"And wherefore should she not know them?" said Ned, smiling gently on me the while he still clung to my hand, as finding comfort in the touch of it.
"Because," said I, "we have trouble enough, and she will surely make more when she knows. 'T is now three years past that she told me I must look for no such greatness as to be your—" and there my boldness had an end.
"Is it indeed as you say?" cried poor Ned; and his eyes went in question from mine to Sir Michael's.
And then that little devil of mischief was in me again.
"I vow 't is very true," I said. "Nor I do not quarrel at that. But in this same matter she had a promise of me, that—that——"
"What promise was it?" he asked, in some distress. "I do hope it was nothing foolish, nor hard to keep."
"I had almost forgot it," I answered, lingering over my words, "but now I do perceive I have to the letter kept it. Yet indeed, dear Ned, it was for some hours hard to observe that pledge, for I did promise her that I would wait until I was asked." And, if my jest was of more boldness than wit, the laughter that greeted it, being compounded of love, merriment, and confidence, lacked nothing of the finest quality.
Conversation more sober ensuing, it appeared that Ned, who already, before he broke his fast, had visited her, was neither now willing to leave me, nor, with the present load of care upon him, to submit again so soon to the searching scrutiny of his mother's eyes a countenance that was, he well knew, of a very treacherous honesty. For, if he saw little need to conceal our betrothal from her, he had no mind she should get wind of his disfavor with His Highness of Orange. Whereupon my father, who seemed, indeed, to preside at the feast of our joy with a tenderness almost feminine, undertook an embassage to my Lady Mary, hoping, he said, by discovery of the betrothal, to close her eyes for a while to all other troubles.
He stoutly refused every offer of assistance to his walking, saying it were best with all the pains of a penitent to approach so awful a shrine; and so, cheerily waving one hand and leaning with the other upon his stick, made his way limping to the house.
It was not long after his leaving us that, although deep in discussion of matters vastly entertaining at least to those engaged, I heard the rapid approach of a horse, of which, with his rider, I very soon had a glimpse as they passed the open space between the last trees of the avenue and the southeastern corner of the house.
Now, while Ned spoke many things most sweet to hear, and I, though finding my power of words strangely contracted since my father's leaving us, now and again made shift to answer him; and while he was about opening that question, to this day not with conclusion to be answered, of when first each did begin to love the other, some part of me was all the time with secret clamor asking who this mounted visitor should be. What if he were from the Prince? And so, though I heard most of his words, and held them all dear, I was at length in such a fever of desire to know more of what was toward within doors, that I told Ned my presence was needed in the house, as much in his own interest as of the visitor, and my father that must entertain him. And I would not let him conduct me, for I wished (though to him I said nothing of this), in case of news, ill or good, in the matter of his standing with His Highness, to know it first myself; so begged him where he was to await me a while, and left him, I doubt not, in much amaze at the contradictions of the feminine nature. At least it was so that I was fain to hope he explained a behavior that may well have appeared whimsical in me; having not infrequently observed that this is with some of our masters a means much favored to avoid the pains of understanding our vagaries even the most reasonable.
Sir Michael, being admitted to Lady Mary's presence, had come no nearer his purpose than some prefatory compliments and good wishes, when he was hastily called away to meet a gentleman that was come on urgent business from His Highness of Orange. Repairing at once to the great hall, he found before him M. de Rondiniacque, just dismounted and entered, looking with a wryness of countenance ill-concealed upon the tankard of ale held out to him by little Prue.
Perceiving his host, the French officer politely waved aside the refreshment, and bowed to Sir Michael with great reverence and all the grace of the Paris manner. Now his name, as was but natural, when it reached my father's ears, was become twisted out of all shape.
"You are welcome," says Sir Michael, returning his obeisance. "I address, I believe, M. le Lieutenant—" and there stuck.
"Jean-Marie Godemar de Rondiniacque, at your service," replied that gentleman. "My poor name, Sir Michael, has great terror for unwonted tongues!"
"'T is then a fit companion to your sword, M. de Rondiniacque," says Sir Michael, in the older fashion of courtly compliment.
M. de Rondiniacque bowed again. "It is well if they agree, sir," he said, "for they are my whole estate."
"I can wish you, M. de Rondiniacque, no better," replied my father. "You come, I believe, from His Highness of Orange."
And M. de Rondiniacque, saying that he had indeed that honor, presented a letter from the Prince, in which it was set forth that His Highness, being in the neighborhood, was fain to do himself the pleasure of a visit, of necessity short, to so distinguished a soldier and gentleman, and so stanch a supporter of that cause which the Prince had made his own, as Sir Michael Drayton; and would not in his coming lag far behind the bearer of the letter.
Having read, Sir Michael was at once for calling out his little company of armed men and putting himself at their head, in order to meeting His Highness in the village, and escorting him to the house, but M. de Rondiniacque very respectfully opposed this course, saying that His Highness was particular in his instructions that Sir Michael's age and infirmities should be disturbed by no pomp nor ceremony of reception.
"His Highness does me great honor," said Sir Michael.
"His Highness is little likely to forget," replied M. de Rondiniacque, "that, in an hour when he almost despaired of that help and countenance he was led to look for on his coming into England from gentlemen of condition, Sir Michael Drayton was the first to come forward and set a noble pattern to the rest. There are, moreover, other matters, I believe, in which the Prince holds himself your debtor, sir. But of these, being most curiously entangled with some of another sort, I am not to speak; being straitly enjoined to leave them for your meeting with His Highness."
Now these words did mightily please my father, filling him with hope by his own influence and arguments of setting all things right between Captain Royston and the Prince of Orange. So, most courteously praying M. de Rondiniacque that until His Highness's arrival he would consider the house his own, begging excuse of his absence on the ground of fit preparation to be made for the Prince, and bidding Prudence attend the gentleman's wants, he took himself off to find Philip, and with him concert a plan of action.
Alone with Prue, M. de Rondiniacque was not long in marking, according to his habit, the dainty person and pretty face of her that waited upon him. Now Prudence was never slow to observe when she had made a conquest, however slight, and soon responded to his flattery by bringing him in a flagon something better than the ale she had observed him to look upon so sourly.
"Perhaps, sir," says Prue, "being out of France, you will have more thirst for good Burgundy than for our ale."
"Pour it to me yourself, fair Hebe," cried De Rondiniacque; and as she obeyed he smiled upon her freely, and twisted in very gallant fashion the little black mustachios that adorned his lip. "Nay," he continued: "but you must put those pretty lips to the cup before I drink."
"Oh! la, no, sir!" cries Prue; "indeed I could n't," and straightway sipped, making, I doubt not, as she cried "I' fecks, 't is good!" a little grimace of satisfaction, with lips pursed up, as I have seen her often, like a bird uplifting his bill in dumb thanksgiving to the clouds for water in a thirsty land. Indeed, M. de Rondiniacque has told me, in these days of nearer acquaintance, that things had fallen far otherwise than they did but for the pretty coquetry of Prudence and his own too inflammable temper.
If the wine was red, he remarked, her lips were no less rich in color; which led him incontinently to swear the wine was but the second refreshment for his tasting; and if her coyness persuaded him to change the order of succession, a great draught of that generous wine of Burgundy did by no means lessen his desire to taste the red velvet of her now pouting lips.
