.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 39787
   :PG.Title: His Majesty's Well-Beloved
   :PG.Released: 2012-05-24
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Baroness Orczy
   :DC.Title: His Majesty's Well-Beloved
              An Episode in the Life of Mr. Thomas Betteron as told by His Friend John Honeywood
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1919
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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HIS MAJESTY'S WELL-BELOVED
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      Cover

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   HIS MAJESTY'S WELL-BELOVED

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   AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF MR.
   THOMAS BETTERTON AS TOLD BY
   HIS FRIEND JOHN HONEYWOOD

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   BY

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   BARONESS ORCZY

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   AUTHOR OF "THE LEAGUE OF THE SCARLET
   PIMPERNEL," "FLOWER O' THE LILY,"
   "LORD TONY'S WIFE," ETC.

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   NEW YORK

   GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

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   *Copyright, 1919,*

   *By George H. Doran Company*

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   *Printed in the United States of America*

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAPTER

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   I.  `How it all Began`_
   II.  `The Rift Within the Lute`_
   III.  `A Criminal Folly`_
   IV.  `More than a Passing Fancy`_
   V.  `The Outrage`_
   VI.  `The Gathering Storm`_
   VII.  `An Assembly of Traitors`_
   VIII.  `The Lion's Wrath`_
   IX.  `A Last Chance`_
   X. `The Hour`_
   XI. `Rumours and Conjectures`_
   XII.  `Poisoned Arrows`_
   XIII.  `The Lady Pleads`_
   XIV.  `The Ruling Passion`_
   XV.  `More Deaf than Adders`_
   XVI.  `The Game of Love`_

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.. _`how it all began`:

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   HIS MAJESTY'S WELL-BELOVED

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   CHAPTER I

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   How it all Began

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   1

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*From Mr. John Honeywood, clerk to Mr. Theophilus
Baggs, attorney-at-law, to Mistress
Mary Saunderson, of the Duke's Theatre in
Lincoln's Inn Fields.*

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1662.  October the 10th at 85, Chancery Lane in
the City of London.  Honoured Mistress,—

May it please you that I, an humble Clerk and
Scrivener, do venture to address so talented a Lady;
but there is that upon my Conscience which compels
me to write these lines.  The Goodness and Charity
of Mistress Saunderson are well known, and 'tis not
as a Suppliant that I crave pardon for my
Presumption, but rather as one whose fidelity and
loyalty have oft been tried and never been found
wanting.  'Tis said, most gracious Mistress, that your
fancy hath been touched by the tenderness and
devotion of a Man who is as dear to me as if he
were mine own Brother, but that You hesitate to
bestow upon him that for which he craves more than
for anything in the world, your Hand and Heart.
And this because of many Rumours which have
sullied his fair Name.  Mr. Betterton, Madam, hath
many enemies.  How could this be otherwise seeing
that so vast a measure of Success hath attended his
career, and that the King's most gracious Majesty
doth honour him with Friendship and Regard to the
exclusion of others who are envious of so great a
fame?  Those Enemies now, Madam, seeing that
your Heart hath been touched with the man's grace
and bearing, rather than with his undying Renown,
have set themselves the task of blackening
Mr. Betterton's character before your eyes, thus causing
you mayhap grievous Sorrow and Disappointment.
But this I do swear by all that I hold most sacred,
that Mr. Betterton hath never committed a mean
Act in his life nor done aught to forfeit your
Regard.  Caustic of wit he is, but neither a
Braggart nor a Bully; he hath been credited with many
good Fortunes, but so hath every Gentleman in the
Kingdom, and there is no discredit attached to a
man for subjugating the Hearts of those that are
both frail and fair.  My Lady Castlemaine hath
bestowed many favours on Mr. Betterton, so hath
the Countess of Shrewsbury, and there are others,
at least the Gossips do aver it.  But on my Soul and
Honour, he hath never ceased to love You, until the
day when a certain great Lady came across his path
for his misfortune and his undying Regret.  And
even so, Madam, though appearances are against
him, I own, let me assure You that the swerving of
his Allegiance to You was not only transitory but
it was never one of the Heart—it was a mere
aberration of the senses.  He may never forget the
Lady—he certainly will never forget her Cruelty—but he
no longer loves Her, never did love Her as he loves
You, with his Heart and Mind, with Tenderness and
Devotion.  The other was only a Dream—a fitful
fancy: his Love for You is as immortal as his
Fame.  Therefore, gracious Mistress, I, the humble
Friend of so great a Man, have ventured to set forth
for your perusal that which he himself would be
too proud to put before you—namely, his Justification.
As for the rest, what I am about to relate
is the true Historie of Mr. Betterton's Romance, the
only one which might give you cause for sorrow,
yet none for uneasiness, because that Romance is
now a thing of the past, like unto a Flower that is
faded and without fragrance, even though it still lies
pressed between the pages of a great man's Book
of Life.  Everything else is mere Episode.  But this
which I have here set down will show you how much
nobility of heart and grandeur of Character lies
hidden beneath the flippant and at times grim
exterior of the Man whom you have honoured with
your regard.

The writing of the Historie hath caused me much
anxiety and deep thought.  I desired to present the
Truth before you, and not the highly-coloured
effusions of a Partisan.  I have slurred over nothing,
concealed nothing.  An you, gracious Mistress,
have the patience to read unto the End, I am
confident that any Hesitation as to your Future which
may still linger in your Heart will vanish with the
more intimate Knowledge of the true Facts of the
case, as well as of the Man whose faults are of his
own Time and of his Entourage, but whose Merits
are for the whole World to know and to cherish, for
as many Cycles of years as there will be Englishmen
to speak the Words of English Poets.

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   2

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Dare I take you back, honoured Mistress, to those
humble days, five years ago, when first I entered the
Household of your worthy Uncle, Mr. Theophilus
Baggs, and of his still more worthy Spouse, Mistress
Euphrosine, where for a small—very small—stipend,
and free board and lodging, I copied legal
documents, Leases, Wills and Indentures for my
Employer?

You, fair Lady, were then the only ray of
Sunshine which illumined the darkness of my dreary
Life.  Yours was a Gaiety which nothing could
damp, a Courage and Vitality which not even the
nagging disposition of Mistress Euphrosine
succeeded in crushing.  And when, smarting under her
many Chidings, my stomach craving for a small
Measure of satisfaction, my Bones aching from the
hardness of my bed, I saw your slim Figure flitting,
elf-like, from kitchen to living-room, your full
young Throat bursting with song like that of a Bird
at the first scent of Spring, I would find my lot less
hard, the bread less sour, even Mistress Euphrosine's
tongue less acrimonious.  My poor, atrophied Heart
felt the warmth of your Smile.

Then sometimes, when my Work was done and
my Employers occupied with their own affairs, You
used to allow me to be of service to you, to help
you wash the dishes which your dainty Hands
should never have been allowed to touch.

Oh! how I writhed when I heard Mistress
Euphrosine ordering You about as if You were a
kitchen-wench, rather than her husband's Niece,
who was honouring his House with your presence!
You, so exquisite, so perfect, so cultured, to be the
Handmaid of a pair of sour, ill-conditioned
Reprobates who were not worthy to tie the lacets of your
dainty shoes.  With what Joy I performed the
menial tasks which never should have been allotted
to You, I never until now have dared to tell.  I did
not think that any Man could find dish-washing and
floor-scrubbing quite so enchanting.  But then no
other Man hath ever to my knowledge performed
such tasks under such happy circumstances; with
You standing before me, smiling and laughing at
my clumsiness, your shapely arms akimbo, your
Voice now rippling into Song, now chaffing me
with Words full of kindness and good-humour.

I have known many happy Hours since that Day,
Mistress, and many Hours full of Sorrow, but none
so full of pulsating Life as those which outwardly
had seemed so miserable.

And then that wonderful afternoon when
Mr. Theophilus Baggs and his Spouse being safely out
of the way, we stole out together and spent a few
hours at the Play!  Do you remember the day on
which we ventured on the Escapade?  Mr. Baggs
and Mistress Euphrosine had gone to Hampton
Court: he to see a noble Client and she to
accompany him.  The day being fine and the Client being
a Lady possessed of well-known charms, Mistress
Euphrosine would not have trusted her Lord alone
in the company of such a forward Minx—at least,
those were her Words, which she uttered in my
hearing two Days before the memorable Expedition.

Memorable, indeed, it was to me!

Mr. Baggs left a sheaf of Documents for me to
copy, which would—he thought—keep me occupied
during the whole course of a long Day.  You too,
fair Mistress, were to be kept busy during the
worthy couple's absence, by scrubbing and polishing
and sewing—Mistress Euphrosine holding all
idleness in abhorrence.

I marvel if you remember it all!

I do, as if it had occurred yesterday!  We sat
up half the Night previous to our Taskmasters'
departure; you polishing and sewing, and I copying
away for very life.  You remember?  Our joint
Savings for the past six Months we had counted up
together.  They amounted to three shillings.  One
shilling we spent in oil for our lamps, so that we
might complete our Tasks during the Night.  This
left us free for the great and glorious Purpose
which we had in our Minds and which we had
planned and brooded over for Days and Weeks.

We meant to go to the Play!

It seems strange now, in view of your Renown,
fair Mistress, and of mine own intimacy with
Mr. Betterton, that You and I had both reached
an age of Man and Womanhood without ever
having been to the Play.  Yet You belonged from
childhood to the household of Mistress Euphrosine
Baggs, who is own sister to Mr. Betterton.  But
that worthy Woman abhorred the Stage and all that
pertained to it, and she blushed—aye, blushed!—at
thought of the marvellous Fame attained by her
illustrious Brother.

Do you remember confiding to me, less than a
month after I first entered the household of
Mr. Baggs, that You were pining to go to the Play?
You had seen Mr. Betterton once or twice when he
came to visit his Sister—which he did not do very
often—but you had never actually been made
acquainted with him, nor had you ever seen him act.
And You told me how handsome he was, and how
distinguished; and your dark Eyes would flash with
enthusiasm at thought of the Actor's Art and of
the Actor's Power.

I had never seen him at all in those Days, but
I loved to hear about him.  Strange what a
fascination the Stage exercised over so insignificant
and so mean a creature as I!

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   3

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Will you ever forget the dawn of that glorious
Day, fair Mistress?

Mr. Baggs and his Spouse went off quite early,
to catch the chaise at La Belle Sauvage which would
take them to Hampton Court.  But however early
they went, we thought them mighty slow in making
a start.  An hundred Recommendations, Orderings,
Scoldings, had to be gone through ere the respectable
Couple, carrying provisions for the day in a
Bandana Handkerchief, finally got on the way.

It was a perfect Morning early in March, with
the first scent and feel of Spring in the air.  Not
a Cloud in the Sky.  By Midday our tasks were
entirely accomplished and we were free!  Free as
the Birds in the air, free as two 'prentices out for
a holiday!  But little did we eat, I remember.  We
were too excited for hunger; nor had Mistress
Euphrosine left much in the larder for us.  What
did we care?  Our Enthusiasm, our Eagerness, were
Cook and Scullion for us, that day!

We were going to the Play!

Oh! how we tripped to Cockpit Lane, asking our
way from passers-by, for we knew so little of
London—fashionable London, that is; the London
of Gaiety and Laughter, of careless Thoughts and
wayward Moods.  Holding hands, we hurried
through the Streets.  You wore a dark Cape with
a Hood to hide your pretty Face and your soft
brown Hair, lest some Acquaintance of your Uncle's
should chance to see You and betray our guilty
secret.

Do you remember how we met Mr. Rhodes, the
bookseller, and friend of Mr. Baggs?—he to whom
young Mr. Betterton was even then apprenticed.
At the corner of Princes Street we came nose to
nose with him, and but for great presence of mind
on my part when, without an instant's hesitation, I
ran straight at him and butted him in the Stomach
so that he lost his Balance for the moment and only
recovered complete Consciousness after we had
disappeared round the corner of the Street, he no
doubt would have recognised us and betrayed our
naughty Secret.

Oh, what a fright we had!  I can see You now,
leaning, breathless and panting, against the street
corner, your Hand pressed to your Bosom, your
Eyes shining like Stars!

As for the rest, it is all confusion in my mind.
The Crowd, the Bustle, the Noise, this great
Assembly, the like of which I had never seen before.
I do not know how we came to our seats.  All I
know is that we were there, looking down upon the
moving throng.  I remember that some Worthy of
obvious note was sitting next to me, and was
perpetually treading upon my toes.  But this I did not
mind, for he was good enough to point out to me
the various Notabilities amongst the Audience or
upon the Stage; and I was greatly marvelled and
awed by the wonderful familiarity with which he
spoke of all these distinguished People.

"There sits General Monk.  Brave old George!
By gad! 'twere interesting to know what goes on
inside that square Head of his!  King or Protector,
which is it to be?  Or Protector *and* King!
George knows; and you mark my words, young Sir,
George will be the one to decide.  Old Noll is sick;
he can't last long.  And Master Richard hath not
much affection for his Father's Friends—calls them
Reprobates and ungodly.  Well! can you see George
being rebuked by Master Richard for going to the
Play?"

And I, not being on such intimate terms with the
Lord Protector's Son or with General Monk, could
offer no opinion on the subject.  And after a while
my Neighbour went on glibly:

"Ah! here comes my Lady Viner, flaunting silks
and satins.  Aye, the fair Alice—his third Wife,
mark you!—knows how to spend the money which
her Lord hath been at such pains to scrape together.
By gad! who'd have thought to see red-haired Polly
Ann so soon after the demise of His Grace!  See,
not an inch of widows' Weeds doth she wear in
honour of the old Dotard who did her the infinite
favour of dying just in the nick of time...."

And so on, the Man would babble in a continuous
stream of talk.  You, Mistress, listened to him
open-mouthed, your great brown Eyes aglow with
curiosity and with excitement.  You and I knew
but little of those great Folk, and seeing them all
around us, prepared for the same enjoyment which
we had paid to obtain, made us quite intoxicated
with eagerness.

Our Neighbour, who of a truth seemed to know
everything, expressed great surprise at the fact that
Old Noll—as he so unceremoniously named the
Lord Protector—had tolerated the opening of the
Cockpit.  "But," he added sententiously, "Bill
Davenant could wheedle a block of ice out of the
devil, if he chose."


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   4

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Of the Play I remember but little.  I was in truth
much too excited to take it all in.  And sitting so
near You, Mistress—for the Place was
overcrowded—my Knee touching yours, your dear little
hand darting out from time to time to grip mine
convulsively during the more palpitating moments
of the Entertainment, was quite as much as an
humble Clerk's brain could hold.

There was a great deal of Music—that I do
remember.  Also that the entertainment was termed
an opera and that the name of the piece was "The
Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru."  My omniscient
Neighbour told me presently that no doubt the
Performance was an artful piece of Flattery on the part
of Bill (meaning, I suppose, Sir William Davenant)
who, by blackening the Spaniards, made Old Noll's
tyranny appear like bountiful Mercies.

But I did not like to hear our Lord Protector
spoken of with such levity.  Moreover, my
Neighbour's incessant Chatter distracted me from the
Stage.

What I do remember more vividly than anything
else on that memorable Day was your cry of
delight when Mr. Betterton appeared upon the
Stage.  I do not know if you had actually spoken
with him before; I certainly had never even seen
him.  Mr. Betterton was then apprenticed to
Mr. Rhodes, the Bookseller, and it was entirely against
the Judgment and Wishes of Mistress Euphrosine
Baggs, his Sister, that he adopted the Stage as an
additional calling.  I know that there were many
high Words on that subject between Mr. Betterton
and Mistress Euphrosine, Mr. Rhodes greatly
supporting the young Man in his Desire, he having
already formulated schemes of his own for the
management of a Theatre, and extolling the virtues of
the Actor's Art and the vastly lucrative State
thereof.

But Mistress Euphrosine would have none of it.
Actors were Rogues and Vagabonds, she said,
ungodly Reprobates who were unfit, when dead, to be
buried in consecrated ground.  She would never
consent to seeing a Brother of hers follow so
disreputable a Calling.  From high words it came to
an open Quarrel, and though I had been over a year
in the House of Mr. Theophilus Baggs, I had never
until this day set eyes on young Mr. Betterton.

He was not taking a very important part in the
Opera, but there was no denying the fact that as
soon as he appeared upon the Stage his very
Presence did throw every other Actor into the shade.
The Ladies in the Boxes gave a deep sigh of content,
gazing on him with admiring eyes and bestowing
loud Applause upon his every Word.  And when
Mr. Betterton threw out his Arms with a gesture
expressive of a noble Passion and spoke the ringing
lines: "And tell me then, ye Sons of England..."—his
beautiful Voice rising and falling with the
perfect cadence of an exquisite Harmony—the uproar
of Enthusiasm became wellnigh deafening.  The
Ladies clapped their Hands and waved their
Handkerchiefs, the Gentlemen stamped their feet upon the
floor; and some, lifting their Hats, threw them with
a flourish upon the Stage, so that anon Mr. Betterton
stood with a score or more Hats all round his
feet, and was greatly perturbed as to how he should
sort them out and restore them to their rightful
Owners.

Ah, it was a glorious Day!  Nothing could mar
the perfection of its Course.  No! not even the
Rain which presently began to patter over the
Spectators, and anon fell in torrents, so that those who
were in the Pit had to beat a precipitate retreat,
scrambling helter-skelter over the Benches in a wild
endeavour to get under cover.

This incident somewhat marred the Harmony of
the Ending, because to see Ladies and Gentlemen
struggling and scrambling to climb from bench to
bench under a Deluge of Rain, was in truth a very
droll Spectacle; and the attention of those in the
Boxes was divided between the Happenings on
the Stage and the antics of the rest of the Audience.

You and I, fair Mistress, up aloft in our humble
place, were far better sheltered than the more grand
Folk in the Pit.  I put your Cloak around your
Shoulders to protect You against the Cold, and thus
sitting close together, my knee still resting against
yours, we watched the Performance until the end.


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How we went home that afternoon I do not
remember.  I know that it was raining heavily and
that we got very wet.  But this caused me no
Inconvenience, because it gave me the privilege of
placing my Arm round your Shoulders so as to keep
your Cloak from falling.  Also my Mind was too
full of what I had seen to heed the paltry
discomfort of a Wetting.  My thoughts were of the Play,
the Music, the brilliant Assembly; yours, Mistress,
were of Mr. Betterton.  Of him you prattled all
the way home, to the exclusion of every other Topic.
And if your enthusiastic Eulogy of that talented
Person did at times send a pang of Sorrow through
my Heart, You at least were unaware of my
Trouble.  Not that I took no share in your
Enthusiasm.  I did it whole-heartedly.  Never had I
admired a Man before as I did Mr. Betterton on
that Day.  His Presence was commanding, his Face
striking, his Voice at times masterful and full of
Power, at others infinitely sweet.  My officious and
talkative Neighbour, just before the Rain came
down and rendered him dumb, had remarked to me
with a great air of Knowledge and of Finality:
"Mark my word, young Sir, England will hear
something presently of Tommy Betterton."

It was not until we reached the corner of
Chancery Lane that we were forced to descend to the
Realities of Life.  We had had a glorious Day, and
for many Hours had wholly forgotten the many
Annoyances and Discomforts with which our lives
were beset.  Now we were a little tired and exceedingly
wet.  Mistress Euphrosine's Scoldings, our oft
empty stomachs, hard Beds and cheerless Lives
loomed once more largely upon the Horizon of our
mental vision.

Our Pace began to slacken; your glib Tongue was
stilled.  Holding Hands now, we hurried home in
silence, our Minds stirred by a still vague Sense of
Fear.

Nor was that Fear unjustified, alas! as
subsequent Events proved.  No sooner had We entered
the House than We knew that We were discovered.
Mr. Baggs' cloak, hung up in the Hall, revealed the
terrifying Fact that he and his indomitable Spouse
had unaccountably returned at this hour.  No doubt
that the Weather was the primary cause of this
untoward Event: its immediate result was a Volley
of abuse poured upon our Heads by Mistress
Euphrosine's eloquent Tongue.  We were
Reprobates, Spawns and Children of the Devil!  We were
Liars and Cheats and Thieves!  We had deserved
God's wrath and eternal punishment!  Heavens
above! how she did talk!  And we, alas! could not
escape that vituperative Torrent.

We had fled into the Kitchen as soon as We had
realised that we were fairly caught; but Mistress
Euphrosine had followed us thither and had closed
the door behind her.  And now, standing facing
Us, her large, gaunt Body barring every egress, she
talked and talked until You, fair Mistress, gave way
to a passionate Flood of tears.

All our Pleasure, our Joy, had vanished; driven
hence by the vixenish Tongue of a soured Harridan.
I was beside myself with Rage.  But for your
restraining influence, I could have struck that
shrieking Virago, and for ever after have destroyed what
was the very Essence of my Life.  For she would
have turned me out of Doors then and there, and I
should have been driven forth from your Presence,
perhaps never to return.

The sight of your Patience and of your Goodness
helped to deaden my Wrath.  I hung my Head
and bit my Tongue lest it should betray me into
saying things which I should have regretted to the
end of my Days.

And thus that memorable Day came to a close.
Somehow, it stands before my mind as would the
first legible Page in the Book of my Life.  Before
it, everything was blurred; but that Page is clear.
I can read it now, even after four years.  For the
first time, destiny had writ on it two Names in bold,
indelible Characters—yours, Mistress, and that of
Mr. Betterton.  Henceforth, not a Day in my Life
would pass without one of You looming largely in
its Scheme.

Mary Saunderson!  Tom Betterton!  My very
pulses seem to beat to the tune of those two Names!
I knew then, by one of those subtle intuitions which
no Man has ever succeeded in comprehending, that
Heaven itself had intended You for one another.
How then could I stand by and see the Wickedness
of Man striving to interfere with the decrees of God?

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.. _`the rift within the lute`:

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   CHAPTER II

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   THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE

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   1

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After that memorable Day, Mistress, we were like
naughty Children who were being punished for
playing truant out of School.  For Weeks and
Months our Lives went on with dreary monotony,
with never a chance of seeing Something of that
outside World of which we had caught a glimpse.
You continued to sew and to scrub and to be at the
beck and call of a Scold.  I went on copying legal
Documents till my very Brain appeared atrophied,
incapable of a single happy Thought or of a joyous Hope.

Out there in the great World, many things were
happening.  The Lord Protector died; his Son
succeeded.  And then England woke to the fact that
she had never cared for these Regicides, Republicans
and Puritans; that in her Heart she had always
loved the martyred King and longed to set his Son
once more upon his Throne.

I often thought of my loquacious Neighbour at
the Play, with his talk of Old Noll and Master
Richard and of George.  For George Monk in
truth had become the Man of the hour; for he it
was who was bringing King Charles back into his
Kingdom again.

Two years had gone by since our memorable Day
at the Play, and as that same Neighbour had also
foretold, England was hearing a great deal about
Tom Betterton.  His Name was on every one's lips.
Mr. Rhodes, the Bookseller, had obtained a licence
from General Monk to get a Company of Actors
together, and the palmy Days of the Cockpit had
begun.  Then it was that some faint Echo of the
Life of our great City penetrated as far as the dull
Purlieus of Mr. Baggs' Household; then it was that
the ring of the Fame of Mr. Betterton even caused
Mistress Euphrosine to recall her former arbitrary
Judgments.

Every one now was talking of her illustrious
Brother.  General Monk himself had made a Friend
of him, so had Sir John Grenville, who was the
King's own Envoy; and those who were in the
know prophesied that His Majesty Himself would
presently honour the eminent Player with his
regard.  My Lord Rochester was his intimate Friend;
Sir George Etherege was scarce ever seen in public
without him.  Lord Broghill had vowed that the
English Stage was made famous throughout the
Continent of Europe by the superlative excellence of
Mr. Betterton.

To such Eulogies, coming from the most exalted
Personages in the Land, Mistress Euphrosine could
not turn an altogether deaf Ear; and being a
Woman of character and ambition, she soon realised
that her Antagonism to her illustrious Brother not
only rendered her ridiculous, but might even prove
a bar to Mr. Theophilus Baggs' Advancement.

The first Step towards a Reconciliation was taken
when Mr. Baggs and his Spouse went together to
the Play to see Mr. Betterton act *Solyman* in a play
called "The Siege of Rhodes."  You and I,
Mistress, were by great favour allowed to go too, and
to take our places in that same Gallery where two
Years previously You and I had spent such happy
hours.  We spoke little to one another, I remember.
Our hearts were full of Memories; but I could see
your brown Eyes lighten as soon as the eminent
Actor walked upon the Stage.  The same Glamour
which his personality had thrown over You two
years ago was still there.  Nay! it was enhanced
an hundredfold, for to the magnetic presence of the
Man was now added the supreme Magic of the
Artist.  I am too humble a Scrivener, fair Lady,
to attempt to describe Mr. Betterton's acting, nor
do I think that such Art as his could be adequately
discussed.  Your enjoyment of it I did fully share.
You devoured him with your Eyes while he was on
the Stage, and the Charm of his Voice filled the
crowded Theatre and silenced every other sound.
I knew that the World had ceased to exist for You
and that the mysterious and elusive god of Love
had hit your Heart with his wayward dart.

