascinated the boy. His wandering fancy would lose itself among -the cluster of leaves, as in an antique forest; would find in the -glowing fruit a very garden of Hesperus, sweet with nightingales and -the warm scent of flowers; would endow with a hundred characters the -faces peering from that arras of bright hues: but it was to the hand -he for ever returned, its beauty, its severed mystery. “I should -dearly like to learn to whom it belonged,” he would say. “But this I -know very well—if I could only reach it, it would help me up and -away. It is the boy Christ’s, I think.” -</p> - -<p> -It was on a dark midsummer morning, chill and stormy, that the end -came. There had been signs, and in their hearts they were prepared. -The father sat by his child’s pillow, holding one of the frail hands -in his, the woman, dry-eyed and silent, busied herself noiselessly -among the shadows; near the foot of the bed sat the musician, his harp -before him, touching little more than a melodious murmur from its -strings. He faced the casement, which, because of the wind, had been -close shut. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps it was the drugged stillness of the room, the spell wrought -upon his brain by the soft “woven paces” of the chords his fingers -trod; perhaps he really dreamt; but this is what seemed to happen -before his eyes. He was gazing, unconscious that he was gazing, on the -window, when he saw the shadow of a dove moving on the sill outside. -It dipped and strutted, curtseying back and forth, as if restless or -impatient; and as it hurried, now this way now that, of a sudden the -noise of the wind ceased utterly, and a flood of sunlight broke upon -the window. And in that same moment the player noticed a little white -hand at the latch, and the casement swung noiselessly open. There was -a sigh as of wings—within, without—and his fingers stopped on a -broken chord. And as he stared, dazzled, incredulous, he heard a quick -rustle behind him, and a startled cry: “My God! He’s gone!” -</p> - -<p> -He rose, he turned, half stupefied, and saw the father on his feet, -bending with an agonized expression over the face on the pillow. It -was quite still; a ray of sunlight touched it; a smile of the most -rapturous peace was on its lips. In a spasm of emotion he caught the -poor man’s hand in one of his, and with the other pointed mutely to -the open window. The physician, giving vent to his tears, leaned -himself upon his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas thy music,” he said, “broke his prison and freed his soul.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas thy unselfish love,” said Bannister, “freed the music.” -</p> - -<p> -The woman, her stern face all softened and agitated, went to close the -casement. -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, dame,” said the father—“let be; he cannot take cold now. To -think he is seeing the blue sky and the white clouds for the first -time!” -</p> - -<p> -And at that she cast herself upon the floor and hid her face. Only the -convulsive heaving of her body witnessed to the breaking of the storm -which had been so long pent up within her. Alas! what unsuspected -woman was revealed here, what passion undercrushed, and what -desolation! -</p> - -<p> -It was remarked that night in Spring Garden that never yet had the -famous harpist so divinely justified his reputation. He played like -one transported, lost to earth. Many of his ravished audience were in -tears, while the very pigeons, petted and fearless, seemed to gather -about his feet. Nay, there was one, it was said, a tender white dove, -that flew to his shoulder and settled there for a while, making love -at his ear. But that may pass for a legend. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch10"> -CHAPTER X -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">It</span> may appear to some people that Hamilton was taking a prodigious -amount of trouble to reach by a roundabout way a conclusion at least -as presumptively attainable by direct means as by sinuous; and, in -this connection, Montrose’s quatrain may possibly occur to them— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">He either fears his fate too much,</p> -<p class="i0">Or his desert is small,</p> -<p class="i0">Who dares not put it to the touch</p> -<p class="i0">To gain or lose it all.</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -Without, however, stopping to defend or disallow the moral -applicability of these lines to our case in point, it may be offered -to such objectors that, generally speaking, the rewards most hardly -won are the rewards most highly prized by men, that five-sixths of the -satisfaction of success lie in the difficulties surmounted to achieve -it (the thing may be be-adaged to infinity), and that if there was a -scamp in this world alive to that truism, it was your Restoration -scamp, with his plethora of experience in the ways of facile conquest. -Who, indeed, could for ever take joy or credit of shooting the sitting -pheasant, of hunting the fox or the hare if his quarry, the moment it -were pursued, squatted down to be trodden on? Rather, would it be his -object to scare away, with a view to stalking and circumventing, the -affrighted game, than, by coming to straight conclusions with it, to -miss all the excitement of the chase. -</p> - -<p> -Now, I do not say that, in this particular scoundrelism he was bent -on, Hamilton went deliberately about it to complicate an issue he -ardently desired; only, intrigue in such matters being the recognized -process, it never occurred to him, perhaps, that satisfactory -conclusions could be reached without. It was a superstition of his -time that beef to be tender must be first baited; and certainly the -sport added a zest of its own to the subsequent feast. Moreover, the -relish in the sport itself owed much of its savour, as always with -sport, to the fact that the winner’s gains involved the loser’s -losses. To the account of his triumph, if triumph it should be, must -be put, not only the corruption of the wife but the fooling of the -husband. The humour of that result were enough to vindicate in itself -the most tortuous of courses; and the fact that the husband happened -to be his connection and confidential friend only added in his eyes a -touch of exquisite drollery to the situation. In the process of -engineering that situation he tasted all the thrilling delectation of -the spy, who, conscious of his sole possession of momentous secrets, -plays the apparent tool to this side and the other, himself the master -of both and the real arbiter of their destinies. -</p> - -<p> -He was walking one afternoon near the Ring in Hyde Park, watching the -solemn circumambulation of the coaches about that damned and dusty -arena, when a voice hailed him, and he saw Chesterfield’s glum visage -protruded from the window of a chariot which had drawn up hard by. -</p> - -<p> -“Prithee come in, coz,” said the Earl, “and help a poor foundered -wretch to forget himself in livelier company than that of his own -thoughts.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, with a laugh, acceded, and the two rolled on together. -</p> - -<p> -“Is your mood so lugubrious?” asked the rogue. “Why, what a -weathercock it is, now pointing hot, now chill, without a devil of a -reason that I can see in this temperate climate! But the last time I -met you you were all for sultry, and now, to mark your face! I’ve seen -a gargoyle, with an icicle hung to its nose, look less dismally -frosty.” -</p> - -<p> -“Pish!” exclaimed the other testily. “If ’tis to the Corisande you -allude, my fire that night was but a flash-in-the-pan.” -</p> - -<p> -“A touch of the real sulphur in it, nevertheless, I believe.” -</p> - -<p> -“A touch-and-go it was, then. The skit can dance and sing to make a -man’s pulses leap—I admit it; but herself soon serves to kill that -transitory glamour. She’s her own corrective.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I say the more the pity.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why do you say it? I don’t understand.” -</p> - -<p> -He glanced at his companion, a sudden wrath of suspicion in his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“What don’t you understand?” asked Hamilton, bridling, though with an -appearance of extreme urbanity, to the other’s tone. -</p> - -<p> -“That you should deplore my not burning my fingers in the fire I play -with. Did you design that I should when you recommended that hussy to -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m! In a measure—yes,” drawled Hamilton. -</p> - -<p> -“For what reason? Curse it, I say, for what reason?” -</p> - -<p> -“For what reason?” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you repeat me to gain time, groping for an excuse? Do you, I say?” -</p> - -<p> -“You are full of questions. Will you have me answer them in one, or -one by one? Zounds, man, behave less like a pea dancing on a drum.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, by God, George——!” He set his teeth, hissed in his breath, -shook his fists at nothing at all, and fell suddenly calm. “I’ll be -reasonable,” he said, apostrophizing space—“quite temperate and -reasonable. Is it reasonable to suppose that one, a family connection -and my friend, in my close confidence, could make such an admission -without some motive designed to serve me—unless, indeed, it pointed -to a treachery on his part so black as to constitute a devilry -unthinkable?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton’s brow corrugated. By a curious psychological perversity he -felt as much incensed over the insinuation as if there had actually -been no warrant for it. Such is often the case with your wrongdoer; he -will justify himself to himself, while remaining perfectly firm on the -question of abstract morality. -</p> - -<p> -“You are a master of reason, Phil, we know,” said he, with a sneer; -“the which, if I doubted, would not your proviso convince me? So, I -have openly confessed my hand—to beguile you to an infatuation that -should leave the coast clear for me—<i>me</i>—to play the villain?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never said so.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! did you not?” -</p> - -<p> -“I said specifically the thing was unthinkable.” -</p> - -<p> -“Showing you had thought of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“George, don’t torture me. You said, you know, it was a pity I was not -more really touched.” -</p> - -<p> -“I say it again.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, in God’s name?” -</p> - -<p> -“So your attitude would be more convincing. As it is, the hollow -pretence of it would not deceive a child.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that all you meant? Forgive my words to you—I am so torn and -harassed—and you are my only friend, I think. I’ll try to be more -natural with the wretch; more—more convincing, damn her! Yet I drove -it home with Kate the other night; you saw how she left the room?” -</p> - -<p> -“There you are! because for the moment you were really what you had -pretended to be—under the spell. Could you ask a better proof?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, that’s true. But it’s hard to feign the fire you do not feel.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton laughed indulgently. -</p> - -<p> -“You take things too seriously. Convince yourself you do not care -whatever happens, and Fortune will be kind to you. It is the jade’s -way, being a woman. Indifference to her is the only thing she cannot -resist. And it isn’t as if the fruit you were asked to handle were -rotten medlers. Here’s a sweet country nectarine for which a very -epicure might envy you.” -</p> - -<p> -“A country crab, I think, as biting as she’s little. Well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, is this to forget yourself in livelier company? Marry, Phil, if -you can laugh at nothing else, laugh at yourself—always the best fool -in a man’s household. But, come, I’ll give you distraction. Here’s a -story just on the town of two rogue apothecaries, partners, which -might point the moral of an Æsop’s fable. Have you heard it?” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield, his eyes perfectly lacklustre, muttered some incoherent -response. The other proceeded, undaunted— -</p> - -<p> -“Nixon and Carter were they called, and both attended, among others, -on a certain ailing miserly old widow, waiving their fees in hope of -some rich bequest half promised to them for their devotion. The day -before she died she sent them two old shabby worn-out cloaks, one -cloth, one velvet, in reward of their long services to her, and of -these garments, Nixon, as the elder, was to choose which he would, the -other going to his partner. They were well mad, I can promise you, -but, making the best of it, Nixon chose the cloth, as being the more -serviceable, and after, in derision, offered to part with it to Carter -for a shilling. Which, promptly agreeing to, and securing his bargain, -Carter, the more astute knave, discovered each of its twelve buttons -to be a gold Carolus hidden under cloth. And so they were at it, Nixon -demanding back his goods and Carter resisting, till from quarrelling -they came to blows and Nixon killed Carter, for which Nixon is to be -hanged. And now comes in the lovely moral; for it seems they were both -Fifth Monarchist men, owing their lives to the Act of Indemnity, yet -who would have cut off their right hands rather than help the King to -a tester of his own coin. And the end is these twelve gold pounds are -forfeit to the Crown. What think you of that for a rare combination of -law and justice?” -</p> - -<p> -Receiving no answer, he looked at his companion, and perceived him -patently oblivious to every word he was saying. He exclaimed, and laid -his hand on the door. -</p> - -<p> -“What now?” said Chesterfield, waking up. -</p> - -<p> -The other cursed him fairly. “A pox on your insensibility! Here have I -been pouring my precious wine of eloquence into thy cracked measure of -a head that hath retained not one drop. I’ll up and begone.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, don’t. Have you been talking in truth?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, listen to him! <i>Have</i> I been talking! No, sir; I’ve been thinking -aloud; and if my thoughts ran on jackasses in their relation to the -creature called a mute, you have only to speak without braying to -prove yourself not half the donkey you seem.” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be offensive, George. Why do you apply such a word to me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Are you not a donkey, to go brooding on thistles when I offer you -grapes?” -</p> - -<p> -“I cannot help but brood. Have patience with me, coz. There’s a -thought in my mind I cannot rid it of.” -</p> - -<p> -“A thought? What thought?” -</p> - -<p> -“This cursed Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“The Kit her friend is for ever alluding to.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! that.” -</p> - -<p> -“There’s some purposed innuendo, I’m convinced, in the hussy’s -mockery—perhaps to some former flame of my wife’s known to both. I -believe, before God, it is that. You should have heard my lady before -you came that night. On my soul, she had almost confessed bare-faced -that she used this Kit to console herself for my neglect.” -</p> - -<p> -“The devil she did!” -</p> - -<p> -It was a new and surprising suggestion for Hamilton himself. It seemed -to open out a wholly unexpected vista of mortifying possibilities. -Could there be anything in it? Little signs—an odd look, a queer -inflection of the voice, unsuspected of any significance at the -time—occurred to him now in the connection of his cousin’s -confidences. Was she really playing a double game with all of them, -this little artless-seeming Thais? No! she was altogether too -unsophisticated; he could not believe it. Besides, of course, he was -actually forgetting that she and Mrs. Moll were but recent -acquaintances. They could not have a knowledge of that name in common, -unless—— -</p> - -<p> -“Did she specifically say ‘<i>him</i>’?” he asked Chesterfield. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” demanded the Earl. -</p> - -<p> -“You know Mrs. Davis would not admit Kit’s sex when I rallied her.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. -</p> - -<p> -“Pooh! The merest subterfuge, to mislead and torment me. The dog’s a -male dog; there’s no question whatever about it.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton sat frowning a while. It was true that that fact of the -women’s unacquaintance counted for little. Moll, the prying and -mischievous, might easily have made a discovery; or, again, granted -the alternative of Kate’s double-dealing, the two might be in a -naughty confederacy to punish the master of the house. Truly, if it -were no worse than that, he could forgive them, though their -understanding meant a certain treachery to himself. But at least it -would ease his mind of a qualm which had suddenly overtaken it. -</p> - -<p> -He meditated, on the whole ill at ease. He must find some opportunity, -of that he was decided, to question Mrs. Moll more particularly about -this Kit, and, though he foresaw well enough an evasive response, he -believed he would be able to extract from her some indication of the -truth sufficiently illuminating to guide him in his further actions. -He turned to his companion with the suggestion— -</p> - -<p> -“Leave the matter to me, Phil, for the moment. I’ll question the slut, -and, like the persuasive, artful dog I am, worm the truth out of her.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you, George? Zounds, if my suspicions should be verified, and -there’s secret meetings between them! Though he be a Kit of nine -lives, I’ll skewer them every one on my rapier like slivers of dog’s -meat. When will you come?” -</p> - -<p> -“When is it safe?” -</p> - -<p> -“My lady rides abroad each day at noon.” -</p> - -<p> -“To-morrow, then.” He put an impressive warning hand on the other’s -sleeve. “This must not affect your behaviour to the visitor. Never, -whatever you do, relax your attentions there, but rather emphasize -them.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! why?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why—why?” He spoke with some impatient irritability. “Are you really -so dense? Why, because—if you must be instructed—any slackness on -your part might rouse your wife’s suspicions. We want, if it’s to be a -question of taking her off her guard, to lull her into a sense of -false security; and the more infatuated you appear, the more careless -of precaution will she become. Strange that I should have to teach -<i>you</i> sexual strategy.” -</p> - -<p> -He would not dismiss the whole suggestion at once, you see, as -incredible and preposterous; he was too well versed in the thousand -duplicities of which woman is capable ever to accept her innocence at -more than its face value. Nor is mere youth a guarantee with her of -harmlessness. The little two-inch viper can bite to poisonous effect -the moment it is hatched from the egg. No, it was judicious, for the -sake of all concerned, to attempt to establish the identity of this -hermaphroditic individual. And he thought he could do it. -</p> - -<p> -He went to essay the experiment the next day. A little to his -confusion he learned that his cousin, whom he had calculated upon -finding out, was not yet departed, but was strolling, pending her -horse’s arrival, in the garden. After a moment’s hesitation, he went -to seek her there, and encountered her loitering about the paths which -led down, among ordered parterres and hedged alleys, to the -river-side. She looked very pretty in her scarlet riding habit <i>à la -mode</i>, with the long-skirted coat, fashioned after a man’s, which was -just then come into vogue, and the little plumed hat tilted over one -ear; and the picture she made went straight down through his eyes to -his heart. <i>Her</i> eyes opened a shade as she turned to recognize him. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you coming to offer to ride with me?” she said. “Because, if you -are——” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -She tossed her head suddenly, with a little shrug. -</p> - -<p> -“O! no matter. What the world can see the world will not suspect. -Come, if you wish it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Meaning by the world, I suppose, your husband. Then you have thought -better of my suggestion?” -</p> - -<p> -“What suggestion?” -</p> - -<p> -“That you should use me to stimulate his jealousy.” -</p> - -<p> -“I have thought of you as my kinsman and his friend.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that a reproof, Kate Chesterfield?” -</p> - -<p> -She ruffled a box border with her little pointed toe, looking down the -while. -</p> - -<p> -“Why should you think it so, cousin? You are a man of honour, are you -not? And I have your own word for it your offer was a quite -disinterested one.” -</p> - -<p> -“That may be; but to turn it to no better account than riding -innocently in company is not the way to make it effective.” -</p> - -<p> -She did not reply for a moment, then looked him straight in the eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“What would you have us do?” -</p> - -<p> -“I could answer for one thing,” he said. His gaze was on a knot of -rosebuds fastened in her bosom. “These walls are argus-eyed. Grant me -a token from that sweet nest.” -</p> - -<p> -“And earn,” she said, “a credit I do not deserve. Why should I go out -of my way so to damn myself?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>He’ll</i> hear of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“The only one of all that would not care.” A sudden flush came to her -face. She leaned forward a little, and spoke three words: “<i>Who is -Kit?</i>” -</p> - -<p> -It fairly took him aback. He was so startled that for a moment he -could not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Kit!” he stammered then. -</p> - -<p> -“You are my husband’s friend,” she said—“in his confidence; you know -and have shared, no doubt, the secrets of his past. Was it not enough -to force upon me the daily insult of this Davis creature’s presence, -but he must make a jest through her lips of other infamies in which it -seems they were both implicated? Who is this Kit, I say?” -</p> - -<p> -Now, one thing, in his astonishment, was made clear to Hamilton. Kate -was as innocent of Kit as Kit of Kate. That reassurance was consoling, -though it left him more confounded than ever as to the identity of the -strange being. -</p> - -<p> -“On my honour, cousin,” he said, “I have no idea.” -</p> - -<p> -“You have not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not a shadow of one. But, whoever she is, if she she is, what reason -have you to connect Phil with her?” -</p> - -<p> -She made a sound of scorn. -</p> - -<p> -“What reason? Am I deaf and blind to all hints and innuendoes—to -their conspiracy to mock me with veiled references to the part she has -played in his life? O, reason, indeed!” -</p> - -<p> -“I think, on my soul, you are letting your imagination master you. Has -he ever really confessed to this Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“You did not hear him? No, it was before you came. He did as much, -referring to her as the substance of happiness for which he had -exchanged its shadow—the shadow—the wife—O, I am in truth a shadow -of a wife!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, I say, if that be so, he deserves no mercy.” -</p> - -<p> -“I intend to show him none.” -</p> - -<p> -“Give me the rose, then.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why do you want it? In reward of your disinterestedness?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just that.” -</p> - -<p> -She gazed at him a moment—a fathomless look; then—O, woman, -microcosm of all incomprehensibilities!—detached a bud from the group -and held it out to him. He received it in rapture, and dared to put it -to his lips. But at that she flushed pink, and turned from him. -</p> - -<p> -“I will ride alone,” she murmured. “Nay, do not press me further.” -</p> - -<p> -He forbore to. It suited his plans to remain behind, and he let her go -without protest. And the moment he was sure of her departure he went -to seek Mrs. Davis. His veins were hot; there was a glaze over his -eyes. “She hath put foot within the magic circle,” he thought, “and I -have her.” -</p> - -<p> -He went to find a servant, and to dispatch him in quest of Mrs. Moll. -The baggage came down to him presently into the great room, and, when -they were left alone together, danced gleefully up to him and dropped -a curtsey. -</p> - -<p> -“Is not that to the manner?” she said. “Or is it the bong tong to -offer you my cheek?” -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” he said, with a shadow of impatience. “I want to have a -serious talk with you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Lud! What mischief have I been up to?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not mischief enough—that is my complaint.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, that’s easy remedied.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is it? I’m beginning to doubt.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! You don’t know me.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are enjoying yourself here, are you not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Passably. ’Tis dull sometimes—too much confinement, and not enough -fresh air.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d like to be released, perhaps, from your duties?” -</p> - -<p> -“Should I? What makes you think so?” -</p> - -<p> -“It has occurred to me. Supposing I were to tell you you might go?” -</p> - -<p> -“Supposing? Well, I shouldn’t go, that’s all.” -</p> - -<p> -“You wouldn’t? Do you mean to say you’d defy me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I do mean to say it.” She came close before him, put her little -fists behind her back, and tilted her chin at him. “What’s all this -about? Aren’t I wanted any more, or have you changed your mind? That -’ud be a pity, because I’m not the sort, you know, to be taken or left -just as it suits a man’s convenience.” She laughed—not pleasantly. -“Has it never occurred to you, George, that you happen to be just a -little bit in my power?” -</p> - -<p> -“The devil I am!” -</p> - -<p> -“So am I—on occasion. You might find that out if you provoked me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what could you do?” -</p> - -<p> -“I could blab, couldn’t I—make havoc of your little plot?” -</p> - -<p> -He was a trifle staggered. Here was something overlooked in his -calculations. He had only designed, in fact, to stimulate her efforts; -this threatened rebellion revealed some mistake in his methods. -</p> - -<p> -“And lose for ever your chance of promotion,” said he. “Well, if you -wish to make me your enemy——” -</p> - -<p> -She nodded her head once or twice. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t. But I’d lose twenty kings sooner than sit quiet under a -dirty trick like that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you propose staying on, then, till this imposture is discovered, -as every day makes more probable? As well betray me at once.” -</p> - -<p> -“You know I wouldn’t do that. But I like the fun and I like the life, -and I see no more risk of discovery now than when I came. Why do you -want me to go?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never said I did. I don’t, as a matter of fact, if you will only -not like these things so well as half to forget your purpose in them.” -</p> - -<p> -“My purpose? That’s to make the lord creature in love with me. Well, -haven’t I?” -</p> - -<p> -“I miss the conclusive evidence—the proof of the pudding that’s in -the eating.” -</p> - -<p> -“That wasn’t in the bargain. Be fair, George. I’m doing all that was -asked of me, and doing it faithful.” -</p> - -<p> -She was, in fact; yet he had actually hoped for more. She was so -excessively alluring that he could not believe Chesterfield capable, -in spite of his apparent insensibility, of ultimately resisting her -charms, were she fully resolved he should not. -</p> - -<p> -“And is that,” he said, “suggesting the little piece too much? You’ve -grown very fastidious of a sudden. I told you I was beginning to -doubt.” -</p> - -<p> -She looked at him queerly a moment. -</p> - -<p> -“Isn’t it going as well with you as you expected?” she asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Your finishing him could do my cause no harm, at least,” said he, and -bit his lip. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I vow I’m sometimes a’most sorry for her,” she said. “She’s but -my own age, and—and the man’s in love with her all the time, and at a -word she’d be with him. Don’t I know that? What a brace of blackguards -we are, George!” -</p> - -<p> -“Speak for yourself, Mrs. Moll,” said Hamilton, a little hotly. “Love -absolves all sinners. It knows no villainy but incompetence.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure, you must be a saint, then. But betwixt this and that, and your -doubt’s despite, it wasn’t in the bargain and I won’t do it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then that settles it, and we must manage without.” -</p> - -<p> -“As you like.” She brought her hands to the front, and, linking them -in the most decorous of love-knots, stiffened her neck and tossed her -head backwards and a little askew. “Besides,” she said, “you seem to -forget that I’ve got a husband myself.” -</p> - -<p> -He burst into a laugh, vexed but uncontrollable, and immediately -checked himself. -</p> - -<p> -“I had forgot—I confess it,” he said. “Kit, is it not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit!” she ejaculated, in deep scorn. And then she, too, laughed -derisively. -</p> - -<p> -“Not Kit?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“If you knew Kit you wouldn’t ask such a silly question,” she -answered. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, why shouldn’t I know Kit? He seems an attractive person.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! Kit’s attractive.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see, I see. Pardon my stupidity.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you see?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit’s a—hem!—friend of yours.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, Kit is—the best, a’hem, friend of mine that ever hemmed a -hem.” -</p> - -<p> -“What! a woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“Either that or a tailor.” -</p> - -<p> -“Damn it! Not a tailor?” -</p> - -<p> -“Damn it, why not? Though it takes nine tailors to make a man, one -woman can make a tailor.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, Moll, thou art goosing me.” -</p> - -<p> -“A tailor’s goose, maybe.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me, who is this friend of yours?” -</p> - -<p> -“I wonder.” -</p> - -<p> -“Frankly, is it man or woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“Frankly, I’ve never asked.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! you won’t tell me. Are we not good comrades now, and as such -should have no secrets from one another?” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you want to know?” -</p> - -<p> -“What is Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sometimes this, sometimes that. We all have our moods.” -</p> - -<p> -“I believe he has no existence but in your imagination. Who is he? -Tell me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you kiss me, George, if I tell?” -</p> - -<p> -“That I will.” -</p> - -<p> -He suited the action to the word, putting his lips to hers, while she -submitted quietly. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“But I haven’t told,” she protested. -</p> - -<p> -He could have boxed her pink ear; and he did fling from her with some -roughness. -</p> - -<p> -“P’sha!” he said. “I am wasting time.” -</p> - -<p> -“And that is not all,” said she. -</p> - -<p> -He saw a warning flush in her cheek, and forced his vexation under. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” he said, with a propitiatory laugh, “if you tell me nothing, -I’ve got the kiss for nothing; and so mine is the best of the bargain. -But I count you a little unkind, Mollinda.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t mean to be that, George,” she answered, somewhat penitent. -“But I shouldn’t tell secrets not my own; now should I?” -</p> - -<p> -That only served to restimulate his doubts and perplexity; but he said -no more on the subject, feeling it wiser to desist. -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind,” he said. “You have your own good reasons for silence, of -course, and it’s no business of mine to press them. What is more to -the point is this question of your scruples regarding his lordship. So -you won’t go to extremes? Then, what is to be the course? With all -deference, Mrs. Moll, you can’t surely be planning to stay on here -indefinitely.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I’ll work up to any conclusion you like, short of that.” -</p> - -<p> -“You will?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Even if it were to an appearance—of that?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not? ’Twould be enough for me to know my own innocence, since I’m -the only one that ever believes in it.” -</p> - -<p> -He pondered, musing on her. “I’ll think it out, faith. We’ll arrange -some trick between us—some <i>coup de grâce</i> for her ladyship. Shall -we?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, go to grass yourself!” she said. “Speak English.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch11"> -CHAPTER XI -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">To</span> the Duke of York’s chambers in Whitehall came a mincing -exquisite, with a guitar slung from his neck by a broad silver ribbon. -He was dressed in silvered white from chin to toe, and he strutted -exactly like a white leghorn cock surveying his seraglio. His long, -straw-coloured hair was elaborately curled over his temples; the -lashes to his eyes were like pale spun glass; a tiny cherished -moustachio, pointed upwards at the tips, stood either side his round -nose like a couple of thorns to a gooseberry. He hummed as he walked, -flourishing a beringed and scented hand to such palace minions as met -and saluted him by the way, and reaching the Duke’s quarters, -acknowledged, with a charming condescension, the respectful greetings -of M. Prosper, gentleman of the Chamber to his Highness, who accosted -him at the door of the anteroom. -</p> - -<p> -“Ha, my good Prothper! I thee you well, <i>j’ethpère bien</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“Vair well—most—milord of Arran. You are to come this way, sair. His -Royal ’Ighness ’e expectorate you.” -</p> - -<p> -Bowing and waving his arms, as if he were “shooing” on a fowl, M. -Prosper conducted the visitor by a private passage to the Duke’s -closet, where, committing him to the hands of a page, he bobbed and -ducked himself away. And the next moment the Earl found himself in the -presence of the Lord High Admiral. -</p> - -<p> -James Stuart was seated at a table liberally strewn with documents, -writing, and mathematical implements. There were no gimcracks visible -on it, unless a little bronze ship, which served for a paper-weight, -deserved the title. The aspect of the room, like his own, inornate, -businesslike, severe, was in odd contrast with the silken frippery -which came to invade it. One would have guessed some particular -purpose to lie behind the permitted violation of those austere -privacies. His Highness was minutely examining a chart when the -lordling entered. Standing over him and occasionally dabbing a -forefinger, like a discoloured banana, on some specified shoal or -anchorage, was a huge individual, in a full-skirted blue coat, trimmed -with the coarse lace called trolly-lolly, whose bearing spoke -unmistakably of the sea. This was Captain Stone, of the <i>Naseby</i> -frigate, in fact—a practical sailorman, much in favour with his royal -master. He was a rough-and-ready specimen of his class, with manners -as blunt as his features. He turned to stare at the sugary apparition -as it sailed into view, and a grin of derision, which he made no -effort to conceal, widened his already ample features. -</p> - -<p> -“Ha, my lord!” said the Duke; “you are welcome. Be seated, sir, be -seated. I shall be disengaged in one moment. Stone, oblige me by -removing your hat from that chair, that my lord of Arran may come to -anchor.” -</p> - -<p> -The bulky sea-captain, with a most offensive affectation of alacrity, -skipped to obey. He swept the chair with his hat; more, he produced -from somewhere an enormous blue handkerchief like a small ensign, and -elaborately polished the seat with it. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” says he, “if your lordship’s breeches will deign to -reconsecrate the altar my top-gear hath profaned.” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke, his elbow leaned on the table, shaded his face with his -palm, and laughed noiselessly. As for the sweet puppy himself, -self-esteem had thickened his moral cuticle beyond penetration by -anything less than a pickaxe of ridicule. He closed his lids, and, -with an ineffable smile and wave of the hand, dropped languidly into -the proffered place. Duke and Captain continued for a while their -investigation of the chart. Then the former put it away, and, leaning -back in his chair, addressed a question to the latter. -</p> - -<p> -“What is this I hear, Captain, of decent folk impressed illegally in -the City by order of my Lord Mayor?” -</p> - -<p> -The burly seaman shrugged his shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -“He’s an ass, sir, that Bludworth, yet an ass in some sort deserving -commendation.” -</p> - -<p> -“In what way?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, in the way that leads by short-cuts to disputed ends. He gets -there, while your wise man talks.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, but he tramples rights to do it.” -</p> - -<p> -“He may. We must have men.” -</p> - -<p> -“They were given no press money, I understand.” -</p> - -<p> -“He had none to give them. Still, we must have men.” -</p> - -<p> -“The thing should be in order. There were those among them, I hear, of -quite respectable estate.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, but we must have men, I say. Your fool, on occasion, can have -his uses.” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke, as if involuntarily, shot a swift glance towards the seated -figure. -</p> - -<p> -“Could they, under the circumstances,” he said, “be broke for -desertion?” -</p> - -<p> -“I leave that,” answered the seaman dryly, “to your Highness.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis not the way, at least, to make the King’s service popular.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I could venture a better way.” -</p> - -<p> -He meant, of course, the settlement of long arrears of pay—a chronic -scandal in the Navy. But the obvious was not palatable. The Duke, just -raising his eyebrows at the speaker, bent them in a frown, and sat -drumming for some moments with his fingers on the table. Suddenly he -turned to Arran. -</p> - -<p> -“What would <i>you</i> suggest, my lord,” said he, “to make the Navy -popular? The lay opinion, given an intelligence such as yours, is -often valuable in these matters.” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship, exquisitely flattered, sat up. -</p> - -<p> -“I should offer a handthome bounty, Thir,” said he—with perhaps some -vivid recollection of personal sufferings endured in the Channel—“to -the man who should devith or invent a thertain cure for -thea-thickneth.” -</p> - -<p> -Captain Stone, regardless of his company, burst into a roar of -laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“By Gog, your Highness!” cried he, “here’s the pressman for our money. -To make the Navy popular, quotha—give them stomach for it! Aye, why -not? And lace our sails with silver twist, and hang a silken tassel at -the main, and pipe to quarters on a hurdy-gurdy! O, we’ll have our -Captain’s monkey yet with lovelocks to his head and white ribbons to -his shoon!” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship, on whom this pickaxe had wrought at last, flushed up to -the eyes with anger and resentment. He rose to his feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Thith monthtruth inthult,” he began; “I crave your Highnetheth -grath——” and stuck for lack of words. -</p> - -<p> -The Duke, whose cue was nothing if not propitiation, turned in some -genuine wrath on the seaman. -</p> - -<p> -“You forget yourself, sir,” he said sternly. “You will favour me by -retiring. Waiving the question of respect for his lordship’s opinions, -you fail in it to me, who invited them. Nor need you be so cocksure in -your own. Who knows what inclinations might have served us but for -dread of that malady! You must go.” -</p> - -<p> -The Captain, not venturing to remonstrate, but seeing, as he thought, -through the other’s motive, obeyed, and so much without rancour that -he could not forbear some subdued sputtering laughter as he left the -room—an ebullition which, in fact, found its secret response in the -Duke’s own bosom. He addressed himself, the man gone, with a rather -twinkling blandishment to his remaining guest. -</p> - -<p> -“A rough, untutored fellow, my lord; but reliable, according to his -lights. They are not penetrating, perhaps; yet clear as regards the -surface of things. You must forgive him. That was an original -suggestion of yours. He would not grasp its inner significance, -naturally. To cure sea-sickness, now. There is something in it.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am happy,” minced the bantling, “in your Highnetheth commendation. -That <i>mal-de-mer</i> is a very dithtrething thing. It maketh a man look a -fool; and a man dothn’t like to look a fool.” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke considered. -</p> - -<p> -“But for the character of the remedy? What do you say to music? Music -will not, according to Master George Herbert, cure the toothache: but -is sea-sickness the toothache, my lord?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not the toothache; no, Thir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is it not rather, by all reports, a surging or vertigo of the brain, -induced by that reversal of the laws of equilibrium which transposes -the offices, as it were, of matter animate and matter inanimate?” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I take your Highnetheth word for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, it is clear. We are designed and organized, are we not, to be -voluntary agents on a plane of stability?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yeth, yeth, O yeth!” -</p> - -<p> -“Very well. So we lie down or rise at will, the solid earth abetting. -But supposing the parts reversed, ourselves the willingly quiescent, -the earth the one to rise or fall? Would not our brain, devised on the -opposite principle, be naturally upset, carrying with it the stomach, -its most intimate relation?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m thure it would; quite thure to be thure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Take my word for it. When we go to sea we are transposing the -functional processes of mind and matter. How, then, to render that -exchange nugatory? The sense of it is conveyed through what? The eyes, -is it not?” -</p> - -<p> -“O yeth, indeed! You thee the heaving before you heave yourthelf.” -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly—a sympathetic emotion, or motion. Our vision, then, is the -direct cause of sea-sickness. Why? Because in pursuing an unstable -thing it becomes itself unstable. And there I see light. The eyes are -at right angles to the ears, are they not? And we are agreed that the -sense of instability is conveyed through the eyes?” -</p> - -<p> -“Through the eyeth.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, supposing now we introduce a second appeal to the senses -through the ears; that second appeal would traverse the first appeal, -would it not, at right angles, the two forming together a sort of -sensory cross-hatch, or truss, which would immediately produce the -stability necessary to keep the otherwise unsupported sight from -accommodating itself to the action of the waves? You follow me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I think—— O yeth!” -</p> - -<p> -“Your suggestion was a really very able one, my lord, and it speaks -loudly against the folly of scorning all ex-official criticism in -these matters. But, to follow our theorizing to a practical end. We -are at one, then, in believing it possible that the sense of sight -could be trussed and stiffened by the introduction of the sense of -sound. To make an effective business of it, however, that sense of -sound would have to be compelling enough to arrest and neutralize the -visual tendency; it would have to be, that is to say, exceedingly -strong and exceedingly sweet. It might be possible to introduce on -each of our ships a professional harpist, or lutist, to supply with -their music a prophylactic against sea-sickness; but one has to -remember that not all musicians are sailors, and that it might prove -disastrous to the moral should one fail in his own sea-legs at the -very moment he was trying to provide another with his.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yeth; that ith very true.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, again, as to the force of the appeal. Not all performers have -that convincing mastery of their instruments, my lord, which according -to what I hear, is peculiarly your own.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, truth, your Highneth flatterth me!” -</p> - -<p> -“You shall prove it.” He smiled very pleasantly. “But, believe me, my -lord, I am infinitely your debtor for a suggestion which <i>may</i> go far -to revolutionize the whole question of impressment and the popularity -of the Navy. Now, will you not give me a taste of the quality which -has come to enter so aptly into the context of our discussion? You -know I play a little on the guitar myself, but not so well as to -refuse a hint or two from a master of the instrument. There was a -question of a saraband. I would fain take a lesson in its -presentation.” -</p> - -<p> -“Corbetti’th, your Highneth meanth.” The puppy—strange scion of a -house distinguished, in the persons of its head and firstborn, for -both courage and nobility—glowed with gratified vanity. He really -believed at last that ’twas he himself had originated that exquisite -specific against the curse of the ocean, and that the Duke was his -admiring debtor for it. He struck an attitude, slung his guitar into -position, and, receiving a nod from his auditor, forthwith touched out -the measure of Signor Francesco’s saraband. It was a quite graceful -composition, and he played it well. -</p> - -<p> -The Duke was enraptured. -</p> - -<p> -“It is in truth a most sweet and moving piece,” he said, “and masterly -rendered. I have never known to be displayed a more perfect accord -between composer, performer, and instrument. Yet, if they were to be -considered in order of merit, I should put, without hesitation, the -executant in the first place and the guitar in the least.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yet it’th a good guitar, Thir,” ventured the glowing youth. He lifted -and eyed with beatific patronage that faithful recorder of his genius. -</p> - -<p> -“Good,” answered the Duke; “yet good is not good enough to be the -servant of the best. But where, indeed, could one look for an -instrument worthy of an Orpheus?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I bluth, your Highneth! Yet I will not thay but what I might give -a better account of mythelf on an inthtrument pothethed by my -thithter, my lady Chethterfield. It ith a wonder, that. Corbetti -himthelf hath declared it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed?” James spoke abstractedly, seeming hardly to attend. “Now, -will you make me your debtor, my lord, for a hint or two. It would -flatter my poor skill to expend it on so rare a melody.” -</p> - -<p> -He was so full of compliment and ingratiation, that the first -diffidence of the sweet Earl was soon exchanged for a vanity -approaching condescension. He took his royal pupil in hand, and -conducted him over the opening bars of the composition. But the Duke, -strange to say, proved himself a most sad bungler. He could not, for -some reason, master the air, and finally, with a shrug of impatience, -he desisted, and begged his instructor to repeat to him his own -version of certain ingenious passages. -</p> - -<p> -“I will murder the innocents no longer,” quoth he, handing back the -instrument. “Render them again in living phrase, and so take the taste -of my own villainy out of my mouth.” -</p> - -<p> -“It is thith way,” said his lordship, and went on thrumming most -mellifluously. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” said the Duke. “If one could take the way of genius only by -having it pointed out to one! Yet, did not that last note ring a -little false?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, by my fay, Thir.” -</p> - -<p> -“You may be right. Yet methinks I have a very hair-splitting ear. It -will quarrel on so little as a fraction of a tone. Not the player, but -the string, maybe, was to blame. Even your best of instruments will -lack perfection, betraying weak places in their constitution, like -broken letters in a printed type. Sound it again. ... Ah! it is not -quite true, indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your Highneth, thith ith a very ordinary fair guitar; but, ath I -thay, I know a better.” -</p> - -<p> -“True; my lady Shrewsbury’s.” -</p> - -<p> -“No.” -</p> - -<p> -“Not? I thought you mentioned hers?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not herth. My lady Chetherfield’th.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! Your sister’s. So, she is the possessor of that masterpiece. Is it -indeed so excellent?” -</p> - -<p> -“None better, I dare to venture, in all the world.” -</p> - -<p> -“My lord, you must let me hear you on it. So near the perfect -achievement, and yet to fall short of it by a hair! ’Twas not to be -endured. We must visit your sister, you and I together, and beg this -favour of her kindness.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, even the Court of the Restoration had its codes of -etiquette—more particular, in some odd ways, than to-day’s—and among -them was none which permitted a prince of the blood royal to -condescend to social intercourse with a young married woman without -danger to her reputation. Arran, to be sure, knew this well enough, -shallow dandiprat as he was, and the slight qualm he felt over the -proposition was evidence of a certain suspicion awakened in him for -the first time. But it was faint, and no proof against his vanity. He -was not so base as to design any deliberate treachery to his own flesh -and blood; but his conscience was an indeterminate quantity, easily at -the mercy of any plausible rascal. He considered, and decided that the -inclusion of himself in the Duke’s suggestion was the surest proof -that there could be no <i>arrière pensée</i> behind it. An intrigant, -bent on some nefarious conquest, would not propose a brother to assist -him in his purpose. He gave a little embarrassed laugh, nevertheless, -and hung his foolish head. -</p> - -<p> -“If your Highneth thinkth it worth your Highnetheth while,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Worth, my lord, worth?” said the Duke warmly. “What is this genius of -yours worth, if not the most perfect of mediums through which to give -itself expression?” -</p> - -<p> -“You are very good.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am very impatient, and shall continue so, until we have given -effect to this arrangement.