I come, my love; I come.
I come, my love; I come.
One lonely candle, or to speak more strictly a bit of one, sputtered in its silver socket in the cosy drawing-room; and a single moonbeam found its way in through the draperies of the window leading to the terrace and to St. James’s Park.
Moll lay upon a couch asleep; but it was a restless sleep.
The voice of a town-crier resounded faintly across the park: “Midnight; and all is well.”
She started up and rubbed her eyes in a bewildered way.
“The midnight crier!” she thought; and there was a troubled expression in her face. “I have been asleep and the candle’s nearly out.”
She jumped to her feet and hastily lighted two or three of its more substantial mates, of which there was an abundancein the rich candelabra about the room.
A cricket in a crevice startled her. She ran to the window and looked anxiously out upon the park, then hastened to the door, with equal anxiety, lest it might be unlocked. Every shadow was to her feverish fancy a spirit of evil or of death.
“I wish Nell would come,” she thought. “The ghosts and skeletons fairly swarm in this old house at midnight; and I am all alone to-night. It’s different when Nell’s about. The goblins are afraid of her merry laugh. Boo! I am cold all over. I am afraid to stand still, and I am afraid to move.”
She ran again to the window and this time pulled it open. The moonlight instantly flooded the room, dimming the candles which she had lighted. She saw her shadow, and started back in horror.
“Some one glided behind the old oak in the park,” she cried aloud, for the company of her voice. “Oh, oh! Nell will be murdered! I begged her not to go to Portsmouth’s ball. She said she just wanted topeep in and pay her respects to the hostess. Moll! You better pray.”
She fell upon her knees and reverently lifted her hands and eyes in prayer.
Something fell in the room with a heavy thud. She shut her eyes tight and prayed harder. The object of her fear was a long gray boot, which had been thrown in at the window and had fallen harmlessly by her side. It was followed in an instant by its mate, equally harmless yet equally dreadful.
A jaunty figure, assisted by a friendly shoulder, then bounded over the balustrade and rested with a sigh of relief just within the window-opening. It was Nell, returning from the wars; she was pale, almost death-like. The evening’s excitement, her daring escapade and more especially its exciting finish had taken hold of her in earnest. Her dainty little self was paying the penalty. She was all of a tremble.
“Safe home at last!” she cried wearily. “Heaven reward you, Strings.”
From below the terrace, without thewindow, responded the fiddler, in sympathetic, loving tones: “Good night, Mistress Nell; and good sleep.”
“Good night, comrade,” answered Nell, as she almost fell into the room, calling faintly: “Moll! Moll! What are you doing, Moll?”
Moll closed her eyes tighter and prayed still more fervently.
“Praying for Nell,” her trembling lips mechanically replied.
“Humph!” cried Nell, half fainting, throwing herself upon the couch. “There’s no spirit in this flesh worth praying for. Some wine, some wine; and the blessing after.”
The command brought Moll to her senses and she realized that it was really Nell who had entered thus unceremoniously. She rushed to her for safety, like a frightened deer to the lake.
“Nell, dear Nell!” she cried. “You are ill.”
“Wine, wine, I say,” again fell in peremptory tones from the half-reclining Nell.
Moll glanced in dismay at her bootless mistress: her garments all awry; her sword ill sheathed; her cloak uncaught from the shoulder and half used, petticoat-like, as a covering for her trembling-limbs; her hair dishevelled; her cheeks pale; her wild eyes, excitement-strained, staring from their sockets.
“You are wounded; you are going to die,” she cried. “Moll will be all alone in the world again.”
Her hands shook more than Nell’s as she filled a glass half full of wine and passed it to her mistress.
“To the brim, girl, to the brim,” commanded Nell, reviving at the prospect of the draught. “There!”
She tossed off the drink in gallant fashion: “I tell you, sweetheart, we men need lots of stimulating.”
“You are all of a tremble,” continued Moll.
“Little wonder!” sighed Nell. “These braveries are a trifle chilly, sweet mouse. Boo!” She laughed hysterically, while Moll closed the window. “You see, Inever was a man before, and I had all that lost time to make up–acres of oats to scatter in one little night. Open my throat; I cannot breathe. Take off my sword. The wars are done, I hope.” She startled Moll, who was encasing her mistress’s pretty feet in a pair of dainty shoes, with another wild, hilarious laugh. “Moll,” she continued, “I was the gayest mad-cap there. The sex were wild for me. I knew their weak points of attack, lass. If I had been seeking a mate, I could have made my market of them all and started a harem.”
She seemed to forget all her dangers past in the recollection.
“Wicked girl,” said Moll, pouting reprovingly.
“Oh, I am a jolly roisterer, little one,” laughed Nell, in reply, as with cavalier-strides she crossed the room. She threw herself upon the table and proceeded to boast of her doings for Moll’s benefit, swinging her feet meanwhile. “I ran the gamut. I had all the paces of the truest cavalier. I could tread a measure, swearlike one from the wars, crook my elbow, lie, gamble, fight–Fight? Did I say fight?”
She hid her curly head in her hands and sobbed spasmodically.
“You have been in danger!” exclaimed Moll, fearfully.
“Danger!” repeated Nell, breaking out afresh. “I taught the King a lesson he will dream about, my sweet, though it near cost me my life. He loves me, d’ye hear; he loves me, pretty one! Dance, Moll, dance–Dance, I say! I could fly for very joy!”
With the tears still wet upon her cheeks, she seized Moll by both hands and whirled the astonished girl wildly about the room, until she herself reeled for want of breath. Then, catching at a great carved oaken chair, she fell into it and cried and laughed alternately.