And so it was that I, nearing the door, was by a scream from my handmaid drawn with such haste into the hall that I found her in the arms of M. de Rondiniacque, whose mouth was pressed with much force and no little enjoyment to the lips he had of late compared with the wine.
At once recognizing the gallant officer for my friend of yesterday, I wished indeed that I had stayed with Ned; but in the brief time spent by Prudence in freeing herself (for she had immediately seen me), and by M. de Rondiniacque in perceiving me, and letting her free, I had called to my assistance all that dignity and state of bearing which is seldom far to seek by the woman, however young and unversed in the world, who has faith in her gown and her cause.
"Prudence!" I cried, standing half-way between them and the door, and speaking with great severity, while she, red as fire, fumbled piteously with her apron, and the gentleman sought to cover the foolishness of his face with the hand that pulled at the hair upon his upper lip; "Prudence, what means this noise and outcry? Who are you, sir?"
"A poor gentleman of France, mistress," he replied, "but now arrived with word of the coming of His Highness of Orange."
"And does that good news fetch cries for help from my serving-woman?" I demanded, bending my brows in a frown that I would have had very awful.
"Nay, be not so moved, fair mistress," said M. de Rondiniacque, in a voice very gentle and soothing. "The outcry was for another matter, and,foi de gentilhomme!the fault was mine alone. It was but for—for a kiss that I did give the maid in jest."
"Such jests, good sir, are fitter for the camp," I answered, a little relaxing my sternness. Then, observing that he began with more intentness to regard me, I sent Prudence at once from the hall. When she was gone, I prayed him, with a courtesy very frigid, to let me know, ere I left him, if there were aught in which I could serve him, or provide for his comfort, ending, as I thought very artfully, with, "M. de—de—" as if I knew not his name.
"My name is De Rondiniacque," he said, smiling on me with an expression of much cunning. "I do perceive that you are at least aware of my claim to noble family. One thing, madam, there is, in which you can oblige me,—to tell me, I mean, where I have before encountered you."
"I cry you mercy, sir," I said, "for I know not what you mean." For somehow I had little mind to discuss with him the affair of last night, and was abashed, moreover, at the thought of how I had then appeared. So I spoke with a great haughtiness and disdain, and made to leave him.
But he came quickly between me and the door, and—"Mon Dieu!" he cried, "'t is the pretty boy of yesterday!"
"You grow in mystery, M. de Rondiniacque," I said. "Prithee, let me pass!"
"Nay, nay," he answered, "this loftiness shall not bugbear me, pretty one. Thou dost know thy way to a camp and out again as well as another. Faith, I did ponder wherefore those bright eyes did draw me so."
"If you continue these matters with me, sir, I must leave you," I cried, and so made attempt to pass him.
But he seized me gently by the arm. "You shall not so," he exclaimed. "Nay, do not fear I will hurt you. I do not handle a woman as I grasped that ruffling youth. How fare the pretty wrists?"
My anger here prevailing over my prudence, I declared roundly that I would take these injuries to those that should exact account of them. Whereupon he seized me very firmly by the hand, so that I could not withdraw it.
"And tell them, too," he said, "of last night's masquerade. I will not be denied. Your secret is safe with me. Do I not know? Have I not many such in keeping? But none, I swear, for so lovely a partner in guilt. But it must be a bargain between us." And as I struggled to free my hand he wound his arm about my waist, holding me with a wonderful gentleness of strength. "Nay, do not fret," he went on, "I will not hurt you, and the bargain is soon struck. A tender glance of your eye will pay for much, as I doubt not you have been told before. Come, strife is folly with those that love us; and verily you are so beautiful that I love you already. What! still stubborn?"
"Loose me," I panted, now mad with rage and struggling.
"I vow," said he, "I am beside myself with love of you. Oh, why so easy but one day past, and now so proud?"
"I will call," said I, drawing breath for a loud cry.
"And not twice," said a harsh voice from the door, whither turning my eyes I beheld Edward Royston. He had followed me as I my father, and, even as I, was arrived in a moment for M. de Rondiniacque most unhappy. To prove this, the mere sight of his countenance was enough; I had often seen it stern, but never before so terrible.
Now, upon my entrance some few minutes before, M. de Rondiniacque had very promptly and civilly loosed his hold of little Prue; but, whether because he considered he now held a nobler prey, or because he would grant to the presence of a woman what he must refuse to the dictation of a man, certain it is that this time intrusion brought no release. With his eyes fixed upon my captor Captain Royston strode slowly up the hall till close upon us; then, pointing with his finger to M. de Rondiniacque's hand that was still about my waist: "You will need that hand for your sword, Lieutenant de Rondiniacque," he said. "Do you not take my meaning? This, at least, is as French as it is English." And with that he struck him across the face with the glove he carried in his hand.
And then at length I was free, and quickly out of reach of my persecutor. The Frenchman stepped back, and drew slowly and with seeming reluctance; astonished no more by the blow than by this new complexion put upon the matter. I marked, moreover, with a great pain of compassion in me, how poor Ned's hand went also to his side, to find but the scabbard; and to me that watched his face the while it was plain the emptiness of that sheath did not a little exacerbate the bitterness of his spirits; so that I fell into a great fear of what he should do.
Finding, then, that he had no sword, Ned went, still with the same awful and deliberate calmness, to Sir Michael's great chair by the hearth, and brought thence naked the sword my father had offered a while since for his use. But, as the two men faced each other, M. de Rondiniacque lowered his point to the floor.
"Royston," he said with much gentleness, "I would not hurt you."
"You had best try," replied his opponent, "for I shall kill you else."
"I will explain the matter," said De Rondiniacque, still patient.
"You may do so," Ned replied unmoved, "afterwards—in hell."
"I do think, indeed, Ned," I here interrupted, "he did not know me for what I am, but did mistake me for some runagate hussy."
"Then for that I will kill him!" said Ned, never turning my way, nor taking his baleful eye from the other's face. "If you would not see it done, go, bid your father come to see it is no murder."
And somehow I could not altogether disobey his word; yet I made my passage to the door as slow as foot can go.
"And now, sir," my champion continued, "I will show you how in England we do serve him that affronts the daughter of his host."
"Sir Michael's daughter!" exclaimed the poor man, so wholly careless of covering himself that Ned's intended attack upon him was perforce again delayed. "I knew her but for a pretty piece that did ride the country as a lad, and that passed yesterday many hours among us. Meeting her now in female attire, I did think——"
"For that thought alone I will kill you!" said Ned, and their swords crossed.
And so I fled to find my father, having for my lover, indeed, no fear at all, but much for the gentleman who was, when all was said, our guest, and taken, as I thought, rather in a very luckless error than in any wilful offence.
Now, as I passed through the lobby of entrance, the great door stood wide to the sweet noontide air of that shining autumn day; and I, glancing forth to see if Sir Michael were abroad and within hail, beheld coming up the avenue a great number of horsemen, their steel harness gleaming in the sun beneath the leafless trees. So I knew the Prince was come, and hastened the more to advise my father of all that was toward. Him I found very soon (though my inquietude did lend great length to the search) in the stable-yard. He was angry in face and words, and vexed at soul, for he had just learned that Philip was gone. He was come to the stable to know what horse had borne his son from the house, and it was therefore upon Christopher Kidd that his wrath now fell. The poor fellow had of this sort in the past twenty hours received more than was by any means earned, and turned upon me the eager countenance of one that looks for succor.