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch12"> -CHAPTER XII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Little</span> Lady Chesterfield sat in her private boudoir, looking out on -a glowing section of the palace gardens. Thirty feet away a marble -basin, shaped like a tazza, bubbled with a tiny jet of water; and on -the rim of the basin, as if posed for a picture, sat a single peacock. -Great white clouds loitered in a sapphire sky, a thousand flowers -starred the beds, the box borders were lush with growth, and all -between went a maze of little paths, frilled with green sweetness. It -was an endearing prospect, spacious and peaceful, hardly ruffled by -the murmurs of the great life in whose midmost it was cloistered; yet -small consciousness of its tranquillity was apparent in the blue eyes -whose introspective vision reflected only the mists and turbulence of -a troubled heart. -</p> - -<p> -Now, as regards physical infection, one may be susceptible to the -predaceous germ on one occasion and not on another: it is a question -of bodily condition. So, there is a moral microbe whose insidious -approaches may find us pregnable or not according to our spiritual -temper of the time. The healthiest constitutions enjoy no absolute -immunity in this respect, and those which do escape harm often owe -their reputation for incorruptibility to no better than the accident -which found them free from attack at the weak moments. Evil -disposition makes no more sinners than the lack of it does saints. It -is mostly a question of coincidence between the alighting seed-down -and the soil suitable to its germination. -</p> - -<p> -Well, there are soils and soils, and as one seed which sickens on a -rich loam will wax bursting fat in an arid crevice, so sand will not -produce roses. Yet, I should say, if one sought a common denominator -in this matter of proneness to moral infections, one could not -instance a state more typically susceptive to all than that of -idleness and boredom. -</p> - -<p> -And to that perilous condition had poor Kate succeeded. She was -ennuyée, sick of soul, tired of everything and everybody. Her -matrimonial barque, she felt, had been flung on a shoal, where it lay -as divorced from wreck as from rescue. There appeared no alternative -but to abandon it; and yet all her instincts of faith and decency -still fought against that seeming treachery to her vows. She had -really at one time believed in the poor creature her husband—even -though necessarily at the modified valuation imposed upon wives of her -date and condition: she had not utterly abandoned her hope in him yet. -But little of it remained, and that little so tempered with scorn and -disgust as to seem hardly worth the retaining. Still, the wifely -instinct clung by a thread, and was so far her resource and safety. -Yet not much was needed to snap that last strand, and she knew it, and -felt it, and was wrought thereby to a state of nervous irritability -which halted, in its sense of sick isolation, between fidelity and -revolt. She was susceptible, in fact, when the germ made its -appearance. -</p> - -<p> -It was a flattering germ, garbed royally, with a melting eye and an -insinuative manner. She may have been already conscious in herself of -premonitory symptoms betokening its approach, as the wind of the -avalanche heralds the fall thereof; I will certainly not commit myself -to any statement to the contrary. But even were that the case, it is -not to say that her hold on the thread continued less fond and -desperate. It is likely, indeed, that it acquired a more urgent grip, -as foreseeing a particular strain upon its resources. Royalty could -pull so hard with so little effort of its own. However that may be, it -is worthy of note that she displayed at least the courage of her sex -in facing the possibility of infection instead of flying from it. -</p> - -<p> -Now, as she sat, gazing out on the quiet scene with unregarding eyes, -and obsessed with the sole thought that she was the most aggrieved and -weary-spirited woman in the world, she heard a sound in the room -behind her, and turned to see her second brother, young Arran. He -minced forward, the darling, and saluted her with the most -unimaginable grace, though there was certainly a little tell-tale -flush on his callow cheek. -</p> - -<p> -“Thithter Kit,” quoth he, “I have taken the privilege of a brother to -introduth a vithitor to your private apartment.” -</p> - -<p> -“A visitor!” She rose, uncertain, to her feet, and was aware, with a -little shock of the blood, of the figure of the Duke of York standing -in the doorway. His Royal Highness, with a grave smile, in which there -was nevertheless a touch of anxiety, advanced into the room, closing -the door behind him. -</p> - -<p> -“Uninvited, but not too greatly daring, I hope,” said he. “Formality, -ceremonial, were all incompatible with the boon we designed to ask of -your ladyship.” -</p> - -<p> -A vivid flush would rise to her cheek; she could not help it, nor -control, with all her will to, the self-conscious instinct betrayed in -her drooped lashes. For a moment, in the embarrassment of her youth, -she stood dumb before this realized liberty. -</p> - -<p> -“A privilege, your brother called it,” continued the Duke. “Then, if -for him, how much more for me! Of its extent, believe me, I am so -fully sensible, that, accepting your silence for condonation of my -presumption, I hesitate to abuse a favour so freely vouchsafed by -taking advantage of it to beg another.” -</p> - -<p> -She raised her lids, and again dropped them. The shadow of a smile -twitched the corners of her mouth. And then her breath caught, -suddenly and irresistibly, in a little half-hysterical laugh. The -pomposity of this prelude was after all too much for her. -</p> - -<p> -“O, my lord Duke,” she said, “if I were to assume the nature of this -favour from the solemnity of its introduction, I should have no -alternative but to refuse it offhand, as implying something grave and -weighty beyond my years. I pray you bear my youth in mind.” -</p> - -<p> -He smiled, relieved and at ease. -</p> - -<p> -“Most tenderly, madam. For all that resounding symphony, you shall -find the piece, when we come to play it, a very <i>pastorale</i> in -lightness. Will you not be seated?” -</p> - -<p> -“By your favour, your Highness—when you have set me the example.” -</p> - -<p> -She sought to take refuge from her fluttering apprehensions behind -that shy insistence on punctilio. The Duke bowed, and accepting a -chair from his lordship of Arran, signified his entreaty that the lady -should occupy another contiguous. Kate had no choice but to obey. She -was not yet mistress of her blushes, and she blushed as she seated -herself. But there was a strange excitement in her heart, -nevertheless. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” said his Highness, “I am in the position of a litigant, who -hath engaged an advocate to plead his cause for him. So, like a -sensible client, I leave the first word to him.” -</p> - -<p> -He waited, in a serene confidence. Lady Chesterfield looked at her -brother. -</p> - -<p> -“What is it, Richard?” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship giggled, “hem’d,” pulled at his cravat, and spoke. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing in the world, thithter Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” she said, “nothing is easily granted. I give you the case, your -Highness.” -</p> - -<p> -“He rates his own genius too lightly,” cried the Duke. “I see that, -for the sake of his modesty, I must reverse the parts. Take me for -advocate, then, and hear my plea. It is that, saving one factor, your -brother is the most accomplished guitarist at Court.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, fie, your Highneth!” said Arran, squirming in every limb. “Think -of Corbetti.” -</p> - -<p> -“A master, I grant,” said the Duke, “but with the faults incident to -professionalism. A perfect executant, art hath yet despoiled him of -nature. For pure sympathy, give me your born musician before your -trained.” -</p> - -<p> -Again Arran squirmed. “O, your Highneth, your Highneth!” -</p> - -<p> -The Duke turned to Kate. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you not love your brother’s playing?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed,” answered the girl, perplexed, “Richard plays well.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he echoed, protesting. “Have you heard him in the new -saraband?” She shook her head. “Ah!” he said: “not Corbetti himself -could so interpret the loveliness of his own composition. I speak as -one who knows. My lord’s performance, to eschew superlatives, was -divine. Yet there was a flaw. The perfect master lacked the perfect -instrument. To attain the latter, or at least more nearly approximate -it, only one resource offered. Your ladyship, as he informed me, was -owner of the finest guitar in all England. To hear him on that guitar -became then a necessity with me—a fever, a passion. It was to entreat -that opportunity that I ventured this descent upon your ladyship’s -privacy.” -</p> - -<p> -She heard; she opened her eyes in ingenuous wonder. Before she could -consider the words, they were on her lips. -</p> - -<p> -“Is that all?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, not all,” he answered softly—“not all. But that <i>you</i> might -hear and feel.” -</p> - -<p> -Involuntarily she shrank away a little. -</p> - -<p> -“Richard knew,” she said, “that he could always have my guitar for the -asking.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that so?” said his Highness. “But he did not tell me—perchance -because he would have his sister learn the estimate in which he is -held by others, to show his power to move me in your presence. Ah!” he -waved a playful hand—a very white and shapely one: “relations are -notoriously grudging critics of their own.” -</p> - -<p> -Still she struggled faintly. -</p> - -<p> -“This is a poor room for resonance, my lord Duke. The audience-chamber -would have been better chosen.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay,” he said; “are we not private here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Private, Sir?” -</p> - -<p> -“Is not privacy the very essence of all sweet sounds and thoughts? To -risk interruption is to risk the jarring of their lovely sequence. No, -we are happiest where we are, apart and secluded. The loneliest bower -is that where the bird sings his song to an end.” -</p> - -<p> -She rose hastily, and with an effort to control her agitation. -</p> - -<p> -“I will go and fetch it,” she said. “It is not here.” -</p> - -<p> -He sought to detain her. -</p> - -<p> -“Does not your brother know the place?” -</p> - -<p> -Arran interposed. Some vague uneasiness, perhaps, was making itself -felt in the shallow brain of the nincompoop. -</p> - -<p> -“No, by my thoul, your Highneth,” he said, “nor underthtand if she -told me.” -</p> - -<p> -Kate hurried to the door. As she did so, a feminine form outside -whisked into the near shelter of some hangings. Then, foreseeing -certain detection if she remained where she was, waited until the -issuing figure had vanished down a passage, when she herself slipped -away incontinent in another direction. -</p> - -<p> -The Duke in the meanwhile sat frowning and silent, half suspecting a -ruse on the lady’s part to escape him. But in that he did the Countess -too much or too little justice. For whatever reason—of honour or -perversity; you may take your choice—Kate acquitted herself -faithfully of her errand, and came back with the guitar; whereat the -royal brow cleared wonderfully. -</p> - -<p> -And Arran played the saraband—this time to perfection, exclaimed his -Highness. Sweet melody, sweet touch, and sweetest atmosphere—it had -been all a banquet of delight, served, as it were, amidst the -tenderest surroundings, in a self-contained corner of Eden, by the -most paradisical of chefs. The Duke was transported; he was really -transported, though it is true some ecstasies stop short of heaven. -There are sirens in Campania to see to that. -</p> - -<p> -And Kate was also moved; she could not well help but be. Her heart was -in too emotional a state to be safe proof against such soft besieging. -When the Duke leaned towards her, she did not stir, but sat with eyes -downcast, her bosom plainly turbulent. -</p> - -<p> -“Was I not right,” he said, “and could any gain in resonance have -improved on this faultless unison of parts? Perfection must know -bounds, even like a framed picture, or the soul cannot compass it. To -have enlarged these but in one direction would have been to sacrifice -the proportions of the whole—the harmonious concord of place, and -sound, and tenderest feeling. Give me this bower, lady, for your -rounded madrigal, wherein sweetest music lends itself with love and -beauty to weave a finished pattern of delight. My lord, grant me the -instrument a moment.” -</p> - -<p> -He took the guitar, somewhat peremptorily, from the Earl’s hesitating -hands; but he was in no mood, at this pass, to temporize or finesse. -And, having received it, he went plucking softly among the strings, -gathering up sweet chords and sobbing accidentals, as it were flowers, -to present in a nosegay to the heart of his moved hearer. There was a -knowledge, a sure emotionalism, in his touch which went far to -discount his earlier pretence of inadequacy; and Arran in his weak -brain may have felt somehow conscious of the fact, and of a suspicion -that he had been subtly beguiled into lending his own vanity for a -catspaw to the other’s schemes. But he had no wit to mend the -situation he had encouraged; and so he only stood silent, with his -mouth open—sowing gape-seed, as they say in Sussex. -</p> - -<p> -The Duke, ending presently on a “dying fall,” sighed and looked up. -</p> - -<p> -“Lady,” he said, “there is a test of the interpretative power of music -(which some deny), to render the very spirit of a flower in sound, so -that one listening, with closed eyes, will say, ‘That be jonquils,’ or -‘That be rosemary,’ or lavender, or what you will. Only the player -must have that same blossom he would explain nigh to him, that his -soul may be permeated by its essence while he improvises. What say -you, shall we put it to the proof? Poor artist as I am, if my skill -prove but twin-brother to my wish I will interpret you my blossoms so -that you shall cry, ‘That’s for the one in flower language called -Remembrance,’ or ‘That’s for gentle Friendship,’ or ‘That’s for Love.’ -Will you be so entertained? Only—for the means.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked to the Earl. This was no more than a ruse, devised on the -moment to rid himself of that simple incubus. -</p> - -<p> -“My lord,” said he, with an ingratiatory smile, “will you favour me so -far as to go gather me a posy from the garden?” -</p> - -<p> -But before the sappy youth could fall into that palpable trap, Kate -had risen hurriedly to her feet. -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, brother,” she said, “stay you here. I know better than you where -to find the blooms most meet to his Highness’s purpose”—and she was -going, half scared and yet half diverted. -</p> - -<p> -But scarce had she taken a step or two, when a sudden voice singing -outside the window brought her to an instant standstill— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“<i>Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me</i>,</p> -<p class="i0"><i>For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me</i>”;</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="noindent"> -so sweet and unexpected, they all whisked about in surprise to mark -the singer. She loitered, in seeming unconsciousness of their -neighbourhood, among the beds, a slender girl figure, on whose face, -as she stooped and rose, the sunlight went and came as if it fought -her for a kiss. She looked a very stillroom fairy of the gardens, -herself expressed from all their daintiest scents and colours. -</p> - -<p> -And so, no doubt, the men thought; but, for my lady Chesterfield, the -apparition wrought in her a revulsion of feeling which was as instant -as it was startling. Her wrongs, the empty vanity of her scruples, all -rushed upon her in a moment, and she stood stock still. And then she -gave a chill little laugh, a woman of ice in a moment, and said she, -small and quiet— -</p> - -<p> -“But it were ill manners for a hostess to desert her guest; and after -all, Dick, thou art the musician to feel a musician’s needs.” -</p> - -<p> -My lord looked suddenly gratified. -</p> - -<p> -“Ath you will, thithter Kit,” said he; “unless your friend outthide -would prefer your company.” -</p> - -<p> -“Friend!” cried her ladyship; “she is no friend of mine.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of whoth, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“You may ask her if you will. Nay, I see that you are all excitement -to put his Highness’s pleasant fancy to the test. Go, then—leave your -sister, and gather flowers.” -</p> - -<p> -He answered with a little foolish shamefaced snigger; then turned and -stole away a-tiptoe, as if he feared to be detected, while she watched -his departure with a twitch of scorn upon her lips. The Duke, with an -amused smile on his, regarded her furtively, her rigid attitude, the -flushed curve of her cheek, which alone of her face was visible as she -stood with her back to him. But much expression can be conveyed in a -curve. -</p> - -<p> -“No friend of yours, my lady?” he asked softly. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she said, and, lowering her head, began plucking at her -handkerchief without turning to him. -</p> - -<p> -“Of your husband’s, perhaps?” he asked, in the same tone. -</p> - -<p> -“Of any man’s,” she answered. -</p> - -<p> -“O!” He rose and, just glancing through the window at the pretty -figure, now joined in company with that of the young nobleman, took a -step or two which brought him within close range of the averted face. -“Is that so?” he said. “And she lies in this house?” -</p> - -<p> -She did not answer; and, venturing quite gently to capture her -reluctant fingers, he led her by them to the window. The couple -outside were already, it appeared, on friendly terms. They laughed and -chatted together, making a sport of the flower-choosing, in which, -with all pretty coquetries, the lady would defer to her companion, -plucking this bloom and that, and holding it to his button nose, and -throwing the thing away in a pretended pet if he shook his head to it. -The Duke stood some moments regarding the scene. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, young, but practised,” he said presently. “He has met her -before?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never, to my knowledge.” -</p> - -<p> -She spoke low, trembling a little now—perhaps from that sudden chill. -</p> - -<p> -“Not?” he said, and drew in a quick breath, as if scandalized. “I see, -I see. And how is she known?” -</p> - -<p> -“Her name is Mary Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! Some wanton fancy of your——” -</p> - -<p> -“Your Highness, I beg you to let me go.” -</p> - -<p> -She broke from his too sympathetic hold, and went back from him, until -a space separated them. -</p> - -<p> -“Believe me,” said he gravely: “I had no wish to surprise this unhappy -secret out of you.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know,” she said hurriedly—“I know. But, learning it, you will be -considerate—considerate and compassionate.” -</p> - -<p> -“On my royal faith,” he answered. “It shall be an inviolable -confidence between us. Have I not myself too good reason to sympathize -with the ill-mated?” -</p> - -<p> -He did not say whether on his own account or on his wife’s. Perhaps, -if on hers, that ill-starred woman would have preferred his fidelity -to all the sympathy in the world. But, as in such matters the feminine -prejudice is always in favour of the man, so Kate, in no ways an -exception to her sex, was quite prepared to accept the sentiment at -its obvious significance. A faint sigh lifted her innocent bosom. -</p> - -<p> -“I may not speak of that,” she said. “Is—is marriage always so -unhappy?” -</p> - -<p> -He sighed too. -</p> - -<p> -“Always? I know not. It <i>may</i> chance to include that natural -correlation of sympathies, that perfect soul affinity, which was no -doubt in the original scheme of things before the Fall. Blest, -immeasurably blest the nuptials in that case; yet how rare a -coincidence! A man and woman, both virgin, both unspoiled, may here -and there find, as predestined, their rapturous conjunction, and so -achieve themselves in flawless unity. But, for the most part, we must -be resigned to forgo that heavenly encounter until, caught fast in -alien bonds, we meet and recognize for the first time our elective -affinities. Too late, then? I cannot say. Only is it possible that -Heaven could blame us for consummating its own ideal at the expense of -the social conventions made by man? Ah! if we could only, in the first -instance, be safe to meet with her, the heartfelt, the unmistakable, -the lovely ordained perfecter of our imperfect beings! What happiness -would be added to the world and what sin avoided!” His very voice was -like a wooing confidence. He bent to gaze into her face. “Ill-mated! -Alike in that, at least,” he said, and sought her hand again. “Come, -sweet soul, be seated, and let me play to you once more.” -</p> - -<p> -Kate started, as if to an electric shock. -</p> - -<p> -“No, your Highness.” -</p> - -<p> -“You will not?” -</p> - -<p> -“I must not. Let me call my brother.” -</p> - -<p> -He intercepted her. “Say at least I may visit you again—see -you—speak to you.” He spoke low and vehemently. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” she said, almost weeping—“not now. O, let me go, Sir! I was -wrong to complain—wrong to encourage you.” -</p> - -<p> -She made past him, and hurried to the open window. “Richard!” she -cried. “Richard! How long you are! His Highness waits the flowers with -impatience.” -</p> - -<p> -Arran had no choice but to obey. She saw his companion, with a pert -laugh and toss of the head, thrust the nosegay into his hand, and -watch him, with a mocking lip, as he retreated from her. And the next -moment he was in the room. -</p> - -<p> -But, for the Duke, he was quite content with his progress. She had put -her confidence in his keeping, and, for a sound beginning, that meant -much. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch13"> -CHAPTER XIII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> Earl of Chesterfield entered his drawing-room in a very morose -frame of mind, which was scarcely improved by his discovery of a young -lady already seated there before him. She was yawning over an -illuminated missal; but, at sight of the intruder, she clapped the -volume down with a bang, stretched, put her arms behind her head, and -smiled with an air of relieved welcome. Any male to Moll was better -than none. -</p> - -<p> -“Come along,” she said. “Don’t be shy of me.” -</p> - -<p> -He was pacing forward, his hands behind his back, and stopped to -regard her sourly, his head askew. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes? You remarked——?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Davis went into a noiseless shake of laughter. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t do that,” she cried, “or you’ll give yourself a stiff neck. -What a face, sure! Has my lady been putting bitter aloes on your -nails, naughty boy, to stop your biting ’em?” -</p> - -<p> -“Mrs. Davis,” said my lord, not moving, and with an air of acid -civility, “I am really constrained to impress upon you that it is -possible to presume on one’s privileges as Lady Chesterfield’s friend -and guest.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is it?” was the serene answer. “And I’m really constrained to impress -upon you that it’s possible to presume upon one’s position as the -husband of that guest’s hostess.” -</p> - -<p> -“Presume, madam, presume—in my own house!” -</p> - -<p> -She jumped up, and came at him with such a whisk of skirts that -involuntarily he retreated a step before her. -</p> - -<p> -“You dare!” she said: “when the very first time we met you had the -brazen impudence to kiss me. Presume, indeed—and in your own house! A -nice house, this, to pretend to any airs of propriety.” -</p> - -<p> -“There are distinctions to be made, madam, which perhaps you can -hardly be expected to appreciate.” -</p> - -<p> -“Between me and another? Why, deuce take you!” cried the lady. “Are -you telling me I’m not respectable?” -</p> - -<p> -She quivered on the verge of an explosion. He was a little alarmed. It -had been foolish of him to lay aside, just because his wife was not -by, the part he was affecting to play. He had forgotten, in his -peevishness, that it was as necessary to mislead the visitor as to his -sentiments as it was her ladyship. Yet he could not command his temper -all in a moment. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you telling me,” he said, “that my house is not?” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes sparkled at him. -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t appreciate distinctions, you know,” she said, “or I might -understand why my lady may do just what I do, and be respected for it, -while I for my part have to suffer all manner of sauce and impudence. -One of these days I shall be taking two of those precious grooms of -yours and knocking their heads together.” -</p> - -<p> -He frowned, setting his lips. -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry if you have reason to complain of the conduct of my -household. I was not aware of this, and will take immediate measures -for the punishment of any servant you may point out as having shown -you discourtesy.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, all’s one for that!” cried Moll, with a toss. “I can look after -myself. Only don’t talk about my presumption in treating you with the -familiarity that you treat me, or be so sure of the holy propriety of -your house in everything where I’m not concerned.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked at her with a gloomy perplexity, but did not answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Liberties!” cried Mrs. Moll, snapping her fingers. “But where the -master sets the example, the mistress can’t be blamed for following -him, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you allude to her ladyship?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I do,” she answered, with a saucy laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“To what ‘liberties’ do you refer—as applied to yourself, perhaps?” -</p> - -<p> -“Myself be damned!” cried the lady. “I talk of <i>her</i> being closeted -alone, in her private apartments, with gentlemen visitors.” -</p> - -<p> -His lordship started and stiffened, as suddenly rigid as a frog popped -into boiling water. -</p> - -<p> -“What visitors?” he said, in a suffocated voice. -</p> - -<p> -Moll laughed again. -</p> - -<p> -“Wouldn’t you like to know, crosspatch?” -</p> - -<p> -He took a furious step forward, and checked himself. -</p> - -<p> -“Her brothers, belike. And so much for your mischief-making, Mrs. -Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -He said it with a sneer; but his eyes glowed. -</p> - -<p> -“Then that’s all right and settled,” replied the girl. “And so now you -can be at peace.” -</p> - -<p> -“Wasn’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“You say so.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do <i>you</i> say?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I mustn’t mention Kit, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit!” He uttered a blazing oath under his breath. “So my suspicions -are confirmed about that reptile! By God, if you and my lady are a -pair and in collusion, after all!” -</p> - -<p> -“Fiddle-de-dee!” she said, putting out the tip of her tongue at him. -“What do you mean by collusion? That I’m abetting her in carrying on -with my own particular friend? Not likely!” -</p> - -<p> -He stamped in impotent exasperation. -</p> - -<p> -“Why do you tell me, then? But I see what it is. She has robbed you of -this creature, and you want to be revenged on her for it. And by God -you shall! Tell me, when was this?” -</p> - -<p> -“This very afternoon.” -</p> - -<p> -“And how long was he with her?” -</p> - -<p> -“Who?