I thank God that neither then nor later did any
feeling of Bitterness enter into my Soul.  Sad I
was, but of a gentle Sadness which made me feel
mine own Unworthiness, even whilst I prayed that
You might realise your Heart's desire.

Strangely enough, it was at the very moment
when I first understood the state of your Feelings
that mine eyes, a little dimmed with tears, were
arrested by the Sight of a young and beautiful Lady,
who sat in one of the Boxes, not very far from our
point of vantage.  I wondered then what it was
about her that thus enchained mine Attention.  Of
a truth, she was singularly fair, of that dainty and
translucent Fairness which I for one have never been
able to admire, but which is wont to set Men's pulses
beating with an added quickness—at least, so I've
heard it said.  The Lady had blue Eyes, an
exquisitely white Skin, her golden Hair was dressed
in the new modish Fashion, with quaint little
Ringlets all around her low, square Brow.  The face
was that of a Child, yet there was something about
the firm Chin, something about the Forehead
and the set of the Lips which spoke of
Character and of Strength not often found in one
so young.

Immediately behind her sat a young Cavalier of
prepossessing Appearance, who obviously was
whispering pleasing Words in the Lady's shell-like ear.
I confess that for the moment I longed for the
presence of our loquacious Neighbour of two years ago.
He, without doubt, would have known who the
noble young Lady was and who was her attentive
Cavalier.  Soon, however, the progress of the Play
once more riveted mine Attention upon the Stage,
and I forgot all about the beautiful Lady until it
was time to go.  Then I sought her with mine
Eyes; but she had already gone.  And I, whilst
privileged to arrange your Cloak around your
shoulders, realised how much more attractive brown
Hair was than fair, and how brilliant could be the
sparkle of dark Eyes as against the more
languorous expression of those that are blue.


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I was not present at the time that You, Mistress,
first made the acquaintance of Mr. Betterton.  He
came to the House originally for the sole purpose
of consulting with his Brother-in-law on a point of
Law, he having an idea of joining Sir William
Davenant in the Management of the new Theatre
which that Gentleman was about to open in
Lincoln's Inn Fields.

The season in London promised to be very
brilliant.  His Majesty the King was coming into his
own once more.  Within a Month or two at the
latest, he would land at Dover, and as even through
his misfortunes and exile he had always been a
great Patron of the Arts of Drama and Literature,
there was no doubt that he would give his gracious
Patronage to such enterprises as Sir William
Davenant and Mr. Killigrew, not to mention others, had
already in view.

No doubt that Sir William Davenant felt that no
Company of Actors could be really complete
without the leadership of Mr. Betterton; and we all
knew that both he and Mr. Killigrew were literally
fighting one another to obtain the great Actor's
services.

In the end, of course, it was Sir William who
won, and thus Mr. Betterton came to visit
Mr. Theophilus Baggs to arrange for an Indenture
whereby he was to have a Share of the Profits
derived from the Performances at the new Theatre
in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

You, Mistress, will remember that Day even
better than I do, for to me it only marked one more
Stage on the dreary road of my uneventful Life,
whilst for You it meant the first Pearl in that
jewelled Crown of Happiness which Destiny hath
fashioned for You.  Mr. Baggs had sent me on that
day to Richmond, to see a Client of his there.
Whether he did this purposely, at the instance of
Mistress Euphrosine, in order to get me out of the
way, I know not.  In her Estimation I was supposed
to have leanings for the Actor's profession in those
days—surely a foolish Supposition, seeing how
unprepossessing was my Appearance and how
mediocre my Intellect.

Without doubt, however, could she have read the
Secrets of your Soul, dear Mistress, she would have
sent You on an errand too, to a remote corner of
England, or had locked You up in your Room, ere
you came face to face with the great Man whose
Personality and Visage were already deeply graven
upon your Heart.

But her futile, unamiable Mind was even then
torn between the desire to make a brave show of
Prosperity before her illustrious Brother and to
welcome him as the Friend and Companion of great
Gentlemen, and the old puritanical Spirit within her
which still looked upon Actors as Rogues and
Vagabonds, Men upon whom God would shower some
very special, altogether terrible Curses because of
their loose and immoral Lives.

Thus Mistress Euphrosine's treatment of the
distinguished Actor was ever contradictory.  She did
her best to make him feel that she despised him for
his Calling, yet nevertheless she fawned upon him
because of his connection with the Aristocracy.
Even subsequently, when Mr. Betterton enjoyed not
only the Patronage but the actual Friendship of His
Majesty the King, Mistress Euphrosine's attitude
towards him was always one of pious scorn.  He
might be enjoying the protection of an earthly King,
but what was that in comparison with his Sister's
intimacy with God?  He might consort with Dukes,
but she would anon make one in a company of
Angels, amongst whom such Reprobates as Actors
would never find a place.

That, I think, was her chief Attitude of Mind,
one that caused me much Indignation at the time;
for I felt that I could have knelt down and
worshipped the heaven-born Genius who was delighting
the whole Kingdom with his Art.  But Mr. Betterton,
with his habitual kindliness and good humour,
paid no heed to Mistress Euphrosine's sour Disposition
towards him, and when she tried to wither him
with lofty Speeches, he would quickly make her
ridiculous with witty Repartee.

He came more and more frequently to the House,
and mine Eyes being unusually sharp in such
matters, I soon saw that You had wholly won his
regard.  Those then became happy times.  Happy ones
for You, Mistress, whose Love for a great and good
Man was finding full Reciprocity.  Happy ones for
him, who in You had found not only a loving Heart,
but rare understanding, and that great Talent which
he then and there set himself to develop.  They were
happy times also for me, the poor, obscure Scrivener
with the starved Heart and the dreary Life, who
now was allowed to warm his Soul in the Sunshine
of your joint Happiness.

It was not long before Mr. Betterton noticed the
profound Admiration which I had for him, not long
before he admitted me to his Friendship and
Intimacy.  I say it with utmost pride, that I was the
first one with whom he discussed the question of
your Career and to whom he confided the fact that
You had a conspicuous talent for the Stage, and
that he intended to teach and to train You until You
could appear with him on the Boards.  You may
imagine how this Idea staggered me at first—aye! and
horrified me a little.  I suppose that something
of the old puritanical middle-class Prejudice had
eaten so deeply into my Soul that I could not be
reconciled to the idea of seeing any Woman—least
of all you, Mistress—acting a part upon the Stage.
Hitherto, young Mr. Kynaston and other
boy-actors had represented with perfect grace and charm
all the parts which have been written for Women;
and I could not picture to myself any respectable
Female allowing herself to be kissed or embraced
in full view of a large Audience, or speaking some
of those Lines which our great Dramatists have
thought proper to write.

But Mr. Betterton's Influence and his unanswerable
Arguments soon got the better of those
old-fashioned Ideas, and anon I found myself looking
eagerly forward to the happy time when You would
be freed from the trammels of Mistress Euphrosine's
Tyranny and, as the Wife and Helpmate of
the greatest Actor of our times, take your place
beside him among the Immortals.


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It was not until the spring of the following Year
that I first noticed the cloud which was gathering
over your happiness.  Never shall I forget the day
when first I saw Tears in your Eyes.

You had finally decided by then to adopt the Stage
as your Profession, and at the instance of Mr. Betterton,
Sir William Davenant had promised You a
small part in the new Play, wherewith he was about
to open his new Theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
The piece chosen was called "Othello," written by
one William Shakespeare, and Sir William had
finally decided that the parts written in this Play by
the Author for Women should be enacted by
Women; an arrangement which was even then
being worked quite successfully by Mr. Killigrew at
his Theatre in Clare Market.

I knew that a brilliant Future lay before You;
but Mistress Euphrosine, who had constituted
herself your Guardian and Mentor, tried in vain to turn
You from your Career.  The day when You made
your Decision was yet another of those momentous
ones which will never fade from my Memory.  You
had hitherto been clever enough to evade Mistress
Euphrosine's Vigilance whilst you studied the Art
of speaking and acting under the guidance of
Mr. Betterton.  She thought that his frequent Visits to
the House were due to his Regard for her, whereas
he came only to see You and to be of service to You
in the pursuit of your Studies.

But the time came when You had to avow openly
what were your Intentions with regard to the
Future.  Sir William Davenant's Theatre in Lincoln's
Inn Fields was to be opened in June, and You,
Mistress, were, together with his principal Actresses, to
be boarded after that by him at his own House, in
accordance with one of the Provisions of the
Agreement.  The Question arose as to where You should
lodge, your poor Mother having no home to offer
You.  Mistress Euphrosine made a great Show of
her Abhorrence of the Stage and all the Immorality
which such a Career implied.  My cheeks blush with
shame even now at the recollection of the
abominable language which she used when first You told
her what You meant to do, and my Heart is still
filled with admiration at your Patience and
Forbearance with her under such trying circumstances.

Fortunately for us all, Mr. Betterton arrived in
the midst of all this wrangle.  He soon succeeded
in silencing Mistress Euphrosine's exacerbating
tongue, and this not so much by the magic of his
Persuasion as by the aid of the golden Key which
is known to open every door—even that which leads
to a scolding Harridan's heart.  Mr. Betterton
offered his Sister a substantial Sum of Money if
she in return would undertake to give You a
comfortable lodging until such time as he himself would
claim You as his Wife.  He stipulated that You
should be made comfortable and that no kind of
menial work should ever be put upon You.

"Mistress Saunderson," he said impressively,
"must be left absolutely free to pursue her Art,
unhampered by any other consideration."

Even so, Mistress Euphrosine could not restrain
her malicious tongue, and the whole equitable
arrangement might even then have fallen through but
for your gentleness and quiet determination.
Finally, Mistress Euphrosine gave in.  She accepted
the liberal terms which her illustrious Brother was
offering her for your Maintenance, but she reserved
unto herself the right of terminating the Arrangement
at her will and pleasure.  Obviously, she meant
to be as disagreeable as she chose; but You had to
have a respectable roof over your head until such
time as You found a Haven under the ægis of your
future Husband's Name.

After that, it seemed as if no cloud could ever
come to obscure the Heavens of your happiness.
Nevertheless, it was very soon after that Episode
that I chanced upon You one evening, sitting in the
parlour with the Book of a Play before You, yet
apparently not intent upon reading.  When I spoke
your name You started as if out of a Dream and
quickly You put your handkerchief up to your eyes.

I made no remark then; it would have been
insolence on my part to intrude upon your private
Affairs.  But I felt like some faithful cur on the
watch.

For awhile dust was thrown in my eyes from the
fact that Mr. Betterton announced to us his
projected trip abroad, at the instance of Sir William
Davenant, who desired him to study the Scenery
and Decorations which it seems were noted
Adjuncts to the Stage over in Paris.  If Mr. Betterton
approved of what he saw there, he was to bring
back with him a scheme for such Scenery to be
introduced at the new Theatre in Lincoln's Inn
Fields, which would be a great triumph over
Mr. Killigrew's Management, where no such innovations
had ever been thought of.

Naturally, Mr. Betterton, being a Man and an
Artist, was eager and excited over this journey,
which showed what great confidence Sir William
Davenant reposed in his Judgment.  This,
methought, accounted for the fact that You, Mistress,
seemed so much more dejected at the prospect of
his Absence than he was.  I also was satisfied that
this Absence accounted for your tears.

Fool that I was!  I should have guessed!

Mr. Betterton was absent two months, during
which time I oft chanced upon You, dear Mistress,
with a book lying unheeded on your lap and your
dark eyes glistening with unnatural brilliancy.  But
I still believed that it was only Mr. Betterton's
Absence that caused this sadness which had of late
fallen over your Spirits.  I know that he did not
write often, and I saw—oh! quite involuntarily—that
when his Letters came they were unaccountably short.

Then, one day—it was in May—seeing You more
than usually depressed, I suggested that as the
weather was so fine we should repair to the Theatre
in Clare Market, and there see Mr. Killigrew's
company enact "The Beggar's Bush," a play in which
Major Mohun was acting the part of *Bellamente*
with considerable success.

Had I but known what we were destined to see
in that Theatre, I swear to God that I would sooner
have hacked off my right leg than to have taken
You thither.  Yet We both started on our way,
oblivious of what lay before Us.  Time had long
since gone by when such expeditions had to be done
in secret.  You, Mistress, were independent of
Mistress Euphrosine's threats and tantrums, and I had
come to realise that my Employer could nowhere
else in the whole City find a Clerk who would do
so much for such very scanty pay, and that he would
never dismiss me, for fear that he would never again
meet with such a willing Drudge.

So, the day being one on which Mr. Baggs and
Mistress Euphrosine were absenting themselves
from home, I persuaded You easily enough to come
with me to the Play.

Your spirits had risen of late because you were
expecting Mr. Betterton's home-coming.  In fact,
You had received authentic news that he would
probably be back in England within the week.


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At once, when I took my seat in the Gallery
beside you, I noticed the beautiful fair Lady in the
Box, whom I had not seen since that marvellous
day a year ago, when you and I sat together at the
Play.  She was more radiantly beautiful than ever
before.

Discreet enquiries from my Neighbour elicited
the information that she was the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode, daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury,
and the acknowledged Belle among the Debutantes
of the season.  I understood that nothing had been
seen of the Lady for the past year or more, owing
to the grave and lingering illness of her Mother,
during the whole course of which the young Girl
had given up her entire life to the tending of the
Invalid.

Now that his Lordship was a Widower, he had
insisted on bringing his Daughter to London so
that she might be brought to the notice of His
Majesty and take her place at Court and in Society,
as it beseemed her rank.  That place the Lady
Barbara conquered quickly enough, by her Beauty, her
Charm and her Wit, so much so that I was told that
all the young Gallants in the City were more or less
over head and ears in love with her, but that her
affections had remained steadfastly true to the
friend and companion of her girlhood, the young
Earl of Stour who, in his turn had never swerved
in his Allegiance and had patiently waited for the
day when her duty to her Mother would cease and
her love for him be allowed to have full sway.

All this, of course, sounded very pretty and very
romantic; and you, Mistress, gave ungrudging
admiration to the beautiful girl who was the cynosure
of all eyes.  She sat in the Box, in the company of
an elderly and distinguished Gentleman, who was
obviously her Father, and of another Man, who
appeared to be a year or two older than herself and
whose likeness of features to her own proclaimed
him to be her Brother.  At the rear of the box a
number of brilliant Cavaliers had congregated, who
had obviously come in order to pay court to this
acknowledged Queen of Beauty.  Foremost among
these we noticed a tall, handsome young Man whose
noble features looked to me to suggest a somewhat
weak yet obstinate disposition.  He was undeniably
handsome: the huge, fair periwig which he wore
lent a certain manly dignity to his countenance.  We
quickly came to the conclusion that this must be the
Earl of Stour, for it was obvious that the Lady
Barbara reserved her most welcoming smile and her
kindliest glances for him.

The company in the Box kept us vastly amused
for a time, in the intervals of watching the Actors
on the Stage; and I remember that during the
second Act the dialogue in the Play being somewhat
dull, both You and I fell to watching the Lady
Barbara and her throng of Admirers.  Suddenly we
noticed that all these Gentlemen gave way as if to a
New-comer who had just entered at the rear of the
Box and was apparently desirous of coming
forward in order to pay his respects.  At first we could
not see who the New-comer was, nor did we greatly
care.  The next moment, however, he was behind
the Lady Barbara's chair.  Anon he stooped
forward in order to whisper something in her ear.

And I saw who it was.

It was Mr. Betterton.

For the moment, I remember that I felt as if I
were paralysed; either that or crazed.  I could not
trust mine eyes.

Then I turned my head and looked at You.

You too had seen and recognised.  For the
moment You did not move, but sat rigid and silent.
Your face had become a shade or two paler and
there was a scarce perceptible tremor of your lips.

But that was all.  I alone knew that You had
just received a stab in your loving and trusting
Heart, that something had occurred which would
for ever mar the perfect trustfulness of your early
love ... something which you would never forget.


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You sat out the rest of the Play, dear Mistress,
outwardly quite serene.  Never, I think, has my
admiration for your Character and for your Worth
been more profound.  I believe that I suffered
almost as much as You.  I suffered because many
things were made clear to me then that I had ignored
before.  Your tears, your many Silences, that look
of trustful happiness now gone from your eyes.  I
understood that the Incident was only the
confirmation of what you had suspected long since.

But you would not let any one see your heart.
No! not even me, your devoted Bondsman, who
would gladly die to save You from pain.  Yet I
could not bring my heart to condemn Mr. Betterton
utterly.  I did not believe even then that he had
been unfaithful—led away no doubt by the glamour
of the society Beauty, by the talk and the swagger
of all the idle Gentlemen about town—but not
unfaithful.  His was not a Nature to love more than
the once, and he loved You, Mistress—loved You
from the moment that he set eyes on You, from
the moment that he knew your Worth.  His fancy
had perhaps been captured by the beautiful Lady
Barbara, his Heart wherein your image was
eternally enshrined, had been momentarily
bewitched by her wiles; but he was not responsible for
these Actions—that I could have sworn even then.

Mr. Betterton is above all an Artist, and in my
humble judgment Artists are not to be measured
by ordinary standards.  Their mind is more fanciful,
their fancy more roving; they are the Butterflies
of this World, gay to look at and light on the wing.

You never told me, Mistress, what course You
adopted after that eventful afternoon; nor would I
have ventured to pry into your secrets.  That You
and Mr. Betterton talked the whole matter over, I
make no doubt.  I could even tell You, methinks,
on which day the heart to heart talk between You
took place.  That there were no Recriminations on
your part I dare aver; also that Mr. Betterton
received his final dismissal on that day with a greater
respect than ever for You in his Heart, and with
deep sorrow weighing upon his Soul.

After that, his visits to the house became more
and more infrequent; and at first You would
contrive to be absent when he came.  But, as I have
always maintained, his love for You still filled his
innermost Being, even though the Lady Barbara
ruled over his fancy for the time.  He longed for
your Presence and for your Friendship, even
though at that time he believed that You had totally
erased his image from your Heart.

And so, when he came, and I had perforce to
tell him that You were absent, he would linger on
in the hope that You would return, and he would
go away with a bitter sigh of regret whenever he
had failed to catch a glimpse of You.

You never told me in so many Words that you
had definitely broken off your Engagement to
Mr. Betterton, nor do I believe that such was your
intention even then.  Mistress Euphrosine certainly
never realised that You were smarting under so
terrible a blow, and she still spoke glibly of your
forthcoming marriage.

It was indeed fortunate for You, fortunate for us
all, that both she and Mr. Baggs were too
self-absorbed—he in his Business and she in her Piety—and
too selfish, to be aware of what went on around
them.  Their self-absorption left You free to
indulge in the luxury of suffering in silence; and I
was made almost happy at times by an occasional
surreptitious pressure of your Hand, a glance from
your Eyes, telling me that my Understanding and
Sympathy were not wholly unwelcome.

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.. _`a criminal folly`:

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   CHAPTER III

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   A CRIMINAL FOLLY

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   1

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In June, you made your debut upon the stage,
dear Mistress.  Though You only played a small
Part, your Grace and Charm soon won universal
approval.  I have so often told You of my feelings,
my hopes, my tremors and my joy on the occasion
when first I saw You upon the boards, that I will
not weary You with the re-telling of them once
again.  Securely hidden behind a pillar, I only lived
through the super-acuteness of my Senses, which
drank in your Presence from the moment when You
stepped out from behind the Curtain and revealed
your gracious personality to an admiring Audience.

As long as I live, every word which You spoke
on that day will continue to ring in mine ear, and
ere mine eyes close for ever in their last long Sleep,
I shall see your exquisite Image floating dreamlike
before their gaze.


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From that day onward, I saw you more seldom
than I had been wont to do before.  Your Success
at the new Theatre had been so pronounced that
Sir William Davenant soon entrusted You with
more important parts.  Thus your time was greatly
taken up both with Performances and with
Rehearsals and with the choosing and trying on of
dresses.  Of necessity, your work threw you often
in the company of Mr. Betterton, he being the
leading Actor in Sir William's Company, and the most
popular as he was the most eminent of His
Majesty's Well-Beloved Servants.  In fact, his
Fame at this time was reaching its Apogee.  He
was reckoned one of the Intimates of His Majesty
himself; Gentlemen and Noblemen sought his
company; great Ladies were zealous to win his favours.

Needless to say that concurrently with his rise to
pre-eminence, an army of Enemies sprung up
around him.  Hungry curs will ever bay at the
moon.  Set a cat upon a high post and in a moment
others will congregate down below and spit and
yowl at their more fortunate kind.  Scandal and
spite, which had never been so rife as in these days,
fastened themselves like evil tentacles on Mr. Betterton's
fair Name.

He was too proud to combat these, and You too
proud to lend an ear to them.  You met him now
upon an easy footing of Friendship, of gentle
gratitude as of a successful Pupil towards a kindly
Teacher.  To any one who did not know You as I
do, You must at that time have seemed completely
happy.  You were independent now, earning a good
salary, paying Mistress Euphrosine liberally for the
lodgings which she placed at your disposal; free to
come and go as You pleased, to receive the visits of
Gentlemen who were desirous of paying their
respects to You.  You were, in fact, Mistress
Saunderson, the well-known Actress, who was busy
climbing—and swiftly, too—the Ladder of Fame.

Of your proposed Marriage with Mr. Betterton
there was of course no longer any talk.  For some
reason best known to herself, and which I myself
never tried to fathom, even Mistress Euphrosine
had ceased to speak of it.

Did she, within the depths of her ambitious and
avaricious Heart, harbour the belief that her
Brother would one day wed one of those great
Ladies, who were wont to hang entranced upon his
lips, when he spoke the immortal words of the late
Mr. William Shakespeare or of Mr. John Dryden?
I know not; nor what benefit she would have
derived from it if such an unlikely Event had indeed
taken place.

Towards me, she was still frigidly contemptuous.
But as to that, I did not care.  I was determined to
endure her worst gibes for the sake of dwelling
under the same roof which still had the privilege
of sheltering You.


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It was one day early in September—just something
over a year ago, in fact—that my Lord Stour
called at the house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs.  I
knew him at once for the Cavalier who was ever in
attendance upon the Lady Barbara Wychwoode and
whom rumour had assigned to her as her future Husband.

Frankly, I had never liked him from the first.
I thought him overbearing and arrogant.  His
manner towards those who were inferior to him in
station was always one of contempt.  And I often
wondered how Mr. Theophilus Baggs, who was an
Attorney of some standing in the City of London,
could endure the cool insolence wherewith young
Gentlemen like my Lord Stour and others were
wont to treat him.  Not only that, but he seemed
to derive a sort of gratification from it, and was
wont to repeat—I was almost going to say that he
would boast of—these acts of overbearance to which
he was so often subjected.

"Another of the stiff-necked sort," he would say
after he had bowed one of these fine Gentlemen
obsequiously out of his office.  "An honest,
God-fearing Man is as dirt beneath the feet of these
Gallants."

My Lord Stour, of a truth, was no exception to
the rule.  I have since been assured that he was
quite kindly and gracious in himself, and that his
faults were those of the Milieu in which he had
been brought up, rather than of himself.

Of course, You, dear Mistress, were out of the
house during the whole of that never-to-be-forgotten
day of which I am about to speak, and
therefore knew nothing of the terrible Event which
then occurred and which, in my humble judgment,
completely revolutionized Mr. Betterton's character
for the time being.  But Fate had decreed that
I should see it all.  Every moment of that awful
afternoon is indelibly graven upon my Memory.  I
had, however, neither the Chance nor the Opportunity
to speak to You of it all.  At first I did not
think that it would be expedient.  The humiliation
which Mr. Betterton was made to endure on that
day was such that I could not bear to speak of it,
least of all to You, who still held him in such high
esteem.  And later on, I still thought it best to be
silent.  Mr. Betterton and You seemed to have
drifted apart so completely, that I did not feel that
it would do any good to rake up old hurts, and to
submit them to the cruel light of day.

But now everything is changed.  The Lady
Barbara's influence over Mr. Betterton has gone,
never to return; whilst his Heart once more yearns
for the only true Love which has ever gladdened it.


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My Lord Stour came to call upon Mr. Theophilus
Baggs at three o'clock of the afternoon.  Kathleen,
the maid of all work, opened the door to him, and
Mistress Euphrosine received him in the Parlour,
where I was also sitting at my desk, engaged in
copying out a lengthy Indenture.

"Master Baggs awaits me, I think," my Lord
said as he entered the room.

Mistress Euphrosine made a deep curtsey, for she
was ever fond of the Aristocracy.

"Will you deign to enter, my Lord?" she said.
"My husband will wait upon your pleasure."

"Tell him to be quick, then," said my Lord; "for
I have not a great deal of time to spare."

He seated himself beside the table and drew off
his gloves.  He had taken absolutely no notice of
my respectful salutation.

Mistress Euphrosine sailed out of the room and
a moment or two later Mr. Baggs came in, carrying
a sheaf of papers and looking very fussy and
obsequious.

My Lord did not rise to greet him, only turned
his head in his direction and said curtly:

"You are Mr. Theophilus Baggs, Attorney-at-law?"