"Dear sir," I cried to my father, "His Highness is arrived."
"What!" cried he in answer. "Why, then, was I not advised?"
"I come to tell you," I replied. "His Highness is not yet dismounted, and with haste you may yet receive him at the door."
Now, as we spoke, Christopher had been heavily searching for something in the pocket of his breeches, which found, he hurried after us, as my father with the help of my arm made painful haste to the house.
"If the Prince be indeed come, Sir Michael," said Kidd, intercepting us at the side door of the house, "I keep my word to Master Philip, and rid myself of the plaguy thing at once." And he thrust into Sir Michael's hand a twisted and crumpled paper, and beat a rapid retreat, vanishing in the stable before my father had deciphered the last words of Philip's message.
When this was done we read it again together, and my father, after a few words of the great need there was like to be of Philip's presence among us during His Highness's visit to Drayton, despatched me in hot haste to see to the hoisting of the banner, which fluttering from the turret should bring back in the nick of time, if it pleased God, him that had, through little fault of his own, been the cause of all these troubles.
Meantime, in the hall, Ned's attack had been both skilful and bitter; so fiercely indeed did he push his opponent that M. de Rondiniacque has since taken, by his own account, no little credit to himself for the swordmanship that enabled him for a while, at least, to resist the onslaught, without, in his turn, attempting the injury of his adversary. At length, what with the fury of the attack and some carelessness on the Frenchman's part in shifting his ground, Ned had him so hemmed in and penned up in that corner of the hall that is opposite to the chief door of entrance that De Rondiniacque seemed wholly at his mercy. But, even in that passion of anger with which the despite of fortune had overwhelmed the habitual temper of his spirit, it was quite foreign to Ned's nature to take his enemy thus at an advantage. Almost in the act of delivering his point in a manner that for one in De Rondiniacque's constrained and circumscribed position would have been more than difficult to parry, he checked himself, and, retreating to the middle of the floor, cried to him to come out, for he would not willingly nail him like a stoat or weasel to the wall.
"Enough, Royston! 't is enough!" he cried, coming forward. "I did never know you bloodthirsty."
So saying, he raised his eyes and saw what Ned from his position could not see, that within the doorway stood a small and silent group, spectators of the duel. These were His Highness of Orange and some four or five others. Dismounting, they had found no sign of hospitality but the openness of the great door, and all hesitation to enter unannounced was banished by the sound of the sword-play in the hall. The Prince stepped at once into the lobby; he then stood a moment listening to the ring of meeting blades, and to the tearing, striding hiss of their parting.
"This is no fencing bout," said he, and entered the hall.
"Bloodthirsty, forsooth!" cried Ned, in answer to De Rondiniacque's essay at peacemaking. "Bloodthirsty! I have borne enough of late to make me so, in all conscience. Look to yourself, man, for I would kill you, were you William and all his troops." And with that he fell upon him again with much fury, so that the other was beginning of necessity a more aggressive defence, when the Prince stepped between them, striking up their swords with his riding-whip.
"Since when, Mr. Royston," he said, "do you carry a sword? And for whom?"
But Royston, balked of his prey, and feeling the whole world in league against him, was too full of anger to show either surprise or reverence. "Captain Royston," he said, with great and bitter emphasis on the military title, "has left his sword in miserly hands, Your Highness."
"How so?" demanded William, the frown growing deeper on his face.
"Hands that grasp what they do not need," replied Ned boldly. "ButMasterRoyston takes a sword where he finds it, uses it against whom he pleases, and wields it for himself."
"The fault, Monseigneur, of this broil is wholly mine," interposed M. de Rondiniacque.
"Lieutenant de Rondiniacque," replied the Prince, "I know your generous nature, and for once mistrust it. What is the occasion of the broil, as you name it?"
With some hesitation M. de Rondiniacque answered that it was a quarrel—about a woman.
His Highness laughed drily. "I fear, Lieutenant," he said, "that to protect a man that was once your friend, you play very nobly upon our knowledge of your weakness."
"Indeed, sire," said De Rondiniacque, "it is as I say. I did wrong a lady, mistaking her for another kind."
"And did 'William and all his army' likewise wrong this lady?" asked the Prince.
"Indeed, no, Your Highness," replied De Rondiniacque.
"Then I must believe, Lieutenant," the Prince continued, "that it is for no kiss to a pretty girl, but for holding my commission, that you were even now in danger of your life. We have it from his own lips that he had as lief kill me as you." Then, as the generous fellow would again have spoken in endeavor to put the matter in a better aspect, "No more, sir," said His Highness; "stand aside." He then proceeded to address Captain Royston.
"Sir," he said, "I spared your life of late. But I did warn you that if found again in our neighborhood, or raising hand against us, were it never so little, you were like to get such treatment as we give to spies." And, turning to the officers and gentlemen that had entered the hall in his company, he added: "How think you, gentlemen?"
To this question Mr. Bentinck contented himself with replying that His Highness had indeed promised as much, and that it was for him to judge whether his conditions had been infringed; Count Schomberg, who was still of the party, said, speaking in the French language, that an example would not come amiss at this juncture, for he believed these raw English levies were proving not a little turbulent and likely to give trouble. The rest, much, I think, to their honor, kept silence, having perhaps the greatest difficulty in believing the matters alleged against Captain Royston, that his confession of the night before came to them but at second-hand.
There is little doubt in my mind that the silence of these two younger gentlemen, taking sides, as it seemed to do, with the small doubt or hesitation that still lurked in the Prince's mind, added for the moment fuel to his anger. He bade the junior of them go to the escort, and send in a file of men; this gentleman, as he went, encountering Sir Michael in the doorway, after one glance in his face, stood back, giving way to him with a natural and involuntary respect. For M. de Rondiniacque has told me that my father entered the hall with that pure and noble dignity of bearing to which age, infirmity, and even lameness can but add distinction.
"Your Highness is welcome," he said, at once singling out and approaching his chief guest. "I regret my failure to welcome his arrival, and could wish I had better entertainment to give."
"I am wholly of your mind, Sir Michael Drayton," replied the Prince. "I like it so little that I take my leave of you." And with that he turned his back upon his host, addressing some words in a low voice to Mr. Bentinck.
The insult was plain, and, although he was in a measure prepared for trouble by the few words he had heard before he entered the hall, such an attack upon himself was wholly beyond Sir Michael's expectation. He was, however, a man to resent discourtesy most readily from the highest source.
"I will ask Your Highness," said he, in a voice very clear and steady, "how we have incurred his displeasure." Then the old man drew himself to his full height, and his voice recovered for a space some of the fuller and rounder tones of earlier days. "Ay, but it is," he said very solemnly, "a matter very weighty. Since Your Highness has so spoken, and within my walls, I may ask the reason of it."