“Nell, Nell,” gasped Moll, as she too struggled for breath; “one minute you laugh and then you cry. Have you lost your wits?”
“I only know,” exulted Nell, “I madehim swear his love for Nell to Portsmouth’s face. I made him draw his sword for Nell.”
“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Moll, aghast. “You did not draw yourself? A sword against the King is treason.”
“Ods-bodikins, I know not!” answered Nell. “I know not what I did or said. I was mad, mad! All I remember is: there was a big noise–a million spears and blunderbusses turned upon poor me! Gad! I made a pretty target, girl.”
“A million spears and blunderbusses!” echoed Moll, her eyes like saucers.
“An army, child, an army!” continued Nell, in half-frantic accents. “I did not stop to count them. Then, next I knew, I was in my coach, with dear old Strings beside me. The horses flew. We alighted at the Chapel, tiptoed about several corners to break the scent; then I took off my shoes and stole up the back way like a good and faithful husband. Oh, I did the whole thing in cavalier-style, sweetheart. But, ’twixt us, Moll,” and she spoke with a mysterious, confidential air,“–Iwouldn’t have it go further for worlds–Adair is a coward, a monstrous coward! He ran!”
As if to prove the truth of her words, at a sudden, sharp, shrill sound from the direction of the park, the sad remnant of Adair clutched Moll frantically; and both girls huddled together with startled faces and bated breaths.
“Hark! What is that?” whispered Nell.
“The men, perchance, I told you of,” answered Moll; “they’ve spied about the house for weeks.”
“Nonsense, you little goose,” remonstrated Nell, though none too bravely; “some of your ex-lovers nailing their bleeding hearts to the trees.”
“No, no; listen!” exclaimed Moll, frantically, as the noise grew louder. “They’re in the entry.”
“In the entry!” stammered Nell; and she almost collapsed at the thought of more adventures. “I wish we were in bed, with our heads under the sheet.”
“Here is your sword,” said Moll, as shebrought Nell the sharp weapon, held well at arm’s length for fear of it.
“Oh, yes, my sword!” exclaimed Nell, perking up–for an instant only. “I never thought of my sword; and this is one of the bravest swords I ever drew. I am as weak as a woman, Moll.”
“Take heart,” said Moll, encouraging her from the rear, as Nell brandished the glittering blade in the direction of the door. “You know you faced an army to-night.”
“True,” replied Nell, her courage oozing out at her finger-tips, “but then I was a man, and had to seem brave, whether I was or no. Who’s there?” she called faintly. “Who’s there? Support me, Moll. Beau Adair is on his last legs.”
Both stood listening intently and trembling from top to toe.
A score of rich voices, singing harmoniously, broke upon the night.
The startled expression on Nell’s face changed instantly to one of fearless, roguish merriment. She was her old self again. She tossed the sword contemptuouslyupon the floor, laughing in derision now at her companion’s fear.
“A serenade! A serenade!” she cried. “Moll–Why, Moll, what feared ye, lass? Come!” She ran gaily to the window and peeped out. “Oh, ho, masqueraders from the moon. Some merry crew, I’ll be bound. I am generous. I’ll give thee all but one, sweet mouse. The tall knight in white for me! I know he’s gallant, though his vizor’s down. Marry, he is their captain, I trow; and none but a captain of men shall be captain of my little heart.”
“It is Satan and his imps,” cried Moll, attempting to draw Nell from the window.
“Tush, little one,” laughed Nell, reprovingly. “Satan is my warmest friend. Besides, they cannot cross the moat. The ramparts are ours. The draw-bridge is up.”
In a merry mood, she threw a piece of drapery, mantle-like, about Adair’s shoulders, quite hiding them, and, decapitating a grim old suit of armour, placed the helmet on her head. Thus garbed, she threw the window quickly open and steppedboldly upon the ledge, within full view of the band beneath. As the moonlight gleamed upon her helmet, one might have fancied her a goodly knight of yore; and, indeed, she looked quite formidable.
“Nell, what are you doing?” called Moll, wildly, from a point of safety. “They can see and shoot you.”
“Tilly-vally, girl,” replied Nell, undaunted now that she could see that there was no danger, “we’ll parley with the enemy in true feudal style. We’ll teach them we have a man about the house. Ho, there, strangers of the night–breakers of the King’s peace and the slumbers of the righteous! Brawlers, knaves; would ye raise honest men from their beds at such an hour? What means this jargon of tipsy voices? What want ye?”
A chorus of throats without demanded, in muffled accents: “Drink!” “Drink!” “Sack!” “Rhenish!”
“Do ye think this a tavern, knaves?” responded Nell, in a husky, mannish voice. “Do ye think this a vintner’s? There are no topers here. Jackanapes, revellers; away with you, or we’ll rouse the citadel and train the guns.”
“I WAS THAT BOY!”
“I WAS THAT BOY!”
Her retort was met with boisterous laughter and mocking cries of “Down with the doors!” “Break in the windows!”
This was a move Nell had not anticipated. She jumped from the ledge, or rather tumbled into the room, nervously dropping her disguise upon the floor.
“Heaven preserve us,” she said to Moll, with quite another complexion in her tone, “they are coming in! Oh, Moll, Moll, I did not think they would dare.”
Moll closed the sashes and bolted them, then hugged Nell close.
“Ho, there, within!” came, in a guttural voice, now from without the door.
“Yes?” Nell tried to say; but the word scarce went beyond her lips.
Again in guttural tones came a second summons–“Nell! Nell!”