"At your Lordship's service," replied my employer.

"Brother-in-law of Tom Betterton, the Actor, so
I am told," my Lord went on with quiet condescension.

This innocent remark, however, appeared to upset
Mr. Baggs.  He stammered and grew as red as a
turkey-cock, not realizing that his connection with
the great Actor was truly an honour upon his Name.
He hemmed and hawed and looked unutterably
foolish, as he mumbled confusedly:

"Er ... that is ... only occasionally, my
Lord ... very occasionally, I may say
... that is ... I..."

"Pray calm yourself," broke in my Lord
haughtily.  "I admire the fellow's acting ... the
Man himself does not exist for me."

"You are most gracious, my Lord," murmured
Mr. Baggs promptly, whilst I could have struck
him for his obsequiousness and his Lordship for his
arrogance.

It seems that the matter which had brought Lord
Stour to Mr. Baggs' office was one of monies
connected with the winding-up of the affairs of the
late Earl, uncle of the present Peer.  I was busy
with my work during the time that these affairs
were being discussed and did not pay much heed to
the conversation.  Only two fragments thereof
struck mine ear.  I remember, chiefly because they
were so characteristic of the two men—the Aristocrat
and the Plebeian—and of the times in which we live.

At one time Mr. Baggs ventured to enquire after
the health of the Honourable Mrs. Stourcliffe, his
Lordship's mother; and you should have heard the
tone of frigid pride wherewith my Lord seemed to
repel any such presumptuous enquiries.

The other fragment which I overheard was
towards the end of the interview, when Mr. Theophilus
Baggs, having counted over the Money before
his Lordship, placed a Paper before him and
bade me bring him a pen.

"What's this?" queried my Lord, astonished.

"Oh!" Mr. Baggs stammered, with his habitual
humility of demeanour, "a mere formality, my
Lord ... er ... h'm ... only a ... er
... receipt."

"A receipt?" my Lord asked, with an elevation
of his aristocratic brows.  "What for?"

"Er ... er..." Mr. Baggs stammered.
"For the monies, my Lord.  That is ... er
... if you will deign to count it over yourself
... and see that it is correct."

At this, my Lord rose from his seat, waved me
aside, took and pocketed the money.  Then he said
coolly to Mr. Baggs:

"No, Sir; I do not care to count.  My Uncle
knew You to be honest, or he would not have placed
his affairs in your hands.  That is sufficient for
me.  I, on the other hand, have received the money....
That is sufficient for You."

"But——!" ejaculated Mr. Baggs, driven out of
his timidity by such summary procedure.

"Egad, Sir!" broke in my Lord, more haughtily
than before.  "Are you perchance supposing that I
might claim money which I have already had?"

"No ... no!" protested Mr. Baggs hastily.
"I assure you, my Lord ... er ... that it is
... h'm ... a mere formality ... and..."

"My word," retorted my Lord coolly, "is
sufficient formality."

Whereupon he turned to the door, taking no more
notice of me than if I were the doormat.  He
nodded to Mr. Baggs, who was of a truth too deeply
shaken to speak, and with a curt "I wish you
good-day, Mr. Notary!" strode out of the room.

I doubt not, Mistress, that You and many others
of gentle Manners if not of gentle Birth, would
think that in recounting this brief interview between
my employer and the young Earl of Stour, I have
been guilty of exaggeration in depicting my Lord's
arrogance.  Yet, on my word, it all occurred just
as I have told it.  No doubt that Mr. Baggs'
obsequiousness must have been irritating, and that it
literally called forth the haughty Retort which
otherwise might have remained unspoken.  I
myself, humble and insignificant as I am, have oft felt
an almost uncontrollable impulse to kick my worthy
Employer into some measure of manliness.

For let me assure You that, though subsequently
I became more closely acquainted with my Lord
Stour, I never heard him use such haughty
language to any of his Dependents, nor do I think that
so gentle a Lady as Lady Barbara Wychwoode
would have bestowed her fondness and regard upon
him had his Nature been as supercilious and as
insolent as his Words.


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That afternoon was indeed destined to be fuller
of events than I ever could have anticipated.  No
sooner had I closed the door upon my Lord Stour,
when I heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and
then my Lord's voice raised once more, this time
with a tone of pleasure mingled with astonishment.

"Wychwoode, by gad!" he exclaimed.  "And
what in Heaven's name have you come to do in
the old fox's lair?"

I did not hear the immediate reply.  More fussy
than ever, Mr. Baggs had already signed to me to
reopen the door.

"Lord Douglas Wychwoode," he murmured
hurriedly in my ear.  "One of the younger sons of the
Marquis of Sidbury.  I am indeed fortunate to-day.
The scions of our great Nobility do seek my help
and counsel..." and more such senseless words
did he utter, whilst the two young Gentlemen paused
for a moment upon the landing, talking with one
another.

"I thought you still in France," Lord Douglas
said to his friend.  "What hath brought you home
so unexpectedly?"

"I only arrived this morning," the other replied;
"and hoped to present my respects this evening, if
your Father and the Lady Barbara will receive me."

"Indeed, they'll be delighted.  *Cela va sans dire*,
my friend.  My sister has been rather pensive of
late.  Your prolonged absence may have had
something to do with her mood."

"May you speak the truth there!" my Lord Stour
remarked with a sigh.

"But now you have not told me," rejoined Lord
Douglas, as he and his friend finally went into the
room and curtly acknowledged Mr. Baggs' reiterated
salutations, "what hath brought you to the house
of this bobbing old Thief yonder."

"Private business," replied Lord Stour.  "And you?"

"The affairs of England," said the other, and
tossed his head proudly like some young Lion
scenting battle.

Before his friend could utter another remark,
Lord Douglas strode rapidly across the room, took
some papers out of the inner pocket of his coat,
and called to Mr. Baggs to come up closer to him.

"I want," he said in a quick and peremptory
whisper, "a dozen copies of this Deed done at once
and by a sure hand.  Can you do it?"

"Yes, I think so," replied Mr. Baggs.  "May I
see what the paper is?"

I was watching the pair of them; so was my Lord
Stour.  On his face there came a sudden frown as
of disapproval and anxiety.

"Wychwoode——!" he began.

But the other did not heed him.  His eyes—which
were so like those of his Sister—were fixed with an
eager, questioning gaze upon my Employer.  The
latter's face was absolutely expressionless and
inscrutable whilst he scanned the paper which Lord
Douglas, after a scarce perceptible moment of
hesitation, had handed to him for perusal.

"Yes," he said quietly, when he had finished reading.
"It can be done."

"At once?" asked Lord Douglas.

"At once.  Yes, my Lord."

"By a sure hand?"

"Discretion, my Lord," replied Mr. Baggs, with
the first show of dignity I have ever seen him
display, "is a virtue in my profession, the failing in
which would be a lasting disgrace."

"I rely even more upon your convictions,
Mr. Baggs," Lord Douglas rejoined earnestly, "than
upon your virtues."

"You and your friends, my Lord, have deigned
to talk those matters over with me many a time
before.  You and they know that You can count on me."

Mr. Baggs spoke with more Quietude and
Simplicity than was his wont when dealing with some
of these noble Lords.  You may be sure, dear
Mistress, that I was vastly astonished at what I heard,
still more at what I guessed.  That Mr. Baggs and
his Spouse belonged to the old Puritan Party which
had deplored the Restoration of the Kingship, I
knew well enough.  I knew that both he and
Mistress Euphresine looked with feelings akin to horror
upon a system of Government which had for its
supreme head a King, more than half addicted to
Popery and wholly to fast living, with women,
gambling and drinking all the day.  But what I had
never even remotely guessed until now was that he
had already lent a helping hand to those numerous
Organisations, which had for their object the
overthrow of the present loose form of Government, if
not that of the Monarchy itself.

I did not know, in fact, that beneath a weak and
obsequious exterior, my Employer hid the stuff of
which dangerous Conspirators are often made.

For the nonce, however, I imagine that he
contented himself with writing out Deeds and
Proclamations for the more important Malcontents, of
whom apparently my Lord Douglas Wychwoode
was one.  He had never taken me into his
confidence, even though he must have known that he
could always rely upon my Discretion.  What
caused him to trust me now more than he had
done before, I do not know.  Perhaps he had
come to a final decision to throw in his lot with the
ultra-Protestant party, who viewed with such
marked disfavour the projects of the King's
marriage with the Popish Princess of Portugal.
Certain it is that he came to me without any hesitation
with the Papers which Lord Douglas had just
entrusted to him, and that he at once ordered me to
make the twelve copies which his Lordship desired.

I retired within the window-recess which You
know so well, and wherein I am wont to sit at my
copying work.  Mr. Baggs then set me to my task,
after which he drew the screen across the recess,
so that I remained hidden from the view of those
who were still in the room.  I set to with a Will, for
my task was a heavy one.  Twelve copies of a
Manifesto, which in itself covered two long pages.

A Manifesto, in truth!

I could scarce believe mine eyes as I read the
whole rambling, foolish, hot-headed Rigmarole.
Did I not have the Paper actually in my hand, had
I not seen Lord Douglas Wychwoode handing it
himself over to Mr. Baggs, I could not have believed
that any Men in their sober senses could have lent
a hand to such criminal Folly.

Folly it was; and criminal to boot!

The whole matter is past History now, and there
can be no harm in my relating it when so much of
it hath long ago been made public.

That Manifesto was nothing more or less than an
Appeal to certain Sympathizers to join in one of the
maddest enterprises any man could conceive.  It
seems that my Lady Castlemaine's house was to be
kept watched by Parties of these same Conspirators,
until one night when the King paid her one of his
customary evening Visits.  Then the signal was to
be given, the House surrounded, my Lady
Castlemaine kidnapped, His Majesty seized and forced to
abdicate in favour of the young Duke of Monmouth,
who would then be proclaimed King of England,
with the Prince of Orange as Regent.

Now, have you ever heard of anything more
mad?  I assure You that I was literally staggered,
and as my Pen went wearily scratching over the
Paper I felt as if I were in a dream, seeing before
me visions of what the end of such a foolish
Scheme would be: the Hangman busy, the Prisons
filled, sorrow and desolation in many homes that
had hoped to find peace at last after the turmoil of
the past twenty years.  For the appeals were
directed to well accredited people outside London,
some of whom were connected with the best known
Families in the Country.  I must, of course, refrain
from mentioning names that have been allowed to
fall into oblivion in connection with the affair; but
You, dear Mistress, would indeed be astonished if
You heard them now.

And what caused me so much worry, whilst I
wrote on till my hand felt cramped and stiff, was
mine own Helplessness in the matter.  What could I
do, short of betraying the trust which was reposed
in me?—and this, of course, was unthinkable.

I wrote on, feeling ever more dazed and dumb.
From the other side of the screen the Voices of the
two young Gentlemen came at times to mine ear with
unusual clearness, at others only like an intermittent
hum.  Mr. Baggs had apparently left the room, and
the others had no doubt become wholly oblivious of
my Presence.  Lord Douglas Wychwoode had told
his Friend something of his madcap Schemes; his
voice sounded both eager and enthusiastic.  But my
Lord Stour demurred.

"I am a Soldier," he said at one time; "not a
Politician."

"That's just it!" the other argued with
earnestness.  "It is Men like you that we want.  We must
crush that spendthrift Wanton who holds the King
in her thrall, and we must force a dishonoured
Monarch to give up the Crown of England to one
who is worthier to wear it, since he himself, even in
these few brief months, has already covered it with
infamy."

"You have set yourself a difficult task, my
friend," my Lord Stour urged more soberly; "and
a dangerous one, too."

"Only difficult and dangerous," retorted Lord
Douglas, "whilst such Men as you still hold aloof."

"I tell you, I am no Politician," his Friend
rejoined somewhat impatiently.

"But You are a Man, and not a senseless
profligate—an earnest Protestant, who must loathe that
cobweb of Popery which overlies the King's every
Action, and blurs his vision of duty and of dignity."

"Yes—but——"

Then it was that Lord Douglas, with great
patience and earnestness, gave to his Friend a detailed
account of his criminal Scheme—for criminal it was,
however much it might be disguised under the cloak
of patriotism and religious fervour.  How Lord
Stour received the communication, I could not say.
I had ceased to listen and was concentrating my
mind on my uncongenial task.  Moreover, I fancy
that Lord Stour did not say much.  He must have
disapproved of it, as any right-minded Man would,
and no doubt tried his best to bring Lord Douglas
to a more rational state of mind.  But this is mere
conjecture on my part, and, of course, I could not
see his face, which would have been a clear index
to his thoughts.  At one time I heard him exclaim
indignantly:

"But surely You will not entrust the distribution
of those Manifestos, which may cost you your head,
to that obsequious and mealy-mouthed notary?"

Mr. Baggs should have heard the contempt
wherewith my Lord uttered those words!  It would
have taught him how little regard his servile ways
had won for him, and how much more thoroughly
would he have been respected had he adopted a more
manly bearing towards his Clients, however highly
these may have been placed.

After this, Lord Douglas Wychwoode became
even more persuasive and eager.  Perhaps he had
noted the first signs of yielding in the Attitude of
his Friend.

"No, no!" he said.  "And that is our serious
trouble.  I and those who are at one with me feel
that we are surrounded with spies.  We do want a
sure Hand—a Hand that will not err and that we
can trust—to distribute the Manifestos, and, if
possible, to bring us back decisive Answers.  Some of
the Men with whom we wish to communicate live
at some considerable distance from town.  We only
wish to approach influential people; but some of
these seldom come to London; in fact, with the
exception of the Members of a venal Government and
of a few effete Peers as profligate as the King
himself, but few Men, worthy of the name, do elect to
live in this degenerate City."

His talk was somewhat rambling; perhaps I did
not catch all that he said.  After awhile Lord Stour
remarked casually:

"And so You thought of me as your possible Emissary?"

"Was I wrong?" retorted Lord Douglas hotly.

"Nay, my friend," rejoined the other coldly.  "I
am honoured by this trust which You would place
in me; but——"

"But You refuse?" broke in Lord Douglas with
bitter reproach.

I imagine that my Lord Stour's reply must have
been an unsatisfactory one to his Friend, for the
latter uttered an exclamation of supreme impatience.
I heard but little more of their conversation just
then, for the noise in the Street below, which had
been attracting my Attention on and off for some
time, now grew in intensity, and, curious to know
what it portended, I rose from my chair and
leaned out of the window to see what was happening.

From the window, as You know, one gets a view
of the corner of our Street as it debouches into Fleet
Street by the *Spread Eagle* tavern, and even the
restricted View which I thus had showed me at once
that some kind of rioting was going on.  Not
rioting of an ordinary kind, for of a truth we who live
in the heart of the City of London are used to its
many cries; to the "Make way there!" of the Sedan
Chairman and the "Make room there!" of the
Drivers of wheel-barrows, all mingling with the
"Stand up there, you blind dog!" bawled by every
Carman as he tries to squeeze his way through the
throngs in the streets.

No! this time it seemed more than that, and I,
who had seen the crowds which filled the Streets of
London from end to end on the occasion of the
death of the Lord Protector, and had seen the
merry-makers who had made those same streets
impassable when King Charles entered London a
little more than a year ago, I soon realized that the
Crowd which I saw flocking both up and down
Fleet Street was in an ugly mood.

At first I thought that some of those abominable
vagabonds from Whitefriars—those whom we call
the Alsatians, and who are in perpetual conflict with
the law—had come out in a body from their sink of
iniquity close by and had started one of their
periodical combats with the Sheriffs' Officers; but
soon I recognized some faces familiar to me among
the crowd as they ran past the corner—Men,
Women and Boys who, though of a rough and
turbulent Character, could in no way be confounded
with the law-breaking Alsatians.

There was, for instance, the Tinker, whom I
knew well by sight.  He was running along, knocking
his skillets and frying-pans against one another
as he passed, shouting lustily the while.  Then there
was a sooty chimney-sweep, whom I knew to be an
honest Man, and the broom Men with their Boys,
and many law-abiding Pedestrians who, fearful of
the crowd, were walking in the traffic way, meekly
giving the wall to the more roisterous throng.  They
all seemed to be a part of that same Crowd which
was scampering and hurrying up and down Fleet
Street, shouting and causing a disturbance such as
I do not remember ever having seen before.

I should have liked to have gazed out of the
Window until I had ascertained positively what the
noise was about; but I remembered that my task
was only half-accomplished and that I had at the
least another half-dozen Manifestos to write out.
I was on the point of sitting down once more to
my Work when I heard Lord Douglas Wychwoode's
voice quite close to the screen, saying
anxiously, as if in answer to some remark made by
his friend:

"I trust not.  My Sister is out in her chair
somewhere in this neighbourhood, and only with
her two Bearers."

Apparently the two Gentlemen's attention had
also been arrested by the tumult.  The next moment
Mr. Theophilus Baggs came in, and immediately
they both plied him simultaneously with questions.
"What were those strange cries in the street?  Was
there likely to be a riot?  What was the cause of
the tumult?"  All of which Mr. Baggs felt himself
unable to answer.  In the end, he said that he would
walk down to the corner of the Street and ascertain
what was happening.

Ensconced within the window recess and hidden
from view by the screen, I soon gave up all attempt
at continuing my work.  Somehow, the two
Gentlemen's anxiety about the Lady Barbara had
communicated itself to me.  But my thoughts, of course,
were of You.  Fortunately for my peace of mind, I
knew that You were safe; at some distance, in fact,
from the scene of the present tumult.  Nevertheless,
I had already made up my mind that if the rioting
spread to the neighbouring streets, I would slip out
presently and go as far as Dorset Gardens, where
you were busy at rehearsal, and there wait for you
until you came out of the Theatre, when, if you
were unattended, I could escort you home.

I could not myself have explained why the Noise
outside and the obvious rough temper of the People
should have agitated me as they undoubtedly did.

Anon, Mr. Baggs returned with a veritable sackful of news.

"There is a great tumult all down the
neighbourhood," said he, "because Lady Castlemaine is
even now at the India House drinking tea, and a lot
of rowdy folk have made up their minds to give her
a rough welcome when she comes out.  She is not
popular just now, my Lady Castlemaine,"
Mr. Baggs continued complacently, as he gave a look of
understanding to Lord Douglas Wychwoode,
"And I fancy that she will experience an
unpleasant quarter of an hour presently."

"But, surely," protested my Lord Stour, "a
whole mob will not be allowed to attack a
defenceless woman, however unpopular she may be!"

"Oh, as to that," rejoined Mr. Baggs with an
indifferent shrug of the shoulders, "a London mob
is not like to be squeamish when its temper is
aroused; and just now, when work is scarce and
food very dear, the sight of her Ladyship's gorgeous
liveries are apt to exasperate those who have an
empty stomach."

"But what will they do to her?" urged my
Lord, whose manly feelings were evidently
outraged at the prospect of seeing any Woman a prey
to an angry rabble.

"That I cannot tell you, my Lord," replied
Mr. Baggs.  "The crowd hath several ways of showing
its displeasure.  You know, when a Frenchman or
some other Foreigner shows his face in the Streets
of London, how soon he becomes the butt of passing
missiles.  The sweep will leave a sooty imprint upon
his coat; a baker's basket will cover him with dust;
at every hackney-coach stand, some facetious
coachman will puff the froth of his beer into his face.
Well! you may draw your own conclusions, my
Lord, as to what will happen anon, when my Lady
Castlemaine hath finished drinking her dish of tea!"

"But surely no one would treat a Lady so?" once
more ejaculated my Lord Stour hotly.

"Perhaps not," retorted Mr. Baggs drily.  "But
then you, see, my Lord, Lady Castlemaine is
... Well; she is Lady Castlemaine ... and at the
corner of our street just now I heard murmurs of
the Pillory or even worse for her——"

"But this is monstrous—infamous——!"

"And will be well deserved," here broke in Lord
Douglas decisively.  "Fie on You, Friend, to worry
over that baggage, whilst we are still in doubt if
my Sister be safe."

"Yes!" murmured Lord Stour, with a sudden
note of deep solicitude in his voice.  "My God!  I
was forgetting!"

He ran to the window—the one next to the recess
where I still remained ensconced—threw open the
casement and gazed out even more anxiously than I
had been doing all along.  Mr. Baggs in the
meanwhile endeavoured to reassure Lord Douglas.

"If," he said, "her Ladyship knows that your
Lordship hath come here to visit me, she may seek
shelter under my humble roof."

"God grant that she may!" rejoined the young
Man fervently.

We all were on tenterhooks, I as much as the
others; and we all gazed out agitatedly in the
direction of Fleet Street.  Then, all at once, my Lord
Stour gave a cry of relief.

"There's the chaise!" he exclaimed.  "It has
just turned the corner of this street....
No! not that way, Douglas ... on your right....
That is Lady Barbara's chaise, is it not?"

"Yes, it is!" ejaculated the other.  "Thank
Heaven, her man Pyncheon has had the good
sense to bring her here.  Quick, Mr. Notary!" he
added.  "The door!"

The next moment a Sedan chair borne by two
men in handsome liveries of blue and silver came
to a halt just below.  Already Mr. Baggs had
hurried down the stairs.  He would, I know, yield to no
one in the privilege of being the first to make the
Lady Barbara welcome in his House.  The
Excitement and Anxiety were momentarily over, and I
could view quite composedly from above the
beautiful Lady Barbara as she stepped out of her Chair, a
little flurried obviously, for she clasped and
unclasped her cloak with a nervy, trembling hand.

A second or two later, I heard her high-heeled
shoes pattering up the stairs, whilst her Men with
the Chair sought refuge in a quiet tavern higher up
in Chancery Lane.

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   CHAPTER IV

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   MORE THAN A PASSING FANCY

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   1

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I would that You, fair Mistress, had seen the
Lady Barbara Wychwoode as I beheld her on that
never-to-be-forgotten afternoon, her Cheeks of a
delicate pallor, her golden Hair slightly disarranged,
her Lips trembling with excitement.  You, who are
so inexpressibly beautiful, would have been generous
enough to give ungrudging Admiration to what was
so passing fair.

She was panting a little, for obviously she had
been scared, and clung to her Brother as if for
protection.  But I noticed that directly she entered the
room her Eyes encountered those of my Lord Stour,
and that at sight of him a happy smile at once
over-spread and illumined her Face.

"I am so thankful, Douglas, dear," she said,
"that Pyncheon happened to know you were here.
He also knew the way to Mr. Baggs' house, and as
soon as he realized that the crowd in Fleet Street
was no ordinary one, he literally took to his heels
and brought me along here in amazingly quick time.
But, oh!" she added lightly, "I can tell You that I
was scared.  My heart went thumping and I have
not yet recovered my breath."

Her cheeks now had become suffused with a blush
and her blue eyes sparkled, more with excitement
than fear, I imagined.  Certain it is that her Beauty
was enhanced thereby.  But Lord Douglas, with a
Brother's privilege, shrugged his shoulders and said
with a show of banter:

"Methinks, Babs, dear, that your heart hath
chiefly gone a-thumping because you are surprised
at finding Stour here."

She gave a gay little laugh—the laugh of one who
is sure of Love and of Happiness; the same laugh,
dear Mistress, for which I have hearkened of late
in vain from You.

"I only arrived in London this morning," my
Lord Stour explained.

"And hastened to pay your respects to the law
rather than to me," Lady Barbara taunted him
lightly.

"I would not have ventured to present myself at
this hour," he rejoined.  "And, apparently, would
have found the Lady Barbara from home."

"So a beneficent Fairy whispered to You to go
and see Mr. Notary, and thus arranged everything
for the best."

"The beneficent Fairy had her work cut out,
then," Lord Douglas remarked, somewhat
impatiently, I thought.

"How do you mean?" she retorted.

"Why," said he, "in order to secure this tryst,
the beneficient Fairy had first to bring me hither as
well as Stour, and Lady Castlemaine to the India
House.  Then she had to inflame the temper of a
whole Crowd of Roisterers sufficiently to cause the
worthy Pyncheon to take to his heels, with you in
the chair.  In fact, the good Fairy must have been
to endless trouble to arrange this meeting 'twixt
Lady Barbara and her Lover, when but a few hours
later that same meeting would have come about quite
naturally."

"Nay, then!" she riposted with perfect good
humour, "let us call it a happy Coincidence, and
say no more about it."

Even then her Brother uttered an angry exclamation.
He appeared irritated by the placidity and
good humour of the others.  His nerves were
evidently on edge, and while my Lord Stour, with the
egoism peculiar to Lovers, became absorbed in
whispering sweet nothings in Lady Barbara's ears,
Lord Douglas took to pacing up and down the Room
like some impatient Animal.

I watched the three of them with ever-growing
interest.  Being very sensitive to outward influences,
I was suddenly obsessed with the feeling that
through some means or other these three Persons, so
far above me in station, would somehow become
intermixed with my Life, and that it had suddenly
become my Duty to watch them and to listen to what
they were saying.

I had no desire to pry upon them, of course; so
I pray You do not misunderstand nor condemn me
for thus remaining hidden behind the screen and for
not betraying my Presence to them all.  Certainly my
Lord Stour and Lord Douglas Wychwoode had
known at one time that I was in the Room.  They
had seen me installed in the window-recess, with
the treasonable Manifestos which I had been set to
copy.  But since then the two Gentlemen had
obviously become wholly oblivious of my Presence,
and the Lady Barbara did not of course even know
of my Existence, whilst I did not feel disposed to
reveal myself to any of them just yet.