The Prince turned upon him with a great suddenness. "Then know, sir," he answered, almost fiercely, "that I was yesterday received under pretence of loyalty and friendship into the house of an English gentleman that has served me beyond the seas. But the house, sir, was a trap, and I the rat for whom the bait was set." At this point it was that two troopers, preceded by the young officer, entered the hall. His Highness regarded them for a moment, and then continued to Sir Michael his explanation, which rapidly unfolded itself as a charge against more than Edward Royston. "Well, Sir Michael, I spared that man's life, moved to clemency, I believe, in chief by the persuasion of a young fellow that did bring me warning of my danger. For this treacherous host, I dismissed him my service, and, if proof that I then erred was lacking last night, it is not far to seek this morning. For I now find the man here, with my messenger to you at his sword's point, and threats against me and mine mingling with his sword-play. How shall I know this is not yet another hotbed of false friends? In truth, I do believe it such. Therefore, I say again, sir, I do not like my entertainment."
"Your Highness is much abused," said Sir Michael, mighty calmly.
"Indeed," replied the Prince, with a harsh and unkindly laugh, "I do believe I am."
"For this is a matter," continued my father, loftily passing over the twisting of his word, "of which I do know the rights."
"'T is like enough, sir," said the Prince. "But I do not look to hear them from you." Then, turning to the two troopers, he bade them arrest Captain Royston, saying to them and the officer that he should hold them responsible for the prisoner's person till Exeter was reached. Now, Ned had stood all this while with my father's sword still naked in his hand, the point resting upon the floor.
"Take his sword," said His Highness.
And poor Ned, by this caring little what he did, flung the borrowed weapon on the ground.
"The sword is mine!" said Sir Michael.
"I ask your pardon, Sir Michael," cried Ned, and stooped to raise it, saying, as he reverently presented the hilt to its owner: "I did use it for your daughter, sir."
For which Sir Michael thanked him very civilly, and then addressed the future King of England in words that I think he has not to this day forgot.
"William, Prince of Orange," he said, "this sword had been raised against King Charles the Martyr himself in defence of the friend beneath my roof. But now my hand can barely fetch it from the sheath. Yet is my tongue not rusted, and the old man's voice must be heard." And then, as a silence fell heavy upon the room, he added, "Ay, and heard it shall be."
The Prince turned his aquiline gaze upon him, but the man who had met and endured unflinching the eyes of the Lord Protector Cromwell was no whit abashed. I have heard old men say that thirty years ago my father's glance could be terrible as his sword; and even now there were moments when from the dimmed azure of that deep-set eye the mist of its many years was lifted, and the color grew cerulean round the keen and glowing spark that lit up, it seemed, not only the orb, but the whole countenance of the man, while it pierced the heart of the wicked, and not seldom affected even the innocent with a great fear. The Prince, like the brave man he ever was, met the old man's eye with courage.
"Be brief, sir," said he, "and I will hear you." And although it was at this moment that without we heard the clamorous arrival of a despatch-rider who shortly after entered, with bloody spurs and bespattered to the eyes with mud, and presented a sealed packet to Mr. Bentinck, yet, throughout the little commotion thus made, His Highness never once turned his attention from Sir Michael.
"I do here solemnly declare," said my father, "that Edward Royston hath done no treason to you."
"He has refused all account of his action," replied the Prince, very coldly.
"And so doing," retorted the old man, "he intended the sacrificing his own honor to mine."
"Said I not you were in league with him?" cried the Prince.
"Indeed, I am so," answered Sir Michael; "but in no treason."
"If the truth will clear his name," said His Highness, "the truth must be said."
"And shall be, if Your Highness grant us breathing time of one short half-hour." And here Ned's valiant advocate paused a little, waiting a reply that came not, for this concession of time he was determined to win, if it were by any means to be gained; having no mind to tell Philip's story without his son's knowledge of the telling, and his presence to bear witness, if need were, to the truth of the tale. And all this while, from the coming of the courier, Mr. Bentinck had perused the papers he had taken from the packet placed in his hands. He now raised his head, and eyed keenly the two speakers, as one that had not missed a word of their talk. "How saith the great Prince," my father continued, "that is come to set free a land enslaved? Thirty little minutes on the dial's face? It is surely no great boon to ask."
And Mr. Bentinck stepped up to the Prince, saying privately, but not so low as to be unheard of all: "Grant it. I have here news that do affect the matter."
And so it came about that the Prince, with a growth of courtesy forced upon him by Sir Michael's bearing, did promise in half an hour's time to hear his story in defence of the accused, asking very civilly his host's permission to walk with his suite in the garden that he spied from the windows until the time were past. So—the Prince and his following walking abroad; my father despatching Simon and others not only with refreshment for the gentlemen, but also great tankards of ale and other good things to the soldiers of the escort; Ned with his guard, moreover, being quartered for this momentous half-hour in my father's little chamber on the ground floor; and I, like Sister Anne in the tale of Bluebeard and his many wives, being posted on the roof of the turret, and, beneath a flag that would not at all, in the light breeze that there was, spread itself to my liking, watching with an old spy-glass to my eye for the horseman that should by his coming make us all happy again—there was left in the hall none but the luckless cause of this present phase of our troubles. M. de Rondiniacque at least thought himself alone; and since he is of a nature very generous and candid, who so unhappy as he?
M. de Rondiniacque had little reason to hope for anything better than a second rebuff if he pursued the Prince to plead Royston's cause in the garden. He therefore sat him down in the hall where they had left him, to ponder miserably enough the mischief he had done. But scarce, being wont at times to speak to himself aloud, had he cried: "Mort de ma vie!but if poor Royston suffer for this, I will forswear all and turn monk" (wholly forgetting, as he was at times not a little used, the grave cause of his expatriation), when there ran lightly out from the shelter formed by the hanging that was before the door that leads to the kitchens, who but little Prue?
Now, it was not far from this door that Mr. Bentinck had stood while he read the letters brought by the courier, and it was at this point that Prudence now paused, and stooping, raised from the floor a sheet of thin paper, twice folded, which it soon appeared she had from her cover observed that gentleman to let fall. Holding this behind her back, she addressed M. de Rondiniacque.
"'T is a mighty fine business, Master Foreigner," she said. "See how you have embroiled everything with this love of kissing! It is like enough you have by this means cost an honest man his life."
"'T is all true that you say," replied he; "yet I cannot tell how you should know it, if you have not wilfully listened since ever your mistress sent you from this place."
"I came between that door and its curtain," she replied, "in the same moment that Sir Michael did ask the Prince the reason of his churlishness. So it was not long before I heard good Mr. Royston tell how he did use the sword for Sir Michael's daughter. And I were a ninnyhammer indeed, if I could not from that tell the rest of the tale. Therefore, I say again, that 't is all your fault, ill man that you are!"
"It is mine, indeed," said De Rondiniacque sadly.
Then did Prudence pull a very long and solemn face.
"Do you repent of your sins?" she asked.
"Most heartily I do," he answered.
"And would you atone?" she continued.
"Most gladly—but how?" he asked.
"Will you leave kissing forever," she demanded with great severity, "if I do put you in the way to make amends?"
"Ay, that, and more!" he cried, in reckless penitence, "do but show me the way."
"Nay, softly," she answered. "'T will take three at least, and one of them a woman of a very pretty wit, even if I be not mistaken, to undo the mischief one witless man can work with this same foolish kissing."