Nell turned to Moll for support and courage, whispering: “Some arrant knave calls Nell at this hour.” Then, assuming an attitude of bravery, with fluttering heart, she answered, as best she could,in a forced voice: “Nell’s in bed!”
“Yes, Nell’s in bed,” echoed the constant Moll. “Everybody’s in bed. Call to-morrow!”
“No trifling, wench!” commanded the voice without, angrily. “Down with the door!”
“Stand close, Moll,” entreated Nell, as she answered the would-be intruder with the question:
“Who are ye? Who are ye?”
“Old Rowley himself!” replied the guttural voice.
This was followed by hoarse laughter from many throats.
“The King–as I thought!” whispered Nell. “Good lack; what shall I do with Adair? Plague on’t, he’ll be mad if I keep him waiting, and madder if I let him in. Where are your wits, Moll? Run for my gown; fly–fly!”
Moll hastened to do the bidding.
Nell rushed to the entry-door, in frantic agitation.
“The bolt sticks, Sire,” she called, pretending to struggle with the door, hopingso to stay his Majesty until she should have time to dispose of poor Adair. “How can I get out of these braveries?” she then asked herself, tugging awkwardly at one part of the male attire and then at another. “I don’t know which end of me to begin on first.”
Moll re-entered the room with a bundle of pink in her arms, which turned out to be a flowing, silken robe, trimmed with lace.
“Here is the first I found,” she said breathlessly.
Nell motioned to her nervously to put it upon the couch.
“Help me out of this coat,” she pleaded woefully.
Moll took off the coat and then assisted Nell to circumscribe with the gown, from heels to head, her stunning figure, neatly encased in Adair’s habit, which now consisted only of a jaunty shirt of white, gray breeches, shoes and stockings.
“Marry, I would I were a fairy with a magic wand; I could befuddle men’s eyes easier,” Nell lamented.
The King knocked again upon the door sharply.
“Patience, my liege,” entreated Nell, drawing her gown close about her and muttering with personal satisfaction: “There, there; that hides a multitude of sins. The girdle, the girdle! Adair will not escape from this–if we can but keep him quiet; the rogue has a woman’s tongue, and it will out, I fear.”
She snatched up a mirror and arranged her hair as best she could in the dim light, with the cries without resounding in her ears and with Moll dancing anxiously about her.
“Down with the door,” threatened the King, impatiently. “The ram; the battering ram.”
“I come, my love; I come,” cried Nell, in agitation, fairly running to the door to open it, but stopping aghast as her eye caught over her shoulder the sad, telltale condition of the room.
“’Sdeath,” she called in a stage-whisper to Moll; “under the couch with Adair’s coat! Patience, Sire,” she besoughtin turn the King. “Help me, Moll. How this lock has rusted–in the last few minutes. My sword!” she continued breathlessly to Moll. “My boots! My hat! My cloak!”
Moll, in her efforts to make the room presentable, was rushing hither and thither, first throwing Adair’s coat beneath the couch as Nell commanded and firing the other evidences of his guilty presence, one behind one door and another behind another.
It was done.
Nell slipped the bolt and calmly took a stand in the centre of the room, drawing her flowing gown close about Adair’s person. She was quite exhausted from the nervous strain, but her actress’s art taught her the way to hide it. Moll, panting for breath, across the room, feigned composure as best she could.
The door opened and in strode the King and his followers.
“Welcome, royal comrades, welcome all!” said Nell, bowing graciously to her untimely visitors.
Ods-pitikins, my own reflection!
Ods-pitikins, my own reflection!
Upon the fine face of the King, as he entered Nell’s drawing-room, was an expression of nervous bantering, not wholly unmixed with anxiety.
The slanderous Adair and his almost miraculous escape had not long weighed upon his Majesty’s careless nature.
As he had not met Adair until that night or even heard of him, his heart had told him that the Irish roisterer could scarcely be a serious obstacle in the way of Nell’s perfect faith, if, indeed, he had met Nell at all, which he doubted. His command to the guard to follow and overtake the youth had been more the command of the ruler than of the man. Despite himself, there had been something about the dainty peacock he could not help but like; and the bold dash for the window, the disarming of the purse-proud Buckingham,who for many reasons displeased him, and the leap to the sward below, with the accompanying farewell, had especially delighted both his manhood and his sense of humour.
He had, therefore, dismissed Adair from his mind, except as a possible subject to banter Nell withal, or as a culprit to punish, if overtaken.
His restless spirit had chafed under the Duchess’s lavish entertainment–for the best entertainment is dull to the lover whose sweetheart is absent–and he had turned instinctively from the ball to Nell’s terrace, regardless of the hour and scarce noticing his constant attendants.
The night was so beautiful that their souls had found vent in song.
This serenade, however, had brought to Nell’s window a wide-awake fellow, who had revealed himself in saucy talk; and the delighted cavaliers, in hope of fun, had charged jeeringly that they had outwitted the guard and had found Adair.
It was this that had brought the anxious look to the King’s face; and, though hisbetter judgment was still unchanged, the sight of the knave at the window, together with the suggestions of his merry followers, had cast a shadow of doubt for the moment upon his soul, and he had reflected that there was much that the Irish youth had said that could not be reconciled with that better judgment.
With a careless shrug, he had, therefore, taken up the jest of his lawless crew, which coincided with his own intended purpose, and had sworn that he would turn the household out of bed without regard to pretty protests or formality of warrant. He would raise the question forthwith, in jest and earnest, and worry Nell about the boaster.
“Scurvy entertainment,” he began, with frowning brow.