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Lord Douglas, thereafter, was for braving the
Rioters and for returning home.  But Lady
Barbara and Lord Stour, feeling happy in one another's
Company, were quite content to bide for a time
under Mr. Baggs' sheltering roof.

"You must have patience, Douglas," she said to
her Brother.  "I assure you that the Streets are
not safe.  Some rowdy Folk have set themselves to
attacking every chair they see and tearing the gold
and silver lace from the Chairmen's liveries.  Even
the side-streets are thronged.  Pyncheon will tell
you of the difficulty he had in bringing me here."

"But we cannot wait until night!" Lord Douglas
urged impatiently.

"No!" said she.  "Only an hour or two.  As
soon as the people have seen Lady Castlemaine and
have vented their wrath on her, they will begin to
disperse, chiefly into the neighbouring Taverns, and
then we can slip quietly away."

"Or else," broke in Lord Stour hotly, "surely
the watchmen will come anon and disperse that
rabble ere it vents its spite upon a defenceless
Woman!"

"A defenceless Woman, you call her, my Lord?"
Lady Barbara retorted reproachfully.  "She is the
most dangerous Enemy England hath at this
moment!"

"You are severe, Lady Barbara——"

"Severe!" she exclaimed, with a vehement tone
of resentment.  "Ah! you have been absent, my
Lord.  You do not know—You do not understand!
Over abroad You did not realise the Misery, the
Famine, that is stalking our land.  Money that
should be spent on reclaiming our Industries, which
have suffered through twenty years of civil strife,
or in helping the poor to tide over these years of
lean Harvests, is being lavished by an irresponsible
Monarch upon a greedy Wanton, who——"

"Barbara!"

She paused, recalled to herself by the stern voice
of her Brother.  She had allowed her Indignation
to master her maidenly reserve.  Her cheeks were
aflame now, her lips quivering with Passion.  Of a
truth, she was a Woman to be admired, for, unlike
most of her sex, she had profound feelings of
Patriotism and of Charity; she had valour,
enthusiasm, temperament, and was not ashamed to speak
what was in her mind.  I watched my Lord Stour
while she spoke, and saw how deeply he worshipped
her.  Now she encountered his Gaze, and heavy
tears came into her Eyes.

"Ah, my Lord," she said gently, "you will see
sadder sights in the Streets of London to-day than
ever you did in the Wars after the fiercest Battles."

"'Tis no use appealing to him, Babs," Lord
Douglas interposed with obvious exacerbation.  "A
moment ago I told him of our Plans.  I begged him
to lend us his sword and his hand to strike a blow
at the Profligacy and Wantonness which is sending
England to perdition worse than ever before——"

Lady Barbara turned great, reproachful eyes on
my Lord.

"And you refused?" she whispered.

My Lord looked confused.  All at once, I knew
that he was already wavering.  A weak Man,
perhaps; he was deeply, desperately enamoured.  I
gathered that he had not seen the Lady Barbara for
some months.  No doubt his Soul hungered for her
Smiles.  He was the sort of Man, methinks, who
would barter everything—even Honour—for the
Woman he loved.  And I do not think that he cared
for much beyond that.  His Father, an you
remember, fought on the Parliament side.  I do not say
that he was one of the Regicides, but he did not
raise a finger to help or to serve his King.  And he
had been a rigid Protestant.  All the Stourcliffes of
Stour were that; and the present Earl's allegiance to
King Charles could only have been very perfunctory.
Besides which, this is the age of Conspiracies
and of political Factions.  I doubt not but it will be
another twenty years before the Country is really
satisfied with its form of Government.  I
myself—though God knows I am but a humble Clerk—could
wish that this Popish marriage for the King had
not been decided on.  We do not want religious
factions warring with one another again.

But all this is beside the mark, nor would I dwell
on it save for my desire to be, above all, just to these
three People who were destined to do the Man I
love best in the world an irreparable injury.

As I said before, I could see that my Lord Stour
was hesitating.  Now Lady Barbara invited him to
sit beside her upon the Sofa, and she began talking
to him quietly and earnestly, Lord Douglas only
putting in a word or so now and again.  What they
said hath little to do with the portent of my
Narrative, nor will I plague You with the telling of it.
Those people are nothing to You; they have nothing
to do with humble Plebeians like ourselves; they are
a class apart, and we should never mix ourselves up
with them or their affairs, as Mr. Betterton hath
since learned to his hurt.


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While they were talking together, the three of
them, I tried once more to concentrate my mind
upon my work, and finished off another two or three
copies of the treasonable Manifesto.

All this while, you must remember that the noise
and rowdiness in the streets had in no way
diminished.  Rather had it grown in intensity.  The
people whom I watched from time to time and saw
darting down Chancery Lane or across the corner
of Fleet Street, looked more excited, more bent on
mischief, than before.  I had seen a few stones
flying about, and once or twice heard the ominous
crash of broken glass.

Then suddenly there came an immense Cry, which
was not unlike the snarling of hundreds of angry
Beasts.  I knew what that meant.  My Lady Castlemaine
was either on the point of quitting the India
House or had been otherwise spied by the Populace.
I could no longer restrain my Curiosity.  Once more
I cast my papers aside and leaned out of the window.
The shouting and booing had become more and more
ominous.  Apparently, too, a company of the City
Watchmen had arrived.  They were trying to force
through the throng, and their calls of "Make way
there!" sounded more and more peremptory.  But
what was a handful of Watchmen beside an excited
crowd of Rioters determined to wreak their temper
upon an unpopular bit of baggage?  I doubt not but
that His Majesty's Body-guard could alone restore
order now and compass the safety of the Lady.

As I leaned out of the Window I could see stones
and miscellaneous missiles flying in every direction;
and then suddenly I had a clear vision of a gorgeous
Sedan Chair escorted by a dozen or more City
Watchmen, who were trying to forge a way for it
through the Crowd.  They were trying to reach the
corner of our Street, hoping no doubt to turn up
this way and thus effect an escape by way of the
Lower Lincoln's Inn Fields and Drury Lane, while
the Crowd would of necessity be kept back through
the narrowness of the Streets and the intricacies of
the Alleys.

The whole point now was whether the Chairmen
could reach our corner before the Roisterers had
succeeded in beating back the Watchmen, when of
course they meant to tear Lady Castlemaine out of
her chair.  Poor, wretched Woman!  She must
have been terribly frightened.  I know that I
myself felt woefully agitated.  Leaning out toward the
street, I could see Lady Barbara's pretty head at
the next window and my Lord Stour and Lord
Douglas close beside her.  They too had forgotten all
about their talk and their plans and Conspiracies,
and were gazing out on the exciting Spectacle with
mixed feelings, I make no doubt.  As for me, I feel
quite sure that but for my sense of utter helplessness,
I should have rushed out even then and tried
to lend a hand in helping an unfortunate Woman out
of so terrible a Predicament, and I marvelled how
deep must have been the hatred for her, felt by
Gentlemen like my Lord Stour and Lord Douglas
Wychwoode, that their Sense of Chivalry forsook
them so completely at this Hour, that neither of
them attempted to run to her aid or even suggested
that she should find shelter in this House.

As for Mr. Baggs, he was not merely idly curious;
he was delighted at the idea that my Lady
Castlemaine should be maltreated by the mob; whilst
Mistress Euphrosine's one idea was the hope that
if the Rioters meant to murder the Baggage, they
would not do so outside this door.  She and
Mr. Baggs had come running into the Parlour the
moment the rioting reached its height, and of a truth,
dear Mistress, you would have been amused to see
us all at the three front windows of the house—three
groups watching the distant and wildly exciting
happenings in Fleet Street.  There was I at one
window; Mr. and Mrs. Baggs at the other; Lady
Barbara and the two Gallants at the third.  And the
ejaculations which came from one set of Watchers
or the other would fill several pages of my narrative.

Mistress Euphrosine was in abject fear.  "Oh!
I hope," cried she now and again, "that they won't
come this way.  There'll be murder upon our doorstep!"

My Lord Stour had just one revulsion of feeling
in favour of the unfortunate Castlemaine.  "Come,
Douglas!" he called at one time.  "Let's to her aid.
Remember she is a Woman, after all!"

But Lady Barbara placed a restraining hand upon
his arm, and Lord Douglas said with a rough laugh:
"I would not lift a finger to defend her.  Let the
Devil befriend her, an he list."

And all the while the mob hissed and hooted, and
stones flew like hail all around the Chaise.

"Oh! they'll murder her!  They'll murder her!"
called Mistress Euphrosine piously.

"And save honest men a vast deal of trouble
thereby," Mr. Baggs concluded sententiously.

The Watchmen were now forging ahead.  With
their sticks and staves they fought their way through
bravely, heading the chair towards our street.  But
even so, methought that they stood but little Chance
of saving my Lady Castlemaine in the end.  The
Crowd had guessed their purpose already, and were
quite ready to give Chase.  The Chairmen with their
heavy burden could be no match against them in a
Race, and the final capture of the unfortunate
Woman was only now a question of time.

Then suddenly I gave a gasp.  Of a truth I could
scarce believe in what I saw.  Let me try and put
the picture clearly before you, dear Mistress; for in
truth You would have loved to see it as I did then.
About half a dozen Watchmen had by great exertion
succeeded in turning the corner of our Street.  They
were heading towards us with only a comparatively
small knot of roisterers to contend against, and the
panting, struggling Chairmen with the Sedan Chair
were immediately behind them.

As far as I could see, the Crowd had not
expected this Manoeuvre, and the sudden turning off
of their prey at right angles disconcerted the
foremost among them, for the space of a second or two.
This gave the Chairmen a brief start up the street.
But the very next moment the Crowd realized the
situation, and with a wild war-cry, turned to give
Chase, when a Man suddenly stepped out from
nowhere in particular that I could see, unless it was
from the *Spread Eagle* tavern, and stood at the
bottom of the street between two posts, all alone,
facing the mob.

His Appearance, I imagine, had been so
unexpected as well as so sudden, that the young
Roisterers in the front of the Crowd paused—like a
Crowd always will when something totally
unexpected doth occur.  The Man, of course, had his
back towards us, but I had recognized him, nor was
I surprised that his Appearance did have the effect
of checking for an instant that spirit of Mischief
which was animating the throng.  Lady Barbara
and the young Gentlemen at the other window were
even more astonished than I at this wholly
unforeseen occurrence.  They could not understand the
sudden checking of the Rioters and the comparative
silence which fell upon the forefront of their ranks.

"What does it all mean?" my Lord Stour exclaimed.

"A Man between the chair and its pursuers,"
Lord Douglas said in amazement.

"Who is it?" queried Lady Barbara.

"Not a Gentleman," rejoined Lord Douglas;
"for he would not thus stop to parley with so foul
a mob.  Meseems I know the figure," he added, and
leaned still further out of the window, the better
to take in the whole of the amazing scene.  "Yes—by
gad! ... It is..."

Here Mistress Euphrosine's cry of horror broke
in upon us all.

"Alas!" she ejaculated piously.  "'Tis that
reprobate Brother of mine!"

"So it is!" added Mr. Baggs drily.  "'Tis meet
he should raise his voice in defence of that baggage."

"But, who is it?" insisted my Lord Stour impatiently.

"Why, Betterton the Actor," replied Lord
Douglas with a laugh.  "Do you not know him?"

"Only from seeing him on the stage," said the
other.  Then he added: "An Actor confronting a
mob!  By gad! the fellow hath pluck!"

"He knows," protested Mr. Baggs acidly, "that
the mob will not hurt him.  He hath so oft made
them laugh that they look upon him as one of themselves."

"Listen!" said Lady Barbara.  "You can hear
him speak quite plainly."

Whereupon they all became silent.

All this, of course, had occurred in far less time
than it takes to describe.  Not more than a few
seconds had gone by since first I saw Mr. Betterton
step out from Nowhere in particular into the Street.
But his Interposition had given my Lady
Castlemaine's Chairmen and also the Watchmen, who were
guarding her, a distinct advance.  They were
making the most of the respite by hurrying up our street
as fast as they were able, even while the Crowd—that
portion of it that stood nearest to Mr. Betterton
and could hear his Voice—broke into a loud laugh at
some Sally of his which had apparently caught their
Fancy.

From the distance the cry was raised: "To the
pillory, the Castlemaine!"

It was at this point that my Lady Barbara bade
every one to listen, so that we all could hear
Mr. Betterton's rich and powerful Voice quite plainly.

"Come, come, Friends!" he was saying; "the
Lady will get there without your help some day,
I'll warrant.  Aye! and further too, an the Devil
gives her her due!  Now, now," he continued, when
cries and murmurs, boos and hisses, strove to
interrupt him.  "You are not going to hiss a
hard-working Actor off the Stage like this.  Do, in the
name of Sport, which every sound-minded Englishman
loves, after all, await a fitter opportunity for
molesting a defenceless Woman.  What say You to
adjourning to the *Spread Eagle* tavern, where mine
Host hath just opened a new cask of the most
delicious beer You have ever tasted?  There's a
large room at the back of the bar—You know it.
Well! every one who goes there now—and there's
room for three or four hundred of You—can drink
a pint of that beer at my expense.  What say You,
Friends?  Is it not better than to give chase to a
pack of Watchmen and a pair of liveried Chairmen
who are already as scared as rabbits?  See! they
are fast disappearing up the street.  Come! who
will take a pint of beer at the invitation of Tom
Betterton?  You know him!  Is he not a jolly,
good fellow?..."

Of course, he did not deliver this speech
uninterruptedly.  It was only snatches of it that came to
our ear.  But we Listeners soon caught the drift of
it, and watched its reception by the Crowd.  Well! the
Fire-eaters gradually cooled down.  The
prospect of the ale at the *Spread Eagle* caused many a
smack of the lips, which in its turn smothered the
cries of Rage and Vituperation.  Anon, One could
perceive one forearm after another drawn with
anticipatory Pleasure across lips that had ceased to
boo.

Just then, too, Heaven interposed in a conciliatory
spirit in the form of a few drops of heavy Rain,
presaging a Storm.  The next moment the stampede
in the direction of the *Spread Eagle* tavern had
begun, whilst my Lady Castlemaine's Chairmen
trudged unmolested past our door.

My Lord Stour gave a loud laugh.

"'Twas well thought on," he exclaimed.  "The
Mountebank hath found a way to stop the Rabble's
howls, whilst my Lady Baggage finds safety in
flight."

But Lady Barbara added thoughtfully: "Methinks
'twas plucky to try and defend a Woman
single-handed."


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I watched the turbulent throng, filing now in
orderly procession through the hospitably open
doors of the *Spread Eagle* tavern.  Mr. Betterton
remained for awhile standing at the door, marshalling
the more obstreperous of his invited Guests and
parleying with Mr. Barraclough, the Host of the
*Spread Eagle*—no doubt making arrangements for
the quenching of three or four hundred thirsts at his
expense.  Then he suddenly turned on his heel and
came up the Street.  Lord Douglas gave one of his
rough, grating laughs, and said:

"So now I see that, like a wise man, Mr. Betterton
mistrusts his Popularity and proposes to seek
refuge from his ebullient Friends."

"I believe," said Mistress Euphrosine to her Lord
in an awed whisper; "I believe that Thomas is
coming here."

Which possibility greatly disconcerted Mr. Baggs.
He became quite agitated, and exclaimed fussily:

"I'll not have him here ... I'll not ... Not
while her Ladyship is here ... I'll not allow it!"

"And pray why not, Mr. Notary?" Lady Barbara
put in haughtily.  "Mr. Betterton sups twice
a week with His Majesty.  Surely then you may
invite him without shame under your roof!"

"And I've never seen the great Actor close to,"
remarked Lord Stour lightly.  "I've oft marvelled
what he was like in private life."

"Oh!" said Lord Douglas, with a distinct note
of acerbity in his voice, "he is just like any other
Fellow of his degree.  These Mountebanks have of
late thought themselves Somebodies, just because 'tis
the fashion for Gentlemen to write plays and to go
to the Theatre.  My Lord Rochester, Sir George
Etherege and the others have so spoilt them by going
about constantly with them, that the Fellows scarce
know their place now.  This man Betterton is the
worst of the lot.  He makes love to the Ladies of the
Court, forgets that he is naught but a Rogue and a
Vagabond and not worthy to be seen in the company
of Gentlemen.  Oh!  I've oft had an itching to lay a
stick across the shoulders of some of these louts!"

I would that I could convey to you, dear
Mistress, the tone of Spite wherewith Lord Douglas
spoke at this moment, or the look of Contempt
which for the moment quite disfigured his
good-looking Face.  That he had been made aware at
some time of Mr. Betterton's admiration for Lady
Barbara became at once apparent to me, also that
he looked upon that admiration as a Presumption
and an Insult.

I was confirmed in this Supposition by the look
which he gave then and there to his Sister, a look
which caused her to blush to the very roots of her
hair.  I fancy, too, that he also whispered
something on that Subject to my Lord Stour, for a dark
frown of Anger suddenly appeared upon the latter's
Face and he muttered an angry and rough Ejaculation.

As for me, I am an humble Clerk, a peaceful
Citizen and a practising Christian; but just at that
moment I felt that I hated Lord Douglas Wychwoode
and his Friend with a bitter and undying
hatred.


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Meseemed as if the air within the room had
become surcharged with a subtle and heady fluid akin
to an Intoxicant, so many Passions were even then
warring in the innermost hearts of us all.  There
was Hatred and Spite, and Fervour and Love.  We
were all of us alive at that moment, if You know
what I mean.  We were Individuals who felt and
thought individually and strongly; not just the mere
sheeplike Creatures swayed hither and thither by the
Modes and Exigencies of the hour.  And I can
assure you that even then, when we heard
Mr. Betterton's quick step ascending the stairs, we all
held our breath and watched the door as if
something Supernatural was about to be revealed to us.

The next moment that door was thrown open and
Mr. Betterton appeared upon the threshold.

Ah! if only You had seen him then, Mistress,
your heart would have rejoiced, just as mine did, at
the sight.  Personally, I could never tell You if
Mr. Betterton is tall or short, handsome or
ill-favoured; all that I know is that when he is in a
room you cannot look at any one else; he seems to
dwarf every other Man by the Picturesqueness of
his Personality.

And now—oh!  You should have seen him as he
stood there, framed in the doorway, the grey
afternoon light of this dull September day falling full
upon his Face, with those glittering Eyes of his and
the kindly, firm Mouth, round which there slowly
began to spread a gently mocking Smile.  He was
richly dressed, as was his wont, with priceless lace
frills at throat and wrists, and his huge Periwig
set off to perfection the nobility of his brow.

With one swift gaze round the room, he had taken
in the full Situation.  You know yourself, dear
Mistress, what marvellous Powers of Intuition he has.
His glance swept over Lady Barbara's exquisite
comeliness, her somewhat flurried mien and wide,
inquisitive eyes; over Lord Douglas, sullen and
contemptuous; my Lord Stour, wrathful and
suspicious; Mistress Euphrosine and Mr. Baggs, servile
and tremulous.  I doubt not that his keen Eyes had
also spied me watching his every Movement from
behind the screen.

The mocking Smile broadened upon his Face.
With one shapely leg extended forward, his right
arm holding his hat, his arm executing a superb
flourish, he swept to the assembled Company an
elaborate Bow.

"My Lords, your servant," he said.  Then bowed
more gravely to Lady Barbara and added, with a
tone of subtle and flattering deference: "I am, as
always, your Ladyship's most humble and most
devoted Slave."

Whereupon her Ladyship swept him one of those
graceful Curtsies which I understand have become
the Mode in fashionable Society of late.  But the
young Gentlemen seemed to have lost count of their
Manners.  They were either too wrathful or too
much taken aback to speak.  Mistress Euphrosine,
with her nose in the air, was preparing to sail
majestically out of the room.

Mr. Betterton then stepped in.  He threw down
his hat and playfully made pretence to intercept
Mistress Euphrosine.

"Sister, I do entreat You," he said with mock
concern, "do not carry your well-shaped nose so
high.  The scent of Heaven will not reach your
nostrils, try how you may....  'Tis more likely
that you will smell the brimstone which clings to
my perruque."

And before Mistress Euphrosine had time to think
of a retort, he had turned to her Ladyship with that
gentle air of deference which became him so well.

"How comes it," he asked, "that I have the
privilege of meeting your Ladyship here?"

"A mere accident, Sir," my Lord Stour
interposed, somewhat high-handedly I thought.  "Her
Ladyship, fearing to be molested by the Crowd,
came to meet Lord Douglas here."

"I understand," murmured Mr. Betterton.  And
I who knew him so well, realized that just for the
moment he understood nothing save that he was in
the presence of this exquisitely beautiful Woman
who had enchained his Fancy.  He stood like one
transfixed, his eyes fastened almost in wonderment
upon the graceful Apparition before him.  I should
not be exaggerating, fair Mistress, if I said that he
seemed literally to be drinking in every line of her
dainty Figure; the straight, white throat, the
damask cheek and soft, fair hair, slightly disarranged.
He had of a truth lost consciousness of his
surroundings, and this to such an extent that it
apparently set my Lord Stour's nerves on edge; for
anon he said with evident Irritation and a total
Disregard both of polite Usage and of Truth, since
of course he knew quite well to whom he was
speaking:

"I did not catch your name, Sir; though you
seem acquainted with her Ladyship."

He had to repeat the Query twice, and with
haughty impatience, before Mr. Betterton descended
from the Clouds in order to reply.

"My name is Betterton, Sir," he said, no less
curtly than my lord.

"Betterton?  Ah, yes!" his Lordship went on,
with what I thought was studied Insolence, seeing
that he was addressing one of the most famous
Men in England.  "I have heard the Name before
... but where, I cannot remember....  Let
me see, you are...?"

"An Actor, Sir," Mr. Betterton gave haughty
answer.  "Therefore an Artist, even though an
humble one; but still a World contained in one Man."

Then his manner changed, the stiffness and pride
went out of it and he added in his more habitual
mode of good-natured banter, whilst pointing in the
direction of Mistress Euphrosine:

"That, however, is not, I imagine, the opinion
which my worthy Sister—a pious Lady, Sir—hath
of my talents.  She only concedes me a Soul when
she gloats over the idea that it shall be damned."

"You are insolent!" quoth Mistress Euphrosine,
as she stalked majestically to the door.  "And I'll
not stay longer to hear you blaspheme."

Even so, her Brother's lightly mocking ripple of
Laughter pursued her along the course of her
dignified exit through the door.

"Nay, dear Sister," he said.  "Why not stay
and tell these noble Gentlemen your doubts as to
which half of me in the hereafter will be stoking the
Fires of Hell and which half be wriggling in the
Flames?"  Then he added, turning gaily once more
to the Visitors as Mistress Euphrosine finally
departed and banged the door to behind her:
"Mistress Baggs, Sir, is much troubled that she cannot
quite make up her mind how much of me is Devil
and how much a lost Soul."

"Of a surety, Sir," retorted Lord Douglas, with
the same tone of malicious Spite wherewith he had
originally spoken of Mr. Betterton, "every
Gentleman is bound to share your worthy Sister's doubts
on that point ... and as to whether your right
Hand or your sharp Tongue will fizzle first down below."

There was a moment's silence in the room—oh! the
mere fraction of a second—whilst I, who knew
every line of Mr. Betterton's face, saw the quick
flash of Anger which darted from his eyes at the
insolent speech.  Lady Barbara too had made an
instinctive movement, whether towards him in
protection or towards her Brother in reproach, I could
not say.  Certain it is that that Movement chased
away in one instant Mr. Betterton's flaming wrath.
He shrugged his shoulders and retorted with quiet
Mockery:

"Your Lordship, I feel sure, will be able to have
those doubts set at rest presently.  I understand that
vast intelligence will be granted to Gentlemen down
there."

At once my Lord's hand went to his sword.

"Insolent!—" he muttered; and my Lord Stour
immediately stepped to his Friend's side.

Like the Fleet Street crowd awhile ago, these two
Gentlemen meant mischief.  For some reason which
was not far to seek, they were on the verge of a
Quarrel with Mr. Betterton—nay!  I believe that
they meant to provoke him into one.  In wordy
Warfare, however, they did not stand much chance
against the great Actor's caustic Wit, and no doubt
their sense of Impotence made them all the more
wrathful and quarrelsome.

Mr. Baggs, of course, servile and obsequious as
was his wont, was ready enough to interpose.  A
Quarrel inside his house, between valued Clients and
his detested Brother-in-law, was not at all to his
liking.

"My Lords ..." he mumbled half-incoherently,
"I implore you ... do not heed him ... he..."

His futile attempts at Conciliation tickled
Mr. Betterton's sense of humour.  The last vestige of
his Anger vanished in a mocking Smile.

"Nay, good Master Theophilus," he said coolly,
"prithee do not interfere between me and the Wrath
of these two Gentlemen.  Attend to thine own
Affairs ... and to thine own Conspiracies," he
added—spoke suddenly under Mr. Baggs' very nose,
so that the latter gave a jump and involuntarily
gasped:

"Conspiracies? ... What—what the devil do
you mean, Sir, by Conspiracies?"