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, you know!” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought you might mean the other.” -</p> - -<p> -“The other? There was another, then?” He positively squeaked in his -fury. “Who was it? Curse it, I <i>will</i> know!” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure, you’re so hot, I’m afraid to tell you,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -He broke away, positively dancing, took a rageful turn or two, and -came back relatively reasonable. -</p> - -<p> -“Now, Mrs. Davis,” he said; “will you be so good as to acquaint me -all—all about this visit? Come, let us kiss and be friends.” -</p> - -<p> -He advanced towards her, with hands extended and a twisted smile, -meant to be ingratiatory, on his lips; but she backed before him. -</p> - -<p> -“No, sure,” she said. “That would be friendship at too high a price. -What does it matter to you who visited her? Aren’t you ready to throw -her over, stock and block, for me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, yes. Only—h’m!—’tis a question of justification, don’t you -see—of proof—damn it!—of her guilt.” -</p> - -<p> -“You won’t want to kiss me, now?” -</p> - -<p> -“No; on my word.” -</p> - -<p> -“And you won’t call the gentlemen out to answer for their -misbehaviour?” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse me, no!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, I’ll tell you. It was—— You are sure you won’t kiss me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not for a thousand pound.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, not for a thousand? Was ever woman so insulted!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then I’ll kiss you for nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“You will? So, then, my mouth’s shut.” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” He threw up his hands and eyes, giving vent to the remarkable -utterance, “The foul fiend grant me virtue!” Then he waxed dangerous. -“Mrs. Moll, if it’s to be kissing after all, I’ll pay you, and with -interest, here and now.” -</p> - -<p> -She gave a little scream. -</p> - -<p> -“O, mussey! I’ll tell you. It was the Duke.” -</p> - -<p> -He stood looking at her, grinning like a dog. -</p> - -<p> -“The Duke? What Duke?” -</p> - -<p> -“How should I know?” -</p> - -<p> -“You saw him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“How?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I just looked through the keyhole.” -</p> - -<p> -Still he stared, the grin, or snarl, fixed on his face. -</p> - -<p> -“And what did you see?” -</p> - -<p> -“Only the two gentlemen and my lady.” -</p> - -<p> -“What! They were there together?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not, why not! Now, what does it all mean? And which was the -favoured one with her?” -</p> - -<p> -“It was his Highness stayed longest.” -</p> - -<p> -“His Highness!” -</p> - -<p> -“So they called him. He looked a very nice tall gentleman, though over -grave for my taste.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” Chesterfield’s manner had suddenly fallen ominously quiet. “I -think I know whom you mean. And so he, the Duke, stayed longest, did -he? And what became of the other?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! he came out to me in the garden, whither I’d run after peeping.” -</p> - -<p> -She saw it rising in him, and likened it in her own mind to a saucepan -of milk coming to the boil. There was a flickering under the surface, -and then a heave and rise, and the next moment it was overflowing with -a tumultuous ebullition there was no stopping. Yet his voice -maintained its intense suppression, only doubly envenomed. -</p> - -<p> -“He came out to you, did he? I understand. Your particular friend, -your particular pander to dishonourable royalty, came out to you, -having effected his purpose of infamous procuration—to congratulate -you and himself, I suppose, on the success of your joint villainy. So -this is the solution of the mystery, and this your return for the -hospitality you have received? Indeed my lady chooses her intimates -cleverly.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, Moll was a mischief-making naughtiness, and knew it; but no -woman, however self-consciously guilty, can take abuse without -recrimination. -</p> - -<p> -“You suppose so? Do you, indeed?” she said. “And I say if you apply -those names to me and Kit you’re a liar and a beast. A nice character -you, upon my word, to call shame upon your lady for doing in all -innocence what you are doing out of the wickedness of your soul every -day of your life. She mustn’t entertain a great gentleman, mustn’t -she; but <i>you</i> may practise your dissembling arts on her own friend, -and think none the worse of yourself for it. Pander, forsooth! I throw -the word back in your ugly teeth, as I throw your dirty attentions. I -don’t want them, and I don’t want you!” -</p> - -<p> -“My teeth may be ugly,” says my lord, with a savage grin; “but they -can bite, as this friend of yours will find to his cost when once I -track him down—as I shall do.” -</p> - -<p> -“Poor Kit!” cried Mrs. Moll, with a mocking laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“And as to my attentions to you,” said the other, “you may count them -for what you like, only don’t include any inclination of mine in the -bill. I paid them because it suited me, and not because you did—for -anything but a catspaw. And now that I know your true character, why, -you may take yourself off for any attraction I find in you, and the -sooner the better for all parties concerned. I do not consider you a -fit companion for my lady.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s plain,” said Moll, a little cowed in spite of herself. -</p> - -<p> -“I wish to make it so,” answered his lordship frigidly. “For what -purpose my lady invited you here I know not, nor in what degree that -purpose tallied with your command of a confederate, the hired -instrument, as I take it, of a more exalted infamy. It is enough that -you have used your position here to consolidate the discord and -misunderstanding you found already unhappily existing——” -</p> - -<p> -“And what have you done, I should like to know?” cried Mrs. Moll. -</p> - -<p> -“And with an object,” went on the gentleman, not deigning to answer -her, “which is only perfectly apparent to me at a late hour. But that -recognition, now it has come, imposes a duty on me, and on you the -perhaps unwelcome realization that I am the master of this house. I -neither ask nor expect you to betray to me this creature of yours and -of my lord Duke: I shall identify him in good time, and then he will -not have reason to congratulate himself on his amiable participation -in your designs. But, as to yourself, I have merely to intimate that I -shall esteem it a favour, and to avoid unpleasantness, if you will put -an early period to your visit here.” -</p> - -<p> -He bowed with such an immense and killing stateliness, that the young -lady was quite overawed, and for the moment had not a word to answer; -and so, walking deliberately, with his head high, he left the room. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Davis sat for some minutes after he was gone, her face a lively -play of emotions. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, deuce take it!” she thought, her lids wide, “if he doesn’t -believe as I’ve used Kit for go-between with Madam and the Duke -creature. Mussey-me!” -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes half closed, her little nose wrinkled, stuffing her -handkerchief into her mouth, she went into a scream of laughter. But -her mood soon changed. Panting, she rose to her feet and struck one -little fist into the palm of the other. -</p> - -<p> -“So I’m to go, am I!” she said. “Not before I’ve paid you for that -insult, my lad. I don’t quite know how, yet, but somehow, the last -word’s got to be with me.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch14"> -CHAPTER XIV -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">The</span> tormented nobleman, craving for advice and sympathy, lost little -time before he sought out his friend and kinsman, Mr. George Hamilton. -He found that gentleman, who had just returned from a game of -pell-mell with his Majesty, refreshing himself with a pot and sop in -his own chambers, before committing himself and his mid-day toilet to -the hands of his valet. Chesterfield drove out the man incontinent, -and closed the door on him. -</p> - -<p> -“I want a word with you, George,” said he, breathless and -agitated—too disturbed and full of his subject to apologize or -finesse. “It’s all out; I’ve discovered the truth; and, curse me, if -’twere the King himself, I’d bury my sword in his treacherous heart. -As it is——” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, his face half hidden by the quart pot, put up an -expostulatory hand, and bubbled amphorically. -</p> - -<p> -“As it is, let me finish my ale.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, you can jest,” cried the other; “but I tell you ’tis no jesting -matter. So he hath wronged me, I’ll have his life, were he twenty -James Stuarts rolled into one.” -</p> - -<p> -George set down the tankard, drained. His eyes gaped a little. -</p> - -<p> -“The Duke of York?” -</p> - -<p> -“Damn him!” cried the Earl. “I always said it was he, but you would -never believe me. And now he hath been to visit her, on what false -pretext I know not, and they have been closeted alone, -together—alone, in her private apartments.” -</p> - -<p> -“When was this?” asked Hamilton, astonished and disturbed enough, for -his part. -</p> - -<p> -“Yesterday afternoon,” replied the other; and he hissed between his -clenched teeth. “And I’ll not forgive the dishonour done to my house, -or spare him though he wore the crown.” -</p> - -<p> -“Nay, coz,” said Hamilton. “Command yourself. How got you this -information?” -</p> - -<p> -“How? Why, from that little cursed, prying, eavesdropping skit, her -friend. And that is not all. ’Twas through ‘Kit’ the meeting came -about—a common pitcher-bawd, who shall pay for it with every bone in -his body broke.” -</p> - -<p> -“Through Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye; she confessed to him at last. He brought the Duke—was the tool -arranged between them, no doubt. O, what measure can gauge the perfidy -of woman!” -</p> - -<p> -“Who do you say confessed to him?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, a curse on your dullness! Who but Mrs. Davis.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, and to Kate’s collusion in the plot?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then she lied; and if she lied in one thing, the truth of all is to -question.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“I mean that, unless you can conceive my cousin as the most -double-faced, artful little villain in the world, Mrs. Davis was lying -to you in pretending that Kate could be a party to this employment of -the creature Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because she knows so little about Kit, that ’twas only the other day -she was charging Kit to you as some probable light of your fancy -before you married her. <i>She</i> thought Kit a woman.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, she knows better now.” -</p> - -<p> -“But, don’t you see——?” -</p> - -<p> -“I see nothing and know nothing but that my lady has granted the Duke -a secret interview, and that I’ll call them both to account for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, Phil, be reasonable. Even if that’s the case—and I question -it—there can be harmless interviews.” -</p> - -<p> -“Between a Stuart and a beautiful woman? P’sha! And what grounds have -you for questioning it?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve told you one. Take it from me—and I had the confession from -Kate’s own lips—she’s as jealous of you and Kit as ever you can be of -Kit and her.” -</p> - -<p> -The shaft went somewhat home. Chesterfield stood glowering and gnawing -his finger. -</p> - -<p> -“Then who the devil <i>is</i> Kit?” he said suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” replied Hamilton. “Who? We are all the gulls, I sometimes think, -of that little scheming hussy, your wife’s friend. But do you mean to -say she actually went so far as to assert that the Duke’s visit was -due to Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield reflected, still devouring his finger. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, now I come to think on’t, she didn’t explicitly, in so many -words, say as much.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps she didn’t mention Kit at all?” -</p> - -<p> -“O, yes, she did! But——” -</p> - -<p> -“But what?” -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it, George!” he burst out in helpless distraction, “she has a -non-committal way, I admit it, of forcing upon one conclusions which -she might say she never meant to suggest. She may have been mocking -me, to lead me astray. I wish she had never come; I wish I had never -consented to the part you laid on me. What hath it all ended in, but -disaster? Whatever the truth of the other charge, there is no blinking -the fact of the Duke’s visit.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you know? The whole thing may have been a fable to torment -you. From all accounts, you haven’t played a very wooing part with -her.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I can’t believe it. But anyhow ’tis easy proved. And, though Kit -may prove a legend, I’ll never doubt but that she herself was somehow -instrumental in bringing about this meeting.” -</p> - -<p> -“And yet, you say, she reported on it to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, a keyhole report.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, look there. In that case she must be a very arch-traitor—false -to both sides.” -</p> - -<p> -“’Tis like enough. But I’ll have no more of her. I told her in so many -words she must go.” -</p> - -<p> -“You did?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why not? Why not? What have you to say against it?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not sure I’ve anything. I think perhaps you did right.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I’m vastly obliged to you for your condescension.” -</p> - -<p> -“You deserve no consideration, Phil, upon my soul. If you choose to -adopt that tone with me, I’ve done with the matter.” -</p> - -<p> -He was vexed and bothered enough for himself, truth to tell. The visit -of the Duke—if, as he hardly doubted, it had actually taken -place—was a subject for confounding thought. He cared nothing for -Kit’s part in the business, real or pretended; his little cousin’s -attitude towards it was what concerned him. Did that point to -artlessness or design? He had believed, or chosen to believe, that, in -a certain eventuality, he himself had a prescriptive title to “the -most favoured treatment.” He had always, in full confidence, proceeded -upon that supposition; and now, if he had been deceiving himself -throughout? All his elaborate hoax would prove itself waste trouble, -and he might just as well have spared himself the complication. He had -been already, as it was, beginning to question the practical wisdom of -the imposture to which he had subscribed, and to wonder if more direct -means might not have served his purpose better. The reflection, -occurring to him now with aggravated force, inclined him to regard -this difficult and exasperating husband as the source of all his -worry. He was moved to throw prudence to the winds, and take his -unswerving course for the object he had in view. And Chesterfield’s -own temper lent itself immediately to that provocation. -</p> - -<p> -“Consideration! Matter!” said the nobleman, with the loftiest acidity. -“I’ll ask you to bear in mind, George, that the part I requested of -you was sympathy, and not dictation.” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton had remained seated all this time; he rose now, in a white -fume of anger. -</p> - -<p> -“O, was that it?” he said in answer. “Well, I’ll tell <i>you</i> that I -have never yet felt sympathy with a cuckold, or counted the man who -couldn’t command his wife’s fidelity as deserving less than he got. -’Tis just a question of resourcefulness, in more ways than one; and -the woman who has reason to like her bonds doesn’t strain at them. Now -you may go hang for me; and, as to your damned Duke——” -</p> - -<p> -“Temper, temper!” interrupted the other, quite pale and furious. “Upon -my soul, your manner might almost proclaim you his disappointed -rival.” -</p> - -<p> -The two stood glaring at one another. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you say that deliberately?” asked Hamilton at length. -</p> - -<p> -“What if I do?” retorted the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Then, by God, you’ll provoke me to disprove it.” -</p> - -<p> -“On your kinswoman?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll not be insulted for nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“You shall not be. I’ll see to it. Forewarned is to have my answer -ready to the occasion.” -</p> - -<p> -He smacked his hand to his sword-hilt, and, turning very haughtily, -stalked out of the room. Hamilton, breathing hard, watched his -departure, and presently dropped back into his chair, with a sneering -laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“The sword is the only resource of a fool,” thought he. “The Duke, and -now me—’tis his one solution for everything. But he’ll think better -of it—never give away his cuckoldom so openly. His——” He frowned -heavily, as he pondered. “Has it come to that, and <i>was</i> Mrs. Moll -instrumental in arranging this meeting? And is she making us all her -dupes—me included? I’d give something to look into her mind. But -she’s to receive her <i>congé</i>; and ’tis as well, I think—especially -as it saves me the necessity of settling with her. Yet, as to her -reputed traffic with the Duke—and this Kit’s part in it? O, mercy on -us all! I must see her somehow, and set my wits to hers—<i>fin contre -fin</i>, or, if need be, <i>fort contre fin</i>. O, what a plaguey difficult -and fascinating world this is! If a man can’t hate without wrong and -can’t love without wrong, where is the ethical mean to justify his -creation? I’ll go be an oyster.” -</p> - -<p> -He didn’t do that; but, hearing of the Earl being on duty that evening -with her Majesty, and assuming the Countess’s coincident attendance at -Court, he slipped over to the Chesterfields’ quarters, in the hope and -expectation of finding Mrs. Davis yawning away the hours there with -only herself for company. -</p> - -<p> -But, to his surprise, and irresistible gratification, he found, not -Moll, but her little ladyship herself in solitary possession of the -great chamber; at which discovery his eyes glowed and his pulses -thrilled. -</p> - -<p> -“What, Kate!” says he, glibly lying. “I never hoped to find you -alone.” -</p> - -<p> -She had received him with no sign of fervour corresponding to his own, -and now looked up from her work a little chill and unresponsive. -</p> - -<p> -“Why should you have hoped it, cousin?” she said. “Why should you show -pleasure now that it is so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, are we not near and dear kinsfolk?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Not near enough for the forbidden degrees,” she answered, “and -therefore not near enough to be alone together.” -</p> - -<p> -His brows went up. -</p> - -<p> -“You were not wont to speak to me like this. What have I done to -change you?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“That is quite true. Well, <i>my</i> feelings have not changed.” -</p> - -<p> -“I was sure they had not.” -</p> - -<p> -“Were you?” He looked at her curiously, but her impassive face gave -him no clue to her thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -“Did you expect to find my lord?” she said, again quietly busy at her -work. “Or was it, perhaps, Mrs. Davis you sought?” -</p> - -<p> -“If I sought one I sought the other,” he answered. “They are not long -to be caught apart.” -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you for the reminder,” she answered, and he bit his lip with -vexation. “Well, he hath taken her to attend on her Majesty, I -presume, since that is where his duties detain him. You had better -seek them there.” -</p> - -<p> -A thrill shot through his veins in the sudden thought that she was -jealous. -</p> - -<p> -“Not I,” he said. “I know where I am well off, if Phil does not.” -</p> - -<p> -A faintest increase of colour flushed her cheek, but she worked on -steadily. -</p> - -<p> -“Still,” she said, “in spite of their inseparability, as you consider -it, I do not doubt but that she is in the house at this moment. Shall -I send her a message that you are here?” -</p> - -<p> -“What are you implying, if you please, cousin?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” she answered quietly, “you knew very well that my lord was -elsewhere, and concluded my absence from his. Who other than Mrs. -Davis, then, could have been the object of this clandestine visit?” -</p> - -<p> -He heard; he smiled to himself; he drew his chair a little closer. -</p> - -<p> -“Kate,” he said, “are you in very truth jealous?” -</p> - -<p> -She cast one startled glance at him, but, though her bosom betrayed -its own disquiet, maintained her self-possession. -</p> - -<p> -“Jealous?” she said. “Of Mrs. Davis and my husband?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” he answered, “but of Mrs. Davis?” He sought to convey a world of -meaning into his look, his tone. “Shall I confess the truth?” he said. -“It <i>was</i> Mrs. Davis I expected to find alone here.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will send her to you.” She rose. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no!” He begged her, with a gesture, to be seated again; but she -refused to respond. “Be your kind and reasonable self. You misconceive -me—indeed you do. I had come to a resolution—it was to see this -young woman, and urge upon her, by every motive of decency and -consideration, to leave this house, and cease to take advantage of a -grotesque situation to persecute and humiliate you.” -</p> - -<p> -She stood looking down at him, still impassive, still inscrutable. -</p> - -<p> -“I should be grateful to you, cousin,” she said; “but I am humiliated -in nothing but your thinking me so.” -</p> - -<p> -“At least you are unhappy.” -</p> - -<p> -“O no, indeed!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not? Well, it is true that freedom has its compensations, sweeter by -contrast than any rich possession. And morally you are free, cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -“I know I am.” -</p> - -<p> -“Free to choose.” -</p> - -<p> -“I choose freedom.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! but with love!” -</p> - -<p> -He caught lightly at her skirt; but she withdrew it sharply from him. -</p> - -<p> -“There is no need to act,” she said, “when there is no audience.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, I am not acting,” he answered. -</p> - -<p> -“I am glad of it,” she said, “because it is a bad play. I prefer you -in your part, cousin, of the disinterested friend.” -</p> - -<p> -Then he was stung to a foolish retort. -</p> - -<p> -“Like the Duke of York.” -</p> - -<p> -She started, ever so slightly. -</p> - -<p> -“What about him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Was that the character he came to play when he visited you yesterday -in your private apartments?” -</p> - -<p> -To his surprise she answered him with perfect apparent serenity. -</p> - -<p> -“Of course. He merely came to borrow my guitar of me.” -</p> - -<p> -Was she really innocent or dissembling? He believed the latter, and -looked at her with some genuine admiration for her subtlety. -</p> - -<p> -“O!” he said, “was that all? And, being in Julia’s chamber, to melt -‘melodious words to lutes of amber,’ I suppose?” -</p> - -<p> -“He played,” she answered. “Indeed, they both played.” -</p> - -<p> -“Both?” He laughed. “So his Highness came accompanied?” -</p> - -<p> -“O yes!” she said. “He would never have come alone.” -</p> - -<p> -“And who was his friend?” -</p> - -<p> -“One of mine.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! You will not tell me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Are you not interesting yourself a little too much in my personal -affairs?” she said. She held out her hand coldly. “Good-night.” -</p> - -<p> -“Am I to go, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I am. I am really dropping with sleep. Good-night, cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -He got up in a pet. -</p> - -<p> -“I am sorry my company has proved so fatiguing. There was a time when -you could endure it with a better grace. But that was before your days -of freedom and happiness.” And he strode out of the room, resisting a -violent temptation to bang the door. -</p> - -<p> -But her ladyship stood looking after him rather piteously, and with -tears sprung suddenly to her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“I was so sorry, cousin,” she murmured, with a grievous sigh; “but I -am afraid you are a bad man.” -</p> - -<p> -And outside, on the gravel under the moonlight, Master George, -hurrying away, stopped to grind his vicious teeth. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Has</i> he stolen a march on me? And <i>who</i> was the other?” -</p> - -<p> -For, you see, that problem of Kit was again disturbing his mind. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch15"> -CHAPTER XV -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Hamilton</span>, making moodily for his quarters, took a somewhat deserted -by-way, which led him shortly under a long covered passage connected -with the stables. He had but entered this unlighted tunnel, when, -aware of a couple of figures approaching its further end, he backed -instinctively into the shadows, prepared, with the amiable humour of -his kind, to detect an intrigue or surprise a secret. Therefrom -peering, himself unseen, he saw the two, man and woman, stop in the -moonlight at the mouth of the archway, where he could very clearly -distinguish the identity of one of them, and almost as certainly guess -that of the other. His ears pricked to catch their whispered -confidences, but he was too far off to distinguish more than an -inarticulate giggling murmur. -</p> - -<p> -And then there appeared to occur a little scuffle between the pair, -and to the sound of a distinct smack the lady broke away and entered -the passage alone. Obviously an attention of her cavalier’s having -been promptly acknowledged by her, any further escort on his part had -been peremptorily declined. He did not attempt, indeed, to follow, but -standing alone in the moonlight a moment, holding his hand to his -cheek, suddenly turned tail and vanished. -</p> - -<p> -The hooded lady came on, all unconscious of the watcher, and was -nearing the point of emergence when Hamilton stepped across her path -and barred her way. She gave a small, irrepressible squeak, and stood -stock still. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” he said; “let us see what little Tib is after her Tom this -amorous night.” -</p> - -<p> -She recognized his voice, and let him lead her impassively to near the -mouth of the passage, just so as the entering light might fall upon -her face. And then he turned back the shrouding wimple, and saw a very -rosebud. -</p> - -<p> -“The blush must be hot,” said he, “that shows by moonlight. And now, -Mrs. Moll, what have you got to say for yourself?” -</p> - -<p> -She laughed, quite recovered, and backed a step from him. -</p> - -<p> -“Gentlemen first,” said she. “How did you find my lady? Alone, for a -guess.” -</p> - -<p> -“I came to find you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure?” -</p> - -<p> -“And by God I’ve found you—out!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I’m found out. You wouldn’t have me spend all my time stifling -within?” -</p> - -<p> -“You favour moonlit walks, it seems?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, for precaution’s sake, and to oblige you.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m doubtful about my obligation to you of late, Mrs. Moll. Who were -you walking with?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never asked him his name. I didn’t suppose it would be <i>camel fo</i>.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was my lord Arran, was it not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Was it, now? What an eye you’ve got!” -</p> - -<p> -“And you had met him, I suppose, by appointment?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, it was by the yew-tree.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, my lady, you’re playing some game of your own in all this, and -I want to know what it is. I brought you here for a specific purpose, -and I’ve more than an idea that you’re converting the opportunity to a -purpose of your own. What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s what? I was only taking a stroll.” -</p> - -<p> -“How did you make the acquaintance of my lord Arran?” -</p> - -<p> -“O! Is that his name?” -</p> - -<p> -“You know it is.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, to be sure, many more people know Tom Fool than Tom Fool -knows.” -</p> - -<p> -“Doesn’t he know you?” -</p> - -<p> -“He does now, I’m thinking. His cheek will keep him in mind of me for -the next hour.” -</p> - -<p> -Had the limb been no more than the victim of a chance gallantry? -Hamilton looked at her perplexed. A saintly innocence spoke from her -eyes. But, with a vexed laugh, he dismissed the absurdity. And then -his brows lifted to a sudden inspiration. He had recalled on the -instant some seeming casual words of the Duke of York addressed to -himself. They had related to a saraband, and to a certain superlative -guitar possessed by Arran’s sister. Now he actually blinked in the -dazzling illumination of an idea. Kate, and the guitar, and the royal -strummer, and Arran—lured by Moll at the Duke’s instigation—the -unconscious procurer of that meeting! There, however ordered, was the -connection, the explanation of the visit. He felt as sure of it as if -he had himself planned out the process. Why, in the name of intrigue, -had he never hit on the trail before? But, now it was found, it led to -certain conclusions. With a dog’s smile showing his teeth, he clapped -his two hands on the girl’s shoulders, and held her grippingly before -him. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been thinking,” said he. “You told Lord Chesterfield, and he -told me, that you’d been witness of the Duke of York’s visit to his -wife. Isn’t that so?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sure,” said Moll, her heart going a little in spite of herself. “I -looked and listened through the keyhole.” She confessed it, quite -unabashed; nor did Hamilton regard the act as anything but “cricket,” -in the modern meaning. Honour, with gentlemen of his kidney, was just -a phrase to toss on swordpoints. -</p> - -<p> -“How,” he said, “did you know it was the Duke of York?” -</p> - -<p> -“I heard them say so.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are lying. You pretended to Lord Chesterfield that you did not -know who the visitor was, and so you give yourself away.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do I? And a very pretty gift, too, though I say it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! You are quite shameless, I see.” -</p> - -<p> -“Now, what cause have I for shame? Tell me that.” -</p> - -<p> -“What cause? You can ask that!” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I can ask anything.” -</p> - -<p> -“Enough of this equivocating. What did you mean by stating you heard -<i>them</i> say it was the Duke?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, I meant it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Who were <i>they</i>?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just my lady and the other.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, the other! Who <i>was</i> the other?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, the one that wasn’t my lady, of course.” -</p> - -<p> -“Was it Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -“I never said so, you know.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you say now?” -</p> - -<p> -“I say what I said before.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come; was it man or woman?” -</p> - -<p> -“How should I know? I’m ashamed of you, George.” -</p> - -<p> -His strong fingers quivered with an almost irresistible desire to -shake the life out of her. Possibly—for she had a liking for him—he -might have won the truth from her even now by a show of tenderness; -but his temper, exacerbated by a recent disappointment, had got the -better of him, and any further finessing was at the moment beyond his -power. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, my lady,” said he, drawing a deep breath. “I shall know -how to deal with a traitor whom I had thought a confederate. I have -done my part fairly by you——” -</p> - -<p> -“Wait there,” said the girl, stopping him. She had abundance of -spirit, and carried the sharpest little set of claws at the ends of -her velvet fingers. “You promised to let the King see me.” -</p> - -<p> -“I promised to let you see the King.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, well! isn’t that the same thing—if he’s got eyes? Anyhow, you -haven’t done it.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was to have been the reward of your service to me; and in that, by -God! you’ve failed, and I believe failed of purpose. I don’t reward -traitors.” -</p> - -<p> -“How have I been a traitor?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you know very well? But perhaps you’ve come to the conclusion -that, saving the King, the Duke of York might suit you for second -best.” -</p> - -<p> -“George!” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t ‘George’ me, madam!” -</p> - -<p> -“You’ll make me dangerous.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, I know what you mean! But who’ll believe such a little rogue and -liar! And who do you think will get the best of a contest of wits -between us? But tell his lordship if you will. I’m at that reckless -stage I should welcome a sharp decision with him. For you, you’ve -proved yourself a worse than useless partner in the business—earning -the man’s aversion instead of his love, and by your hints and antics -bringing the pair nearer, through a mutual jealousy, than you found -them. But I understood now why it was, and just the value of the -scruples you were so nice in expressing. They waited on the highest -bidder, didn’t they? and I wish you luck of him now you’ve got him. -Upon my soul, Mrs. Davis, you have my sincere respect as one of the -artfullest little timeservers that ever knew how to take a profit of -circumstance.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know what you mean.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! of course not. Innocence in a wimple, like a very pansy of the -fields.” -</p> - -<p> -“You want me to go, I suppose?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, your talents, I confess, seem wasted in this dull corner of the -palace. There are livelier quarters for their exercise—the Duke of -York’s, for instance.” -</p> - -<p> -He took his hands from her shoulders; but their grip might still have -imprisoned her, so rigid remained her attitude. -</p> - -<p> -“You won’t let me see the King?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Hey-day!” jeered he. “Not short of the very highest will content this -country chip. But nothing for nothing, say I.” -</p> - -<p> -She stood quite motionless, conning him—stood for a full minute, -without a word. And then she shook her shoulders, and laughed, and -held out her hand to him. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, then, good-bye, George,” she said. “I think you’re hard on me; -but I bear no malice, and we’ll part friends, won’t we?” -</p> - -<p> -“Advice isn’t dismissal,” said Hamilton; “and you’re not my guest.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, I know,” she answered. “But, truth is, his lordship was equally -emphatic about my wanting a change—or perhaps it was himself wanted -it; I’m not sure. Well, I’ll take a day to consider of it. You -wouldn’t think better of me, I suppose, if in the meantime I were able -to put you right about a certain question you’ve been puzzling -yourself over?” -</p> - -<p> -“What question, fubbs?” He felt quite kindly to her again, since she -had yielded so submissively to his suggestion. The little rogue’s face -of her, drawn in silver-point and just touched with pink, looked a -sweet spiritual flower in the moonlight. -</p> - -<p> -“O, I mustn’t tell,” she said, “or it would spoil everything.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then how can I answer for my better thoughts?” he protested. -</p> - -<p> -“No, you can’t, of course,” she said. “Only I don’t want us to part -enemies.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” he said; “kisses are more proof than words.” -</p> - -<p> -But, at that, with a light laugh, she sprang past him, and ran. At -twenty yards she turned, blew him a mocking salute, and again turning, -disappeared round a corner. -</p> - -<p> -“In truth, a fascinating little devil,” thought Hamilton, with a grim -smile, as he continued his way. “It goes to my heart to lose her. But, -if anything were needed to prove the justice of my surmises regarding -her double-dealing, the equanimity with which she accepted her -dismissal should supply it. And yet she loves me well enough to wish -to coax my good opinion at the end. How? What is this mystery of -mysteries? Poor Moll!” -</p> - -<p> -“Poor Moll” herself had got home meanwhile, and, crouching catlike by -an unlatched window, with her eyes peering above the sill to see if -the coast were clear, had presently re-entered the house by the way -she had emerged from it. Once in, she stood up, shaking her cloak from -her shoulders, touched her hair into order with rapid fingers, and -exhaled a tragic sigh. -</p> - -<p> -“So,” she whispered, with the tiniest of giggles; “one and one makes -two, and two and one makes three. If <i>she</i> asks me to go, I shall -begin to think I’m not wanted here any more. Will it come, I wonder?” -</p> - -<p> -It came, in fact, quite punctually, and entirely to her surprise. As, -stealing noiselessly across the room, she pushed open the unclosed -door, it made her jump to find the Countess herself standing awaiting -her spectrally on the threshold. She stopped, fairly staggered, and -for the moment had not a word to say. -</p> - -<p> -Her ladyship advancing, Moll fell back before her, and the two stood -facing one another in the empty chamber. It was remote and unused, and -bare of everything save the entering moonbeams, which gave it an -aspect as of its windows being shored up by ghostly buttresses. -</p> - -<p> -“I congratulate you, Mrs. Davis,” said Kate, in the most curiously -inward of little voices. “It is apart, and well chosen, and only the -merest accident led to my discovery of your use of it. But, having -seen you slip out, I could not but watch and wait to welcome you home -again.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll rallied her wits for the inevitable combat. -</p> - -<p> -“Sure,” she said, “hasn’t your ladyship ever felt the delight of -climbing in by the window when you might enter by the open door?” -</p> - -<p> -“I prefer direct ways to underhand,” was the chilling response. -</p> - -<p> -“Try a stolen kiss before you answer for that,” said Moll. -</p> - -<p> -“Thank you. I leave that sort of thing to you.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean, now, by ‘that sort of thing’? Does a Royal Duke -count in it? because ’tis not every time he’s to be found coming in by -the open door.” -</p> - -<p> -“Your knowledge of the customs of princes,” said Kate icily, but with -a curious little tremble in her voice, “is, of course, very profound; -so you will be aware that they can claim privileges denied to others.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that so, now? Then what call had my lord your husband to get into -such a tantrum about it, when I told him that the Duke of York had -been paying you a visit?” -</p> - -<p> -Seismographically, as it were, she was conscious of the shock her -words produced. Kate shivered, and seemed to stiffen. -</p> - -<p> -“I am not answerable for his lordship’s tantrums, as you call them,” -she said in a stifled way, “any more than for his tastes and -predilections. If any malicious wretch has chosen to carry slanderous -tales to him, and he to listen to them——” -</p> - -<p> -“That was me,” said Moll, “and I’m not going to be abused for just -peeping through a keyhole and telling him what I saw behind it. How -should I know, in my innocence, that it wasn’t all quite right and -proper, and the last thing to make him explode over?” -</p> - -<p> -Her little ladyship seemed to catch her breath over the mere audacity -of this self-vindication; and then she answered in volume, though -always careful to subdue her voice to the occasion— -</p> - -<p> -“Innocent—you—without heart or conscience! monster of guile and -ingratitude! viper on the hearth that has warmed you! Spy and informer -that you are, to dare that brazen confession, and in the same breath -to pretend to an artless innocence of the fire your vile calumny was -intended to blow into a blaze! <i>You</i> innocent! You anything but the -shameless wanton your every act proclaims you!” -</p> - -<p> -She paused, panting. “Go on,” said Moll, unruffled. “Get it all out -and over.” -</p> - -<p> -“It does not move you,” said Kate. “Why should it?—deaf to every -appeal of honour and decency. Shame on your woman’s nature, that can -so wrong and vilify one of your own sex, whose only fault has been too -great a tolerance of the insult and humiliation imposed upon her by -your presence.” -</p> - -<p> -Again she stopped, and Mrs. Moll took up the tale, very pink and cool. -</p> - -<p> -“Gingumbobs!” she said. “If I’m so wicked, aren’t you a little giving -away your own innocency? If all was so in order in the great -gentleman’s visit, why are you so warm about my peeping and telling of -it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because, by making a secret of it you designedly make it appear the -very scandal it was not.” -</p> - -<p> -“I made no secret of it, bless you! Why, I’ll go tell everybody about -it this very moment, if you like. There now; ain’t I forgiving?” -</p> - -<p> -“Forgiving!” Poor Kate put back a stray curl from her damp forehead. -“You dare to throw the burden of compunction upon me! What have I not -to forgive, since the day of your arrival—in this room—now?” -Desperately she grasped to recover the moral lead, and to elude the -charge to which the other wickedly sought to pin her. “Why are you -here, I say?” she went on hurriedly. “What is the meaning of these -secret exits and entrances? But no need to ask; your insolence betrays -you. Did you meet your lover? Did he slip out from the Queen’s -presence just to kiss and dally a wanton moment with the fond, -inseparable object of his fancy? Could neither of you wait the hour of -reunion in the house you insult and pollute by your presence? Poor, -severed, unhappy couple, rent apart by the only brief interval which -my lord is forced against his will to devote to duty and decency!” -</p> - -<p> -She stopped of her very passion. -</p> - -<p> -“I wouldn’t be sarcastic, if I were you,” said Moll. “It fits you -about as well as the Lancashire giant’s breeches would. And ’tis all -thrown away; because, if you mean his lordship, I wouldn’t trouble to -walk out of one room into another to meet him, much less climb through -a window.” -</p> - -<p> -Kate, her bosom still stormy, looked her scornful incredulity. She -pointed to the casement. -</p> - -<p> -“Why that way, then?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“For no reason,” answered the visitor, “except that when a body’s -watched and pounced on for her every movement she has to take her own -measures to steal a little freedom. The air isn’t so fresh or the -company so lively here that one isn’t driven once in a while to play -truant. Aye, you may sneer and doubt, madam”—she was waxing a little -warm—“but ’tis true, nevertheless, that if I were to spy your -precious husband in my walks, I’d go a mile out of my way to avoid -him. Love <i>him</i>, indeed! I tell you that he fair sickens me. I tell -you that if I drew him in a lottery, I’d tear the ticket up under his -very nose.” -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, she snapped her fingers viciously, as if rehearsing the act, -and then stood with her arms akimbo, breathing defiance. -</p> - -<p> -“Then why,” said her ladyship, with an extremely wrathful hauteur, yet -with an instinctive wincing from the pugnacious little claws, “do you -persist in this daily offence of imposing your company where it is -least admired or desired?” -</p> - -<p> -The naughty girl broke into a laugh, and clapped her hands. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s come,” she cried, “it’s come, as I knew it would!” and her face -fell twinklingly grave “So you want me to go?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“I should have thought,” responded Kate, “it could have been small -gratification to you to stay on to contemplate the failure of your -designs on a virtue on which you would meanly seek to revenge yourself -by pretending to scorn what you have been powerless to corrupt.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll fairly whistled. -</p> - -<p> -“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “Virtue! Do you mean his? And is that -your way of putting it? So it’s sour grapes on my part, is it? But I -never said, you know, that I had that effect on him that he has on -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Who would expect you to say it, vain and heartless creature? But, -whatever the truth—and I look to only distortion of it from your -lips—these clandestine flittings, be their object what or whom they -may, can no longer be suffered to impair the reputation of this house. -They must either cease or you must go.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll, her lip lifted, brought up her right hand with a slow flourish, -and once, twice, thrice, snapped thumb and second finger together with -great deliberation. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, my lady,” said she. “I will go, and leave the reputation -of this house in <i>your</i> keeping. I have done my little best to purify -it during my brief time here; but I am afraid the disease is too -deep-seated for anything but a chirurgical operation. When <i>you</i> have -been removed, perhaps, by his royal physicianship of York, the place -may have a chance of recovery.” -</p> - -<p> -And she dropped a little insolent curtsy, and without a tremor, her -nose exalted, brushed by my lady and stalked out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -At which Kate, having no word to say, nor courage to say it, fell -against the wall, with a white face, and had a hard to-do to fight -away an inclination to tears. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch16"> -CHAPTER XVI -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Mrs. Davis</span>, conscious that her position was no longer a tenable one, -and driven to naughty extremities by the three-sided investment which -left her no alternative but to retreat—fighting—retired to her -chamber to consider the course by which she could best inflict a -Parthian stroke on the three enemies who, each from a different -motive, were responsible for her coming ejectment. She contemplated -nothing very terrible, it is true—only some exaggerated form of -mischief in keeping with her little lawless, whimsical nature. She was -not a tragic vengeance, and she nursed no very grievous resentment -over a treatment which, she was perfectly aware, she had done much to -deserve and little to be entitled to deprecate. She <i>had</i> taken -advantage of a temptation to play, especially of late, a game of her -own rather than that of Hamilton, her employer and confederate; and -she <i>had</i> wasted her opportunities rather on personal enjoyment than -in pursuance of any consistent effort to serve that gentleman’s -designs. She knew all this, admitted her own shortcomings; and yet, -though she had a physical liking for the rascal, she was not going to -let him escape scot-free, without any endeavour to retaliate on him -for his cool repudiation of her at the eleventh hour. She wished and -intended him no great harm; only she felt it a moral obligation on -herself to speak the last word in this comedy of misunderstandings. It -was worth while to show him that his supposed easy command of women -was subject to some little accidents of discomfiture and humiliation -where he chose to presume too much in his dealings with the -sharp-witted among them. After which she would be quite willing to -call quits with him. -</p> - -<p> -Now, Hamilton, for his part, in leaping to a certain conclusion as -regarded Moll’s connection with the guitar incident, had shrewdly -approximated, but only approximated, the truth. Mrs. Davis, as we -know, had had nothing to do with the Duke’s visit; nevertheless the -Duke’s visit came to have something to do with Mrs. Davis. His -Highness—a singularly close observer, though with a congenital -incapacity for profitable reflection—had not failed to take stock of -the attractive little figure in the garden, nor to consider to what -possible uses he might convert the fact of its offence in the eyes of -the lady of whom he was enamoured. He might, for instance, by -privately threatening that offence with punishment for its -wrong-doing, terrify it into lending itself as an instrument to his -own designs. It should be worth trying; only it was necessary first to -secure an interview with the person of the offence. There was no -difficulty to be foreseen in that, save the one difficulty of eluding -scandal in the process; and, indeed, from the lady’s point of view, -there was no difficulty at all. For in very truth, from the moment -when, listening and peeping at the keyhole, Moll had realized the rank -of the Countess’s visitor, that amazing young person had been actually -busying her brain with speculations as to her own possible eligibility -as a royal favourite, though in the regard of the “second best” only. -It had been under the spur of that inspiration, indeed, that, deterred -by no false modesty as to her personal qualifications in the way of -looks and witcheries, she had appeared, singing, at the window, with -the view that questions might be asked about her—a piece of -effrontery which, seeing that it was ventured in the very face of the -high-born rival to be supplanted, might fairly be considered -unsurpassable. But diffidence was never one of Moll’s weaknesses. -</p> - -<p> -So far, then, Master George’s native acumen had led him to within -sight of the facts; he had been wrong only in assuming the meeting to -be already a <i>fait accompli</i>. It was not, so far, and the reason was -this. The Duke could not afford to bid directly for the services of a -great nobleman’s presumed <i>chère amie</i>: but he could employ an agent; -and for this purpose he had selected Arran—as much through his -imbecility as through his relationship with the family a convenient -instrument—for the task of enticing the quarry into his preserves. -</p> - -<p> -It was easily done, and after all at a minimum expense in tactics. -Arran, acting as his Highness’s decoy, and with no thought but to -accommodate his master in the sort of jest approved and applauded by -the gallants of his day, found no difficulty in getting into -communication with Mrs. Davis, or in arranging an accidental meeting -with her. Of course, at that, Moll refused utterly to be beguiled -offhand into committing herself to the mysterious interview entreated -of her; she was pettish, wilful, distracting; she showed a complete -obtuseness in realizing the nature of the rank which stood behind the -summons; she was wholly childish and adorable, and she ended by -chastising the impertinence which her innocent flirtations had seemed -meant to provoke. -</p> - -<p> -And all the while she was calculating how best she could invite those -second approaches to which she was resolved in her mind to succumb. -The issue of that night decided her. The next day she sent a little -private note of penitence to Arran, and that same evening saw her -closeted with the Duke of York. -</p> - -<p> -There was none other present but the young Earl, retained, possibly, -by his Royal Highness for the part of chaperon—a precaution not -ill-advised, the Prince may have been disposed to think, when he came -to re-view the visible attractions of his visitor. They were such, -indeed, that he felt he would have to keep a definite guard on his -susceptibilities if he were to come out of the interview unscathed. He -would have had no objection in the world to take this sugared bonbon -by the way, as a man might crunch a salted almond to add a zest to his -wine; only the stake at issue was too instant. The bottle might pass -while he was enjoying the appetizer. Wherefore he assumed from the -first an air of coldness and restraint. He bowed to the lady, and -assigned her a seat with a gesture. -</p> - -<p> -“My lord has informed you,” he said, “of my reason for desiring this -meeting?” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Davis shook her pretty head. “Not he!” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” said the Duke. “It is explained in a few words. During a recent -visit of ceremony I was paying to—how shall I name her—your -unofficial hostess, I chanced to hear you singing outside the window -of the room in which I was seated.” -</p> - -<p> -“La!” said Moll, with a shrug of her white shoulders; “to think of it! -And I never guessed but I was alone.” -</p> - -<p> -She was not in the least overawed by the sacrosanctity of her company; -she would have “answered back” to the Pope himself in his own coin of -excommunication, or anything else, and certainly not less to a lay son -of his, however illustrious. She had no bump of reverence whatever on -her little noddle. -</p> - -<p> -“You have a rare voice, Mrs. Davis,” said the Prince. “It is a -pity—is it not?—that it should be wasted on discord, when it might -be so much more profitably employed in winning you a way to legitimate -and decent fame.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll opened her eyes. This, for a beginning, was not at all the sort -of thing she had expected. -</p> - -<p> -“What discord, if you please?” said she. -</p> - -<p> -“Tut-tut!” answered his Highness, hardly smiling. “Is not that a very -unnecessary question? We have not got eyes for nothing, ears for -nothing, intelligence for nothing. If the form of discord need not be -specified, it need none the less be understood. I will speak plainly, -however, and to this effect. Your position in a certain quarter of -Whitehall Palace is not, by whomsoever franked, a desirable one. It -constitutes, in short, a scandal to the place, and an insult to one -who is forced, against her will, to condone it.” -</p> - -<p> -Moll rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling. -</p> - -<p> -“Why?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“There is no need, nor desire on my part,” said the Duke coldly, “to -go into particulars. It is enough that the situation I have hinted at -must terminate.” -</p> - -<p> -And this was all—this the sole reason for which she had been trapped -and beguiled into this interview with the great person? It appeared -so, and Mrs. Davis had nothing for it but to bear her disappointment -and chagrin with what philosophy she could. -</p> - -<p> -And on the whole she bore them amiably. After all, Moll’s philosophy -fished in large waters, and if she failed in a catch, she was always -ready without complaint to rebait her hook and try again. There is a -sort of self-complacency in certain beauties which is too serenely -un-selfconscious to be called vanity. It is largely founded, I think, -on the flawless digestion which generally goes with physical -perfection. -</p> - -<p> -“I suppose she has been putting you up to this,” she said, quite -coolly. “I call it mean of her, when she knows perfectly well that she -is the scandal, and not me. But, I see what it is; she wants to rid -herself of a witness she’s done nothing to make a friendly one; and -so, being afraid to tell me downright I must go, she hands over the -business to the one——” -</p> - -<p> -His Highness put up his hand with such a grim, authoritative -expression that the young lady stopped, though with a rebellious gulp. -</p> - -<p> -“My lord,” said the Duke, very smoothly addressing the Earl, “I think -perhaps this interview will not suffer by being confined to the two -most interested in it.” -</p> - -<p> -He smiled and nodded. Arran, with an answering grimace, expressive at -least of as much mental vacuity as understanding, bowed low and -withdrew. -</p> - -<p> -The moment they were alone, the Duke turned in his chair, and, -crossing his knees and leaning on one arm, bent his melancholy brows -on Moll in deliberate scrutiny. -</p> - -<p> -“By <i>she</i>, madam,” he said, “you allude to——?” -</p> - -<p> -Moll laughed shortly. -</p> - -<p> -“O! don’t you know very well?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t <i>you</i> know,” he said, “that the young gentleman just left is -her brother?” -</p> - -<p> -“Of course I do,” answered Moll, “and that that was why you wanted to -shut my mouth.” -</p> - -<p> -He sat regarding her some moments longer, and then a little sombre -smile dawned on his face. -</p> - -<p> -“You have a quick understanding, I perceive, Mrs. Davis,” he said. -“That may be a profitable or a perilous possession, according as it is -employed. I wonder it has never yet led you to realize the supreme -asset you have in your voice.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! I see well enough you too want me out of the way,” said Moll, -perking a scornful nose. “What is the good of going round about it -like this? I’m dangerous where I am, I suppose. Very well, then I must -be got rid of.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Too impulsive, too impulsive, my little lady. Dangerous you could be, -that’s patent, to any man’s peace of mind. But, as to the sense in -which you mean it——” -</p> - -<p> -She broke in with a little imperious stamp. -</p> - -<p> -“As to that, I’m not to be misjudged by you or any one. When I said -the scandal wasn’t in <i>my</i> position, I meant it. If you think I’m -there as my lord’s doxy, you’re precious well mistaken. I hate the -beast—and if it’s a question of scandal, ’tis her ladyship ought to -go. There, she ought; and you know why.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t, on my honour.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, you’d like to.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! that, maybe, is quite another matter.” -</p> - -<p> -He looked at her, she looked at him. -</p> - -<p> -“Come, Mrs. Davis,” he said, after a minute of silence: “I’m sure we -are on the way to understand one another.” -</p> - -<p> -“O! are we?” said Moll, with a sniff. -</p> - -<p> -“Scandals,” he said, “have nothing to do with facts. An apparition -might cause one. You may be as innocent as a babe, but appearances are -against you. Therefore you must suffer for appearances. Now, about -this voice of yours.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, what about it?” -</p> - -<p> -“With that and your face for fortune, you might, under proper -auspices, prove an incalculable success.” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean by auspices?” -</p> - -<p> -He leaned forward, lightly touching his breast with his fingers. -</p> - -<p> -“Patronage: a Royal Duke’s. And in the meantime, pending developments, -we might consent to condone this offence, leaving you undisturbed in -your present position.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see,” said the girl, after a pause, her eyes rather glowing—“I -see. And that, you mean, is to be your reward to me by and by for -consenting, if I do consent, to act now as your creature and decoy to -help you to your fancy. You’ve no objection to letting me remain on -the spot, in spite of my polluting it, if only I’ll act my best for -you as an informer and go-between.” -</p> - -<p> -“Such intelligence,” said the Duke, “combined with gifts so sweet, -should ensure you, properly directed, a prosperous future.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said Moll, “it’s a bargain if you like. Only wait while I -think.” -</p> - -<p> -A sense of mischief was already alive in her. Defrauded in her higher -expectations, she cared nothing for that conditional promise of -patronage, except that it humiliated even her to be thought worthy of -it. She had the wit and the gifts, if she chose to exercise them, to -prevail in that direction without any help from outsiders. Feeling -rather at bay, in the midst of this group of self-interested plotters, -she was driven at last to abandon her position in a revel of -retaliation on them all. Only how could she manage it—how? Let her -think. -</p> - -<p> -“You’re a great gentleman, I know,” she said suddenly; “but, where -love’s concerned, even princes have to take their place among the -ranks. Have you never fear of a rival?” -</p> - -<p> -He gazed at her sombrely some moments, without speaking. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know of any?” he asked at length. -</p> - -<p> -“I know of a coming meeting,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“With whom?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit’s his name. I’ve learnt no more.” -</p> - -<p> -“How did you learn that?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind how. I’ve not been in her company these weeks for -nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -“And when and where is this meeting to take place?” -</p> - -<p> -“At half past eight o’clock to-morrow evening, in the—in the Mulberry -Garden”—she chose the place and time at haphazard. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” cried his Highness, biting his lip: “so public!” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” said Moll; “there’s nothing so private, for that matter, as a -vizard. And—and he’s to wear a green scarf in his hat to be known by -her, and she a green bow in her bosom to be known by him. If you -doubt, you’d better go and see for yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -My lord Duke’s countenance had fallen very glum. A shadow seemed to -overspread his face. -</p> - -<p> -“It is a good thought,” he said. “Kit, did you say?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit, sure.” -</p> - -<p> -“Supposing I were to be Kit?” -</p> - -<p> -Moll clapped her hands in delight. -</p> - -<p> -“And pretending it,” she cried, “find out all about the other!” -</p> - -<p> -“H’m!” -</p> - -<p> -His Highness was plainly disturbed. He sat awhile pondering, a gloomy -frown knotting his forehead. Presently he looked up, with a deep sigh. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” said he, “you have already proved your title to my favour. I -will consider of this matter; and, in the meantime, keep, you, as -silent as the grave.” He rose, put a finger to his lips: “Not a word -to any one,” he said. “You shall hear from me again.” And he led her -to the door, smiled on her, hesitated, laughed away the temptation, -and bade her go. -</p> - -<p> -And then he returned to his seat, and sat gnawing at his nails for the -next half-hour. -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch17"> -CHAPTER XVII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">On</span> the morning succeeding the conversation last recorded the -following anonymous communication was received by three of the -individuals most concerned in this history— -</p> - -<div class="letter"> - -<p> -<i>An assignation (vizards) with Kit is arranged for 8.30 this evening -in the Mulberry Garden. The parties to it will be distinguished by, in -the gentleman’s case, a green scarf about the hat, in the lady’s, a -green bow at the bosom.</i> -</p> - -<p class="sign2"> -<span class="sc">A Well-wisher</span>. -</p> - -</div> - -<p> -This note, in facsimile and in a palpably feigned hand, was delivered -by the twopenny post—through its recent establishment in Cloak Lane -near Dowgate Hill—to his lordship the Earl of Chesterfield, to my -lady Countess his wife, and to Mr. George Hamilton, my lady’s kinsman. -Each, in its private turn, pooh-pooh’d over it, each concluded that it -was without question the work of Mrs. Davis, and therefore not worth -consideration in any shape, and each decided, after long and irritable -reflection, that it would lose nothing by going to verify the -falsehood or accuracy of the report. And to each, in conclusion, -succeeded the same inspiration (was it possible that perspicacious -Mrs. Moll had clearly foreseen that contingency?), which was to adorn -itself with the fateful badge, with a view to surprising such secrets -as might reveal themselves to that verdant enigma. -</p> - -<p> -His lordship considered: “This may be nothing but the hussy’s -retaliation on me for my rejection of her advances. And yet—curse -it!—how can she afford to be so definite in her facts without some -ground to go upon? ’Tis my lady that’s meant—that’s sure. There must -be something in some way in it; and, if so, how to surprise and expose -them? Ah! by God, I know.” -</p> - -<p> -My lady thought: “Is she really by chance telling the truth? And is -this her way of revenging herself on me for my reflections on her -character? Yet, if it is all an imposition? A barren vengeance that -would be, defeating its own object. No, there must be something at the -bottom of it, some mischief, some wickedness. ’Tis my lord that’s -meant, without question, and in that case I have a right, a duty, to -perform in being present. But how to penetrate such perfidy, supposing -it to exist? O, I know what I will do! If only I can be there first, -and lead him to betray himself!” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Hamilton reflected: “What is this, my Mollinda?—for Mollinda’s -work you are. Kit, and an assignation—with whom? Is it man or woman, -you little devil? And so is the enigma to be resolved at last? I don’t -believe a word of it. It is some pretty trick of yours to requite me -for my late unkindness to you. Well, I’ll defeat it. Find me, with a -green scarf to my hat, at the rendezvous, and kiss me for Kit whoever -you may be. Who would have thought of that, now, George, but your own -ingenious self?” -</p> - -<p> -But, in spite of their pretended confidence, they were all three -properly puzzled and nervous, bless you. And one after the other, in -an inconsequent sort of way, they put themselves into positions where -they might hope to run across Mrs. Davis by accident, and question her -casually as to her plans for the evening. But, exasperatingly enough, -Moll was never once in evidence the whole day long, and no one knew -what had become of her. She had vanished from all human ken like the -“baseless fabric of a vision.” -</p> - - -<h3 id="ch18"> -CHAPTER XVIII -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="sc">Where</span> the grounds of Buckingham Palace now extend, there stood in -the seventeenth century the old flowery pleasaunce known as Mulberry -Garden, a place long appropriated, like its Spring prototype at -Whitehall, to <i>al fresco</i> entertainment. Ex-mural and mural as things -then went, there was to the ordinary cit a <i>soupçon</i> of adventure -suggested in a visit to this remoter fairyland; and, as a little -enterprising beyond the confines of the orthodox adds a zest to the -soberest merry-making, Mulberry Garden possessed an attraction for the -town, which was certainly due as much to its comparative removedness -as to any diversions it might offer in the way of dancing and -junketing. There was a mild thrill in achieving it, its wild and -tangled acres, only gathered into cores of brilliancy at certain -definite centres, where, after dark, the scattered threads of lamps, -like gossamer hung with dew-drops, constellated thickly about groups -of arbours, set in open spaces among the trees, where glittering forms -circulated, and laughter rang, and cheese-cakes were eaten and lips -kissed under fragrant ambushes of boughs woven into a thousand pretty -devices of green garters and lovers’ knots. There was here none of the -structural artifices which later came to vulgarize, and, alas! -popularize, the more ordered vistas of Vauxhall across the -water—cascades, and sham ruins, and side shows, and so forth; but -Nature was allowed for the most part her own sweet, untrammelled way; -and, where the wildernesses <i>were</i> converted, it was to no more than -an artless religion of green swards and bowers, whereon and wherein -the tripping frolic of foot and heart might adapt itself, if it would, -to “the music of the moon” and the song of the innocent nightingale. -</p> - -<p> -Not that to those chaste warblers of the night was entrusted the whole -provision of music for the company. Skies might be moonless, and birds -silent or out of season; wherefore there was generally to be found -engaged to the service of romantic hearts and ears some performer, -skilled on lute or harp, whose melodious utterances, thrilling through -grove and clearing, were calculated to awaken such emotions as were -compatible with the sweet understanding of sylvan solitudes. -</p> - -<p> -Now, that is a true picture, though very certainly a one-sided. For -where innocence goes sin is sure to follow; and the atmosphere of -Mulberry Garden was by no means all of harmless frolic compact. Being -relatively remote, and consisting, moreover, for three-fourths of its -space of unredeemed wilderness, it formed a tempting rendezvous for -spirits kept better apart; and too often, it must be confessed, a -meeting among its waste thickets was tantamount to an intrigue. Still, -in its popular centres the whole may be said to have leavened the -parts, and it was to those, nominally, that the town gravitated, and -in them found its entertainment. -</p> - -<p> -Mulberry Garden was aristocratic, and remained so until its vogue came -to abate—which it was already threatening to do—through the growing -reputation of that “Jardin Printemps” at Lambeth, to the entrance of -which a trip across the water made such a pleasant prelude. Never -popularly patronized, there were times when—robuster novelties -attracting—the exclusive might enjoy its green walks and -hospitalities with the sense almost of being a privileged company -invited to a <i>fête champêtre</i>. It had, of course, its central -restaurant—without which it could not have existed -aristocratically—in the building known as Mulberry Garden House, -where quite <i>recherché</i> little dinners could be eaten; and, indeed, -it was there that Mr. Pepys (to mention him but once again) discussed -that “Spanish Olio,” chartered by one Shere, and mentioned in the -Diary, which he found so richly delectable—“a very noble dish such as -I never saw better or more of.” In this room Fashion would dine—and -often too liberally wine, too—before emerging to tickle its -pseudo-pastoral sentiment with pretence of neo-Arcadian groves and -flowery shepherdesses; and it was from this room that, vizard on brow, -Mr. George Hamilton issued at about a quarter past eight o’clock on a -certain soft and windless June night. -</p> - -<p> -He looked sharply about him, as he descended the steps into the open, -searching among the company within his range for a particular token. -It was one of those exceptional occasions when the visitors were -relatively few, and as such widely scattered among the walks and -trees. All the space before him was strung with tiny lamps, festooned -from branch to branch, or ambushed in cloudy green like glow-worms. -They cast a diffused light, enough to distinguish people by, but -clothing one and all in a romantic glamour very soft and mystic. Many, -most, in fact, of the company wore vizards. Women, indeed, on view in -public places, seldom appeared unmasked, not from blushing modesty, -but to hide their inability to blush at all where a blush was called -for. That was understood, and derided; yet, while wit and address -might effect what they could in the way of persuasion, it was an -article of the strictest punctilio that no vizor should be removed by -force—a rule so respected that any abuse of it was like enough, in -those hot times, to lead to bloody reprisals on the offender. -</p> - -<p> -Now, not distinguishing what he sought—and, indeed, the hour was yet -early for an expected trysting—Master George sauntered away, with the -purpose to seek some retired spot, where he might pin about his hat -the green emblem of identification which he had brought with him in -his pocket. On his way, reaching an open space where much company was -congregated, he stopped to ascertain the cause of the assembling, and -perceived, seated upon a green knoll in the midst, the long, grey-clad -figure of a harpist, who was in the act of tuning up his instrument -before performing. -</p> - -<p> -“<i>Quel qu’il soit?</i>” he asked of a scented exquisite who stood near -him. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” exclaimed the gallant, turning in a fainting affectation on -his interlocutor. “Not know him? Not know our divine Orpheus, the -rare, the inspired, the man to whose finger-tips the bees come -a-sipping for honey, the man the tweak of whose thumb will ravish a -heart from its bosom as clean as a periwinkle from its shell!” -</p> - -<p> -“I asked for a name,” said Hamilton caustically, “and you have given -me a catalogue, of which the least desired part was the note of -exclamation at the end.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, ’tis Jack Bannister,” said the stranger, much misliking the -other’s tone, but recognizing a potential something in it which kept -him civil. But, having furnished the information, he first edged and -then swaggered away. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton had heard speak of the prodigy, but had never yet chanced to -alight on him. He lingered now, to endorse or not the extravagant -eulogies lavished on this eighth wonder of his age. And, having -listened, he admitted to himself that the verdict was justified. There -was something in this man’s performance which surpassed anything he -had hitherto experienced. It illustrated in the extremest degree what -is called genius, but which is really soul—that spiritual utterance, -born with a few men like an unknown language, which would be -transcendental were it not for the medium—paint, or ink, or chord, or -marble—through which it must materialize in order to reach the -senses. “Ah!” he thought: “if he could only say all that without the -harp; if Shakespeare could only have conveyed his mind to us without -pen or paper, what a divine and cleansing understanding would be ours! -But the senses are cloudy interpreters.” -</p> - -<p> -He was moved, but he would not applaud. “As well cry ‘Brava!’” he -thought, “to the divine Speaker of the Sermon on the Mount. I will not -so degrade him to exalt myself.” -</p> - -<p> -But there were others who lacked his understanding, and the clapping -of hands was general. It offended this paradoxical being, and he -strode away, the perfection of his impression sullied. As he dived -into a dusk, unfrequented walk, a new strain of music pursued him; but -he would not stop to listen to it. That applause had spelt the surfeit -which had spoilt the feast. -</p> - -<p> -Presently a little stealing figure in front of him barred his way. -There was but an occasional lamp here, and the path was dim. But he -could make out that it was a woman, and young, and alone. It was easy -to overtake her, and a matter of course to stop and accost, because -she was masked and unaccompanied, which was in itself a challenge. As -he stood, a sudden thought seizing him, he looked down at her bosom; -but no green emblem was there to inform him, only a rather tell-tale -tawdriness of ornament and material; and he laughed, and put his hand -on the truant’s arm. -</p> - -<p> -“He is under the gooseberry-bushes beyond,” he said. “Shall we go -stoop and seek him there?” -</p> - -<p> -She started from him, wincing up her shoulders in alarm, while she -clutched a handkerchief between her palms; and then he heard her -breath catch, and saw that she had been crying. -</p> - -<p> -“O! don’t touch me!” she said, with a gulp. “Please to let me go past, -good gentleman.” -</p> - -<p> -The address, her intonation, betrayed her plainly enough for what she -was—some little town skit, sempstress or servant-maid, broken loose, -and now frightened over her own temerity. -</p> - -<p> -“Why,” said he. “If you are in distress, I am a rare comforter. Come, -let me remove this before it dissolves.” -</p> - -<p> -She could offer no resistance to so beautiful a gentleman, and he -slipped the vizard from her face. It was a blowzed and plain one so -revealed, its only recommendation youth. -</p> - -<p> -“Let honesty spare to deny itself,” said Hamilton. “There was no need -to cover this away, child. What are you doing here?” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” said the girl, distraught and sobbing. “I didn’t ought -to have come. O, let me go!” -</p> - -<p> -“What made you come, then?” -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas my young man, there! He called me a name; and I thought—I -thought, if I was to be called that——” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d not be called it for nothing? Now, you know, that was foolish, -because to answer wrong with wrong is like patching a worn-out gown -with a piece cut from itself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir; so it is.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mend bad with good, child, and”—he positively seemed to -expand—“forgive injuries. Tell me, what wrought this change of -feeling in you, this sense of an error realized and repented?” -</p> - -<p> -She began to sob again, but quietly, and hanging her head. -</p> - -<p> -“’Twas—’twas him there, I think, a-playing so beautiful; and—and, I -seemed overtook, all of a sudden, with my wickedness. I want to get -out, to escape, from—from——” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, from yourself, child; and so you shall. But whither? To him?” -</p> - -<p> -“O no, no! To mother.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, then; I will see you on your road.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, don’t, sir!” -</p> - -<p> -“Pish! I am sincere. What is thy name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Betty, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Harkee, Betsinda! I also heard the harpist, and was ‘overtook,’ and -repented me of my sins—for the time being. Now for the nonce I am to -be trusted; but you must hurry. This virtue will certainly last to the -gate, where I will see you safe bestowed. Go home, then, and be a good -girl, and never think to sin this way again.” -</p> - -<p> -She still hesitated, tearful and in doubt, but quickly surrendered to -his insistence, and went beside him submissively. He led her by a -circuitous route to the great wicket of the place, where it stood in a -blaze of flambeaux facing the dining-hall; and there outside waited a -throng of chairs and vehicles, the most having brought visitors, but -among them several hackney coaches, driven over, as they might be -to-day, on the chance of a fare. And into one of these Hamilton -bundled his charge, having first settled with the coachman; and he -sent her off with his blessing, smiling on her timid benedictions. And -then he turned his back on the gate, and smacked his chest with -ineffable unction, and threw a glance at the sky, as if to observe if -the recording angel were there making a note. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, what if the girl had been pretty?