“Yea, my liege,” explained Nell, winsomely; “you see–I did not expect the King so late, and so was unpresentable.”
“It is the one you do not expect,” replied Charles, dryly, “who always causes the trouble, Nell.”
“We were in bed, Sire,” threw in Moll,thinking to come to the rescue of her mistress.
“Marry, truly,” said Nell, catching at the cue, “–asleep, Sire, sound asleep; and our prayers said.”
“Tilly-vally,” exclaimed the King, “we might credit thy tongue, wench, but for the prayers. No digressions, spider Nell. My sword is in a fighting mood. ’Sdeath, call forth the knight-errant who holds thy errant heart secure for one short hour!”
“The knight of my heart!” cried Nell. “Ah, Sire, you know his name.”
She looked at his Majesty with eyes of unfailing love; but the King was true to his jest.
“Yea, marry, I do,” laughed Charles, tauntingly, with a wink at his companions; “a pretty piece of heraldry, a bold escutcheon, a dainty poniard–pale as a lily, and how he did sigh and drop his lids and smirk and smirk and dance your latest galliard to surpass De Grammont. Ask brother James how he did dance.”
“Nay, Sire,” hastily interceded theever-gallant Rochester, “his Highness of York has suffered enough.”
York frowned at the reference; for he had been robbed of his lady at the dance by Adair. He could not forget that. Heedless of his royalty, bestowed by man, she, like the others, had followed in the train of the Irish spark, who was royal only by nature.
“Hang the coxcomb!” he snarled.
“’Slife, I will,” replied Charles, slyly, “an you overtake him, brother.”
“His back was shapely, Sire,” observed Rochester, with quaint humour.
“Yea, and his heels!” cried the King, reflectively. “He had such dainty heels–Mercury’s wings attached, to waft him on his way.”
“This is moonshine madness!” exclaimed Nell, with the blandest of bland smiles. “There’s none such here. By my troth, I would there were. Nay, ask Moll.”
Moll did not wait to be asked.
“Not one visitor to-night,” she asserted promptly.
“Odso!” cried Charles, in a mocking tone. “Whence came the Jack at the window–the brave young challenger–‘Would ye raise honest men from their beds at such an hour?’”
A burst of laughter followed the King’s grave imitation of the window-boaster.
“Sire!” sighed Rochester, in like spirit. “‘Do you think this a vintner’s? There are no topers here.’”
Another burst of merry laughter greeted the speaker, as he punctuated his words by catching up the wine-cups from the table and clinking them gaily.
Nell’s face was as solemn as a funeral.
“To your knees, minx,” commanded James, grimly, “and crave mercy of your prince.”
“Faith and troth,” pleaded Nell, seriously, “’t was I myself with helmet and mantle on. You see, Sire, my menials were guests at Portsmouth’s ball–to lend respectability.”
“Saucy wag,” cried the Merry Monarch. “A ball?–A battle–which would have killed thee straight!”
“It had liked to,” reflected Nell, as she tartly replied: “A war of the sex without me? It was stupid, then. The Duchess missed me, I trow.”
“Never fear,” answered Charles, with difficulty suppressing his mirth; “you were bravely championed.”
“I am sure of that,” said Nell, slyly; “my King was there.”
“And a bantam cock,” ejaculated Charles, sarcastically, “upon whose lips ‘Nell’ hung familiarly.”
“Some strange gallant,” cried Nell, in ecstasy, “took my part before them all? Who was he, Sire? Don’t tantalize me so.”
She smiled, half serious, half humorous, as she pleaded in her charming way.
“A chip from the Blarney Stone,” observed the King at length, ironically, “surnamed Adair!”
“Adair! Adair!” cried Nell, to the astonishment of all. “We spent our youth together. I see him in my mind’s eye, Sire, throw down the gauntlet in Nell’s name and defy the world for her. Fill thecups. We’ll drink to my new-found hero! Fill! Fill! To Beau Adair, as you love me, gallants! Long life to Adair!”
The cups were filled to overflowing and trembled on eager lips in response to the hostess’s merry toast.
“Stay!” commanded the King, in peremptory tones. “Not a drop to a coward!”
“A coward!” cried Nell, aghast. “Adair a coward? I’ll never credit it, Sire!”
She turned away, lest she reveal her merriment, as she bethought her: “He is trembling in my boots now. I can feel him shake.”
“Our pledge is Nell, Nell only!” exclaimed the King, his cup high in air.
With one accord, the gallants eagerly took up the royal pledge. “Aye, aye, Nell!” “Nell!” “We’ll drink to Nell!”
“You do me honour, royal gentlemen,” bowed Nell, well pleased at the King’s toast.
She had scarce touched the cup to her lips, however, with a mental chuckle, “Poor Adair! Here’s a health to the inner man!” when her eye fell upon one ofAdair’s gray boots, which Moll had failed to hide, in her excitement, now revealing itself quite plainly in the light of the many candles. She caught it adroitly on the tip of her toe and sent it whizzing through the air in the direction of poor Moll, who, fortunately, caught it in midair and hid it quickly beneath her apron.
The King turned at the sound; but Nell’s face was as woefully unconcerned as a church-warden’s at his hundredth burial.
The wine added further zest to the merry-making and the desire for sport.
“Now, fair huswife,” continued Charles, his thoughts reverting to Adair, “set forth the dish, that we may carve it to our liking. ’Tis a dainty bit,–lace, velvet and ruffles.”
“Heyday, Sire,” responded Nell, evasively, “the larder’s empty.”