"Oh, nothing—nothing—my good Friend,"
replied Mr. Betterton lightly.  "But when I see two
hot-headed young Cavaliers in close conversation
with a seedy Lawyer, I know that somewhere in the
pocket of one of them there is a bit of Handwriting
that may send the lot of them to the Tower first
and to—well!—to Heaven afterwards."

My Heart was in my Mouth all the time that he
spoke.  Of course he could not know how near the
Truth he was, and I firmly believe that his banter
was a mere Arrow shot into the air; but even so it
grazed these noble Lords' equanimity.  Lord
Douglas had become very pale, and my Lord Stour
looked troubled, or was it my fancy?  But I am
sure that her Ladyship's blue eyes rested on
Mr. Betterton with a curious searching gaze.  She too
wondered how much Knowledge of the Truth lay
behind his easy Sarcasm.

Then Lord Douglas broke into a laugh.

"There, for once, Sir Actor," he said lightly,
"your perspicacity is at fault.  My Lord the Earl
of Stour and I came to consult your Brother-in-law
on a matter of business."

"And," exclaimed Mr. Betterton with mock
concern, "I am detaining you with my foolish talk.  I
pray you, Gentlemen, take no further heed of me.
Time treads hard on your aristocratic Heels, whilst
it is the Slave of a poor, shiftless Actor like myself."

"Yes, yes," once more interposed the mealy-mouthed
Mr. Baggs.  "I pray you, my Lords—your
Ladyship—to come to my inner office——"

There was a general movement amongst the
Company, during which I distinctly heard Lord
Douglas Wychwoode whisper to my Lord Stour:

"Can you wonder that I always long to lay a
stick across that Man's shoulders?  His every word
sounds like insolence ... And he has dared to
make love to Barbara...."

Her Ladyship, however, seemed loth to linger.
The hour, of a truth, was getting late.

"Father will be anxious," she said.  "I have
stayed out over long."

"Are the streets safe, I wonder?" my Lord Stour
remarked.

"Perfectly," broke in Mr. Betterton.  "And if
her Ladyship will allow me, I will conduct her to
her Chair."

Again my Lord Stour flashed out angrily, and
once more the brooding Quarrel threatened to burst
the bounds of conventional Intercourse.  This time
the Lady Barbara herself interposed.

"I pray you, my good Lord," she said, "do not
interfere.  Mr. Betterton and I are old Friends.  By
your leave, he shall conduct me to my chair.  Do we
not owe it to him," she added gaily, "that the
streets are quiet enough to enable us all to get home
in peace?"

Then she turned to Mr. Betterton and said gently:

"If You would be so kind, Sir—my men are
close by—I should be grateful if You will tell them
to bring my chair along."

She held out her hand to him and he bowed low
and kissed the tips of her fingers.  Then he went.


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Lord Douglas' spiteful glance followed the distinguished
Actor's retreating figure until the door
had closed upon him.  Then he said drily:

"Perhaps you are right, Babs.  He may as well
fetch your chair.  It is raining hard and one
Lacquey is as good as another."

He turned to Mr. Baggs, who, standing first on
one leg then on the other, presented a truly pitiable
spectacle of Servility and Unmanliness.  I think he
had just come to realize that I had been in the room
behind the screen all this while, and that my
Presence would be unwelcome to their Lordships if they
knew that I had overheard all their Conversation.
Certain it is that I saw him give a quick glance in
my direction, and then he became even more fussy
and snivelling than before.

"In my inner Office," he murmured.  "I pray
you to honour me, my Lords....  A glass of
wine, perhaps ... until the copies are finished.
I should be so proud ... and ... and ... we
should be quite undisturbed ... whereas
here ... I only regret..."

I despised him for all that grovelling, and so did
the Gentlemen, I make no doubt.  Nevertheless, they
were ready to follow him.

"We must wait somewhere," Lord Douglas said
curtly.  "And I should be glad of a glass of wine."

Lady Barbara was standing in the window-recess,
waiting for her chair.  She insisted on my Lord
Stour going with her Brother into the inner room.
Undoubtedly, she did not wish either of them to
meet Mr. Betterton again.

"I promise you," she said with quiet Determination,
"that I'll not stop to speak with him.  I'll
watch through the window until my Men bring the
chair; then I will go down at once."

"But——" protested his Lordship.

"I entreat you to go, my Lord," she reiterated
tartly.  "And you too, Douglas.  My temper is on
edge, and if I am not left to myself for a few
moments I shall have an attack of Nerves."

She certainly spoke with unwonted Sharpness.
Thus commanded, it would have been churlish to
disobey.  The young Gentlemen, after a second or
two longer of Hesitation, finally followed Mr. Baggs
out of the room.

Now, I could not see the Lady Barbara, for she
was ensconced in a window-recess, just as I was;
but I heard her give a loud Sigh of Impatience.
There was no doubt that her Nerves had been jarred.
Small wonder, seeing all that she had gone through—the
noise and rioting in the streets, her Terror and
her Flight; her unexpected meeting with her Lover;
then the advent of Mr. Betterton and that brooding
Quarrel between him and the two Gentlemen, which
threatened to break through at any moment.

The next minute I saw her Ladyship's chair
brought to a halt down below, and she crossed the
Line of my Vision between the window and the
sofa, where she had left her cloak.  She picked it
up and was about to wrap it round her shoulders,
when the door was flung open and Mr. Betterton
came in.  He gave a quick glance round the room
and saw that the Lady Barbara was alone—or so he
thought, for, of course, he did not see me.  He
carefully closed the door behind him and came
quickly forward, ostensibly to help her Ladyship on
with her cloak.

"It is kind of you, Sir, thus to wait on me," she
said coldly.  "May I claim your Arm to conduct
me to my chair?"

She was standing close in front of him just then,
with her back to him and her hands raised up to her
shoulders in order to receive her cloak, which he had
somewhat roughly snatched out of her grasp.

"My Arm?" he riposted, with a vibrating note
of passion in his mellow voice.  "My Life,
myself, are all at your Ladyship's service.  But will
not you wait one little moment and say one kind
word to the poor Actor whose Art is the delight of
Kings, and whose Person is the butt of every
Coxcomb who calls himself a Gentleman?"

He flung the cloak upon a chair and tried to take
her hand, which, however, she quickly withdrew,
and then turned, not unkindly, to face him.

"My Brother is hasty, Sir," she said more gently.
"He has many prejudices which, no doubt, time and
experience of life will mend.  As for me," she
added lightly, "I am quite ready to extend the
hand of Friendship, not only to the Artist but to
the Man."

She held out her hand to him.  Then, as he did
not take it, but stood there looking at her with
that hungry, passionate look which revealed the
depth of his Admiration for her, she continued with
a bantering tone of reproach:

"You will not take my hand, Sir?"

"No," he replied curtly.

"But I am offering You my Friendship," she
went on, with a quick, nervy little laugh; for she
was Woman enough, believe me, to understand his look.

"Friendship between Man and Woman is impossible,"
he said in a strange, hoarse voice, which
I scarce recognized as his.

"What do you mean?" she retorted, with a
sudden stiffening of her Figure and a haughty
Glance which he, of a truth, should have known
boded no good for his suit.

"I mean," he replied, "that between a Man and
a Woman, who are both young and both endowed
with Heart and Soul and Temperament, there may
be Enmity or Love, Hatred or Passion; but
Friendship, never."

"You talk vaguely, Sir," she rejoined coldly.  "I
pray You, give me my cloak."

"Not," he retorted, "before I have caused your
Ladyship to cast one short Glance back over the
past few months."

"With what purpose, I pray You?"

"So that You might recognize, as You gaze
along their vista, the man who since he first beheld
you hath madly worshipped You."

She stood before him, still facing him, tall and of
a truth divinely fair.  Nay! this no one could
gainsay.  For the moment I found it in my Heart to
sympathize with his Infatuation.  You, dear
Mistress, were not there to show him how much lovelier
still a Woman could be, and the Lady Barbara had
all the subtle flavour, too, of forbidden fruit.
Mr. Betterton sank on one knee before her; his mellow
Voice sounded exquisitely tender and caressing.
Oh! had I been a Woman, how gladly would I have
listened to his words.  There never was such a
Voice as that of Mr. Betterton.  No wonder that
he can sway the hearts of thousands by its Magic;
no wonder that thousands remain entranced while
he speaks.  Now, I assure You, Mistress, that tears
gathered in my eyes, there was such true Passion,
such depth of feeling in his tone.  But Lady
Barbara's heart was not touched.  In truth, she loved
another Man, and her whole outlook on Life and
Men was distorted by the Environment amidst
which she had been brought up.

The exquisite, insinuating Voice with its note of
tender Appeal only aroused her contempt.  She
jumped to her feet with an angry exclamation.
What she said, I do not quite remember; but it was
a Remark which must have stung him to the quick,
for I can assure You, dear Mistress, that Mr. Betterton's
pride is at least equal to that of the greatest
Nobleman in the land.  But all that he did say was:

"Nay, Madam; an Artist's love is not an insult,
even to a Queen."

"Possibly, Sir," she riposted coldly.  "But I at
least cannot listen to You.  So I pray You let me
rejoin my Servants."

"And I pray You," he pleaded, without rising,
"humbly on my knees, to hear me just this once!"

She protested, and would have left him there,
kneeling, while she ran out of the room; but he had
succeeded in getting hold of her Hand and was
clinging to it with both his own, whilst from his
lips there came a torrent of passionate pleading such
as I could not have thought any Woman capable
of resisting for long.

"I am not a young Dandy," he urged; "nor yet
a lank-haired, crazy Poet who grows hysterical over
a Woman's eyebrow.  I am a Man, and an Artist,
rich with an inheritance such as even your
Ancestors would have envied me.  Mine inheritance is
the Mind and Memory of cultured England and a
Name which by mine Art I have rendered immortal."

"I honour your Genius, Sir," she rejoined
coolly; "and because of it, I try to excuse your
folly."

"Nay!" he continued with passionate insistence.
"There are Passions so sweet that they excuse all
the Follies they provoke.  Oh!  I pray You listen
... I have waited in silence for months, not
daring to approach You.  You seemed immeasurably
above me, as distant as the Stars; but whilst I,
poor and lowly-born, waited and worshipped
silently, success forged for me a Name, so covered
with Glory that I dare at last place it at your feet."

"I am touched, Sir, and honoured, I assure You,"
she said somewhat impatiently.  "But all this is
naught but folly, and reason should teach you that
the Daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury can be
nothing to You."

But by this time it was evident that the great
and distinguished Actor had allowed his Folly to
conquer his Reason.  I closed my eyes, for I could
not bear to see a Man whom I so greatly respected
kneeling in such abject humiliation before a Woman
who had nothing for him but disdain.  Ah!  Women
can be very cruel when they do not love.  In truth,
Lady Barbara, with all her Rank and Wealth, could
not really have felt contempt for a Man whom the
King himself and the highest in the land delighted
to honour; yet I assure You, Mistress, that some of
the things she said made me blush for the sake of
the high-minded Man who honours me with his
Friendship.

"Short of reason, Sir," she said, with unmeasured
hauteur at one time, "I pray you recall your
far-famed sense of humour.  Let it show you Thomas
Betterton, the son of a Scullion, asking the hand of
the Lady Barbara Wychwoode in marriage."

This was meant for a Slap in the Face, and was
naught but a studied insult; for we all know that the
story of Mr. Betterton's Father having been a
menial is utterly without foundation.  But I assure
You that by this time he was blind and deaf to all
save to the insistent call of his own overwhelming
passion.  He did not resent the insult, as I thought
he would do; but merely rejoined fervently:

"I strive to conjure the picture; but only see Tom
Betterton, the world-famed Artist, wooing the
Woman he loves."

But what need is there for me to recapitulate here
all the fond and foolish things which were spoken
by a truly great Man to a chit of a Girl, who was
too self-centred and egotistical to appreciate the
great Honour which he was conferring on her by his
Wooing.  I was holding my breath, fearful lest I
should be seen.  To both of these proud People
before me, my known Presence would have been an
added humiliation.  Already Lady Barbara,
impatient of Mr. Betterton's importunity, was raising her
Voice and curtly bidding him to leave her in peace.
I thought every moment that she would call out to
her Brother, when Heaven alone would know what
would happen next.

"Your importunity becomes an insult, Sir," she
said at last.  "I command You to release my hand."

She tried to wrench it from his Grasp, but I
imagine that his hold on her wrist was so strong
that she could not free herself.  She looked around
her now with a look of Helplessness, which would
have gone to my Heart if I had any feeling of
sympathy left after I had poured out its full measure
for my stricken Friend.  He was not himself then,
I assure You, Mistress.  I know that the evil tongue
of those who hate and envy him have poured
insidious poison in your ears, that they told you that
Mr. Betterton had insulted the Lady Barbara past
forgiveness and had behaved towards her like a Cad
and a Bully.  But this I swear to be untrue.  I was
there all the time, and I saw it all.  He was on his
knees, and never attempted to touch her beyond
clinging to her Hand and covering it with kisses.
He was an humbled and a stricken Man, who saw
his Love rejected, his Passion flouted, his Suffering
mocked.

I tell you that all he did was to cling to her hand.


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   7

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Then, all at once, I suppose something frightened
her, and she called loudly:

"Douglas!  Douglas!"

I don't think that she meant to call, and I am
sure that the very next moment she had already
regretted what she had done.

Mr. Betterton jumped to his feet, sobered in the
instant; and she stood alone in the middle of the
room, gazing somewhat wild-eyed in the direction
of the door, which had already been violently flung
open and through which my Lord Stour and Lord
Douglas now hurriedly stepped forward.

"What is it, Babs?" Lord Douglas queried
roughly.  "Why are You still here? ... And what...?"

He got no further.  His glance had alighted on
Mr. Betterton, and I never saw quite so much
concentrated Fury and Hatred in any one's eyes as
now appeared in those of Lord Douglas Wychwoode.

But already the Lady Barbara had recovered
herself.  No doubt she realized the Mischief which
her involuntary call had occasioned.  The Quarrel
which had been slowly smouldering the whole
Afternoon was ready to burst into living flame at this
moment.  Even so, she tried to stem its outburst,
protesting that she had been misunderstood.  She
even tried to laugh; but the laugh sounded pitiably
forced.

"But it's nothing, Douglas, dear," she said.  "I
protest.  Did I really call?  I do not remember.
As a matter of fact, Mr. Betterton was good enough
to recite some verses for my delectation ... My
Enthusiasm must have run away with me
... and, unwittingly, I must have called out..."

Obviously the Explanation was a lame one.  I
felt myself that it would not be believed.  On the
face of my Lord Stour thunderclouds of Wrath
were fast gathering, and though Mr. Betterton had
recovered his presence of mind with all the Art at
his command, yet there was a glitter in his eyes
which he was powerless to veil, whilst the tremor
of her Ladyship's lips while she strove to speak
calmly aroused my Lord Stour's ever-wakeful
Jealousy.

Lord Douglas, as was his wont apparently
whenever he was deeply moved, was pacing up and down
the room; his hands were clasped behind his back
and from time to time I could see their convulsive
twitching.  Lord Stour now silently helped her
Ladyship on with her cloak.  I was thankful that
Mr. Baggs and Mistress Euphrosine were keeping
in the background, else I verily believe that their
obsequious Snivellings would have caused my
quivering Nerves to play me an unpleasant trick.

Mr. Betterton had retired to the nearest window
recess, so that I could not see him.  All that I did
see were the two Gentlemen and the threatening
Clouds which continued to gather upon their Brows.
I also heard my Lord Stour whisper hurriedly in
Lord Douglas' ear:

"In the name of our Friendship, Man, let me deal
with this."

I felt as if an icy hand had gripped my Heart.
I could not conjecture what that ominous Speech
could portend.  Lady Barbara now looked very pale
and troubled; her hands as they fumbled with her
cloak trembled visibly.  Lord Stour, with a
masterful gesture, took one of them and held it firmly
under his arm.

He then led her towards the door.  Just before
she went with him, however, her Ladyship turned,
and I imagine sought to attract Mr. Betterton's
attention.

"I must thank you, Sir," she said, with a final
pathetic attempt at Conciliation, "for your beautiful
Recitation.  I shall be greatly envied, methinks, by
those who have only heard Mr. Betterton declaim
upon the Stage."

Lord Douglas had gone to the door.  He opened
it and stood grimly by whilst my Lord Stour
walked out, with her Ladyship upon his arm.

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.. _`the outrage`:

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   CHAPTER V

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   THE OUTRAGE

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   1

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A great Sadness descends upon my Soul, dear
Mistress, even as I write.  Cold shivers course up
and down the length of my spine and mine eyes feel
hot with tears still unshed—tears of Sorrow and of
Shame, aye! and of a just Anger that it should have
been in the power of two empty-headed Coxcombs
to wreak an irreparable Injury upon one who is as
much above them as are the Stars above the
grovelling Worms.

I use the words "irreparable Injury" advisedly,
dear Lady, because what happened on that late
September afternoon will for ever be graven upon the
Heart and Memory of a great and noble Man, to the
exclusion of many a gentle feeling which was wont
to hold full sway over his Temperament before then.
Time, mayhap, and the triumph of a great Soul over
overwhelming temptation, have no doubt somewhat
softened the tearing ache of that cruel brand; but
only your Hand, fair Mistress, can complete the
healing, only your Voice can, with its tender gentleness,
drown the insistent call of Pride still smarting
for further Revenge.


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   2

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Lord Douglas Wychwoode did not speak to
Mr. Betterton after her Ladyship and my Lord Stour
had gone out of the room, but continued his
restless pacing up and down.  I thought his Silence
ominous.

Half consciously, I kept my attention fixed upon
the street below, and presently saw the Lady
Barbara get into her chair and bid adieu to his Lordship,
who remained standing on our doorstep until the
Sedan was borne away up the street and out of sight.
Then, to my astonishment, he walked down as far
as the *Spread Eagle* tavern and disappeared within
its doors.

The Silence in our parlour was getting on my
nerves.  I could not see Mr. Betterton, only Lord
Douglas from time to time, when in his ceaseless
tramping his short, burly figure crossed the line of
my vision.

Anon I once more thought of my Work.  There
were a couple more copies of the Manifesto to be
done, and I set to, determined to finish them.  Time
went on, and the afternoon light was now rapidly
growing dim.  Outside, the weather had not
improved.  A thin rain was coming down, which
turned the traffic-way of our street to sticky mud.
I remember, just after I had completed my Work
and tidied up my papers, looking out of the window
and seeing, in the now fast-gathering gloom, the
young Lord of Stour on the doorstep of the *Spread
Eagle* tavern, in close conversation with half a dozen
ill-clad and ill-conditioned Ruffians.  But I gave the
matter no further thought just then, for my mind
happened to be engrossed with doubts as to how I
should convey the Copies I had made to my
Employer without revealing my presence to Lord
Douglas Wychwoode.

His Lordship himself, however, soon relieved me
of this perplexity, for presently he came to a halt
by the door which led to the inner office and quite
unceremoniously pushed it open and walked through.
I heard his peremptory demands for the Copies, and
Mr. Baggs' muttered explanations.  But I did not
wait a moment longer.  This was obviously my best
opportunity for reappearing upon the Scene without
his Lordship realizing that I had been in the parlour
all the time.  I slipped out from my hiding place and
carefully rearranged the screen in its former
position, then I tiptoed across the room.

In the gloom, I caught sight of Mr. Betterton
standing in one of the Recesses, his slender white
hands, which were so characteristic of his refined,
artistic Personality, were clasped behind his back.
I would have given a year or two of my humdrum
life for the privilege of speaking to him then and of
expressing to him some of that Sympathy with
which my heart was overflowing.  But no one knows
better than I how proud a Man he is, and how he
would have resented the thought that any one else
had witnessed his Humiliation.

So I executed the Manoeuvre which I had in my
mind without further delay.  I opened the door
which gave on the stairs noiselessly, then closed it
again with a bang, as if I had just come in.  Then I
strode as heavily as I could across the room to the
door of the inner office, against which I then rapped
with my knuckles.

"Who's that?" Mr. Baggs' voice queried immediately.

"The Copies, Sir, which you ordered," I replied
in a firm voice.  "I have finished them."

"Come in! come in!" then broke in Lord
Douglas impatiently.  "I have waited in this
accursed hole quite long enough."

The whole thing went off splendidly, and even
Mr. Baggs did subsequently compliment me on my
clever Ruse.  Lord Douglas never suspected the
fact that I had not been out of the Parlour for a
moment, but had heard from the safe shelter of
the window-recess everything that had been going on.


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   3

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When, a few moments later, I returned to the
Parlour, eager to have a few minutes' speech with
Mr. Betterton, I saw that he had gone.  Anon,
Kathleen, the maid, brought in the candles and
closed the shutters.  I once more took my place at
my desk, but this time made no use of the screen.
After awhile, Lord Douglas came in, followed by
the ever-obsequious Mr. Baggs, and almost directly
after that, my Lord Stour came back.

His clothes were very wet and he shook the rain
out from the brim of his hat.

"What a time You have been!" Lord Douglas
said to him.  "I was for going away without seeing You."

"I wanted to find out what had happened in
here," my Lord Stour gave reply, speaking in a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"The Fellow had the audacity to pay his
addresses to Lady Barbara," my Lord Stour went on,
still speaking below his breath.  "I guessed as much,
but wanted to make sure."

Lord Douglas uttered an angry Oath, and Lord
Stour continued hurriedly:

"Such Insolence had to be severely punished, of
course; and I saw to it."

"How?" queried the other eagerly.

"I have hired half a dozen Ruffians from the
tavern yonder, to waylay him with sticks on his way
from here, and to give him the sound thrashing he
deserves."

It was with the most terrific effort at self-control
that I succeeded in smothering the Cry of Horror
which had risen to my lips.  As it was, I jumped to
my feet and both my chair and the candle from my
desk fell with a clatter to the floor.  I think that
Mr. Baggs hurled a Volley of abuse upon me for
my clumsiness and chided me in that the grease from
the candle was getting wasted by dripping on the
floor.  But the Gentlemen paid no heed to me.  They
were still engaged in their abominable conversation.
While I stooped to pick up the chair and the candle,
I heard my Lord Stour saying to his Friend:

"Come with me and see the Deed accomplished.
The Mountebank must be made to know whose
Hand is dealing him the well-merited punishment.
My Hirelings meant to waylay him at the corner
of Spreadeagle Court, a quiet place which is not far
from here, and which leads into a blind Alley.
Quickly, now," he added; "or we shall be too late."

More I did not hear; for, believe me, dear
Mistress, I felt like one possessed.  For the nonce, I
did not care whether I was seen or not, whether
Mr. Baggs guessed my purpose or not.  I did not care if
he abused me or even punished me later for my
strange behaviour.  All that I knew and felt just
then was that I must run to the corner of Spreadeagle
Court, where one of the most abominable Outrages
ever devised by one Man against Another was
even then being perpetrated.  I tore across the room,
through the door and down the stairs, hatless, my
coat tails flying behind me, like some Maniac
escaping from his Warders.

I ran up Chancery Lane faster, I think, than any
man ever ran before.  Already my ears were
ringing with the sound of distant shouts and scuffling.
My God! grant that I may not come too late.  I,
poor, weak, feeble of body, could of course do
nothing against six paid and armed Ruffians; but at
least I could be there to ward off or receive some of
the blows which the arms of the sacrilegious
Miscreants were dealing, at the instance of miserable
Coxcombs, to a man whose Genius and Glory should
have rendered him almost sacred in their sight.


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As long as I live will that awful picture haunt me
as I saw it then.

You know the Blind Alley on the left-hand side of
Spreadeagle Court, with, at the end of it, the great
double doorway which gives on the back premises
of Mr. Brooks' silk warehouse.  It was against that
doorway that Mr. Betterton had apparently sought
some semblance of refuge when first he was set upon
by the Ruffians.  By the time that I reached the
corner of the Blind Alley, he had fallen against the
door; for at first I could not see him.  All that I
saw was a group of burly backs, and arms waving
sticks about in the air.  All that I heard, oh, my
God! were ribald cries and laughter, and sounds
such as wild animals must make when they fall,
hungry, upon their Prey.  The Ruffians, I make no
doubt, had no grudge against their Victim; but
they had been well instructed and would be well
paid if their foul deed was conscientiously accomplished.

My Wrath and Anxiety gave me the strength
which I otherwise lack.  Pushing, jostling, crawling,
I contrived to work my way through the hideous
Barrier which seethed and moved and shouted
betwixt me and the Man whom I love.

When I at last kneeled beside him, I saw and
heard nothing more.  I did not feel the blows which
one or two of the Ruffians thought fit to deal to
Me.  I only saw him, lying there against the door,
panting, bleeding from forehead and hands, his
clothes torn, his noble Face of a deathly Pallor.  I
drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket and
staunched the wounds upon his face; I pillowed his
head against my Shoulder; I helped him to struggle
to his feet.  He was in mortal pain and too weak
to speak; but a ray of kindliness and of gratitude
flashed through his eyes when he recognised me.