—but he shall have the benefit -of the doubt. -</p> - -<p> -He strolled back the length of the lighted building, savouring by the -way his own laudableness; and, coming presently to the starry, -tree-haunted sward beyond, was aware in one instant of a lady, with an -emerald bow in her bosom, standing fanning herself apart near a -rhododendron thicket, and of a cavalier, whose hat was adorned with an -apple-green scarf, striding across the grass to join her. He was so -near the two that he was able, unobserved, to slip, though with a -little jump of the heart, behind a tree-trunk, within earshot of the -coming colloquy. -</p> - -<p> -The gentleman walked up to the lady, and bowed, and stood silent. She -responded with the minutest toss of her head, and remained as mute. -She fanned herself, he whistled. “Hem!” said he. “Hem!” said she. -Hamilton chuckled, though in an exasperated way. -</p> - -<p> -“By the lord,” he thought, “if ’tis not my cousin Kate and Phil! And I -perceive what is their game, which is for each to make the other speak -first.” -</p> - -<p> -He watched like a cat. “Hem!” coughed the lady again, and “Hem!” -coughed the gentleman, only more aggressively. At that moment a second -lady, having a green bow at her bosom, came rapidly from the direction -of the gate, and, passing across the observer’s near field of vision, -went on and vanished among the trees. She was seen both by him and by -the stationary lady, who started ever so slightly; Chesterfield, -having his back to the flitting figure, stood unmoved. -</p> - -<p> -“I think,” said the lady, in an odd, repressed little voice, and -seeming to make up her mind of a sudden, “that you have made a -mistake.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield uttered a sort of triumphant snarl. -</p> - -<p> -“No, by God!” said he. “I have made no mistake. And now acknowledge, -madam, that you have been the first to break the silence between us.” -</p> - -<p> -“What, then?” she protested. “You have made a mistake, I say. Whoever -you may think me, I am not she.” -</p> - -<p> -Now Hamilton, struck with an idea, had been privily, during these few -moments, pinning his own scarf about his hat. And at these words he -came from his ambush. -</p> - -<p> -“No <i>guet-apens</i>, but the grass, sir,” said he, “must explain my soft -approach. This lady speaks truth. You are mistaken in her.” -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield’s eyes glared red through his vizard holes. He sneered -horribly. -</p> - -<p> -“If I were mistaken before, sir,” said he, “judge what I may be now.” -Then he turned with a whirl on the other. “Is this the way you hope to -convince me against your shameless perfidy? But you are betrayed, -madam, as much in your purposed visit here as in the object of your -wanton escapade. Will you still pretend you do not know your husband?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed,” she said, “I know him very well.” -</p> - -<p> -He uttered an oath. -</p> - -<p> -“Then you know his way with villains”—and, white with passion, he -whipped out his sword. -</p> - -<p> -They were all standing apart, screened by shrubs from the general -view. For the first time the lady showed some trepidation. She moved -hurriedly to interpose herself. -</p> - -<p> -“For shame! Put it up,” she said. “I tell you again you are mistaken.” -</p> - -<p> -“And you may say it a hundred times,” he cried, “and I shall not -believe you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir,” said Hamilton frigidly, “I too wear a sword, though I have not -drawn it.” -</p> - -<p> -“You shall not lack the need,” cried the other. But he left him for -the moment, and, addressing the lady, stamped with fury. -</p> - -<p> -“You dare to face me with that lie, and the very witness to it -standing here to refute you! But there’s a way to settle it. Take off -your vizard.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll not.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! Take it off, I say.” -</p> - -<p> -“Never, while I live!” -</p> - -<p> -“Then, by God, I’ll do it for you!” -</p> - -<p> -He actually meant it; she retreated before him. “Kit!” she cried, -“will you see me so insulted?” -</p> - -<p> -Now, at that, my lord stopped dead, mowing and grinning like an ape. -</p> - -<p> -“So convict out of your own mouth,” he cried, “will you dare to deny -longer?” And then he turned his fury on the other. “Liar and betrayer, -whatever your cursed identity, this point shall penetrate it. Look to -yourself!” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton was ready, the swords tinkled, the lady screamed. -</p> - -<p> -“There she goes again—the green favour! Look! Is it for her you have -mistaken me? Wretch, hold your wicked hand!” -</p> - -<p> -As by one consent, the two belligerents lowered their points. The -figure, which had once before revealed itself hurrying past, was again -come into view, walking this time with a gentleman, about whose hat -was wound a scarf of green sarcenet. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton gaped, a surprised grin on his face. Already somewhat -confounded by his cousin’s appeal to him, this suggestion of a further -entanglement seemed fairly to take his breath away. Was the -coincidence accidental or deliberate? And, if the latter, what the -mischief was at the bottom of it all? He might have thought “who,” -rather, but that was superfluous. There could be only one. Anyhow, -being in for it, he would make the best he could of circumstance. For -the rest, he was rather tickled with the hussy’s impudent daring, and -curious to see how her plot worked out. Where was she herself? he -wondered. Somewhere watching the game, no doubt. -</p> - -<p> -But, as for my lord, he stared like one petrified. All his assurance -was knocked out of him. He looked—goggle-eyed and gasping like a -landed fish—from his adversary to the lady, and from the lady to -Hamilton, and again from them both to the rapidly receding couple. It -seemed minutes before he could find his voice. -</p> - -<p> -“But—but——” he said, and stuck again. -</p> - -<p> -“Very well, sir,” said Hamilton. “Take your guard.” -</p> - -<p> -But the other, with a muttered oath, slipped his blade into its -scabbard. -</p> - -<p> -“I’m damned if I do!” he said, and looked stupidly at the lady. “You -called him Kit, you know,” he muttered. -</p> - -<p> -“And why not?” she said. “Is he to be killed for being christened?” -</p> - -<p> -“You may realize by now, sir,” said Hamilton, “that you have made an -error. If I may suggest, the way to rectify it is by not imposing -yourself longer on our company.” -</p> - -<p> -The glare came again into Chesterfield’s eyes; and then doubt, -confusion, indecision. Was this, in truth, his errant wife? He had -never questioned it before; but now—was there not something seeming -more familiar in the pose, the walk of the other? And yet—— -</p> - -<p> -He bent, bewildered, to search the secret of the impenetrable mask. -Certainly the dim light, the artificial atmosphere, were trickish -things; they confused the visual sense, no less than that of voice and -hearing. Was he mistaken after all? And what was his folly, in that -case, in bandying words with these while the actual delinquents -escaped! -</p> - -<p> -One moment longer he hesitated; then, with a curse, turned on his heel -and hurried off in pursuit. -</p> - -<p> -The two remaining watched his retreat in silence; and then Hamilton, -resheathing his sword with a snap, gave a low laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing, my Phil,” muttered he, “will make thee a gentleman”; and he -turned on his companion. She stood quite still, observing him. “What -made you call me Kit?” said he. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, are you not Kit?” she asked. -</p> - -<p> -He peered at her, inquisitive. Surely she could not have failed to -recognize him? No! that was incredible. And he, her? There could be no -doubt about it. Her voice, her figure, her manner of dressing her -hair; even the trick of her speech, moulded on soft wilful lips; even -the fashion of her gown, which he seemed vaguely to recall—they were -all Kate, indubitably Kate. No, he must seek another reason for her -caprice. And could it be this—that all the time in “Kit” had been -meant himself? that all the time she had been taking this playful -symbolic means to avow her love for one she dared not admit by name? -It was a revealing, a rapturous thought; it might explain much which -had seemed inexplicable. And yet, if it were true, what had decided -the crisis? Was it possible that it was she herself who had written -that anonymous letter, confident in her bait to allure him hither? -But, in that case, how had her husband got wind of the ruse? And who -were those others, all, apparently, in the emblematic secret? Well, at -least she had claimed him, and that was sufficient for his present -satisfaction. If some eavesdropping mischief, possessed of knowledge, -was manœuvring to complicate the issue, they must set their own wits -to outwit hers. For the moment it was only his obvious policy to -answer that question in kind. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I am Kit,” he said. “I understand at last—your very Kit, sweet -cousin. And now, let us away to covert where we can talk.” -</p> - -<p> -“Which way?” she said. Her voice seemed to suggest some tiny inward -struggle. -</p> - -<p> -“The shady way,” he answered, with a laugh; and she went compliantly -with him. “You made sure of my coming?” he asked tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -“O yes,” she answered—“sure.” -</p> - -<p> -He sighed. “I have waited long, trying to dissemble, but trust a woman -to know. Come this way, little cousin. There are labyrinths of wild -darknesses beyond, where none may hope to track and find us. Is not -the night sweet? So Phil hath sinned at last beyond forgiveness? -Come—why do you linger?” For she had stopped. -</p> - -<p> -“I hear music,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“It is only some harping fellow. Come!” -</p> - -<p> -“Where is he?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yonder in the grove.” -</p> - -<p> -She stood as if spellbound, took a hurried step or two, paused, and -caught her hands to her bosom. -</p> - -<p> -“Let us go listen,” she said; her breath came quick. “Where is he? I -will go, I tell you,” and in a moment she was running. He followed, -calling to her: “Cousin, wait! What hath taken you? Stop for me at -least!” But she paid no heed to him, and sped on. Her feet twinkled on -the grass, in and out between the hanging lamps; he found her, lost -her, found her again among the thickening throng; and in another -moment, hard pressing on her tracks, he had pursued her into the ring -which stood about the player—through it, to the very front, where she -stopped, breathless and panting. -</p> - -<p> -And now let us follow the footsteps of that other green-bowed lady, -the seeming double or replica of this, whom we can leave for the time -being. She was Kate herself, in fact, the little outraged wife, intent -on her design to personate the object of her faithless spouse’s -pursuit, and, by figuring to him under false colours, to draw him into -an unconscious confession of his guilt. -</p> - -<p> -She had driven over in her coach, and—though some accident had -delayed her by the way—in time, she still hoped, to enable her to -forestall the other. Alighting, she had hurriedly traversed the -distance between the gates and the open sward beyond, where the -company were most wont to congregate; but, though she used her eyes -for all the inquisition they were worth, without result. Eager and -flurried, then, she was turning to retrace her steps, when she saw -<i>him</i> making towards her from the shadow of a clump of trees, whence, -obviously, he had been watching. She stopped instantly, and let out a -shaking breath to ease the turmoil of her heart. -</p> - -<p> -It was he, her husband; it never occurred to her to doubt it; the -height, the figure, were sufficient, not to speak of the damning token -in his hat. And, once assured, she hardly looked his way, I think. And -yet, so susceptible is jealousy to false witness, it was not my lord -at all, but the Duke of York. -</p> - -<p> -He came up to her where she stood, and, gazing intently through his -mask, waited silently a while. And then he sighed, with extreme -audibility. Still, she vouchsafed him no recognition or encouragement, -but stood as cold and motionless as one of the white lilies in the bed -beyond. He was forced at last into taking the initiative. -</p> - -<p> -“Not one word, madam,” said he, “to him that wears your favour? Will -you not reassure my anxiety?” -</p> - -<p> -He was aware of the faintest odd response to this appeal; it might -have been a whispered note of exultation. -</p> - -<p> -“For whom, sir,” she said, still white, still inflexible, “do you take -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ah!” he said, “is not that bow in your bosom sufficient answer?” -</p> - -<p> -With a quick, fierce action, she pulled the vizard from her face, -looked him in the eyes one moment, and, replacing it, half turned her -back on him. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” she said, “are you satisfied of your error?” -</p> - -<p> -“Satisfied,” said he, “but not of my error, for indeed there is none.” -And, indeed, there <i>was</i> none, from his point of view. -</p> - -<p> -She turned on him irresistibly, unable to control her indignation— -</p> - -<p> -“You can dare to say it, trapped and detected in the very act? There -is no error—none?—and I am she, I suppose, whom you expected to find -revealed under this token? O! shameless! But your dissembling does not -deceive me—instant and ready as it proves itself. Go seek her, sir, -the vile party to your iniquity—she is doubtless somewhere in the -garden; and bear with you the scorn and detestation of the insulted -wife you thought vainly to overreach, and who now denounces and -repudiates you for evermore.” -</p> - -<p> -She made as if to leave him, but again turned, a quivering smile on -her lips— -</p> - -<p> -“And bear with you, Philip Stanhope, this reflection, which I know -will gall you above any sense of guilt expressed: it was you broke the -long silence between us, and it was I that trapped you into doing so. -If you can feel any humiliation greater than your own discovered -wickedness, it will lie in that, I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“Stop!” cried his Highness, as she was going. The truth had dawned -upon him through that torrent of invective. Not Kit was he, in her -assumption, but her own recreant husband. The discovery was -illuminating—and, indirectly, gratifying, inasmuch as it seemed to -dispose, so far as she was concerned, of that hypothetical intriguer. -And yet was it possible she was only manœuvring to justify her own -frailty through her husband’s example? “Where are you going?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -She answered in one straitened monosyllable: “Home.” -</p> - -<p> -And that reassured and decided him. It was a cruel ruse, perhaps; but -he saw no other hope, in her excited state, of detaining and reasoning -with her. Doubtless, when the inevitable discovery ensued, the -emotional reaction consequent on it would prove his forgiver and -abetter. -</p> - -<p> -He had to hurry to keep pace with her. “Nay,” he whispered in her ear, -“believe me when I say there was no error. Could I have failed, think -you, to recognize my Kate, though in a subtler disguise than this? -Trust a husband’s eyes and senses, sweetheart. Come, be reasonable; we -cannot talk here. Turn with me, and let us seek a spot more private to -our confidences in the solitudes beyond.” -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, as they advanced, it was to make themselves more and more “the -cynosure of neighbouring eyes.” But the wife was not to be moved. She -was deaf and blind now with a passion she could not surmount. As he -persisted in accompanying her, she stopped suddenly, and stamped her -little foot on the grass. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you cease to importune me,” she said, “and go?” -</p> - -<p> -“Only turn and come away,” he entreated, “and I will explain -everything.” -</p> - -<p> -“Never!” she exclaimed vehemently. “I do not believe you—not one -word. It is all over between us. Leave me, and go and seek your -paramour.” -</p> - -<p> -“I will not,” he persisted doggedly. “There is none but yourself for -me.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am going home, I say.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then I will go with you.” -</p> - -<p> -She hurried a few steps farther; then, as he kept beside her, turned -with a flounce, and went off in the opposite direction. He wheeled to -follow—and so suddenly, that he ran into the very arms of a masked -gentleman who, the moment before, had been advancing upon him from the -rear. He snapped out a half-angry apology, and was for speeding on; -but, to his astonishment, the other gripped and held him like a vice. -</p> - -<p> -“Unhand me, sir!” cried the Duke. “What! do you dare?” -</p> - -<p> -For the moment he was beside himself with fury, seeing his light -quarry, who had taken advantage of the check, in the act of making her -escape. But his struggles availed him nothing. -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, I dare,” said the stranger viciously; and he turned his face, in -a white fume, to regard the flight of the fugitive. “Go your way,” -said he between his teeth, as if addressing the receding figure. “You -are marked down at last, my lady, and will be called on in due time to -pay the reckoning. And as for you, you villain”—he whisked like a -devil on his prisoner—“you have got to answer for this here and now.” -</p> - -<p> -He had to, somehow. His Highness, with that acute perception of his, -saw the necessity, and ceased to strive. He was fairly trapped, and -very certainly by the injured husband himself. He had nothing for it -but to bring all his finesse to the solution of so embarrassing a -problem. -</p> - -<p> -“Sir,” said he, with a good deal of haughtiness, “will you please to -quit this rude grasp on me? You need not fear. I am a man of honour.” -</p> - -<p> -“O, of honour!” said Chesterfield, with a sneer. But he released his -hold. “You surprise me, on my word. But, being so, perhaps you will -inform me, man of honour, where you would like to come with me to have -your throat cut.” -</p> - -<p> -“We will discuss the necessity of that,” said the Duke civilly, “when -I know your name.” -</p> - -<p> -“So particular?” mocked the other. “But will it not inform you -sufficiently to be told that I am the husband of the lady you have -just parted with?” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed, it informs me nothing,” replied the Duke most suavely. -</p> - -<p> -“What! you dare to pretend to me that you know her not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sir,” said the Duke, “I would disdain to answer to your insolence -were it not that there must be something in appearances which, it -seems, justifies it in you. I cannot presume your name from that of -the lady who has just vanished, because I do not know her.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are lying to me, I know.” -</p> - -<p> -“You deserve no explanation; which I vouchsafe, nevertheless, solely -for her good credit’s sake. I admit I accosted the lady in question; -but it was under a misapprehension, being misled by a certain token -she wore in her dress, and for which I had been directed to look. My -importunities are explained by my reluctance to believe that a -coincidence so remarkable as the wearing of that same token by another -was even conceivable.” -</p> - -<p> -Truly a plausible defence; but there is a craft, as well as a -credulity, in jealousy, and Chesterfield showed it. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, sir,” said he, “I will take your word for’t on a condition; and -that is that you return me your name for my own. I am the Earl of -Chesterfield.” -</p> - -<p> -“And I,” said the Duke, “prefer to be known to you for the moment as -‘Kit’—simply ‘Kit,’ at your service.” -</p> - -<p> -It was no sooner spoken than he realized his blunder. It would be this -very anonymity, the presumptive second party to the liaison, whom the -husband, being here, would be in search of. Chesterfield, in fact, -showed his instant sense of the admission. He let out a laugh that was -wholly diabolical. -</p> - -<p> -“Ha-ha!” cried he. “Damned and condemned, thou dog, out of thine own -mouth!” -</p> - -<p> -Conscious that all this time they were objects of some curious -attention on the part of the nearest company, he thought it well now -to subdue his voice, and affect a nonchalant manner. -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Kit,” said he, in an undertone, “you will hardly continue, in -face of that confession, your pretence of innocence, nor, by denying -me the satisfaction I demand here and now, force me to the necessity -of whipping you, like the hound you are, in public. There are level -spaces in the wildernesses beyond, and something of a rising moon, -sufficient for the business we have in hand. Will you walk with me, -sir—or——” -</p> - -<p> -“Without admitting anything,” said his Highness, very haughty and -wroth, “or condescending to further remonstrance, I answer to your -effrontery as it deserves. It must be chastised, at whatever cost to -the truth. Follow me, sir,” and he stalked off in high choler. -</p> - -<p> -He was horribly perplexed, nevertheless, though for the moment so -offended as half to mean the bellicosity he threatened. But reflection -soon cooled him of that temper, and he recognized that, if nothing -else intervened, there would be no alternative for him but to make -himself known, at the critical pass, to his adversary. -</p> - -<p> -The two gentlemen disappeared in the direction of the thickets. -</p> - -<p> -And so, leaving them, we will return to Hamilton and <i>his</i> green bow. -</p> - -<p> -The harper harped his sweetest, and the lady stood and listened -entranced. She seemed as one fascinated, half hypnotized, oblivious of -the soft reproaches her companion kept whispering in her ear. She paid -no heed whatever to his babble, but always her gaze was fixed on the -long swaying form of the musician and the melancholy-wrapt eyes of -him, lost, like her own, to all outer influences and impressions, and -wholly absorbed in the visions conjured up of his unconscious soul. -And when at length he ended on a triumphant chord, she sighed, and -seemed to come awake, and, first joining in the applause with her -little hands, plucked off her vizard, being quite carried away by her -feelings, and, waving it in the air, cried “Brava!” in a manner to -make the people about her laugh. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, momentarily pressed back by the thrusting forward of the -crowd, saw that ebullition, and frowned and wondered a little over -such a <i>grossièreté</i> in his cousin; but she had the thing on again -before he could reach her to remonstrate; and, indeed, he never had -the chance to. For all of a sudden he found himself witness of an odd -scene. Attracted, it seemed, by the little acclaiming voice, the -performer, who was seated not ten yards away, got suddenly to his -feet, and, after standing staring a minute, came striding across the -grass towards the spot whence the demonstration had issued. Those -about the lady may have thought that he was bent on some graceful -acknowledgment to her of an approval so spontaneous and so unusual; -but, whatever the attention he designed, she did not wait to receive -it. As if seized with a sudden panic over the publicity she had called -down upon herself, she whipped round, and, taking advantage of an -opening in the crowd, slipped through it, to a roar of laughter, and -was gone in an instant. So quick had she been, that Hamilton, taken by -surprise, and hemmed in as he was, could not extricate himself from -his position in time to mark the direction of her flight; but, once -clear of the press, he stood completely baffled and cursing his evil -luck. -</p> - -<p> -And in the meantime green-bow was making good her escape; she ran as -if some spectre were at her heels. Across the thronged grass, in and -out between the trees, heedless of the attention she attracted, making -instinctively for the outer glooms, onward she sped, and never paused -until the covert of green shadows coming thickly about her gave her -comfort and reassurance of an asylum reached at last. And then she -stopped, panting and dishevelled, but with a little inclination, -nevertheless, to some hysterical giggling. -</p> - -<p> -“O, mussey me!” she whispered, as she fought for breath: “O, mussey -me!” And then she looked hurriedly about her. She was still so near -the fringe of the thickets as to have a clear view of the lighted -swards she had left. Not safe from detection yet, she must penetrate -deeper into the wilderness, if she hoped to baffle pursuit. Away from -her ran a little glow-worm track, dim but discernible, and threaded -with lamps, always attenuating, until they seemed to cease altogether -in the leafy depths. She followed it, and found it to conduct her deep -into an open space among the trees, about which was hung a slender -coronal of lamps, and in whose midmost stood a rustic arbour, “for -whispering lovers made,” but at the moment, it seemed, unoccupied. And -here she stopped, to recover her breath and her self-possession, and, -with a laugh, began to preen her tumbled plumes like a bird escaped -from the fowler. -</p> - -<p> -“I never did—there, never!” she said aloud, and instantly looked up -with a start. A masked lady, with a green bow at her bosom, had come -silently, it seemed, from the direction of the bower, and was standing -regarding her with stony eyes. This was poor Kate, indeed, whom -accident had precipitated upon the same refuge. -</p> - -<p> -Moll, after that first little shock, continued her preening -unperturbed. -</p> - -<p> -“You fair took my breath away,” she said, “coming on me that fashion -like a ghost.” -</p> - -<p> -Kate’s head was bent forward; her dove-like eyes glared. -</p> - -<p> -“Who are you?” she said, scarce audibly. “How dare you thrust yourself -upon me like this?” -</p> - -<p> -“Highty-tighty!” said Moll, still comfortably busy. “I might ask that -of you.” -</p> - -<p> -“Of me!” cried Kate desperately. “I think I hardly know myself”—for -indeed the other had taken pains to duplicate her in many particulars, -both dress and voice. “What are you doing here? But I understand the -cunning infamy of it all at last. It was to throw dust in the eyes of -scandal by feigning ’twas his own wife he came to meet.” -</p> - -<p> -“He? Who?” said Moll, readjusting her breast knot. -</p> - -<p> -“Do not you well know, false creature? But you are betrayed through -that very token in your bosom you used to further your wicked -designs.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” says saucebox: “mayn’t I wear a green bow if it suits my -complexion?