"Have done with your gibes!" said De Rondiniacque angrily. "I would not kiss you again if you asked it." For which discourtesy Mistress Prue deferred her revenge, thinking, as she has told me, that it was but his sorrow and zeal of penitence made the gentleman speak so unmannerly.
"Hark then to me," she said. "As I stood there by the door, where I could hear all and see not a little, after that the Prince had said they would walk a turn in the garden, and while they were taking away poor Mr. Royston a prisoner, the sour-faced man in black drew the Prince aside so that they almost touched the curtain that hid me. And there for a little space they stood, talking soft and low. What is he—the surly one, I mean, that had the papers?"
"That is Mr. Bentinck," replied De Rondiniacque, with some impatience. "Well, what said they?"
"The Prince was minded that Sir Michael spoke truth, but the man in black that they must use all means to lay hands on the priest; he said, too, that in his letter was a paper with every mark of this priest's person, so as it might be his very portrait cunningly painted; and he said that he cared not a groat for Sir Michael, nor for poor Mr. Royston, so he might come at the priest. They are mightily in love with this priest, Mr. Mar-all, and I do think——"
"Did you hear his description?" interrupted De Rondiniacque. "Did Bentinck read it to the Prince?"
"They should do that in the air, said the Prince. And as they went I saw how this Mr.Benting, as you call him, did search among the papers in his hands as if he had lost one of them. And 't is little wonder," added she, "that he could not find it, for His Highness's great boot had it fast under heel the while they talked; and to that heel it stuck for three good strides of their passage to the other door. See the mark of his tread." And she showed him the paper she had found, with its impress of a muddy heel. "And I do think," said Prudence, "that it is, perhaps, by the grace of God, that same paper that tells of this priest's person."
"I see little good in it for us, even if it be so," said he; "but let me read." And, leaning over her as she unfolded the paper, he put an arm round her waist. But Prue twisted sinuously from his grasp.
"Nay, Mr. Mar-all," she cried, "I will read it myself. I can read a bold hand o' write near as well as print." And then, after peering closely for a while at the crabbed, slanting, and unfamiliar characters upon the paper, she said dolefully: "Alack-aday! 't is an outlandish thing, and will not be read. I vow 't is French lingo!"
M. de Rondiniacque snatched the paper from her hand.
"I will read it for you, my pretty one," he said.
"I am not that, thank Heaven!" says Prue, bridling, as he hastily scanned the writing.
"What! not pretty?" he asked, toying with her as it were by rote of habit, while eyes and mind were both upon his reading.
"That I hope I am," replied Prue, "but not yours. Your love is unlucky." Then, as she saw that she was like to get little sport while he still would read: "Can you read French, sir?" she asked.
"What else?" he answered. "Do I not speak it since I was weaned?"
"Ay, to speak it," said she; "that I can understand, being natural-like to a poor thing hearing no better from a child. But to read it—'t is wonderful indeed. Come, do it into English for me." Then, hearing a footstep without, she cried: "Have you mastered it? For I think he returns," and as M. de Rondiniacque looked up from reading the last words, she snatched from him the paper and hid it in her bosom.
The next moment Mr. William Bentinck entered the hall, walking slowly and casting his eyes from side to side in anxious search of the floor for the very thing she had hidden. When he perceived that he was not alone, he asked with some eagerness whether by chance Lieutenant de Rondiniacque had seen him drop a paper. That gentleman replying that he had seen no paper fall, and proceeding with great appearance of innocent good nature to peer about in the same search, Mr. Bentinck turned his regard upon Prudence, who was about leaving the room.
She seemed, however, on a sudden to change her purpose, for, turning again into the hall, she approached Mr. Bentinck, and, speaking with a very fine assumption of timidity: "If it please your honor," she said, "was it a very thin paper that you mislaid, and twice folded?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Bentinck very sharply. "Where is it?"
"La, now," cries Prue, "where did I lay it? I did think perhaps it was of import, and know I did put it in safety."
"Then find it," growled he so angrily that poor Prue appeared much frightened.
"Nay, sir," she pleaded very piteously, "do not so frown upon a poor maid."
She looked around a little, as in great puzzlement; then, feeling daintily beneath her stomacher, she produced the paper, crying triumphantly that she had said it was safe, and here it was. Mr. Bentinck was at once upon the paper like a hungry hawk, asking, so soon as it was safe in his hand, whether she had read what was there written. At which Prudence opened wide her blue eyes in an amazement vastly childlike.
"And how does your honor think I should read French?" she asked.
"And how know 't was French," retorted her inquisitor, with bitter keenness, "if you did not read?" But Prue was too strong for the great statesman.
"Mercy on us, sir," she cried, clasping her hands most prayerfully, "do not hang me! I' fecks I did try to read, and making nothing of it, did know it for French."
When Mr. Bentinck, for all reply, had tushed, pshawed, and growled a few words wholly inaudible, he turned sharply upon his heel and left them.
And when he was well away M. de Rondiniacque, forgetful alike of pious vow and petulant threat, seized Prudence in his arms and very heartily embraced her.
"By all my Huguenot ancestors!" he cried, kissing her vigorously to punctuate his oath, "but I do love thee, good wench." And 't is enough proof that she forgave him this breach of decorum that she said never a word of threat nor promise broken.
"Was it not purely done?" she said, pushing him away. "Now tell me what was writ in the paper. Pray Heaven you did read enough."
"All," replied M. de Rondiniacque. "But, though I put much faith in you, I know not yet what is your scheme, nor for what reason, if it be of use to us, you have returned to the Dutchman his lost paper."
"'T is as needful he should know what there is written as we, if it is as I guess," said Prue. "And that I cannot tell until you give me its purport."
"Somewhat in this way it ran, then," rejoined M. de Rondiniacque:
"'Father Francis, otherwise and at present known as "James Marston, of the City of Oxford," fat, short, red periwig, his own hair tonsured——'"
Prue's head had so far nodded to each particular, but at this she checked her pretty chin in mid-air. "Tonsured!" she cried; "and what is that?"
"Shaven so," he replied, describing with his finger a ring upon the top of his head. "There is much more in the paper, however."
"You have told me enough," said Prue, much elated. "Come with me, and I will show you the man."
"But this is not the man that escaped our hands last night," said M. de Rondiniacque, thoughtfully.
"What matter, Mr. Mar-plot? Can you not see it is the man they would have? Come." And she seized him by the hand and ran for the door, almost dragging him after her. But at that turn of the gallery that leads to the stable-yard she paused a moment. "But in truth," she said, "it does hurt me to betray the poor man."
"Betray!" cried M. de Rondiniacque.
"To be sure," answered Prue; "it will be nothing else. Since last evening have I hid him in the barn loft. He told me he was a poor soldier of His Highness that was to be hanged for stealing an old hen. Now 't is a wicked thing indeed to steal a hen, but since the hen was, he says, very tough and bad eating, I think it a worse thing to hang the poor man for it. Moreover, I did once save my grandfather when Kirke's men would have hanged him, and the mere name of a rope would make me pity a very Judas."
"But what made you think him a soldier, and yet know him for a priest?" asked M. de Rondiniacque, not a little puzzled.
"He has a sword and other vile things for killing," replied the tender-hearted little fool, "and also a great cloak like those of the Prince's guard."