The Ruffians were apparently satisfied with their
hideous work; but they still stood about at the top
of the Alley, laughing and talking, waiting no doubt
for their Blood Money.  Oh! if wishes could have
struck those Miscreants dumb or blind or palsied,
my feeble voice would have been raised to Heaven,
crying for Vengeance on such an infamous Deed.
Hot tears came coursing down my cheeks, my temples
throbbed with pain and Misery, as my arm stole
round the trembling figure of my Friend.

Then all at once those tears were dried, the
throbbing of my temples was stilled.  I felt no longer
like a Man, but like a petrified Statue of Indignation
and of Hate.  The sound of my Lord Stour's
Voice had just struck upon mine ear.  Vaguely
through the gloom I could see him and Lord
Douglas Wychwoode parleying with those abominable
Ruffians....  I heard the jingle of Money
... Blood Money ... the ring of ribald
laughter, snatches of a bibulous song.

These sounds and the clang of the Gentlemen's
footsteps upon the cobble-stones also reached
Mr. Betterton's fast-fading Senses.  I felt a tremor
coursing right through his limbs.  With an almost
superhuman Effort, he pulled himself together and
drew himself erect, still clinging with both hands
to my arms.  By the time that the two young
Cavaliers had reached the end of the blind Alley, the
outraged Man was ready to confront them.  Their
presence there, those sounds of jingling money and
of laughter, had told him the whole abominable tale.
He fought against his Weakness, against Pain and
against an impending Swoon.  He was still livid,
but it was with Rage.  His eyes had assumed an
unnatural Fire; his whole appearance as he stood
there against the solid background of the massive
door, was sublime in its forceful Expression of
towering Wrath and of bitter, deadly Humiliation.

Even those two miserable Coxcombs paused for
an instant, silenced and awed by what they saw.
The laughter died upon their lips; the studied sneer
upon their Face gave place to a transient expression
of fear.

Mr. Betterton's arm was now extended and with
trembling hand he pointed at Lord Stour.

"'Tis You——" he murmured hoarsely.  "You—who
have done—this thing?"

"At your service," replied the young Man, with
a lightness of manner which was obviously forced
and a great show of Haughtiness and of Insolence.
"My friend Lord Douglas here, has allowed me the
privilege of chastising a common Mountebank for
daring to raise his eyes to the Lady Barbara Wychwoode——"

At mention of the Lady's name, I felt
Mr. Betterton's clutch on my arm tighten convulsively.

"Does she——" he queried, "does she—know?"

"I forbid You," interposed Lord Douglas curtly,
"to mention my Sister's name in the matter."

"'Tis to my Lord Stour I am speaking," rejoined
Mr. Betterton more firmly.  Then he added:
"You will give me satisfaction for this outrage,
my Lord——"

"Satisfaction?" riposted his Lordship coolly.
"What do you mean?"

"One of us has got to die because of this,"
Mr. Betterton said loudly.

Whereupon my Lord Stour burst into a fit of
hilarious laughter, which sounded as callous as it
was forced.

"A Duel?" he almost shrieked, in a rasping
voice.  "Ha! ha! ha! a Duel!!!—a duel with
You? ... With Tom Betterton, the Son of a Scullion....
By my faith! 'tis the best joke you ever
made, Sir Actor ... 'tis worth repeating upon
the Stage!"

But the injured Man waited unmoved until his
Lordship's laughter died down in a savage Oath.
Then he said calmly:

"The day and hour, my Lord Stour?"

"This is folly, Sir," rejoined the young Cavalier
coldly.  "The Earl of Stour can only cross swords
with an Equal."

"In that case, my lord," was Mr. Betterton's
calm reply, "you can only cross swords henceforth
with a Coward and a Liar."

"Damned, insolent cur!" cried Lord Stour,
maddened with rage no doubt at the other's calm
contempt.  He advanced towards us with arm uplifted—then
perhaps felt ashamed, or frightened—I know
not which.  Certain it is that Lord Douglas
succeeded in dragging him back a step or two, whilst
he said with well-studied contempt:

"Pay no further heed to the fellow, my Friend.
He has had his Punishment—do not bandy further
Words with him."

He was for dragging Lord Stour away quickly
now.  I do believe that he was ashamed of the
abominable Deed.  At any rate, he could not bear
to look upon the Man who had been so diabolically
wronged.

"Come away, Man!" he kept reiterating at
intervals.  "Leave him alone!"

"One moment, my Lord," Mr. Betterton called
out in a strangely powerful tone of Voice.  "I wish
to hear your last Word."

By now we could hardly see one another.  The
Blind Alley was in almost total gloom.  Only against
the fast-gathering dusk I could still see the hated
figures of the two young Cavaliers, their outlines
blurred by the evening haze.  Lord Stour was
certainly on the point of going; but at Mr. Betterton's
loudly spoken Challenge, he paused once more, then
came a step or two back towards us.

"My last Word?" he said coldly.  Then he
looked Mr. Betterton up and down, his every
Movement, his whole Attitude, a deadly Insult.  "One
does not fight with such as You," he said, laughed,
and would have turned away immediately, only that
Mr. Betterton, with a quick and unforeseen
Movement, suddenly reached forward and gripped him
by the Wrist.

"Insolent puppy!" he said in a whisper, so hoarse
and yet so distinct that not an Intonation, not a
syllable of it was lost, "that knows not the Giant
it has awakened by its puny bark.  You refuse to
cross swords with Tom Betterton, the son of a
Menial, as you choose to say?  Very well, then,
'tis Thomas Betterton, the Artist of undying
renown, who now declares war against You.  For
every Jeer to-day, for every Insult and for every
Blow, he will be even with You; for he will launch
against You the irresistible Thunderbolt that kills
worse than death and which is called *Dishonour*! ... Aye!
I will fight You, my Lord; not to your
death, but to your undying Shame.  And now," he
added more feebly, as he threw his Lordship's arm
away from him with a gesture of supreme contempt,
"go, I pray You, go!  I'll not detain You any
longer.  You and your friend are free to laugh for
the last time to-day at the name which I, with my
Genius, have rendered immortal.  Beware, my
Lord!  The Ridicule that kills, the Obloquy which
smirches worse than the impious hands of paid
Lacqueys.  This is the Word of Tom Betterton,
my Lord; the first of his name, as you, please God,
will be the last of yours!"

Then, without a groan, he fell, swooning, upon
my shoulder.  When consciousness of my surroundings
once more returned to me, I realized that the
two Gentlemen had gone.

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.. _`the gathering storm`:

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   CHAPTER VI

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   THE GATHERING STORM

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It was after that never-to-be-forgotten Episode
that Mr. Betterton honoured me with his full and
entire Confidence.  At the moment that he clung so
pathetically to my feeble arms, he realized, I think
for the first time, what a devoted Friend he would
always find in me.  Something of the powerful
magical Fluid of my devotion must have emanated
from my Heart and reached his sensitive Perceptions.
He knew from that hour that, while I lived
and had Health and Strength, I should never fail
him in Loyalty and willing Service.

Soon afterwards, if you remember, Mr. Betterton
went again to Paris, by command of His
Majesty this time, there to study and to master the
whole Question of Scenery and scenic Effects upon
the Stage, such as is practised at the Theatre de
Molière in the great City.  That he acquitted
himself of his task with Honour and Understanding
goes without saying.  The rousing Welcome which
the public of London gave him on his return testified
not only to his Worth but also to his Popularity.

The scenic Innovations, though daring and at
times crudely realistic, did, in the opinion of
Experts, set off the art of Mr. Betterton to the greatest
possible Advantage.  No doubt that his overwhelming
Success at that time was in a great measure
due to his familiarity with all those authentic-looking
doors and trees and distant skies which at
first bewildered such old-fashioned actors as
Mr. Harris or the two Messrs. Noakes.

Never indeed had Mr. Betterton been so great
as he was now.  Never had his Talents stood so high
in the estimation of the cultured World.  His
success as *Alvaro* in "Love and Honour," as *Solyman*
in the "Siege of Rhodes," as *Hamlett* or *Pericles*,
stand before me as veritable Triumphs.  Bouquets
and Handkerchiefs, scented Notes and Love-tokens,
were showered upon the brilliant Actor as he stood
upon the Stage, proudly receiving the adulation of
the Audience whom he had conquered by the Magic
of his Art.

His Majesty hardly ever missed a Performance
at the new Duke's Theatre when Mr. Betterton
was acting, nor did my Lady Castlemaine, who was
shamelessly vowing about that time that she was
prepared to bestow upon the great Man any Favour
he might ask of her.


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But outwardly at any rate, Mr. Betterton had
become a changed Man.  His robust Constitution
and splendid Vitality did in truth overcome the
physical after-effects of the abominable Outrage of
which he had been the Victim; but the moral
consequences upon his entire character and demeanour
were indeed incalculable.  Of extraordinary purity
in his mode of living, it had been difficult, before
that Episode, for evil Gossip to besmirch his fair
name, even in these lax and scandalous times.  But
after that grim September afternoon it seemed as
if he took pride in emulating the least
estimable characteristics of his Contemporaries.  His
Majesty's avowed predilection for the great Actor
brought the latter into daily contact with all those
noble and beautiful Ladies who graced the Court
and Society, more by virtue of their outward
appearance than of their inner worth.  Scarce ever
was a banquet or fête given at While Hall now but
Mr. Betterton was not one of the most conspicuous
guests; never a Supper party at my Lady
Castlemaine's or my Lady Shrewsbury's but the famous
Actor was present there.  He was constantly in the
company of His Grace of Buckingham, of my Lord
Rochester and others of those noble young Rakes;
his name was constantly before the Public; he was
daily to be seen on the Mall, or in St. James's Park,
or at the more ceremonious parade in Hyde Park.
His elegant clothes were the talk of every young
Gallant that haunted Fop's Corner; his sallies were
quoted by every Cavalier who strove for a
reputation as a wit.  In fact, dear Lady, You know just
as well as I do, that for that brief period of his
life Mr. Betterton became just one of the gay, idle,
modish young Men about town, one of that
hard-drinking, gambling, scandal-mongering crowd of
Idlers, who were none of them fit to tie the lacets
of his shoes.

I, who saw more and more of him in those days,
knew, however, that all that gay, butterfly
Existence which he led was only on the surface.  To me
he was like some poor Animal stricken by a mortal
wound, who, nevertheless, capers and gyrates
before a grinning Public with mechanical movements
of the body that have nothing in common with the mind.


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Of the beautiful Lady Barbara I saw but little
during the autumn.

There was much talk in the Town about her
forthcoming Marriage to my Lord of Stour, which was
to take place soon after the New Year.  Many were
the conjectures as to why so suitable a Marriage
did not take place immediately, and it seemed
strange that so humble and insignificant a Person as
I was could even then have supplied the key to the
riddle which was puzzling so many noble Ladies
and Gentlemen.  I knew, in my humble capacity as
Spectator of great events, that the Marriage would
only take place after the vast and treasonable
projects which had originated in my Lord Douglas
Wychwoode's turbulent mind had come to a successful issue.

I often confided to You, dear Mistress, in those
days that Mr. Betterton, in the kindness of his
Heart, had made me many an offer to leave my
present humdrum employment and to allow myself
to be attached to his Person as his private Secretary
and personal Friend.  For a long time I refused his
offers—tempting and generous though they were—chiefly
because if I had gone then to live with
Mr. Betterton, I should have been irretrievably
separated from You.  But in my Heart I knew that,
though the great Man was not in pressing need of a
Secretary, his soul did even long and yearn for a
Friend.  A more devoted one, I vow, did not exist
than my humble self; and when, during the early
part of the autumn, You, dear Mistress, finally
decided to leave your present uncomfortable quarters
for lodgings more befitting your growing Fame and
your Talents, there was nothing more to keep me
tied to my dour and unsympathetic Employer, and
to his no less unpleasant Spouse.

I therefore gave Mr. Theophilus Baggs notice
that I had resolved to quit his Employ, hoping that
my Decision would meet with his Convenience.

I could not help laughing to myself when I saw
the manner in which he received this Announcement.
To say that he was surprised and indignant
would be to put it mildly; indeed, he used every
Mode of persuasion to try and make me alter my
decision.  He began by chiding me for an Ingrate,
vowing that he had taught me all I knew and had
lavished Money and Luxuries upon me, and that I
was proposing to leave him just when the time had
come for him to see some slight return for his
Expenditure and for his pains, in my growing
Efficiency.  He went on to persuade, to cajole and to
bribe, Mistress Euphrosine joining him both in
Vituperation and in Unctuousness.  But, as You
know, I was adamant.  I knew the value of all this
soft-sawder and mouth-honour.  I had suffered too
many Hardships and too many Indignities at the
hands of these selfish Sycophants, to turn a deaf
ear now that friendship and mine own future
happiness called to me so insistently.

Finally, however, I yielded to the extent of agreeing
to stay a further three months in the service of
Mr. Baggs, whilst he took steps to find another
Clerk who would suit his purpose.  But I only
agreed to this on the condition that I was to be
allowed a fuller amount of personal Freedom than
I had enjoyed hitherto; that I should not be set any
longer to do menial tasks, which properly pertained
to a Scullion; and that, whenever my clerical work
for the day was done, I should be at liberty to
employ my time as seemed best to me.

Thus it was that I had a certain amount of leisure,
and after You left us, fair Mistress, I was able to
take my walks abroad, there where I was fairly
certain of meeting You, or of having a glimpse of
Mr. Betterton, surrounded by his brilliant Friends.

Often, dear Mistress, did You lavish some of your
precious time and company upon the seedy
Attorney's Clerk, who of a truth was not worthy to be
seen walking in the Park or in Mulberry Gardens
beside the beautiful and famous Mistress Saunderson,
who by this time had quite as many Followers and
Adorers as any virtuous Woman could wish for.
You never mentioned Mr. Betterton to me in those
days, even though I knew that You must often have
been thrown in his Company, both in the Theatre
and in Society.  That your love for him had not
died in your Heart, I knew from the wistful look
which was wont to come into your eyes whenever
You chanced to meet him in the course of a
Promenade.  You always returned his respectful and
elaborate bow on those occasions with cool
Composure; but as soon as he had passed by and his rich,
mellow Voice, so easily distinguishable amongst
others, had died away in the distance, I, who knew
every line of your lovely face, saw the familiar
look of Sorrow and of bitter Disappointment once
more mar its perfect serenity.


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We had an unusually mild and prolonged autumn
this past year, if you remember, fair Mistress; and
towards the end of October there were a few sunny
days which were the veritable aftermath of
Summer.  The London Parks and Gardens were
crowded day after day with Ladies and Gallants,
decked in their gayest attire, for the time to don
winter clothing still appeared remote.

I used to be fond of watching all these fair Ladies
and dazzling Cavaliers, and did so many a time on
those bright mornings whilst waiting to see You
pass.  On one occasion I saw the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode, in company with my Lord Stour.

Heaven knows I have no cause to think kindly
of her; but truth compels me to say that she
appeared to me more beautiful than ever before.  She
and his Lordship had found two chairs, up against
a tree, somewhat apart from the rest of the glittering
throng.  I, as a Spectator, could see that they
were supremely happy in one another's company.

"How sweet the air is!" she was sighing
contentedly.  "More like spring than late autumn.
Ah, me!  How happily one could dream!"

She threw him a witching glance, which no doubt
sent him straight to Heaven, for I heard him say
with passionate earnestness:

"Of what do Angels dream, my beloved?"

They continued to whisper, and I of course did
not catch all that they said.  My Lord Stour was
obviously very deeply enamoured of the Lady
Barbara.  Because of this I seemed to hate and despise
him all the more.  Oh! when the whole World
smiled on him, when Fortune and Destiny showered
their most precious gifts into his lap, what right had
he to mar the soul which God had given him with
such base Passions as Jealousy and Cruelty?  With
his monstrous Act of unwarrantable violence he had
ruined the happiness of a Man greater, finer than
himself; he had warped a noble disposition, soured
a gentle and kindly spirit.  Oh!  I hated him!  I
hated him!  God forgive me, but I had not one
spark of Christian spirit for him within my heart.
If it lay in my power, I knew that I was ready to
do him an Injury.

From time to time I heard snatches of his
impassioned speeches.  "Barbara, my beloved!  Oh,
God! how I love You!"  Or else: "'Tis unspeakable
joy to look into your eyes, joyous madness to
hold your little hand!"  And more of such stuff,
as Lovers know how to use.

And she, too, looked supremely happy.  There
was a sparkle in her eyes which spoke of a Soul
intoxicated with delight.  She listened to him as if
every word from his lips was heaven-sent Manna
to her hungering heart.  And I marvelled why this
should be; why she should listen to this
self-sufficient, empty-headed young Coxcomb and have
rejected with such bitter scorn the suit of a Man
worthy in every sense to be the Mate of a Queen.
And I thought then of Mr. Betterton kneeling
humbly before her, his proud Head bent before this
ignorant and wilful Girl, who had naught but cruel
words for him on her lips.  And a great wrath
possessed me, greater than it ever had been before.  I
suppose that I am very wicked and that the Devil
of Revenge had really possessed himself of my
Soul; but then and there, under the trees, with the
translucent Dome of blue above me, I vowed bitter
hatred against those two, vowed that Fate should
be even with them if I, the humble Clerk, could
have a say in her decrees.


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Just now, they were like two Children playing at
love.  He was insistent and bold, tried to draw her
to him, to kiss her in sight of the fashionable throng
that promenaded up and down the Avenue less than
fifty yards away.

"A murrain on the Conventions!" he said with
a light laugh, as she chided him for his ardour.
"I want the whole Universe to be witness of my joy."

She placed her pretty hand playfully across his mouth.

"Hush, my dear Lord," she said with wonderful
tenderness.  "Heaven itself, they say, is oft times
jealous to see such Happiness as ours....  And
I am so happy..." she continued with a deep
sigh, "so happy that sometimes a horrible
presentiment seems to grip my heart..."

"Presentiment of what, dear love?" he queried lightly.

I did not catch what she said in reply, for just
at that moment I caught sight of Mr. Betterton
walking at a distant point of the Avenue, in the
Company of a number of admiring Friends.

They were hanging round him, evidently vastly
amused by some witty sallies of his.  Never had I
seen him look more striking and more brilliant.
He wore a magnificent coat of steel-grey velvet
with richly embroidered waistcoat, and a cravat and
frills of diaphanous lace, whilst the satin breeches,
silk stockings and be-ribboned shoes set off his
shapely limbs to perfection.  His Grace of
Buckingham was walking beside him, and he had my
Lady Shrewsbury upon his arm, whilst among his
Friends I recognised my Lords Orrery and
Buckhurst, and the Lord Chancellor himself.

The Lady Barbara caught sight of Mr. Betterton,
too, I imagine, for as I moved away, I heard her
say in a curiously constrained voice:

"That man—my Lord—he is your deadly Enemy."

"Bah!" he retorted with a careless shrug of the
shoulders.  "Actors are like toothless, ill-tempered
curs.  They bark, but they are powerless to bite!"

Oh, I hated him!  Heavens above! how I hated him!

How puny and insignificant he was beside his
unsuccessful Rival should of a surety have been
apparent even to the Lady Barbara.  Even now,
Mr. Betterton, with a veritable crowd of Courtiers
around him, had come to a halt not very far from
where those two were sitting; and it was very
characteristic of him that, even whilst the Duke of
Buckingham was whispering in his ear and the Countess
of Shrewsbury was smiling archly at him, his eyes
having found me, he nodded and waved his hand to me.


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A minute or two later, another group of Ladies
and Gallants, amongst whom Her Grace the
Duchess of York was conspicuous by her elegance
and the richness of her attire, literally swooped
down upon Mr. Betterton and his Friends, and Her
Grace's somewhat high-pitched voice came ringing
shrilly to mine ear.

"Ah, Mr. Betterton!" she exclaimed.  "Where
have you hid yourself since yesterday, you wicked,
adorable Man?  And I, who wished to tell you how
entirely splendid was your performance in that
supremely dull play you call 'Love and Honour.'  You
were superb, Sir, positively superb! ... I
was telling His Grace a moment ago that every
Actor in the world is a mere Mountebank when
compared with Mr. Betterton's Genius."

And long did she continue in the same strain,
most of the Ladies and Gentlemen agreeing with
her and engaging in a chorus of Eulogy, all delivered
in high falsetto voices, which in the olden days,
when first I knew him, would have set Mr. Betterton's
very teeth on edge.  But now he took up the
ball of airy talk, tossed it back to the Ladies, bowed
low and kissed Her Grace's hand—I could see that
she gave his a significant pressure—gave wit for wit
and flattery for flattery.

He had of a truth made a great success the day
before in a play called "Love and Honour," writ
by Sir William Davenant, when His Majesty
himself lent his own Coronation Suit to the great Actor,
so that he might worthily represent the part of
*Prince Alvaro*.  This Success put the crowning
Glory to his reputation, although in my humble
opinion it was unworthy of so great an Artist as
Mr. Betterton to speak the Epilogue which he had
himself written in eulogy of the Countess of
Castlemaine, and which he delivered with such magnificent
Diction at the end of the Play, that His Majesty
waxed quite enthusiastic in his applause.


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Standing somewhat apart from that dazzling
group, I noticed my Lord Douglas Wychwoode, in
close conversation with my Lord Teammouth and
another Gentleman, who was in clerical attire.
After awhile, my Lord Stour joined them, the
Lady Barbara having apparently slipped away unobserved.

My Lord Stour was greeted by his friends with
every mark of cordiality.

"Ah!" the Cleric exclaimed, and extended both
his hands—which were white and plump—to my
Lord.  "Here is the truant at last!"  Then he
waxed playful, put up an accusing finger and added
with a smirking laugh: "Meseems I caught sight
of a petticoat just behind those trees, where his
Lordship himself had been apparently communing
with Nature, eh?"

Whereupon my Lord Teammouth went on, not
unkindly and in that dogmatic way which he was
pleased to affect: "Youth will ever smile, even in
the midst of dangers; and my Lord Stour is a great
favourite with the Ladies."

Lord Douglas Wychwoode was as usual petulant
and impatient, and rejoined angrily:

"Even the Castlemaine has tried to cast her nets
around him."

My Lord Stour demurred, but did not try to
deny the soft impeachment.

"Only because I am new at Court," he said, "and
have no eyes for her beauty."

This, of course, was News to me.  I am so little
versed in Court and Society gossip and had not
heard the latest piece of scandal, which attributed to
the Lady Castlemaine a distinct *penchant* for the
young Nobleman.  Not that it surprised me
altogether.  The newly created Countess of
Castlemaine, who was receiving favours from His
Majesty the King with both hands, never hesitated
to deceive him, and even to render him ridiculous
by flaunting her predilections for this or that young
Gallant who happened to have captured her
wayward fancy.  My Lord Sandwich, Colonel Hamilton,
the handsome Mr. Wycherley, and even such a
vulgar churl as Jacob Hill, the rope dancer, had all,
at one time or another, been favoured with the lady's
fitful smiles, and while responding to her advances
with the Ardour born of Cupidity or of a desire for
self-advancement rather than of true love, they had
for the most part lost some shreds of their
Reputation and almost all of their Self-respect.

But at the moment I paid no heed to Lord Douglas'
taunt levelled at his Friend, nor at the latter's
somewhat careless way of Retort.  In fact, the
whole Episode did not then impress itself upon my
mind, and it was only in face of later events that I
was presently to be reminded of it all.


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   8

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For the moment I was made happy by renewed
kindly glances from Mr. Betterton.  It seemed as
if his eyes had actually beckoned to me, so I made
bold to advance nearer to the dazzling group of
Ladies and Gentlemen that stood about,
talking—jabbering, I might say, like a number of
gay-plumaged birds, for they seemed to me irresponsible
and unintellectual in their talk.

Of course, I could not hear everything, and I
had to try and make my unfashionably attired
Person as inconspicuous as possible.  So I drew a book
from my pocket, one that looked something like a
Greek Lexicon, though in truth it was a collection
of Plays writ by the late Mr. William Shakespeare,
in one or two of which—notably in one called
"Hamlett"—Mr. Betterton had scored some of his
most conspicuous Triumphs.

The book, and my seeming absorption in it, gave
me the countenance of an earnest young Student
intent on the perusal of Classics, even whilst it
enabled me to draw quite near to the brilliant
Throng of Distinguished People, who, if they paid
any heed to me at all, would find excuses for my
Presumption in my obvious earnest Studiousness.
I was also able to keep some of my attention fixed
upon Mr. Betterton, who was surrounded by
admiring Friends; whilst at some little distance close by,
I could see Mr. Harris—also of the Duke's Theatre—who
was holding forth in a didactic manner
before a group of Ladies and gay young Sparks, even
though they were inclined to mock him because of
his Conceit in pitting his talent against that of
Mr. Betterton.