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lies and duplicity,” cries the other, “are your complexion. It suits -them very well.” -</p> - -<p> -“Green stands for ‘forsaken,’” says the vixen. “Is that why you wear -one yourself?” -</p> - -<p> -It was a stab that made the poor lady wince. Her face went from pink -to white. -</p> - -<p> -“Cruel and inhuman!” she gasped. -</p> - -<p> -“Come, call fair, my lady,” said Moll, in some heat. “If he’s been and -mistaken you for me, <i>whoever he is</i>—and I take it that’s the -truth—you’ve only got what you asked for. Look through the keyhole, -you know, and you’ll get a sore eye.” -</p> - -<p> -Her white teeth showed a moment under the hem of her vizard. With a -dart, her ladyship was upon her. -</p> - -<p> -“I will see it—that face”—she could hardly articulate in her -passion—“abandoned wretch that you are—masquerading under a false -name. I will know this ‘Kit’ of his for whom she is. Take it off, I -say.” -</p> - -<p> -But the facile jade easily repulsed and eluded her. -</p> - -<p> -“Give over,” she said. “You’re no match for me.” -</p> - -<p> -And indeed it was obvious to the poor girl that she was not. So she -desisted in a moment, and resolved upon the better part of dignity, -which is contempt. -</p> - -<p> -“Keep your secret,” she said, panting. “After all, its shame is better -hidden out of sight. Do you know who I am?” -</p> - -<p> -“I can guess,” said Moll. -</p> - -<p> -“Go to him, then. You will find him seeking for you, yonder in the -open. Tell him that he is welcome to his goods for me; that I have -seen them and understand their attraction to one so sunk in base -corruption as himself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Come, now,” said Moll. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.” -</p> - -<p> -Did Kate suspect? She glanced anyhow, in a startled, puzzled way, at -the dim face menacing her, before she turned on her heel, and, with -her head held erect, swept away. She made for the narrow track, -leaving the other standing where she was, and had passed but half-way -down it, when she met Hamilton face to face. The scarf in his hat was -plainly distinguishable; she took him for her husband, and stood -rigidly aside to let him pass. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, little wicked truant!” said he; “but I have run you to earth at -last. What made you scamper from the great musician in that panic -fashion?” -</p> - -<p> -His voice insensibly perplexed her; but her emotions were in too -prejudiced a state to serve her for trusty interpreters. -</p> - -<p> -“Are <i>you</i>, then, the great musician?” she said, hard scorn in her -tone, “since it was you alone I sought to escape from, and—and for -ever.” -</p> - -<p> -“From me?”—a grieved amazement marked his voice—“after what hath -passed between us?” -</p> - -<p> -She stood back, peremptorily signing him on with her hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Passed? Are you again in error? Proceed, sir—’tis but a little -distance—and find her, the brazen partner of your guilt, for whom you -have already once mistaken me.” -</p> - -<p> -He cried out: “You are mad! How could I ever mistake you? Were we not -listening together but now to the harpist, when you turned and ran?” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>I</i> ran? I have heard no harpist. It was from your lying -importunities I escaped.” -</p> - -<p> -“My lying—before God I spoke my very heart. And you were kind, -cousin.” -</p> - -<p> -“Cousin!” -</p> - -<p> -“Am I not your cousin, though your lover?” -</p> - -<p> -“George Hamilton!” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you not know me, cousin?” -</p> - -<p> -She sighed, seemed to sway a little, then to stiffen. -</p> - -<p> -“O!” she said. “I know you now, indeed.” -</p> - -<p> -He laughed, relieved. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, what misled you, Kate?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind.” She was a serpent all at once, subtle, wooing, alluring. -“Let us go back this way. There is something I want to show you. Will -you come?” -</p> - -<p> -Come? He would have followed her to the pit. Yet what surprise had she -in store for him, what unknown witness to her own mistake, what -solution of this mystery of her denial about the music? She had -appeared strangely affected by that performance; was it possible it -had wrought upon her to forgetfulness? Well, he would know in a -moment. -</p> - -<p> -She meant that he should—meant to face him with the proof of his own -misconception and his intended betrayal of herself. It was somehow -that woman wretch’s doing, of that she felt certain, though she was -bewildered with the complication of it all. But at least her course -here was clear: it was to expose and denounce the would-be seducer in -the presence of the wanton who had entrapped him. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Moll, however, was not to be caught so easily. She had, in fact, -having followed stealthily in Kate’s footsteps, and whisked behind a -tree at the psychologic moment, overheard the gist of this colloquy, -and it imbued her with no desire to return and face the music. She -just waited until the couple had passed out of sight, then slipped -into the track with a view to making her escape by it. -</p> - -<p> -But, alas for “the best-laid plans of mice”—and monkeys! This little -monkey was nabbed before she had well set foot on the path. For there -suddenly appeared advancing towards her along the narrow way the -figures of a couple of gentlemen—and each had a green scarf adorning -his hat. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I’m damned!” she whispered, and stood stock still. -</p> - -<p> -His Highness, coming first, saw her at once, and paused—as he thought -recognizing her—in some amazement. It was an embarrassing moment, and -he was standing in frank indecision, when Chesterfield, coming up, -pushed by him, and in his turn jerked to a stop. -</p> - -<p> -“What, by God!” said he. “So we have tracked you to your lair, my -lady.” -</p> - -<p> -He ran at her, with a scowl, and seized her by the wrist, so roughly -that she cried out. -</p> - -<p> -“Aye, howl!” said he. “You will have full reason for your lamentation -before I have done with you and this fancy beau of yours. Come, my -pretty faithful Kate, and watch us fight. You shall stand by, and clap -your husband victor, while I cut him into ribbons for love-knots to -your gown. Come, stir—there is a green hard by where he shall caper -for you, dancing to very prick-song. Will you not come?” -</p> - -<p> -She could not help herself, indeed. His grip was iron; he dragged her -with him, so that he half pulled her arm out. “O, lud!” she thought. -“I’m in for it now!” -</p> - -<p> -A few steps farther, and they broke into the clearing. My lady and -Hamilton were just before them; it was plain they had both overheard. -They stood as if petrified, Kate with white face and bewildered eyes, -her companion with the grin of a dog at bay lifting his lip. -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it!” said Chesterfield. “What’s this?” -</p> - -<p> -Involuntarily he released his hold; on which Moll, with a naughty -laugh, sprang from him and stood apart, nursing her angry wrist. And -so they remained a full minute, Chesterfield and my lord Duke facing -the other two, the girl covertly watching. -</p> - -<p> -The Earl looked from one woman to the other, and more than once; but -always his eyes returned to his true wife, on whom they finally -rested. -</p> - -<p> -“If this,” said he, in a gripping voice, and pulling off his mask, “is -to make me the victim of some foul conspiracy, it fails with you, my -lady. I know you. You need pretend no longer.” -</p> - -<p> -She plucked off <i>her</i> vizard, and, throwing it with a gesture of scorn -on the grass, stood proudly up before him. -</p> - -<p> -“Well guessed, sir,” she said. “But you were not so happy in your -choice a moment ago. Was it the green bow deceived you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, by God, it was, madam, though you may sneer. I looked for it on -none but you.” -</p> - -<p> -“On me?” Her eyes opened, amazed. “And why, please?” -</p> - -<p> -“Because I was privily informed you were to wear it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Indeed? And for whose benefit?” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you ask it”—he stepped aside, flinging out his arm towards his -Highness, who stood silent, gnawing his forefinger—“and this Kit, -this damning witness to your guilt, to answer for it to your face? Did -I not find you with him but now? For shame, madam! But he shall pay -for his temerity with his life.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are mad,” she said, in a voice of wonder. “I never saw you. I -thought him you, and that he had accosted me, taking me for Kit.” -</p> - -<p> -“<i>You</i> Kit? Why, in God’s name? Kit’s a man.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, a woman.” -</p> - -<p> -“A man, I say. He’s here.” -</p> - -<p> -“And so is she here.” -</p> - -<p> -“She? I tell you, no! What cursed coil is this? And you thought him -me, you say? Why—answer that.” -</p> - -<p> -“He wore the scarf in his hat the secret letter spoke of.” -</p> - -<p> -“The secret letter? What! you have received one too?” -</p> - -<p> -“I have received one.” In a sudden thought she whipped round on -Hamilton. “And you, also, cousin, judging by your token.” -</p> - -<p> -“Cousin!” roared Chesterfield. “What, you too, George!” For, seeing -further disguise useless, that gentleman had also discovered himself. -“Damme! am I to fight you all?” He stamped with fury. “Who and what is -at the bottom of this juggling?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, Kit,” said Hamilton coolly—he guessed pretty well the truth, -and was only mad with himself for having walked so tamely into the -trap—“whoever Kit may be. I had the letter, sure enough, and acted on -it. ’Twas the green bow, nothing else, for which I went. How could I -know your wife behind it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, not at all,” quoth my lady, “by what you said to her. I think, -cousin, you were the most mistaken of us all.” -</p> - -<p> -He felt the cold, sarcastic sting in her tone, and knew himself -revealed and dismissed from that moment. -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield clinched and convulsed his fists in impotent desperation. -“But—but——” he shouted, and turned on his wife again. “Kit was to -wear a scarf, I tell you.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, a bow,” said she. -</p> - -<p> -“And nothing else, madam?” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -“There would be no disputing Kit’s sex in that case,” said Hamilton -pleasantly. And then he laughed. “But there are still two potential -Kits in the field—and both unmasked. Why not ask them?” -</p> - -<p> -Obviously it was the simple course. Chesterfield pounced on the Duke— -</p> - -<p> -“You hear? Kit or the devil, man—whichever you are, confess -yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -His Highness hesitated—it was an awkward moment for him—and -succumbed, finally, to the tyranny of circumstance. -</p> - -<p> -“I could claim my privilege, and refuse, sir,” said he, “were it not -that by persisting in this disguise the fair fame of an innocent lady -might appear to lack its vindication. I took her, if not for another, -at least not for herself,” and he pulled off his vizard in his turn. -</p> - -<p> -“The Duke of York!” muttered the Earl, falling back a little, with a -stupefied look; while Kate, on her part, her face flushing crimson, -bent her eyes on the ground. -</p> - -<p> -But in a moment she looked up, and, clasping her hands, took a -passionate step forward. -</p> - -<p> -“My lord Duke,” she said, urgently and pitifully, “tell him—you owe -it to me—that I knew nothing of your presence here, that I guessed -you as little as he did himself. My behaviour proves it.” -</p> - -<p> -“Surely, madam,” said his Highness, rather grimly. “It should be -self-evident to any reasonable man. But to put the matter beyond -dispute, I confess myself a victim to the same mischievous agency -which, it seems, has been working this havoc amongst us. From private -information received, I understood that here, on this night, a green -scarf was to rally to a green bow, the pass-word ‘Kit,’ and ’twas in -a mere spirit of frolic that I undertook to be present in order to -confuse the issue. If I had guessed for a moment——” -</p> - -<p> -“But you did not guess, Sir,” said Chesterfield dryly, and only half -convinced. -</p> - -<p> -“I did not guess,” said the Duke, mildly and piously. “And now comes -in the question, who is the one responsible for all this -misunderstanding?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kit!” cried Moll. She was standing a little apart on a rising mound. -“Kit!” she cried, with a ringing laugh. “Here’s Kit!” And she took -from her pocket a little impish, sexless doll, a mere thing of cloth -and wire, which she flourished in the air. “My darling,” she said, -hugging and kissing the fetish. “Look at them! Look at it, good -people! It’s always been with me, everywhere, from the time I was a -baby; and sometimes it’s a girl, and sometimes a boy; and I never can -tell from one minute to another what it will be up to next. O, you -dear!” and she held the rubbish to her young breast, swaying it as if -it were an infant. -</p> - -<p> -They had all turned on her, like a pack baying a little speared otter. -Stupefaction marked their faces; a dead silence ensued. -</p> - -<p> -And suddenly, in the midst of it, awoke a sound—music—the plucking -of fingers on harp strings; and with one impulse they turned. -</p> - -<p> -It came from the darkness of the trees—sweet, wild, unearthly; it -rose on the starry night like incense, like a drug, like a spell, -taking their brains captive. And in a moment it had slipped into a -symphony, preluding some wonder—and the girl, as if irresistibly -compelled, was singing— -</p> - -<div class="quote_o"><div class="quote_i"> -<p class="i0">“My lodging is on the cold ground,</p> -<p class="i1">And hard, very hard, is my fare,</p> -<p class="i0">But that which grieves me more</p> -<p class="i1">Is the coldness of my dear.</p> -<p class="i4">Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love,</p> -<p class="i5">turn to me,</p> -<p class="i4">For thou art the only one, love,</p> -<p class="i5">that art ador’d by me.</p> - -<p class="i0 mt1">I’ll twine thee a garland of straw, love,</p> -<p class="i1">I’ll marry thee with a rush ring,</p> -<p class="i0">My frozen hopes will thaw, love,</p> -<p class="i1">And merrily we will sing.</p> -<p class="i4">Then turn to me, my own love;</p> -<p class="i5">I prythee, love, turn to me,</p> -<p class="i4">For thou art the only one, love,</p> -<p class="i5">that art adored by me.”</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -The voice ceased, and the music. A sort of universal sigh seemed to -breathe from the hearts of the listeners. It was like a sigh of -waking. The girl wiped her eyes, and sniffed, and laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, what next?” she said defiantly. -</p> - -<p> -Chesterfield, the least impressible of the group, took a furious step -forward. -</p> - -<p> -“That mask,” he said hoarsely, “that mask!” and without the least -demur she whipped it from her face, and stood saucily before them. He -turned on his wife. -</p> - -<p> -“You see, madam? Your friend!” -</p> - -<p> -“No friend of mine!” cried her ladyship. “How dare you so insult me?” -</p> - -<p> -He stared bewildered. -</p> - -<p> -“No friend of yours? Did you not invite her to our house?” -</p> - -<p> -“Never! You know you did yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -“I? Before God, no! I thought she was your guest.” -</p> - -<p> -“What is this, my lord? And I thought her yours.” -</p> - -<p> -“Mine? I had never seen her in my life before. That hussy!” -</p> - -<p> -Again that amazed inquisition of the delinquent. -</p> - -<p> -“Hussy yourself!” cried Moll. And then she screamed with laughter. “O! -don’t look so perplexed, good people! It’s all right. Neither of you -invited me. I invited myself.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yourself?” cried my lady, dumbfounded. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, you see, my dear,” said Moll, “as you weren’t on speaking terms, -I thought I might risk it, as each of you would suppose the other had -asked me. And so I did; and so it turned out; and I’ve had a good -time, a killing time, and I thank you both for it. And I’m glad to see -your little difference is made up at last, and to know that I’m after -all the one you’ve got to thank for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“You?” cried her ladyship, with infinite scorn. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, me, my dear,” said Moll. “Now don’t be nasty about it. ’Twas I, -you know, wrote all those letters and arranged this little mixture, by -which you’ve come to profit.” -</p> - -<p> -“You infamous creature!” said Kate. “Who suggested this trick to you?” -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, if he did not look, felt, supremely uncomfortable. But he -need not have feared his confederate’s loyalty. “Honour amongst -thieves” was a good enough motto for her. -</p> - -<p> -“Kit,” said Mrs. Moll. “’Tis a rare little impy when it chooses.” -</p> - -<p> -He breathed again. As for his Highness, he had already, realizing that -he had been well fooled, and unwilling to risk any further -compromising revelations, slipped quietly and unostentatiously away. -</p> - -<p> -Kate breathed her disdain. -</p> - -<p> -“I will know,” she began, and paused. Perhaps, after all, she <i>did</i> -know—or guess. Her indignant eyes sought her cousin. -</p> - -<p> -“Be wise,” said Hamilton, with a laugh, “and leave it at that. When -all’s said, you know, ’tis very truth that she’s to thank, however she -chose to work it, for this—this tender reconciliation.” -</p> - -<p> -She turned her shoulder on him and his sneering, and again addressed -Moll— -</p> - -<p> -“Was it not enough to impose yourself on us, as you did, without -setting your wicked wits to work to spite us in this fashion? Why did -you do it?” -</p> - -<p> -“O!” said Mrs. Davis nonchalantly, “I was tired of you all and your -tragic ways; and I wanted some fun; and there was none to be got out -of that jealous grumps of a husband of yours; and—and so I played for -a general post. What then, and what cause have you, of all people, to -blame me for it?” -</p> - -<p> -Now, at that, Chesterfield, uttering an oath, made a run for the saucy -creature, as if he were minded to strike her. -</p> - -<p> -“No, damn it, Phil!” cried Hamilton, moving to interpose—“hold your -hand. What cause have you either, for that matter!” -</p> - -<p> -“Cause!” cried the nobleman, glaring round. “What the devil do you do -defending her? Are you in her confidence? Cause, by God! I’ll have her -by the heels for a common rogue and impostor—I’ll——” and he was -making for the girl again. -</p> - -<p> -She struck out at him, with a little shriek. -</p> - -<p> -“Jack Davis,” she cried, “are you going to see your wife ill-treated -before your eyes?” -</p> - -<p> -There was a rustle in the shadows, and a long form came bounding out, -and seemed to tumble towards the mound. -</p> - -<p> -“Zounds!” ejaculated Hamilton, “his wife! If it isn’t the harping -prodigy!” He whistled. “’Tis all plain now.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hold, sir!” cried the musician. “This is indeed my wife.” -</p> - -<p> -He ascended the mound, and stood shoulder to shoulder beside that -injured lady. Chesterfield fell back, snorting, while Kate ran to him -and clutched his arm. That touch, so desired, so unfamiliar, seemed to -fall like balm on his passion. -</p> - -<p> -Moll looked up, with a twinkle of dismal resignation, at the sad, -adoring face above her. -</p> - -<p> -“So you’ve found me at last, Jack,” she said, “and all my fun’s over, -I suppose, for the present. Well-a-day!” and she heaved a great sigh. -“How did you know me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Know you!” he exclaimed; and O, the aching tragedy, to him, implied -in those two words! “Was not your voice enough, child, when you cried -‘Brava!’ There is none other like it in all the world. I followed -it—when I could, and some instinct led me hither. And then and -then—O, I wondered if you could be moved in the old way; -and—and——” -</p> - -<p> -“And I was moved, Jack; I had to sing when you made me. Lud, if you -could only be always the angel your playing makes you! But”—she -heaved her shoulders pettishly—“well, I must come back to be your -wife again, I suppose.” -</p> - -<p> -“Will you, Molly?” Poor wretch—the rapture and the marvel! -</p> - -<p> -“O yes!” she said indifferently. “Well, what have you been doing with -yourself all this while?” -</p> - -<p> -“Playing for bread,” he answered. “I took another name—Bannister—my -mother’s; and I think it blessed me. I have been making a reputation -and a fortune, Molly.” -</p> - -<p> -“A fortune!” cried the lady, opening her eyes. “Then I’ll come with -you, sure. La, now! what must all these folks think of us, making love -in public?” -</p> - -<p> -She led him down from the mound, up to the listening group, astonished -spectators of this domestic reunion. She was quite cool and impudent. -</p> - -<p> -“These are some of my friends, Jack,” says she—“or were, till a -moment ago. You don’t ask me what I’ve been doing since we quarrelled -and parted. Well, they’ll tell you, if you are curious, only don’t you -believe all they say.” And then she addressed the company: “My -lord—hem!—ladies and gentlemen. I’ve found, though quite unexpected, -the husband I came to London to seek, not the one I meant but an old -one I had thought used up. Never mind for that; and I daresay both my -lady and me know what it is to wear a turned gown; but the point is -that, if you ever doubted of my respectability—and some of you may; -not all, perhaps, recognizing the thing when they see it—here’s the -proof of it to answer you, and so shall remain, until we quarrel again -and go our ways as before.” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no!” said the radiant creature, with a patient smile. -</p> - -<p> -“No, no!” croaked Hamilton, with a laugh. -</p> - -<p> -“To spite <i>you</i>,” cried Moll, blazing on him, “I’d live with him for -ever—at least, for part of it!” -</p> - -<p> -“Poor man! what a vengeance!” said her ladyship, and turned with cold -disdain on the mocker (she still held her husband’s arm). “I trust you -appreciate your punishment, cousin,” she said, “and will submit to it -without resorting to the bad counsel of jealousy.” And so she faced -the lady. “I congratulate you, Mrs. Davis, on your—your proof. We had -not learned, I confess, to associate you with angels in any form, and -the very opportune arrival of this one—whether in the conspiracy or -not—must serve you, I suppose, for a means to escape the chastisement -you have so richly deserved at our hands. Under what circumstances and -at whose instigation you were moved to venture on this audacity it is -idle to inquire—we should never extract the truth. Nor, the air being -cleared of you, need we now wish to. When one has thrown off a -sickness, one likes to dismiss its unpleasantness from one’s thoughts. -Your boxes, with their green bows, and vulgarities, and thrice-turned -gowns, and whatever other stage ‘properties’ or ‘perquisites’ they may -contain, shall be sent to your direction. Come, my lord”—and she -turned very stately, and, entering the track with her husband, -disappeared along it. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s gratitude!” cried Moll; and, positively snivelling, threw -herself upon Sad Jack’s sober bosom. -</p> - -<p> -Hamilton, looking on, with a grin wrinkling his nose, shrugged his -shoulders, began to whistle, and sauntered off in another direction. -</p> - -<p> -My lord and lady, in the meantime, walked like reconciled lovers. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you know,” she said, with an arch smile, “that ’twas you first -broke the silence between us?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no,” said he, stopping. -</p> - -<p> -“Ah! but it was.” -</p> - -<p> -“It was not, I say.” -</p> - -<p> -“And I say it was.” -</p> - -<p> -They had edged apart. For the moment it seemed as if it was all to -begin over again. -</p> - -<p> -“Curse it!” muttered my lord. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, do not you remember,” said she, rallying to sweetness, “that you -declared you knew me?” -</p> - -<p> -He bit his lip, scowled, and brightened. -</p> - -<p> -“That’s true, my lady. But I have not gone down on my knees to you.” -</p> - -<p> -And on the very word, advancing a pace, he tripped over a stump and -went down on his knees. -</p> - -<p> -She checked an impulse to laugh, and did the tactful thing. As he got -to his feet, she gazed at him with dear dove’s eyes, and said she— -</p> - -<p> -“And now <i>I</i> will ask the pardon. O, I would ask anything, do anything -for you, my lord, since learning—since learning——” -</p> - -<p> -He tucked her arm within his, and they went on together. -</p> - -<p> -And on the green, in the light of the fading lamps, Moll snivelled. -</p> - -<p> -“What does this all mean? What mischief hast thou been up to, thou -incorrigible one?” asked the fond fellow, her husband, as he held her. -</p> - -<p> -“Not I, but Kit,” said the girl, and, with a tearful laugh, she -produced the fetish, and held it up to his face. -</p> - -<p> -“What!” said he, smiling. “Dost thou still carry that absurd imp about -with thee?” -</p> - -<p> -“Always, and wherever I go,” she answered solemnly. And then, with a -sigh: “I think he is the only one my heart hath ever really loved—the -first, as he shall be the last. There, don’t gloom, Jack, but kiss -him—kiss him!” -</p> - -<p class="center mt1"> -[The End] -</p> - - -<h2> -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES -</h2> - -<p> -Minor spelling inconsistencies (<i>e.g.</i> mussey-me/mussey me, -whimple/wimple, etc.) have been preserved. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<b>Alterations to the text</b>: -</p> - -<p> -Add TOC. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter II] -</p> - -<p> -Change “was already <i>susspected</i> of a leaning in” to <i>suspected</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -[Chapter XVIII] -</p> - -<p> -(would be ours! But the senses are cloudy interpreters”) add missing -period. -</p> - - -<p class="center mt1"> -[End of text] -</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLL DAVIS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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