"I begin to smoke the man," said the Lieutenant, remembering the escape, after the affair in the orchard at Royston, of one of the conspirators.
"But this morning, when I privily took him food," continued Prudence, "the thing of steel, which is for all the world like those of your men, was no longer upon his head. For he lay sleeping, and before I had him awake I had well marked the little round spot atop of his head, which had not long since certainly been shaven, having now but a very short and stubby growth of hair upon it. And he made me think, too, of a bad man that Farmer Kidd did tell me of. So I thought he was perhaps the priest your Mr.Bentinghunts."
"'T is very like," said M. de Rondiniacque. "So lead me where he is, child. In any case, he is a bad man."
"You would not have me betray a man for no reason but his badness," said the girl piteously.
"I would have you spend your pity first upon the good and innocent," replied M. de Rondiniacque, with some sternness; and then added: "Moreover, the man is a Papist."
"A Papist! Ah! I do forget," cried Prue. "He must even make way for better men." And with that she led him at once the same road that the ale and beef had taken. From which it is clear that M. de Rondiniacque's dealings with her kind had at least taught him the dexterous art of matching a bad reason with a worse upon the other side.
Such, then, was my little handmaid's great secret, which nothing, perhaps, but her pique at her mistress's reticence could have induced her so long to maintain.
Meantime, upon the turret roof I was enduring very tediously the flight of these anxious minutes. The spot we used to call the Crow's Nest is marked plain to the unaided eye by a gap in the woods that cover the low ridge of hills along which runs the road Exeter way from Holroyd Grange. This break in the line of trees did I watch, it may be, for no more than ten minutes; but if it be remembered that I knew not yet what was the end of the struggle in the hall, that a thousand accidents suggested by the active mind to the unwilling heart might delay or prevent Philip's keeping of his promise, and that even if his coming availed to restore Ned to the favor of His Highness, my brother must himself run great risk at his enemies' hands, it will be found little surprising that those minutes were to me tense, full, and slow-footed as so many hours.
At length in the gap appeared something—a horse was it, or a cow? Certainly there was no man upon its back. But it stopped in the open space. For at least the fiftieth time I raised to my eye the old spy-glass Ned had given so many years ago to his little friend, and with its aid I could now see that it was indeed a horse, with a man that led it by the bridle, and seemed, I thought, to be gazing toward me. I laid down the glass, and in a passionate desire by some means to signify to him the need there was that he should with haste cover the three miles that lay between us of broken country, I seized the cords that held the flag aloft, and, loosing that which passes through the little pulley atop from the pin to which it was fast, I pulled first on the one and then on the other cord in such wise that I made the banner run down and up the mast again and again like a flag gone mad.
And then once more through the glass I saw the man leap upon the back of his horse, wave his hat to my signal, and disappear behind the trees the way he had come.
And I knew then that he would not be long; for he had gone the way to take the shortest track to Drayton, and Philip, though he had no love of horses, could, like all his family, ride when he pleased both fearlessly and well. I left the flag flying, and descended the winding stair with heart much lightened, to meet at its foot my father.
"He is coming, sir," I cried. "Philip is coming! I have seen him."
And then I learned from him all that had happened below; and, hearing that Ned was arrested for his attack on M. de Rondiniacque, was for going forthwith to find him and to give him what comfort I was able. This, however, my father would not permit, but led me to his own chamber, where from the window we watched for Philip's coming. And although he made his return with a quickness truly wonderful, when the nature not only of the country he traversed, but also of the horse that carried him, come to be considered, so that we saw him close at hand before the Prince's half-hour was expired, yet the time seemed long indeed that he was coming, and the space left for conference when he was come appeared all too short. Having seen us waving signals to him as he forced his jaded nag up the grassy hill behind the house, he came at once to my father's chamber, where a few words told him how the matter stood. But when it was now time to descend and meet His Highness in the hall, the half-hour being expired, Sir Michael would by no means consent that his son should accompany him, having perhaps but little hope that his surrender might be avoided, yet keeping it, as it were, a last piece to move in the game. But it was good to stand by and hear these two men, so diverse in purpose, in honor so alike, and to feel in my heart so sweet a glow of pride in my own people. For I, with most at stake, could say no word to urge Philip's sacrificing himself. But they were agreed that no claim nor duty must be counted so great as that of shielding, and even, if it might be done, of restoring the man who had held his own honor second to theirs.
And so Sir Michael went to meet the enemy, telling me, as together we descended the stair, that I was his second line of support, and that Philip, waiting above, was his reserve, in case the struggle should begin to go against him.
In the hall we found awaiting us the Prince and Mr. Bentinck. In His Highness's countenance I thought were signs of a humor more kindly than my father would have had me to expect; for his aspect recalled rather the man that gave me his sword than him that took from me the broken blade. I had but one glance at him, however, for as Sir Michael passed on to address the Prince, there came over me a very hot and comfortless sense of shame, along with a wish—vastly unreasonable—that they should not recognize my features. So I turned aside from my father, and rested my arm upon the mantel, while I gazed blankly upon the glowing logs that filled the hearth. And behind me I heard my father tell, in phrases now judicial, now eloquent, and at times even impassioned, the tale of those accidents and troubles which had brought, as he said, his old friend, young Royston, into this bog of His Highness's disfavor.
But before it was all told a hand touched me upon the shoulder, and a dry and guttural voice with the one word—"Mistress," made me turn and confront Mr. Bentinck. His keen eyes seemed to search my countenance for the answer to some doubt or question in his mind. "Pray tell me," he said at length, "where is the latter part of His Highness's sword?"
"It is here, Mr. Bentinck," I answered, laying my hand where I had concealed that pointed fragment of steel; "here; near the heart it shall surely pierce if Edward Royston come to harm amongst you."
"I did think," he said, "that you were that boy that braved us all. And I believe, moreover, that you had great part in the escape of the priest."
"I had indeed the greatest part of all," I answered, being now resolved to cast myself upon his mercy; "for without my share the man had been still fast in your hands. But oh, Mr. Bentinck," I continued, "why are you his enemy?"
"Enemy! Whose enemy?" cried Mr. Bentinck. "Is it Captain Royston's you mean?"
"Ay, his," I answered. "Oh! he told me that you loved him not, but withal has no ill word for you, declaring you always the most honest of His Highness's servants."
Mr. Bentinck here seemed to muse a little. And then—"I thank him," he said. "If he be the same, I were sorry to be his enemy."
"He is honest as the daylight!" I cried. "He has but wronged the seeming of his honor for another—and that other without fault but in appearance—as my father now makes plain to His Highness."
"Indeed, Mistress Drayton," he replied, speaking with a gentleness well-nigh tender, "I do hope he may." And with that he turned from me as if to rejoin His Highness. But I summoned all my daring to make a plea yet more fully feminine, being much emboldened thereto by the softness of his last words.
"Mr. Bentinck, Mr. Bentinck," I whispered eagerly, and he turned again. "Captain Royston and I were to be wed, if—if—" said I, and could say no more.
"Ah," said he, "if what?"
"If you—if His Highness destroy us not utterly," I replied. "Grant us your aid, Mr. Bentinck." And into these words I put, I do suppose, much prayerfulness of face, voice, and gesture. For he looked a moment very kindly on the clasped hands and streaming eyes that begged his help.