There was no doubt that a couple of years ago
Mr. Harris could be, and was considered, the
greatest Actor of his time; but since Mr. Betterton
had consolidated his own triumph by playing the
parts of *Pericles*, of *Hamlett* and of *Prince Alvaro*
in "Love and Honour," the older Actor's reputation
had undoubtedly suffered by comparison with
the Genius of his younger Rival, at which of course
he was greatly incensed.  I caught sight now and
then of his florid face, so different in expression to
Mr. Betterton's more spiritual-looking countenance,
and from time to time his pompous, raucous voice
reached my ears, as did the more strident,
high-pitched voices of the Ladies.  I heard one young
Lady say, to the accompaniment of some pretty,
mincing gestures:

"Mr. Betterton was positively rapturous last
night ... enchanting!  You, Mr. Harris, will in
truth have to look to your laurels."

And an elderly Lady, a Dowager of obvious
consideration and dignity, added in tones which brooked
of no contradiction:

"My opinion is that there never has been or ever
will be a Player equal to Mr. Betterton in Purity
of Diction and Elegance of Gesture.  He hath indeed
raised our English Drama to the level of High Art."

I could have bowed low before her and kissed
her hand for this; aye! and have paid homage, too,
to all these gaily-dressed Butterflies who, in truth,
had more Intellectuality in them than I had given
them credit for.  Every word of Eulogy of my
beloved Friend was a delight to my soul.  I felt
mine eyes glowing with enthusiasm and had grave
difficulty in keeping them fixed upon my book.

I had never liked Mr. Harris personally, for I
was wont to think his conceit quite overweening
beside the unalterable modesty of Mr. Betterton,
who was so incomparably his Superior; and I was
indeed pleased to see that both the Dowager
Lady—who, I understood, was the Marchioness of
Badlesmere—and the younger Ladies and Gentlemen felt
mischievously inclined to torment him.

"What is your opinion, Mr. Harris?" my Lady
Badlesmere was saying to the discomfited Actor.
"It would be interesting to know one Player's
opinion of another."

She had a spy-glass, through which she regarded
him quizzically, whilst a mocking smile played
around her thin lips.  This, no doubt, caused poor
Mr. Harris to lose countenance, for as a rule he is
very glib of tongue.  But just now he mouthed and
stammered, appeared unable to find his words.

"It cannot be denied, your Ladyship," he began
sententiously enough, "that Mr. Betterton's
gestures are smooth and pleasant, though they perhaps
lack the rhythmic grandeur ... the dignified
sweep ... of ... of ... the..."

He was obviously floundering, and the old Lady
broke in with a rasping laugh and a tone of
somewhat acid sarcasm.

"Of the gestures of Mr. Harris, you mean, eh?"

"No, Madam," he retorted testily, and distinctly
nettled.  "I was about to say 'of the gestures of
our greatest Actors.'"

"Surely the same thing, dear Mr. Harris," a
young Lady rejoined with well-assumed demureness,
and dropped him a pert little curtsey.

I might have been sorry for the Man—for of a
truth these small pin-pricks must have been very
irritating to his Vanity, already sorely wounded by
a younger Rival's triumph—but for the fact that
he then waxed malicious, angered no doubt by
hearing a veritable Chorus of Eulogy proceeding from
that other group of Ladies and Gentlemen of which
Mr. Betterton was the centre.

I do not know, as a matter of fact, who it was
who first gave a spiteful turning to the bantering,
mocking Conversation of awhile ago; but in my
mind I attributed this malice to Lord Douglas
Wychwoode, who came up with his clerical friend
just about this time, in order to pay his respects to
the Marchioness of Badlesmere, who, I believe, is
a near Relative of his.  Certain it is that very soon
after his arrival upon the scene, I found that every
one around him was talking about the abominable
Episode, the very thought of which sent my blood
into a Fever and my thoughts running a veritable
riot of Revenge and of Hate.  Of course,
Mr. Harris was to the fore with pointed Allusions to the
grave Insult done to an eminent Artist, and which,
to my thinking, should have been condemned by
every right-minded Man or Woman who had a
spark of lofty feeling in his or her heart.

"Ah, yes!" one of the Ladies was saying; "I
heard about it at the time ... a vastly diverting
story...."

"Which went the round of the Court," added another.

"Mr. Betterton's shoulders," a gay young Spark
went on airily, "are said to be still very sore."

"And his usually equable Temper the sorer of the two."

Lord Douglas did not say much, but I felt his
spiteful Influence running as an undercurrent
through all that flippant talk.

"Faith!" concluded one of the young Gallants,
"were I my Lord Stour, I would not care to have
Mr. Betterton for an enemy."

"An Actor can hit with great accuracy and
harshness from the Stage," Mr. Harris went on
pompously.  "He speaks words which a vast Public
hears and goes on to repeat *ad infinitum*.  Thus a
man's—aye! or a Lady's—reputation can be made
or marred by an Epilogue spoken by a popular
Player at the end of a Drama.  We all remember
the case of Sir William Liscard, after he had
quarrelled with Mr. Kynaston."

Whereupon that old story was raked up, how
Mr. Kynaston had revenged himself for an insult upon
him by Sir William Liscard by making pointed
Allusions from the Stage to the latter's secret
intrigue with some low-class wench, and to the
Punishment which was administered to him by the
wench's vulgar lover.  The Allusions were
unmistakable, because that punishment had taken the form
of a slit nose, and old Sir William had appeared in
Society one day with a piece of sticking plaster
across the middle of his face.

Well, we all know what happened after that.  Sir
William, covered with Ridicule, had to leave
London for awhile and bury himself in the depths of the
Country, for, in Town he could not show his face
in the streets but he was greeted with some vulgar
lampoon or ribald song, hurled at him by passing
roisterers.  It all ended in a Tragedy, for Lady
Liscard got to hear of it, and there was talk of
Divorce proceedings, which would have put Sir
William wholly out of Court—His Majesty being
entirely averse to the dissolution of any legal Marriage.

But all this hath naught to do with my story, and
I only recount the matter to You to show You how,
in an instant, the temper of all these great Ladies
and Gentlemen can be swayed by the judicious
handling of an evil-minded Person.

All these Ladies and young Rakes, who awhile
ago were loud in their praises of a truly great Man,
now found pleasure in throwing mud at him,
ridiculing and mocking him shamefully, seeing that,
had he been amongst them, he would soon have
confounded them with his Wit and brought them back
to Allegiance by his magic Personality.

Once again I heard a distinct Allusion to the
Countess of Castlemaine's avowed predilection for
Lord Stour.  It came from one of the Cavaliers,
who said to Lord Douglas, with an affected little laugh:

"Perhaps my Lord Stour would do well to place
himself unreservedly under the protection of Lady
Castlemaine!  'Tis said that she is more than willing
to extend her Favours to him."

"Nay!  Stour hath nothing to fear," Lord Douglas
replied curtly.  "He stands far above a mere
Mountebank's spiteful pin-pricks."

Oh! had but God given me the power to strike
such a Malapert dumb!  I looked around me,
marvelling if there was not one sane Person here who
would stand up in the defence of a great and
talented Artist against this jabbering of irresponsible
Monkeys.


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I must admit, however, that directly Mr. Betterton
appeared upon the scene the tables were quickly
turned once more on Mr. Harris, and even on Lord
Douglas, for Mr. Betterton is past Master in the
art of wordy Warfare, and, moreover, has this great
Advantage, that he never loses control over his
Temper.  No malicious shaft aimed at him will ever
ruffle his Equanimity, and whilst his Wit is most
caustic, he invariably retains every semblance of
perfect courtesy.

He now had the Duchess of York on his arm,
and His Grace of Buckingham had not left his side.
His Friends were unanimously chaffing him about
that Epilogue which he had spoken last night, and
which had so delighted the Countess of Castlemaine.
My Lord Buckhurst and Sir William Davenant were
quoting pieces out of it, whilst I could only feel
sorry that so great a Man had lent himself to such
unworthy Flattery.

"'Divinity, radiant as the stars!'" Lord Buckhurst
quoted with a laugh.  "By gad, you Rogue,
you did not spare your words."

Mr. Betterton frowned almost imperceptibly, and
I, his devoted Admirer, guessed that he was not a
little ashamed of the fulsome Adulation which he
had bestowed on so unworthy an Object, and I was
left to marvel whether some hidden purpose as yet
unknown to me had actuated so high-minded an
Artist thus to debase the Art which he held so dear.
It was evident, however, that the whole Company
thought that great things would come from that
apparently trivial incident.

"My Lady Castlemaine," said Sir William
Davenant, "hath been wreathed in smiles ever since you
spoke that Epilogue.  She vows that there is nothing
she would not do for You.  And, as already You are
such a favourite with His Majesty, why, Man! there
is no end to your good fortune."

And I, who watched Mr. Betterton's face again,
thought to detect a strange, mysterious look in his
eyes—something hidden and brooding was going on
behind that noble brow, something that was
altogether strange to the usually simple, unaffected and
sunny temperament of the great Artist, and which
I, his intimate Confidant and Friend, had not yet
been able to fathom.

Whenever I looked at him these days, I was
conscious as of a sultry Summer's day, when nature is
outwardly calm and every leaf on every tree is still.
It is only to those who are initiated in the mysteries
of the Skies that the distant oncoming Storm is
revealed by a mere speck of cloud or a tiny haze
upon the Bosom of the Firmament, which hath no
meaning to the unseeing eye, but which foretells
that the great forces of Nature are gathering up
their strength for the striking of a prodigious blow.

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   CHAPTER VII

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   AN ASSEMBLY OF TRAITORS

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   1

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I, in the meanwhile, had relegated the
remembrance of Lord Douglas Wychwoode and his
treasonable Undertakings to a distant cell of my
mind.  I had not altogether forgotten them, but
had merely ceased to think upon the Subject.

I was still nominally in the employ of Mr. Baggs,
but he had engaged a new Clerk—a wretched, puny
creature, whom Mistress Euphrosine already held in
bondage—and I was to leave his Service definitely
at the end of the month.

In the meanwhile, my chief task consisted in
initiating the aforesaid wretched and puny Clerk
into the intricacies of Mr. Theophilus Baggs'
business.  The boy was slow-witted and slow to learn,
and Mr. Baggs, who would have liked to prove to
me mine own Worthlessness, was nevertheless
driven into putting some of his more important
work still in my charge.

Thus it came to pass that all his Correspondence
with Lord Douglas Wychwoode went through my
Hands, whereby I was made aware that the Traitors—for
such in truth they were—were only waiting
for a favourable opportunity to accomplish their
damnable Purpose.

They meant to kidnap His Majesty's sacred
Person, to force him to sign an Abdication in favour
of the son of Mistress Barlow—now styled the Duke
of Monmouth—with the Prince of Orange as
Regent during the Duke's minority.

A more abominable and treasonable Project it
were impossible to conceive, and many a wrestling
match did I have with mine own Conscience, whilst
debating whether it were my Duty or no to betray
the confidence which had been reposed in me, and
to divulge the terrible Secret of that execrable plot,
which threatened the very life of His Majesty the King.

I understood that the Manifestos which it had
been my task to multiplicate, had met with some
success.  Several Gentlemen, who held rigidly
Protestant views, had promised their support to a
project which ostensibly aimed at the overthrow of
the last vestiges of Popery in the Country.  My
Lord Stour, who had also become a firm Adherent
of the nefarious scheme, in deference, I presume,
to the Lady Barbara's wishes in the matter, had, it
seems, rendered valuable service to the cause, by
travelling all over the Country, seeing these
proposed Adherents in person and distributing the fiery
Manifestos which were to rally the Waverers to the
cause.

I imagined, however, that the whole project was
in abeyance for the moment, for I had heard but
little of it of late; until one day I happened to be
present when the Conspirators met in the house of
Mr. Theophilus Baggs.

How it came to pass that these Gentlemen—who
were literally playing with their lives in their
nefarious undertaking—talked thus openly of their
Plans and Projects in my hearing, I do not pretend
to say.  It is certain that they did not suspect me;
thought me one of themselves, no doubt, since I
had written out the Manifestos and was Clerk to
Mr. Baggs, who was with them Body and Soul.
No doubt, had Mr. Baggs been on the spot on that
day, he would have warned the Traitors of my
presence, and much of what happened subsequently
would never have occurred.

Thus doth Fate at times use simple tools to gain
her own ends, and it was given to an insignificant
Attorney's Clerk to rule, for this one day, the future
Destinies of England.


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My Lord Stour was present on that memorable
afternoon.  I am betraying no Secret nor doing him
an injury by saying that, because his connection
with the Affair is of public knowledge, as is that of
Lord Douglas Wychwoode.  The names of the other
Gentlemen whom I saw in Mr. Baggs' room that
day I will, by your leave, keep hidden behind the
veil of Anonymity, contenting myself by calling the
most important among them my Lord S., and
another Sir J., whilst there was also present on that
occasion the gentleman in clerical Attire whom I
had seen of late in Lord Douglas' Company, and
who was none other than the Lord Bishop of D.

My Lord Stour was in great favour amongst
them all.  Every one was praising him and shaking
him by the hand.  His Lordship the Bishop took it
upon himself to say, as he did most incisively:

"Gentlemen!  I am proud and happy to affirm
that it is to the Earl of Stour that we shall owe
to-night the Success of our Cause.  It is he who
has distributed our Appeal and helped to rally round
us some of our most loyal Friends!"

Lord Stour demurred, deprecated his own efforts.
His Attitude was both modest and firm; I had not
thought him capable of so much Nobility of Manner.

But, believe me, dear Mistress, that I felt literally
confounded by what I heard.  Mr. Baggs, who had
pressing business in town that day, had commanded
me to remain at home in order to receive certain
Gentlemen who were coming to visit him.  I had
introduced some half-dozen of them, and they had
all gone into the inner office, but left the
communicating door between that room and the parlour wide
open, apparently quite acquiescing in my presence
there.  In fact, they had all nodded very familiarly
to me as they entered; evidently they felt absolutely
certain of my Discretion.  This, as you will readily
understand, placed me in a terrible Predicament.
Where lay my duty, I did not know; for, in truth,
to betray the Confidence of those who trust in You
is a mean and low trick, unworthy of a right-minded
Christian.  At the same time, there was His
Majesty the King's own sacred Person in peril, and
that, as far as I could gather, on this very night;
and surely it became equally the duty of every loyal
Subject in the land to try and protect his Sovereign
from the nefarious attacks of Traitors!

Be that as it may, however, I do verily believe
that if my Lord—Stour whom I hated with so
deadly a hatred, and who had done my dear, dear
Friend such an irreparable injury—if he, I say, had
not been mixed up in the Affair, I should have done
my duty as a Christian rather than as a subject of
the State.

But You, dear Mistress, shall be judge of mine
actions, for they have a direct bearing upon those
subsequent events which have brought Mr. Betterton
once again to your feet.

I have said that my Lord Stour received his
Friends' congratulations and gratitude with
becoming Modesty; but his Lordship the Bishop and also
Lord S. insisted.

"It is thanks to your efforts, my dear Stour,"
Lord S. said, "that at last success is assured."

"But for you," added the Bishop, "our plan
to-night might have miscarried."

My God! I thought, then it *is* for to-night!  And
I felt physically sick, whilst wondering what I
should do.  Even then, Lord Douglas Wychwoode's
harsh Voice came quite clearly to mine ear.

"The day is ours!" he said, with a note of
triumph in his tone.  "Ere the sun rises again over
our downtrodden Country, her dissolute King and
his Minions will be in our hands!"

"Pray God it may be so!" assented one of the
others piously.

"It shall and will be so," protested Lord Douglas
with firm emphasis.  "I know for a fact that the
King sups with the Castlemaine to-night.  Well! we
are quite ready.  By ten o'clock we shall have
taken up our Positions.  These have all been most
carefully thought out.  Some of us will be in hiding
in the Long Avenue in the Privy Garden; others
under the shadow of the Wall of the Bowling
Green; whilst others again have secured excellent
points of vantage in King Street.  I am in
command of the Party, and I give you my word that
my Company is made up of young Enthusiasts.
They, like ourselves, have had enough of this
corrupt and dissolute Monarch, who ought never to
have been allowed to ascend the Throne which his
Father had already debased."

"You will have to be careful of the Night Watchmen
about the Gardens, and of the Bodyguard at
the Gate," one of the Gentlemen broke in.

"Of course we'll be careful," Lord Douglas
riposted impatiently.  "We have minimized our
risks as far as we are able.  But the King, when he
sups with the Castlemaine, usually goes across to her
House unattended.  Sometimes he takes a Man with
him across the Privy Gardens, but dismisses him
at the back door of Her Ladyship's House.  As for
the City Watchmen over in King Street, they will
give us no trouble.  If they do, we can easily
overpower them.  The whole thing is really perfectly
simple," he added finally; "and the only reason why
we have delayed execution is because we wanted as
many Sympathizers here in London as possible."

"Now," here interposed His Lordship the Bishop,
"thanks to my Lord Stour's efforts, a number of
our Adherents have come up from the country and
have obtained lodgings in various Quarters of the
town, so that to-morrow morning, when we
proclaim the Duke of Monmouth King and the Prince
of Orange Regent of the Realm, we shall be in
sufficient numbers to give to our successful Coup
the appearance of a national movement."

"Personally," rejoined Lord Douglas, with
something of a sneer, "I think that the Populace will be
very easily swayed.  The Castlemaine is not popular.
The King is; but it is a factitious Popularity, and
one easily blown upon, once we have his Person
safely out of the way.  And we must remember
that the 'No Popery' cry is still a very safe
card to play with the mob," he added with a dry laugh.

Then they all fell to and discussed their
abominable Plans all over again; whilst I, bewildered,
wretched, indignant, fell on my knees and marvelled,
pondered what I should do.  My pulses were throbbing,
my head was on fire; I had not the faculty for
clear thinking.  And there, in the next room, not
ten paces away from where I knelt in mute and
agonized Prayer, six Men were planning an outrage
against their King; amidst sneers and mirthless
laughter and protestations of loyalty to their
Country, they planned the work of Traitors.  They drew
their Swords and there was talk of invoking God's
blessing upon their nefarious Work.

God's blessing!  Methought 'twas Blasphemy, and
I put my hands up to mine ears lest I should hear
those solemn words spoken by a consecrated Bishop
of our Church, and which called for the Almighty's
help to accomplish a second Regicide.

Aye!  A Regicide!  What else was it? as all
those fine Gentlemen knew well enough in their
hearts.  Would not the King resist?  He was young
and vigorous.  Would he not call for help?  Had
not my Lady Castlemaine Servants who would rush
to His Majesty's assistance?  What then?  Was
there to be murder once more, and bloodshed and
rioting—fighting such as we poor Citizens of this
tortured land had hoped was behind us forever?

And if it came to a hand-to-hand scuffle with the
King's most Sacred Majesty?  My God!  I shuddered
to think what would happen then!

There was a mighty humming in my ears, like
the swarm of myriads of bees; a red veil gradually
spread before my eyes, which obscured the familiar
Surroundings about me.  Through the haze which
gradually o'er-clouded my brain, I heard the voices
of those Traitors droning out their blasphemous Oaths.

"Swear only to draw your swords in this just
cause, and not to shed unnecessary blood!"

And then a chorus which to my ears sounded like
the howling of Evil Spirits let loose from hell:

"We swear!"

"Then may God's blessing rest upon You.  May
His Angels guard and protect You and give You
the strength to accomplish what You purpose to do!"

There was a loud and prolonged "Amen!"  But
I waited no longer.  I rose from my knees, suddenly
calm and resolved.  Do not laugh at me, dear
Mistress, for my conceit and my presumption when I
say that I felt that the destinies of England rested
in my hands.

Another Regicide!  Oh, my God!  Another era
of civil Strife and military Dictatorship such as we
had endured in the past decade!  Another era of
Suspicions and Jealousies and Intrigues between the
many Factions who would wish to profit by this
abominable crime!  It was unthinkable.  Whether
the King was God's Anointed or not, I, for one, am
too ignorant to decide; but this I know, that the
Stuart Prince was chosen little more than a year
ago by the will of his People, that he returned to
England acclaimed and beloved by this same Populace
which was now to be egged on to treason against
him by a handful of ambitious Malcontents, who
did not themselves know what it was they wanted.

No!  It should not be!  Not while there existed
an humble and puny subject of this Realm who had
it in his power to put a spoke in the wheel of that
Chariot of Traitors.

Ah! there was no more wavering in my heart
now! no more doubts and hesitation!  I would not
be betraying the confidence of a trusting Man;
merely disposing of a secret which Chance had
tossed carelessly in my path—a Secret which
pertained to abominable Miscreants, one of whom was
the man whom I detested more than any one or
anything on God's earth—a flippant, arrogant young
Reprobate who had dared to level a deadly insult
against a Man infinitely his superior in Intellect and
in Worth, and before whom now he should be made
to lick the dust of Ignominy.

I was now perfectly calm.  From my desk I took
a copy of the Manifesto which had remained in my
possession all this while.  I read the contents through
very carefully, so as to refresh my memory.  Then
I took up my pen and, at the foot of the treasonable
document, I wrote the word: "To-night."  Having
done that, I took a sheet of notepaper and
carefully wrote down the names of all the Gentlemen
who were even now in the next room, and of several
others whom I had heard mentioned by the Traitors
in the course of their Conversation.  The two
papers I folded carefully and closed them down with
sealing wax.

My hand did not shake whilst I did all this.  I
was perfectly deliberate, for my mind was
irrevocably made up.  When I had completed these
preparations, I slipped the precious Documents into
my pocket, took up my hat and cloak, and went out
to accomplish the Errand which I had set myself to do.

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   CHAPTER VIII

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   THE LION'S WRATH

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   1

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His Majesty the King was, of course, inaccessible
to such as I.  And the time was short.

Did I say that the hour was even then after six?
The streets were very dark, for overhead the sky
was overcast, and as I walked rapidly down the
Lane to the Temple Stairs, a thin, penetrating
drizzle began to fall.

My first thought had been to take boat to Westminster
and to go to the house of Mr. Betterton in
Tothill Street, there to consult with him as to what
would be my best course to pursue.  But I feel sure
that You, dear Mistress, will understand me when I
say that I felt a certain pride in keeping my present
Project to myself.

I was not egotistical enough to persuade myself
that love of Country and loyalty to my King were
the sole motive powers of my Resolve.  My innermost
Heart, my Conscience perhaps, told me that an
ugly Desire for Revenge had helped to stimulate my
patriotic Ardour.  I had realized that it lay in my
power to avenge upon an impious Malapert the
hideous Outrage which he had perpetrated against
the Man whom I loved best in all the World.

I had realized, in fact, that I could become the
instrument of Mr. Betterton's revenge.

That my Denunciation of the abominable
Conspiracy would involve the Disgrace—probably the
Death—of others who were nothing to me, I did
not pause to consider.  They were all Traitors,
anyhow, and all of them deserving of punishment.

So, on the whole, I decided to act for myself.
When I had seen the Countess of Castlemaine and
had put her on her guard, I would go to Mr. Betterton
and tell him what I had done.

I beg you to believe, however, dear Mistress, that
no thought of any reward had entered my mind,
other than a Word of Appreciation from my Friend.

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I had, as perhaps you know, a slight acquaintance
with Mistress Floid, who is one of my Lady Castlemaine's
tire-women.  Through her, I obtained
speech with her Ladyship.

It was not very difficult.  I sent in the two
Documents through Mistress Floid's hands.  Five
minutes later I was told that my Lady desired speech
with me.

I was a little bewildered and somewhat dazzled
to be in the presence of so great a lady.  The
richness of the House, the liveries of the Servants, the
superciliousness of the Lacqueys, all tended to
discompose me; whilst the subtle Scent of Spice and
Perfumes which hung in the air and the chorus of
bird-song which came from an unseen Aviary,
helped to numb my Senses.  I was thankful that I
had not trusted to Speech and Memory, but had set
documentary Evidence forward to prove what I
had to say.

Of my interview with her Ladyship I have only
a confused memory.  I know that she asked many
questions and listened to my stammering replies
with obvious impatience; but I have only a very
vague recollection of her flashing Eyes, of her Face,
flaming with anger, of her jewelled Hand clutching
the documents which I had brought, and of the
torrent of vituperative abuse which she poured upon
the Traitors, who she vowed would pay with their
lives for their Infamy.  I know that, in the end, I
was allowed to kiss her hand and that she thanked
me in her own Name and that of His Majesty for
my Loyalty and my Discretion.

I went out of the room and out of the house like
a Man in a dream.  A whirl of conflicting Emotions
was rending my heart and my brain, until sheer
physical nausea caused me nigh to swoon.

Truly it was a terrible Experience for a simple-minded
Clerk to go through, and it is a marvel to
me that my brain did not give way under the Strain.

But my instinct—like that of a faithful dog
seeking shelter—led me to the lodgings of Mr. Betterton
in Tothill Street, the very house in which his
father had lived before him.

He had not yet returned from the Theatre, where
he was at Rehearsal; but his Servant knew me well
and allowed me to go up into the parlour and to lie
down upon the sofa for a moment's rest.

It was then nearing seven, and I knew that
Mr. Betterton would soon be coming home.  I now
felt infinitely weary; numbness of body and brain
had followed the conflicting Emotions of the past
hours, and I was only conscious of an overwhelming
desire to rest.