“Devil on’t,” cried Charles, ferociously; “no mincing, wench. In the confusion of the ball, the bird escaped my guard by magic. We know whither the flight.”
The King assumed a knowing look.
“Escaped the guard?” gasped Nell, in great surprise. “Alas, I trow some petticoat has hid him then.”
“I’ll stake my life upon’t,” observed James, who had not been heard from in some time but who had been observing the scene with decorous dignity.
“Sire, you would not injure Adair,” pleaded Nell, now alert, with all her arts of fascination. “You are too generous. Blue eyes of heaven, and such a smile! Did you mark that young Irishman’s smile, Sire?”
Her impudence was so bewitching that the King scarce knew whether it were jest or earnest. He sprang to his feet from the couch, where he had thrown himself after the toast to Nell, and, with some forcefulness, exclaimed:
“Odsfish, this to my teeth, rogue! Guard the doors, gallants; we’d gaze upon this paragon.”
“And set him pirouetting, Sire,” sardonically suggested James.
“Yea, to the tune of these fiddle-sticks,”laughed Charles, as he unsheathed his rapier. “Search from tile to rafter.”
“Aye, aye,” echoed the omnipresent Rochester, “from cellar to garret.”
Before, however, the command could be obeyed, even in resolution, Nell moved uneasily to a curtain which hung in the corner of the room and placed herself before it, as if to shield a hidden man.
“Sire,” she pleaded fearfully, “spare him, Sire; for my sake, Sire. He is not to blame for loving me. He cannot help it. You know that, Sire!”
“Can he really be here?” muttered Charles, with clouding visage. “Saucy wench! Hey! My blood is charging full-tilt through my veins. Odsfish, we’ll try his mettle once again.”
“Prythee, Sire,” begged Nell, “he is too noble and brave and handsome to die. I love his very image.”
“Oh, ho!” cried Charles. “A silken blind for the silken bird! Hey, St. George for merry England! Come forth, thou picture of cowardice, thou vile slanderer.”
He grasped Nell by the wrist and fairlydragged her across the room. Then, rushing to the curtain, he seized its silken folds and tore it completely from its hangings–only to face himself in a large mirror. “Ods-pitikins, my own reflection!” he exclaimed, with menacing tone, though there was relief as well in his voice. He bent the point of his blade against the floor, gazed at himself in the pier-glass and looked over his shoulder at Nell, who stood in the midst of his courtiers, splitting her sides with laughter, undignified but honest.
“Rogue, rogue,” he cried, “I should turn the point on thee for this trick; but England would be worse than a Puritan funeral with no Nell. Thou shalt suffer anon.”
“I defy thee, Sire, and all thy imps of Satan,” laughed the vixen, as she watched the King sheathe his jewelled sword. “Cast Nell in the blackest dungeon, Adair is her fellow-prisoner; outlaw Nell, Adair is her brother outlaw; off with Nell’s head, off rolls Adair’s. Who else can boast so true a love!”
“Thou shalt be banished the realm,” decided the King, jestingly; for he was now convinced that her Adair was but a jest to tease him–a Roland for his Oliver.
“Banished!” cried Nell, with bated breath.
“Aye; beyond sea, witch!” answered the King, with pompous austerity. “Virginia shall be thy home.”
“Good, good!” laughed Nell, gaily. “Sire, the men grow handsome in Virginia, and dauntless; and they tell me there are a dearth of women there. Oh, banish me at once to–What’s the name?”
“Jamestown,” suggested York, recalling the one name because of its familiar sound.
“Yea, brother James,” said Nell, fearlessly mimicking his brusque accent, “Jamestown.”
“Savages, wild men, cannibals,” scowled Charles.
“Cannibals!” cried Nell. “Marry, I should love to be a cannibal. Are there cannibals in Jamestown, brother James?Banish me, Sire; banish me to Jamestown of all places. Up with the sails, my merry men; give me the helm! Adair will sail in the same good ship, I trow.”
“Adair! I trow thou wert best at home, cannibal Nelly,” determined the King.
“Then set all the men in Britain to watch me, Sire,” said Nell; “for, from now on, I’ll need it.”
The King shook his finger warningly at her, then leaned carelessly against the window.
“Ho there!” he cried out suddenly. “A night disturbance, a drunken brawl, beneath our very ears! Fellow-saints, what mean my subjects from their beds this hour of night? Their sovereign does the revelling for the realm. James, Rochester and all, see to ’t!”
The day will be so happy; for I’ve seen you at the dawn.
The day will be so happy; for I’ve seen you at the dawn.
The room was quickly cleared, the King’s courtiers jostling one another in their efforts to carry out the royal bidding.
Charles turned with a merry laugh and seized Nell in his arms almost fiercely.
“A subterfuge!” he cried eagerly. “Nell, quick; one kiss!”
“Nay; you question my constancy to-night,” said Nell, sadly, as she looked into his eyes, with the look of perfect love. “You do not trust me.”
“I do, sweet Nell,” protested the King, earnestly.
“You bring me Portsmouth’s lips,” said Nell, with sad reproof.
“I left her dance for you,” replied the King, drawing her closer to him.
“At near sunrise, Sire,” sighed Nell, reprovingly, as she drew back the curtainand revealed the first gray streaks of the breaking light of day.
“Nay, do not tantalize me, Nell,” besought the King, throwing himself upon the couch. “I am sad to-night.”
The woman’s forgiving heart was touched with sympathy. Her eyes sought his sadly beautiful face. She ran to him, fell upon her knees and kissed his hand tenderly.