"Do not weep, mistress," he said. "You shall have all I may give," and so turned his back upon me.
And here the Prince came a little toward me. "It is truly a tale of romance, Sir Michael," he said. "Here was I vainly seeking the serpent, and, lo! there is none but Eve." And then to me: "Come hither, Mistress Eve," he said. So I went over to him, and made before him a courtesy very deep and humble. "I do like you better thus, child," he went on, "than booted and spurred. Is this a true history that I hear?"
"So please Your Highness," I answered, "'t is true as the Gospel."
"How so?" he asked, smiling. "You have not heard it."
"But it was my father," said I, "that told it."
At which reply the Prince appeared much pleased, for, addressing himself to Mr. Bentinck: "'T is indeed a pious family," he remarked, "and such mutual faith can hardly go with treason. And, on my conscience, William," he went on, "the tale has an appearance." Then, to my father: "If all this be true, Sir Michael, you are much abused."
"How that, Your Highness?" asked the old man.
"By a son," said the Prince, "departing from the faith of his fathers."
"It is between him and his Maker," replied Sir Michael, with a touch of pride.
"And by me," continued His Highness, "departing from the courtesy incumbent upon princes. Does that stand in the same awful arbitrament, Sir Michael?"
"If Your Highness do me right," said my father, "'t is between us two, and shall go no further."
"That is kindly said, sir," answered the Prince. "So, if this be all true—as it must be, if you have not all the art of deceiving the most naturally in the world—I must needs fling pardon broadcast, eh?"
"I do not see what other course is open to Your Highness," said my father.
But here the Prince's face grew vastly stern: "Except to this priest," he said, "who, if he has not aimed at my life, is at least my enemy, however honorable."
"My son?" asked Sir Michael; and my heart was sore to see the pallor of his cheek.
"Ay, sir, your son—I must have your son. Captain Royston's deed may become the man of heart, however ill it fits the office of the soldier. But your son is my open enemy. Must I lose both culprits?"
And so a shadow fell again upon us all, and with it a solemn silence, which endured, I believe, all the time that I was absent from the hall. Certain it is that when I returned in my brother's company not one of the three looked as if he had spoken.
When Philip stood before him, the Prince for a while eyed him with great keenness, which rejoiced me to see; for surely no man had ever words so eloquent to speak in his own defence as was my brother's pure and noble countenance.
"Do you come of your own will to see me?" His Highness at length enquired.
"I do," said my brother.
"And wherefore?" demanded the Prince.
"To take what blame I may from my friends," Philip answered.
"I have heard your story, sir," said the Prince. "If you would escape the fate that comes of ill company, describe to me now him that constrained you in this matter."
"I may not," replied Philip.
"Tell me, then," said His Highness, "what power he held over you."
"I must not," said Philip.
This reply seemed not a little to vex the Prince. "Must not!" he cried.
"Nay, then," said the priest gently, "an Your Highness like it better, I will not."
"'May not, must not, will not,'" said William, bitterly quoting his words; "by the rule of war, Sir Priest, I may hang you to that tree. Deny me not, for may can wax greater in other mouths."
"Hanging," says Philip very coolly, "is little likely to rob me of the power to hold my tongue."
Now during this strife, while I both trembled and admired, I had yet eyes to remark that Mr. Bentinck's gaze did wander to and fro between a paper he held in his hand and the countenance of this stanch brother of mine. At the time I knew not what it meant, but have since reason to believe it that same description of a priest that had been trodden by the heel of a prince, hid in a maiden's bosom, and feloniously perused by a gentleman of France. Finding in it little likeness to the man before him, he proceeded to the execution of a small but vastly cunningruse, to discover if the man whose description he held in his hand were indeed the plotter of the late murderous attack upon His Highness.
"Your Highness," said he sourly, "this subtile fellow does well know that this Francis,"—and here Mr. Bentinck glanced with some ostentation at the paper that was in his hand,—"or 'Marston,' as he is here named, with his round body and red periwig, is already in our hands. This aping of constancy is but a means to keep from himself the blame of a complicity that the other confesses."
"Nay, faith!" cried Philip, with an eagerness wholly innocent, "I knew not that he was taken."
At this His Highness laughed loud and right merrily. "Cunning William!" he said, as he patted Mr. Bentinck upon the shoulder, "your politic tricks are better than my threatenings." He then addressed Philip in a voice much softened: "Mr. Drayton," he said, "I ask your pardon for my rough soldier ways. We have taken no such person, but you have most innocently told us what we much desired to know. Wherefore did you scorn our hospitality last evening? Was that also of compulsion?"
"Nay," says Philip, "but to keep my father's name clear of a most foul reproach. From the bottom of my heart I am Your Highness's enemy. I never cease to pray that all your purpose may miscarry. But you will not hang a Drayton and a cutthroat in one noose."
"I vow," cried the Prince, "you are all of one mould, you Draytons."
He seemed here to muse a while, and then begged Mr. Bentinck to give order that Mr. Royston be brought before him. And my heart very miserably sank in my bosom, for I remembered how, but a little while back, he had, in speaking of poor Ned, used the military title, saying "Captain," as if restoration to rank and honor were already in sight.
Mr. Bentinck soon returned, and not long after him came Ned with his guard, which, in obedience to a sign from the Prince, halted at the door, where they stood impassive with drawn swords.
"Come hither, sir," said His Highness; and Ned approaching, I saw that, although the passion was burnt out of him, and his face was worn and haggard, he still met with an eye unsubdued the glance of the man on whom his fate depended.
"Mr. Royston," said the Prince, "I have heard all this midnight mystery. 'T is a brave tale, which, in my thinking, clears all therein involved of wicked design. But no tale, be it never so true, clears you, Mr. Royston, from the great fault of aiding my enemy there to escape. You know what in war-time is the law of military discipline. Have you anything to say, Mr. Royston, before this matter be ended?"
And Ned looked him straight in the eyes, and answered him with a very gentle fearlessness.
"I have little to say, Your Highness," he said; "and nothing of contention. One thing only I ask, if Your Highness mean to push the matter to extremity. Since I have never shown fear, I would die, if it please you, rather by bullet than the—the cord. Then, sire," he went on,—and this was the sole occasion upon which I did hear Captain Royston use to the Prince before his coronation the regal form of address,—"then, sire, shall I take with me no grudging to you."
Here following a little silence, I had much ado, for all my growing belief that the Prince did mean well by us all, to keep back the sobs that rose in my throat and caught at my breathing. And then came my lover's voice again. "I have failed in my duty. I had just drawn on the seeming lad that was the companion of my watch, because he would not let me follow the priest. He crossed swords with me, and I struck him in the neck,"—and here, I thought, His Highness's eyes lighted curiously upon me, and I grew warm with blushing as I thought of the black patch of plaister upon my bosom,—"and then I learned that it was no blood of man that I had drawn, but the drops fell from the soft flesh of a woman. And more I found that fatal night—that the woman was she that I did love well when she was but a little maid no higher than my sword-hilt,"—and here the man's hand went to his side, but found nothing,—"the sword, God's truth! that I must not wear! And then I learned why she would have the popish fellow escape. He was her brother, and she loved him, even as both did love the great old name. And I? I loved the maid, even the more that I had hurt her. And the man swore—not by his order, nor by his heretic bishop of Rome, but on his honorable lineage as a gentleman of England, to do you nor yours further hurt of any kind till his foot was set once more in France. It was hard to see so pretty a maid weep; harder, when the tears fell from eyes that had already forgiven the wound. Moreover, Your Highness, I did put faith in the man. Papist that he was, yet did he bear himself so as none could doubt his worth. I do but ask that, before I bear my punishment, the master I have ever served in a love hedged about with reverence and awe will put faith in my word that I had no will to wrong him, or to fail, as it seems fail I did, in the service that was due."