“Tantalize my King!” she cried. “The day will be so happy; for I’ve seen you at the dawn.” There was all the emotional fervour and pathetic tenderness which the great composer has compressed into the love-music of “Tristan and Isolde” in her voice.
“My crown is heavy, Nell,” he continued. “Heaven gives us crowns, but not the eye to see the ending of our deeds.”
“God sees them,” said Nell. “Ah, Sire, I thank the Maker of the world for giving a crown to one whom I respect and love.”
“And I curse it,” cried the King, withearnest eyes; “for ’tis the only barrier to our united love. It is the sparkling spider in the centre of a great web of intrigue and infamy.”
“You make me bold to speak. Cut the web, Sire, which binds thy crown to France. There is the only danger.”
“Thou art wrong, Nelly, wrong!” He spoke in deep, firm accents. “I have decided otherwise.”
He rose abruptly, his brow clouded with thought. She took his hand tenderly.
“Then, change your mind, Sire,” she pleaded; “for I can prove–”
“What, girl?” he asked eagerly, his curiosity awakened by her manner.
Nell did not respond. To continue would reveal Adair, and she could not think of that.
“What, I say?” again asked Charles, impatiently.
“To-morrow, Sire,” laughed Nell, evasively.
“Aye, to-morrow and to-morrow!” petulantly repeated the King.
He was about to demand a direct replybut was stayed by the sound of a struggle without.
It befell in the nick of time for Nell, as all things, indeed, in life seemed to befall in the nick of time for her. The impious huswives shook their heads and attributed it to the evil influence; the pious huswives asserted it was providential; Nell herself laughingly declared it was her lucky star.
“Ho, without there!” Charles cried, impatiently–almost angrily–at the interruption. “Whence comes this noisy riot?”
James, Rochester and the others unceremoniously re-entered.
“Pardon, Sire,” explained the Duke of York; “the guard caught but now an armed ruffian prowling by the house. They report they stayed him on suspicion of his looks and insolence.”
“Adair! Adair! My life upon’t!” laughed the King, ever ready for sport. “Set him before us.”
An officer of the guard departed quickly to bring in the offender. The courtierstook up the King’s cry most readily; and there was a general cackle of “Adair!” “Adair!” “A trial!” “Sire!” “Bring in the coward!”
Nell stood in the midst of the scene, the picture of demure innocence.
“They’ve caught Adair!” she whispered to Moll, mischievously.
“Aye, gallants,” cried the Merry Monarch, approvingly, “we’ll form a Court of Inquiry. This table shall be our bench, on which we’ll hem and haw and puff and look judicial. Odsfish, we will teach Radamanthus and Judge Jeffreys ways of terrorizing.”
He sprang upon the table, which creaked somewhat beneath the royal burden, and assumed the austere, frowning brow of worldly justice.
“Oyer, oyer, all ye who have grievances–” cried the garrulous Rochester in the husky tones of the crier, who most generally assumes that he is the whole court and oftentimes should be.
“Mistress Nell,” commanded the royal judge, summoning Nell to the bar, “thoushalt be counsel for the prisoner; Adair’s life hangs upon thy skill to outwit the law.”
“Or bribe the judge, Sire?” suggested Nell, demurely.
“Not with thy traitor lips,” retorted Charles, with the injured dignity of a petty justice about to commit a flash of true wit for contempt of court.
“Traitor lips?” cried Nell, sadly. “By my troth, I never kissed Adair. I confess, I tried, your Majesty; but I could not.”
“Have a care,” replied the King, in a tone which indicated that the fires of suspicion still smouldered in his breast; “I am growing jealous.”
Nell fell upon one knee and stretched forth her arms suppliantly.
“Adair is in such a tight place, Sire, he can scarcely breathe,” she pleaded, with the zeal of a barrister hard-working for his first fee in her voice, “much less speak for himself. Mercy!”
“We will have justice; not mercy,” replied the court, with a sly wink at Rochester.“Guilty or not guilty, wench?”
“Not guilty, Sire! Did you ever see the man who was?”
The King laughed despite himself, followed by his ever-aping courtiers.
“I’ll plead for the Crown,” asserted the grim James, with great vehemence, “to rid the realm of this dancing-Jack.”
“Thou hast cause, brother,” laughed the King. “Rochester, thou shalt sit by us here.”
Rochester sprang, with a contented chuckle, into a chair on the opposite side of the table to that upon which his Majesty was holding his mock-court and seated himself upon its high back, so poised as not to fall. From this lofty bench, with a queer gurgle, to say nothing of a swelling of the chest, and with an approving glance from his Majesty, he added his mite to the all-inspiring dignity of the revellers’ court.
“Judge Rochester!” continued the King, slapping him with his glove, across the table. “Judge–of good ale. We’ll confer with the cups, imbibe the statutesand drink in the law. Set the rascal before us.”
In obedience to the command, a man well muffled with a cloak was forced into the room, a guard at either arm.
Behind them, taking advantage of the open door to appease their curiosity, crowded many hangers-on of courtdom, among whom was Strings, who had met the revellers some distance from the house and had returned with them.
“Hold off your hands, knaves,” commanded the prisoner, who was none other than Hart, the player, indignant at the detention.
“Silence, rogue!” commanded the King. “Thy name?”
“Sire!” cried Hart, throwing off his mantle and glancing for the first time at the judge’s face. He sank immediately upon one knee, bowing respectfully.
“Jack Hart!” cried one and all, craning their necks in surprise and expectation.
“’Slife, a spy upon our merry-making!” exclaimed the displeased monarch. “What means this prowling, sir?”