"For that I do believe you, sir," said the Prince; "yet can it not undo what is done."
While Ned was speaking, His Highness had seemed to my jealously watching eye not unmoved. He now laid his hand on Mr. Bentinck's arm, and drew that gentleman apart into the window which is nearest the door where Prue had played the eavesdropper. I had no intent to do the like, and it was more His Highness's fault than mine if he did not perceive that I stood so much nearer than the rest of the company that some words of his discourse with Mr. Bentinck were plainly audible to me. And, while their voices rose and fell in that murmured conference, the curtain that hangs before that little door was brushed aside, and M. de Rondiniacque, with his hat in his hand and a smile upon his lips at once merry, mocking, and triumphant, stood beside me.
"This is no plot, William," said the Prince,—"but a matter of one family." And there followed much that escaped my ear, until His Highness's voice rose with the words, "How think you, William? If we had this Francis—" and then dropped into the former murmuring.
"Had we the fat one," says Mr. Bentinck; "for this priest"—and at the word he twisted his head a little toward Philip, who stood by the hearth with Ned and my father—"this priest is too spare to make a meal of."
"Ay," said the Prince, "if we could but find this 'Marston,' and if it were made plain he had no ties here with these good people, we might well treat these late adventures with the largeness that safety can use."
And then much more from Mr. Bentinck that I did not hear, until he said that the good-will of such men as these was of much value, and ended with some words of Captain Royston's difficult dilemma of the past night.
"Look on her but once, Your Highness," said he, "and weigh the temptation." So I knew he had kept faith with me.
But it was not to my ears alone that these last words were audible; for no sooner were they uttered than M. de Rondiniacque stepped forward some paces and, speaking in tones of much levity: "'T is very true, Your Highness," said he, "as Mr. Bentinck has observed: the women of these parts are the very devil for the seducing a man from his duty."
The Prince turned upon him very sharply. "Peace, Lieutenant!" he said harshly; "such levity becomes neither my presence nor the occasion." He then turned his back upon the interrupter, and continued, addressing Mr. Bentinck: "But then—this Francis—we have not taken him. What then?"
Again the dauntless and merry Frenchman interrupted; he well knew, I think, that the import of what he was to say would cover a measure of insolence, and could not resist the inclination to practise his raillery a little upon the ponderous gravity of Mr. Bentinck's statecraft. "Nay, but, Your Highness," he said gaily, "we have taken him. Had not Your Highness so sharply snubbed my ardor for his service, I was even now to remark that these fair ones do also at times render notable aid to his cause. Of late one did save Your Highness's life, and now a rustic Eve has put in my hands a morsel of Adam's flesh much coveted, if I mistake not, of Mr. William Bentinck here."
"What is he?" cried Bentinck.
"Very fat, an it please you, Mr. Bentinck," says De Rondiniacque, laughing. Then, pushing aside the curtain, he opened the door and beckoned with his hand. His signal was answered by the entrance of a company vastly comical to behold. For little Prue's prisoner was very roughly thrust into the hall by Christopher Kidd, whose tall and burly person towered above and behind the little, fat, evil-visaged priest, the yeoman grasping in one of his huge hands both wrists of his captive. They were followed by Prudence, beaming with smiles at the thought of the importance brought upon her by her act of compassion. And there came upon the bearing of Mr. Bentinck, at sight of the prisoner, a wonderful change. For his face flushed and his eye gleamed; he forgot the impertinences of M. de Rondiniacque, he passed over the lack of ceremony evinced by this sudden intrusion, and pounced, as it were, at once upon his prey.
From his own lips I have since heard the cause of Mr. Bentinck's emotion. He had for many months endeavored to instil into his prince and master what he held to be a fitting and wholesome dread of the secret assassin. He had indeed in those days and during many years to come good reason enough for his own fears, yet none could he contrive to arouse in that most fearless of men that is now our most gracious sovereign; who, after some abortive attempt upon his person, or upon the news of some fresh and subtile plot discovered and prevented, would jest lightly of the matter, or turn aside from it with a few sharp words.
"As for assassins, William," he would say, "I hold it wholly beneath me to speak of them, and much more to give them serious thought."
Now, in this case, not only did Mr. Bentinck hope by means of this fat rascal to come at the source and instigation of the attempted crime, but also, through discoveries the captive should be compelled to make, to arouse in His Highness's mind a more sensible conviction of the dangers to which his careless magnanimity so frequently exposed his person. Successful, however, as Mr. Bentinck ultimately was in proving to his own satisfaction the guilt of greater persons than the shaking wretch before him, I have never heard that His Highness was prevailed upon by this or any other means to give one serious thought to perils of this nature.
"Bring him here," cried Mr. Bentinck very sharply to Kidd, who pushed his helpless prisoner forward until the light from the window fell upon his ill-favored countenance. "H'm—-h'm—h'm!" grunted Mr. Bentinck, as his eyes rose and fell between his paper of description and the face of the fellow that trembled and sweated before him. "H'm! But the red periwig is wanting."
Whereupon Prue whips out that tangled wig from beneath her apron, vowing she had found it in the straw where the fellow had slept.
"'T is enough," says Mr. Bentinck: then in a voice very terrible and sudden he cried to the culprit: "Your name is Francis."
"'T is not," stammered the poor wretch, "nor no such name." And his gaze went round the room very despairfully till it lighted upon Philip. "For the love of God, Mr. Philip Drayton," he cried, "tell them how I am called."
Philip regarded him with a disgust that he tried in vain to conceal.
"I have met you once," he said, "as James Marston, of Oxford."
"Did I not tell you?" said Francis, his face lighting with hope.
And Mr. Bentinck laughed. "Truly you did," he replied, "and more than you purposed telling. These trappings," he continued, turning to the Prince, "are the same that were stolen from Your Highness's guard in the affair of the orchard. I think we have proof enough."
His Highness approached at once the window and the prisoner.
"Would Your Holiness hang from that elm?" he asked, pointing to the great tree that stands over against the stable. "If not, a true account of all these matters will save the tree so foul a fruit. I hear it is thought you abuse your masters as much as ourselves, forging written powers beyond their intent. You shall have some hours to make choice between confession and the rope." And he bade the guard that stood at the great door to take him away. "And look to it," said His Highness to the young officer, as he was about following after his men and their prisoner, "that no woman come near him." He then laughed a little at his jest, which by the direction of his glance I took to be aimed at myself, and, turning to M. de Rondiniacque, asked how he came to lay hands upon the fellow.
"I owe him to Mistress Prudence here, Your Highness," replied the Frenchman. Whereupon the Prince would have Prudence to tell him of the matter.