“Pardon, pardon, my reply, your Majesty,” humbly importuned the player. “Blinded by passion, I might say that I should regret.”
“Your strange behaviour and stranger looks have meaning, sir,” cried the King, impatiently. “Out with it! These are too dangerous times to withhold your thoughts from your King.”
“No need for commands, Sire,” entreated Hart. “The words are trembling on my lips and will out themselves in spite of me. At Portsmouth’s ball, an hour past, I o’erheard that fop Adair boast to-night a midnight rendezvous here with Nell.”
Nell placed her hands upon her heart.
“This–my old friend,” she reflected sadly.
“Our jest turned earnest,” cried Charles. “Well? Well?” he questioned, in peremptory tones.
“I could not believe my ears, Sire,” the prisoner continued, faltering. “I watched to refute the lie–”
“Yes–yes–” exhorted the King, in expectation.
“I cannot go on.”
“Knave, I command!”
“I saw Adair enter this abode at midnight.” Hart’s head fell, full of shame, upon his breast.
“’Sblood,” muttered the King, scarce mindful that his words might be audible to those about him, “my heart stands still as if’t were knifed. My pretty golden-head, my bonnie Nell!” He turned sharply toward the player. “Your words are false, false, sir! Kind Heaven, they must be.”
“Pardon, Sire,” pleaded Hart; “I know not what I do or say. Only love for Nell led me to this spot.”
“Love!” cried Nell, with the irony of sadness. “Oh, inhuman, to spy out my ways, resort to mean device, involve my honour, and call the motive love!”
“You are cruel, cruel, Nell,” sobbed Hart; and he turned away his eyes. He could not look at her.
“Love!” continued Nell, bitterly. “True love would come alone, filled with gentle admonition. I pity you, friend Hart, that God has made you thus!”
“No more, no more!” Hart quite broke beneath the strain.
“Dost hear, dost hear?” cried Charles, in ecstasy, deeply affected by Nell’s exposition of true love. “Sir, you are the second to-night to belie the dearest name in England. You shall answer well to me.”
“Ask the lady, Sire,” pleaded Hart, in desperation. “I’ll stake my life upon her reply.”
“Nell?–Nell?” questioned the King; for he could scarce refuse to accept her word when a player had placed unquestioned faith in it.
Nell hid her face in her silken kerchief and burst into seeming spasmodic sobs of grief. “Sire!” was all the response the King could hear. He trembled violently and his face grew white. He did not know that Nell’s tears were merry laughs.
“Her tears convict her,” exclaimed Hart, triumphantly.
“I’ll not believe it,” cried the King.
Nell became more hysterical. She sobbed and sobbed, as though her heart would break, her face buried in her handsand her flying curls falling over and hiding all.
“Adair’s sides are aching,” she chuckled, in apparent convulsions of sorrow. “He’s laughing through Nell’s tears.”
Meanwhile, Moll had been standing by the window; and, though she was watching eagerly the exciting scene within the room, she could not fail to note the sound of galloping horses and the rattling of a heavy coach on the roadway without.
“A coach and six at break-neck speed,” she cried, “have landed at the door. A cavalier alights.”
“Time some one arrived,” thought Nell, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, to see that Adair was well hidden, and to arrange her curls, to bewitch the new arrivals, whosoever they might be.
As the cavalier dashed up the path, in the moonlight, Moll recognized the Duke of Buckingham, and at once announced his name.
“Ods-pitikins!” exclaimed Charles, angrily. “No leisure for Buckingham now. We have other business.”
He had scarce spoken, however, when Buckingham, unceremoniously and almost breathless, entered the room.
“How now?” cried the King, fiercely, as the Duke fell on his knee before him; for his temper had been wrought to a high pitch.
“Pardon, your Majesty,” besought his lordship, in nervous accents. “My mission will excuse my haste and interruption. Your ear I crave one moment. Sire, I am told Nell has to-night secreted in this house a lover!”
“Another one!” whispered Nell to Moll.
“’Tis hearsay,” cried the King, now at fever-heat, “the give-and-take of gossips! I’ll none of it.”
“My witness, Sire!” answered Buckingham.
He turned toward the door; and there, to the astonishment of all, stood the Duchess of Portsmouth, who had followed him from the coach, a lace mantilla, caught up in her excitement, protecting her shapely shoulders and head.
As the assembled courtiers looked upon the beautiful rivals, standing, as they did, face to face before the King, and realized the situation, their faces grew grave, indeed.
The suspense became intense.
“The day of reckoning’s come,” thought Nell, as she met with burning glances the Duchess’s eyes.
“Speak, your grace,” exhorted Buckingham. “The King attends you.”
“Nay, before all, my lord?” protested Portsmouth, with pretended delicacy. “I could not do Madame Gwyn so much injustice.”
“If your speech concerns me,” observed Nell, mildly, “out with it boldly. My friends will consider the source.”
“Speak, and quickly!” commanded Charles.
“I would rather lose my tongue,” still protested the Duchess, “than speak such words of any one; but my duty to your Majesty–”
“No preludes,” interrupted the King; and he meant it, too. He was done withtrifling, and the Duchess saw it.
“My servants,” she said, with a virtuous look, “passing this abode by chance, this very night, saw at a questionable hour a strange cavalier entering the boudoir of Madame Gwyn!”
“She would make my honour the price of her revenge,” thought Nell, her eyes flashing. “She shall rue those words, or Adair’s head and mine are one for naught.”
“What say you to this, Nell?” asked the King, the words choking in his throat.
“Sire,–I–I–” answered Nell, evasively. “There’s some mistake or knavery!”
“She hesitates,” interpolated the Duchess, eagerly.
“You change colour, wench,” cried Charles, his heart, indeed, again upon the rack. “Ho, without there! Search the house.”
An officer entered quickly to obey the mandate.
“Stay, Sire,” exclaimed Nell, raising herself to her full height, her hot, trembling lips compressed, her cheeks aflame.“My oath, I have not seen Adair’s face this night.”
Her words fell upon the assemblage like thunder from a June-day sky. The King’s face brightened. The Duchess’s countenance grew pale as death.
“Mon Dieu!Adair!” she gasped in startled accents to Lord Buckingham, attendant at her side. “Could it be he my servants saw? The packet! Fool! Why did I give it him?”
Buckingham trembled violently. He was even more startled than Portsmouth; for he had more to lose. England was his home and France was hers.
“The scales are turning against us,” he whispered. “Throw in this ring for safety. Nell’s gift to Adair; you understand.”
He slipped, unobserved, upon the Duchess’s finger the jewelled ring the King had given to Almahyde among the roses at the performance of “Granada.”
“Yes! Yes! ’Tis my only chance,” she answered, catching at his meaning; for her wits were of the sharpest in intrigue and cunning, and she possessed the boldnesstoo to execute her plans.
She approached the King, with the confident air possessed by great women who have been bred at court.
“Your Majesty recognizes this ring?” she asked in mildest accents.
“The one I gave to Nell!” answered the astonished King.
“The one Adair this night gave to me,” said Portsmouth, calmly.
“’Tis false!” cried Nell, who could restrain her tongue no longer. “I gave that ring to dear old Strings.”
“A rare jewel to bestow upon a fiddler,” said the Duchess, sarcastically.
“It is true,” said Strings, who had wormed his way through the group at mention of his name and now stood the meek central figure at the strange hearing. “My little ones were starving, Sire; and Nell gave me the ring–all she had. They could not eat the gold; so I sold it to the Duke of Buckingham!”
“We are lost,” whispered Buckingham to Portsmouth, scarce audibly.
“Coward!” sneered the Duchess, contemptuously.“I am not ready to sail for France so soon.”
The King stood irresolute. Events had transpired so quickly that he scarce knew what it was best to do. His troubled spirit longed for a further hearing, while his heart demanded the ending of the scene with a peremptory word.
Before he could decide upon his course, the Duchess had swept across the room, with queenly grace.
“Our hostess will pardon my eyes for wandering,” she said, undaunted; “but her abode is filled with pleasant surprises. Sire, here is a piece of handiwork.”
She knelt by the couch, and drew from under it a coat of gray, one sleeve of which had caught her eye.
Nell looked at Moll with reproving glances.
“Marry, ’tis Strings’s, of course,” continued Portsmouth, dangling the coat before the wondering eyes of all. “The lace, the ruffle, becomes his complexion. He fits everything here so beautifully.”
As she turned the garment slowly about,she caught sight of a package of papers protruding from its inner pocket, sealed with her own seal. For the first time, the significance of the colour of the coat came home to her.
“Mon Dieu,” she cried, “Adair’s coat.–The packet!”
Her fingers sought the papers eagerly; but Nell’s eye and hand were too quick for her.
“Not so fast, dear Duchess,” said Nell, sweetly, passing the little packet to his Majesty. “Our King must read these papers–and between the lines as well.”
“Enough of this!” commanded Charles. “What is it?”
“Some papers, Sire,” said Nell, pointedly, “given for a kiss and taken with a kiss. I have not had time to read them.”
“Some family papers, Sire,” asserted the Duchess, with assumed indifference, “stolen from my house.”
She would have taken them from his Majesty, so great, indeed, was her boldness; but Nell again stayed her.
“Aye, stolen,” said Nell, sharply; “butby the hostess herself–from her unsuspecting, royal guest. There, Sire, stands the only thief!” She pointed accusingly at Portsmouth.
“My signature!” cried Charles, as he ran his eye down a parchment. “The treaties! No more Parliaments for England. I agreed to that.”
“I agree to that myself,” said Nell, roguishly. “England’s King is too great to need Parliaments. The King should have a confidential adviser, however–not French,” and she cast a defiant glance at Portsmouth, “but English. Read on; read on.”
She placed her pretty cheek as near as possible to the King’s as she followed the letters over his shoulder.
“A note to Bouillon!” he said, perusing the parchments further. “Charles consents to the fall of Luxembourg. I did not sign all this. I see it all: Louis’s ambition to rule the world, England’s King debased by promises won and royal contracts made with a clever woman–forgery mixed with truth. Sweet Heaven, what have I done!”
“The papers have not gone, Sire,” blandly remarked Nell.
“Thanks to you, my Nell,” said Charles. He addressed Portsmouth sharply: “Madame, your coach awaits you.”
“But, Sire,” replied the Duchess, who was brave to the last, “Madame Gwyn has yet Adair to answer for!”
“Adair will answer for himself!” cried Nell, triumphantly.
She threw aside the pink gown and stood as Adair before the astonished eyes of all.
“At your service,” she said, bowing sweetly to the Duchess.
“A player’s trick!” cried Portsmouth, haughtily, as a parting shot of contempt.
“Yes, Portsmouth,” replied Nell, still in sweetest accents, “to show where lies the true and where the false.”
“You are a witch,” hissed Portsmouth.
“You are the King’s true love,” exclaimed the Merry Monarch. “To my arms, Nell, to my arms; for you first taught me the meaning of true love! Buckingham, you forget your courtesy. Her grace wishes to be escorted to her coach.”