I closed my eyes.  The place was warm and still;
a veritable Haven of Quietude.  And it was the
place where dwelt the Man for whose sake I had
just done so much.  For awhile I watched the play
of the firelight upon the various articles of
furniture in the room; but soon a pleasing Torpor
invaded my tired Brain, and I fell asleep.


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The sound of Voices upon the landing outside, the
opening and closing of one door and then another,
recalled me to myself.  The familiar sound of my
Friend's footsteps gave me an infinity of Pleasure.

The next moment Mr. Betterton came into the
room.  He was preceded by his Servant, who
brought in a couple of Candles which he placed upon
the table.  Apparently he had said nothing to his
Master about my presence here, for Mr. Betterton
seemed vastly surprised when he saw me.  I had
just jumped to my feet when I heard him entering
the room, and I suppose that I must have looked
somewhat wild and dishevelled, for he expressed
great astonishment at my Appearance.

Astonishment, and also Pleasure.

"Why, friend Honeywood!" he exclaimed, and
came to greet me with both hands outstretched.
"What favourable Wind hath blown you to this port?"

He looked tired and very much aged, methought.
He, a young Man, then in the prime of Life, looked
harassed and weary; all the Elasticity seemed to
have gone out of his Movements, all the Springiness
from his Footstep.  He sat down and rested his
elbows on his knees, clasped his slender hands
together and stared moodily into the fire.

I watched him for awhile.  His clear-cut Profile
was outlined like an Italian Cameo against the
dark angle of the room; the firelight gave a strange
glow to his expressive Eyes and to the sensitive
Mouth with the firm lips pressed closely together,
as if they would hold some Secret which was even
then threatening to escape.

That look of dark and introspective Brooding sat
more apparent now than ever upon his mobile
face, and I marvelled if the News which I was about
to impart would tend to dissipate that restless,
searching glance, which seemed for ever to be
probing into the future decrees of Fate.

"I have come to tell you news, Sir," I said after
a while.

He started as from a Reverie, and said half-absently:

"News?  What news, friend?  Good, I hope."

"Yes," I replied very quietly, even though I felt
that my heart was beating fast within my breast
with excitement.  "Good news of the Man You hate."

He made no reply for the moment, and even by
the dim, uncertain light of the fire I could see the
quick change in his face.  I cannot explain it exactly,
but it seemed as if something Evil had swept over
it, changing every noble line into something that was
almost repellent.

My heart beat faster still.  I was beginning to
feel afraid and a queer, choking Sensation gripped
me by the throat and silenced the Words which were
struggling to come to my lips.

"Well?" queried Mr. Betterton a second or two
later, in a calm, dull, unemotional Voice.  "What is
thy news, friend Honeywood?"

"There is a plot," I replied, still speaking with an
effort, "against His Majesty and the Countess of
Castlemaine."

"I knew that," he rejoined.  "'Tis no news.
There is more than one plot, in fact, against the
King and the Castlemaine.  You surely haven't
come out on this wet night," he added with a
mirthless laugh, "in order to tell me that!"

After all that I had gone through, after my tussle
with my conscience and my fight against myself, I
felt nettled by his flippant tone.

"I know not," I said firmly, "if there is more
than one plot against His Majesty the King.  But I
do know that there is one which aims at striking at
his sacred Person to-night."

"That also is possible," he retorted, with still that
same air of flippant Carelessness.  "But even so, I
do not see, my dear Friend, what You can do in
the matter."

"I can denounce the Plot," I riposted warmly,
"and help to save the life of His Majesty the King."

"So you can, my dear Honeywood," he said with
a smile, amused at my vehemence.  "So you can!
And upon the King's gratitude you may lay the
foundations of your future Fortune."

"I was not thinking of a Fortune," I retorted
gruffly; "only of Revenge."

At this he looked up suddenly, leaned forward
and in the firelight tried to read my face.

"Revenge?" he queried curtly.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I replied earnestly, "that the Plot of
which I speak is real, tangible and damnable.  That
a set of young Gallants have arranged between
themselves to waylay His Majesty the King this night
in the house of the Countess of Castlemaine, to
kidnap his sacred person, force him to abdicate, then
proclaim the Duke of Monmouth King and the
Prince of Orange Regent of the Realm."

"How do you know all this, Honeywood?" Mr. Betterton
rejoined quietly, dragged, meseemed, out
of his former Cynicism by the earnestness of my
manner.

"I was one of the first to know of it," I replied,
"because on a certain day in September I was
employed in copying the Manifesto wherewith that
pack of Traitors hoped to rally distant Friends
around their Standard.  For awhile I heard nothing
more of the Affair, thought the whole thing had
sizzled out like a fire devoid of fuel; until to-day,
when the Conspirators once more met in the house
of Mr. Theophilus Baggs and arranged to carry
their execrable Project through to-night.  Careless
of my presence, they planned and discussed their
Affairs in my hearing.  They thought, I suppose,
that I, like Mr. Baggs, was one of their Gang."

Gradually, while I spoke, I could see the Dawn
of Comprehension illumining Mr. Betterton's face.
He still was silent, and let me speak on to the end.
He was once more gazing into the fire; his arms
were resting on his knees, but his hands were beating
one against the other, fist to palm, with a violent,
intermittent Gesture, which proclaimed his growing
Impatience.

Then suddenly he raised his head, looked me once
more straight in the eyes, and said slowly, reiterating
some of my words:

"The Conspirators met in the house of Mr. Theophilus
Baggs—then—he——"

I nodded.

"My Lord Stour," I said, deliberately measuring
my words, "is up to his neck in the damnable
Conspiracy."

Still his searching gaze was fixed upon me; and
now he put out his hand and clutched my forearm.
But he did not speak.

"I was burning with rage," I said, "at the insult
put upon you by my Lord Stour ... I longed to
be revenged..."

His clutch upon my arm tightened till it felt like
a Vice of Steel, and his Voice came to my ear,
hoarse and almost unrecognizable.

"Honeywood," he murmured, "what do You
mean?  What have You done?"

I tried to return his gaze, but it seemed to sear
my very Soul.  Terror held me now.  I scarce
could speak.  My voice came out in a husky whisper.

"I had the copy of the Manifesto," I said, "and
I knew the names of the Conspirators.  I wrote
these out and placed them with the Manifesto in
the hands of my Lady Castlemaine."

Dear Mistress, you know the beautiful picture by
the great Italian artist Michael Angelo which
represents Jove hurling his thunderbolt at some puny
human Creature who hath dared to defy him.  The
flash of Anger expressed by the Artist in the mighty
god's eyes is truly terrifying.  Well! that same
Expression of unbounded and prodigious Wrath
flashed out in one instant from the great Actor's
eyes.  He jumped to his feet, towered above me like
some Giant whom I, in my presumption, had dared
to defy.  The flickering candle light, warring with
the fireglow, and its play of ruddy Lights and deep
phantasmagoric Shadows, lent size and weirdness
to Mr. Betterton's figure and enhanced the dignity
and magnitude of his Presence.  His lips were
working, and I could see that he had the
greatest difficulty in forcing himself to speak
coherently.

"You have done that?" he stammered.  "You...?"

"To avenge the deadly insult——" I murmured,
frightened to death now by his violence.

"Silence, you fool!" he riposted hoarsely.  "Is
it given to the Mouse to avenge the hurt done to
the Lion?"

I guessed how deeply he was moved by these
Words which he spoke, more even than by his
Attitude.  Never, had he been in his normal frame of
mind, would he have said them, knowing how their
cruel intent would hurt and wound me.

He was angry with me.  Very angry.  And I,
as yet, was too ignorant, too unsophisticated, to
know in what way I had injured him.  God knows
it had been done unwittingly.  And I could not
understand what went on in that noble and obviously
tortured Brain.  I could only sit there and gaze upon
him in helpless Bewilderment, as he now started to
pace up and down the narrow room in very truth
like a caged Lion that hath been teased till it can
endure the irritation no longer.

"You are angry with me?" I contrived to stammer
at last; and indeed I found much difficulty in
keeping the tears which were welling up to mine eyes.

But my timid query only appeared to have the
effect of bringing his Exasperation to its highest
pitch.  He did in truth turn on me as if he were
ready to strike me, and I slid down on my Knees,
for I felt now really frightened, as his fine voice
smote mine ears in thunderous Accents of unbridled Wrath.

"Angry?" he exclaimed.  "Angry...?  I..."

Then he paused abruptly, for he had caught sight
of me, kneeling there, an humble and, I doubt not,
a pathetic Figure; and, as you know, Mr. Betterton's
heart is ever full of Pity for the Lowly and the
Weak.  By the flickering candle light I could
distinguish his noble Features, a moment ago almost
distorted with Passion, but now, all of a sudden,
illumined by tender Sympathy.

He pulled himself together.  I almost could see
the Effort of Will wherewith he curbed that
turbulent Passion which had threatened to overmaster
him.  He passed his hand once or twice across his
brow, as if he strove to chase away, by sheer
physical Force, the last vestige of his own Anger.

"No—no——," he murmured gently, bent down
to me and helped me to my feet.  "No, my dear
Friend; I am not angry with You ... I—I
forgot myself just now ... something seemed to
snap in my Brain when you told me that
... When you told me that——" he reiterated slowly;
then threw back his head and broke into a laugh.
Oh! such a laugh as I never wish to hear again.
It was not only mirthless, but the Sound of it did
rend my heart until the tears came back to mine
eyes; but this time through an overwhelming feeling
of Pity.

And yet I did not understand.  Neither his Anger
nor his obvious Despair were clear to my
Comprehension.  I hoped he would soon explain, feeling
that if he spoke of it, it would ease his heartache.
Mine was almost unendurable.  I felt that I could
cry like a child, Remorse warring with Anxiety
in my heart.

Then suddenly Mr. Betterton came close to me,
sat down on the sofa beside me and said, with a
Recrudescence of his former Vehemence:

"Friend Honeywood, you must go straightway
back to my Lady Castlemaine."

"Yes," I replied meekly, for I was ready to do
anything that he desired.

"Either to my Lady Castlemaine," he went on,
his voice trembling with agitation, "or to her menial
first, but ultimately to my Lady Castlemaine.  Go
on your hands and knees, Honeywood; crawl,
supplicate, lick the dust, swear that the Conspiracy had
no existence save in your own disordered brain
... that the Manifesto is a forgery ... the list of
Conspirators a fictitious one ... swear above all
that my Lord Stour had no part in the murderous
Plot——"

I would, dear Lady, that mine was the pen of a
ready Writer, so that I might give you a clear idea
of Mr. Betterton's strange aspect at that moment.
His face was close to mine, yet he did not seem like
himself.  You know how serene and calm is the
Glance of his Eyes as a rule.  Well! just then they
were strangely luminous and restless; there was a
glitter in them, a weird, pale Light that I cannot
describe, but which struck me as coming from a
Brain that, for the moment, was almost bereft
of Reason.

That he was not thinking coherently was obvious
to me from what he said.  I, who was ready and
prepared to do anything that might atone for the
Injury, as yet inexplicable, which I had so unwittingly
done to him, felt, nevertheless, the entire
Futility of his Suggestion.  Indeed, was it likely that
my Lady Castlemaine's Suspicions, once roused,
could so easily be allayed?  Whatever I told her
now, she would of a surety warn the King—had
done so, no doubt, already.  Measures would be
taken—had already been taken—to trap the
infamous Plotters, to catch them red-handed in the
Act; if indeed they were guilty.  Nay!  I could not
very well imagine how such great Personages would
act under the Circumstances that had come about.
But this much I did know; that not one of them
would be swayed by the Vagaries of a puny Clerk,
who had taken it upon himself to denounce a number
of noble Gentlemen for Treason one moment and
endeavoured to exonerate them the next.  So I
could only shake my head and murmur:

"Alas, Sir! all that now would be too late."

He looked at me searchingly for a second or two.
The strange glitter died out from his eyes, and he
gave a deep sigh of weariness and of disappointment.

"Aye!" he said.  "True! true!  It is all too late!"

Imagine, dear Mistress, how puzzled I was.
What would You have thought of it all, yourself,
had your sweet Spirit been present then at that hour,
when a truly good, yet deeply injured Man bared
his Soul before his Friend?

Just for a second or two the Suspicion flashed
through my mind that Mr. Betterton himself was
in some secret and unaccountable manner mixed up
with the abominable Conspiracy.  But almost at
once my saner Judgment rejected this villainous
Suggestion; for of a truth it had no foundation
save in Foolishness engendered by a bewildered
brain.  In truth, I had never seen Mr. Betterton
in the Company of any of those Traitors whose
names were indelibly graven upon the tablets of my
Memory, save on that one occasion—that unforgettable
afternoon in September, when he entered the
house of Mr. Theophilus Baggs at the hour when
Lord Douglas Wychwoode had just entrusted his
Manifesto to me.  What was said then and what
happened afterwards should, God help me! have
convinced me that no sort of intimate Connection,
political or otherwise, could ever exist between my
Lord Stour, Lord Douglas Wychwoode or their
Friends, and Mr. Betterton.


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Even while all these Thoughts and Conjectures
were coursing through my brain, my innermost
Consciousness kept my attention fixed upon my friend.

He had once more resumed his restless pacing up
and down the narrow room.  His slender hands
were closely linked together behind his back, and
at times he strode quite close to me, so close that
the skirts of his fashionably cut coat brushed against
my knee.  From time to time disconnected Phrases
came to his lips.  He was talking to himself, a thing
which I had never known him do before.

"I, who wished to return Taunt for Taunt and
Infamy for Infamy!" he said at one time.  And at
another: "To-day ... in a few hours perhaps,
that young Coxcomb will be in the Tower
... and then the Scaffold!"

I listened as attentively as I could, without
seeming to do so, thinking that, if I only caught more
of these confused Mutterings, the Puzzle, such as it
was, would become more clear to me.  Picture the
two of us then, dear Mistress, in the semi-darkness,
with only fitful candle light to bring into occasional
bold relief the fine Figure of the great Actor pacing
up and down like a restless and tortured Beast; and
mine own meagre Form cowering in an angle of
the sofa, straining mine ears to catch every syllable
that came from my Friend's lips, and mine eyes to
note every Change of his Countenance.

"She will think 'twas I who spied upon him," I
heard him say quite distinctly through his clenched
teeth.  "I who betrayed him, her Friends, her
Brother."

"He will die a Martyr to the cause she loves,"
he murmured a few moments later.  "A Hero to
his friends—to *her* a demi-god whose Memory she
will worship."

Then he paused, and added in a loud and firm
voice, apostrophizing, God knows what Spirits of
Hate and of Vengeance whom he had summoned:

"And *that* is to be my Revenge for the deadliest
Insult Man ever put upon Man! ... Ha! ha! ha! ha!"
he laughed, with weird Incontinence.  "God
above us, save me from my Friends and let me deal
alone with mine Enemies!"

He fell back into the nearest chair and, resting
his elbows on his knees, he pressed his forehead
against his clenched fists.  I stared at him, mute,
dumbfounded.  For now I understood.  I knew
what I had done, knew what he desired, what he
had striven for and planned all these past weary
weeks.  His Hopes, his Desires, I had frustrated.
I, his Friend, who would have given my Life for
his welfare!

I had been heart-broken before.  I was doubly
so now.  I slid from the sofa once more on my
knees and, not daring to touch him, I just remained
there, sobbing and moaning in helpless Dejection
and Remorse.

"What can I do?—what can I do?"

He looked at me, obviously dazed, had apparently
become quite oblivious of my presence.  Once more
that look of tender Commiseration came into his
eyes, and he said with a gently ironical smile:

"You?  Poor little, feeble Mouse, who has
gnawed at the Giant's prey—what can you do?
... Why, nothing.  Go back to our mutual
Friend, Mr. Theophilus Baggs, and tell him to make
his way—and quickly too—to some obscure corner
of the Country, for he also is up to the neck in that
damnable Conspiracy."

This set my mind to a fresh train of thought.

"Shall I to my Lord Stour by the same token?"
I asked eagerly.

"To my Lord Stour?" he queried, with a puzzled
frown.  "What for?"

"To warn him," I replied.  "Give him a chance
of escape.  I could tell him you sent me," I added
tentatively.

He laughed.

"No, no, my Friend," he said drily.  "We'll not
quite go to that length.  Give him a chance of
Escape?" he reiterated.  "And tell him I sent
You?  No, no!  He would only look upon my
supposed Magnanimity as a sign of cringing Humility,
Obsequiousness and Terror of further Reprisals.
No, no, my Friend; I'll not give the gay young
Spark another chance of insulting me....  But
let me think ... let me think ... Oh, if only
I had a few days before me, instead of a mere few
hours! ... And if only my Lady Castlemaine..."

He paused, and I broke in on the impulse of the
moment.

"Oh, Sir! hath not the Countess of Castlemaine
vowed often of late that she would grant any Favour
that the great Mr. Betterton would ask of her?"

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than
I regretted them.  It must have been Instinct, for
they seemed innocent enough at the time.  My only
thought in uttering them was to suggest that at
Mr. Betterton's request the Traitors would be pardoned.
My Lady Castlemaine in those days held the King
wholly under her Domination.  And I still believed
that my Friend desired nothing so much at this
moment than that my Lord Stour should not die a
Hero's death—a Martyr to the cause which the
beautiful Lady Barbara had at heart.

But since that hour, whenever I have looked
back upon the Sequence of Events which followed
on my impulsive Utterance, I could not help but
think that Destiny had put the words into my mouth.
She had need of me as her tool.  What had to be,
had to be.  You, dear Mistress, can now judge
whether Mr. Betterton is still worthy of your Love,
whether he is still worthy to be taken back into your
heart.  For verily my words did make the turning
point in the workings of his Soul.  But I should
never have dared to tell you all that happened, face
to face, and I desired to speak of the matter
impartially.  Therefore I chose the medium of a pen,
so that I might make You understand and,
understanding, be ready to forgive.

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.. _`a last chance`:

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   CHAPTER IX

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   A LAST CHANCE

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Of course, what happened subsequently, I can
only tell for the most part from what Mr. Betterton
told me himself, and also from one or two facts
revealed to me by Mistress Floid.

At the moment, Mr. Betterton commended me
for my Suggestion, rested his hand with all his
former affectionate Manner upon my shoulder, and
said quite simply:

"I thank you, friend, for reminding me of this.
My Lady Castlemaine did indeed last night intimate
to me that she felt ready to grant any Favour I
might ask of her.  Well!  I will not put her
Magnanimity to an over severe test.  Come with me,
friend Honeywood.  We'll to her Ladyship.  There
will be plenty of time after that to go and warn that
worthy Mr. Baggs and my equally worthy Sister.
I should not like them to end their days upon the
Scaffold.  So heroic an ending doth not seem
suitable to their drabby Existence, and would war with
all preconceived Dramatic Values."

He then called to his man and ordered a couple
of linkmen to be in readiness to guide us through the
Streets, as these were far from safe for peaceful
Pedestrians after dark!  Then he demanded his hat
and cloak, and a minute or so later he bade me
follow him, and together we went out of the house.


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It was now raining heavily, and we wrapped our
Cloaks tightly round our Shoulders, speeding along
as fast as we could.  The streets were almost
deserted and as dreary as London streets alone can be
on a November evening.  Only from the closed
Windows of an occasional Tavern or Coffee-house
did a few rays of bright light fall across the road,
throwing a vivid bar of brilliance athwart our way,
and turning the hundreds of Puddles into shining
reflections, like so many glimmering Stars.

For the rest, we were dependent on the linkmen,
who walked ahead of us, swinging their Lanterns
for Guidance on our path.  Being somewhat timid
by nature, I had noted with satisfaction that they
both carried stout Cudgels, for of a truth there were
many Marauders about on dark nights such as this,
Footpads and Highway Robbers, not to mention
those bands of young Rakes, who found pleasure in
"scouring" the streets o' nights and molesting the
belated Wayfarer.

Mr. Betterton, too, carried a weighted stick, and
he was a Man whom clean, sturdy living had
rendered both athletic and powerful.  We were soon,
both of us, wet to the Skin, but Mr. Betterton
appeared quite oblivious of discomfort.  He walked
with a quick step, and I perforce had to keep up
with him as best I could.

He had told me, before we started out, that he
was bent for my Lady Castlemaine's House, the
rear of which looks down upon the Gardens of
White Hall.  I knew the way thither just as well as
he did.  Great was my astonishment, therefore,
when having reached the bottom of King Street,
when we should have turned our steps northwards,
Mr. Betterton suddenly ordered the linkmen to
proceed through Palace Yard in the direction of
Westminster Stairs.

I thought that he was suffering from a fit of
absent-mindedness, which was easily understandable
on account of his agitated Frame of Mind; and
presently I called his attention to his mistake.  He paid
no heed to me, however, and continued to walk on
until we were some way up Canon's Row.

Here he called to his linkmen to halt, and himself
paused; then caught hold of my cloak, and dragged
me under the shelter of a great gateway belonging to
one of those noble Mansions which front the River.
And he said to me, in a strange and peremptory
Voice, hardly raised above a Whisper:

"Do You know where we are, Honeywood?"

"Yes," I said, not a little surprised at the
question.  "We are at the South End of Canon's Row.
I know this part very well, having often——"

"Very well, then," he broke in, still in the same
imperious Manner.  "You know that we are under
the gateway belonging to the Town Mansion of the
Earl of Stour, and that the house is some twenty
yards up the fore-court."

"I know the house," I replied, "now you mention it."

"Then you will go to my Lord Stour now,
Honeywood," my Friend went on.

"To warn him?" I queried eagerly, for of a
truth I was struck with Admiration at this excess
of Magnanimity on the part of an injured Man.

"No," Mr. Betterton replied curtly.  "You will
go to my Lord Stour as my Friend and Intermediary.
You will tell him that I sent You,
because I desire to know if he hath changed his mind,
and if he is ready to give me Satisfaction for the
Insult, which he put upon me nigh on two months ago."

I could not restrain a gasp of surprise.

"But——" I stammered.

"You are not going to play me false,
Honeywood," he said simply.

That I swore I would not do.  Indeed, he knew
well enough that if he commanded me to go to
the outermost ends of the Earth on his errand, or
to hold parley with the Devil on his behalf, I
would have been eager and ready to do it.

But I must confess that at this moment I would
sooner have parleyed with the Devil than with the
Earl of Stour.  The Man whom I had denounced,
You understand.  I felt that the shadow of
Death—conjured by me, menacing and unevasive—would
perhaps lie 'twixt him and me whilst I spoke with
him.  Yet how could I demur when my Friend
besought me?—my Friend, who was gravely troubled
because of me.

I promised that I would do as he wished.  Whereupon
he gave me full instructions.  Never had
so strange a task been put upon a simple-minded
Plebeian: for these were matters pertaining to
Gentlemen.  I knew less than nothing of Duels,
Affairs of Honour, or such like; yet here was
I—John Honeywood, an humble Attorney's Clerk—sent
to convey a challenge for a Duel to a high and
noble Lord, in the manner most approved by
Tradition.

I was ready to swoon with Fright; for, in truth,
I am naught but a timid Rustic.  In spite of the cold
and the rain I felt a rush of hot blood coursing up
and down my Spine.  But I learned my Lesson from
end to end, and having mastered it, I did not waver.

Leaving Mr. Betterton under the shelter of the
gateway, I boldly crossed the fore-court and
mounted the couple of steps which led up to the
front door of the Mansion.  The fore-court and the
front of the House were very dark, and I was not
a little afraid of Night Prowlers, who, they do say,
haunt the immediate Purlieus of these stately
Abodes of the Nobility, ready to fall upon any
belated Visitor who might be foolish enough to
venture out alone.

Indeed, everything around me was so still and
seemed so desolate that an Access of Fear seized
me, whilst I vainly tried to grope for the bell-handle
in the Darkness.  I very nearly gave way to my
Cowardice then and there, and would have run back
to my Friend or called out to the Linkmen for their
Company, only that at the very moment my Hand
came in contact with the iron bell pull, and fastened
itself instinctively upon it.

Whereupon the clang of the Bell broke the
solemn Silence which reigned around.


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I had grave Difficulty in obtaining access to my
Lord Stour, his Servant telling me in the first
instance that his Lordship was not at home, and in
the second that he was in any event too busy to
receive Visitors at this hour.  But I have oft been
told that I possess the Obstinacy of the Weak, and
I was determined that, having come so far, I would
not return to Mr. Betterton without having
accomplished mine Errand.  So, seeing that the Servant,
with the Officiousness and Insolence of his kind, was
about to slam the door in my face, an Inspiration
seized me, and taking on a haughty Air, I stepped
boldly across the Threshold and then commanded
the Menial to go to his Lordship at once and
announce the visit of Mr. Theophilus Baggs' Clerk on
a matter of the utmost Urgency.

I suppose that now I looked both determined and
fierce, and after a good deal of hem-ming and
hawing, the Varlet apparently felt that non-compliance
with my Desire might bring contumely upon
himself; so he went, leaving me most unceremoniously
to cool my heels in the Hall, and returned but a very
few minutes later looking distinctly crestfallen and
not a little astonished.

His Lordship would see me at once, he announced.
Then bade me follow him up the stairs.

To say that my Heart was beating furiously
within my Breast would be but a bald Statement of
my Frame of Mind.  I fully expected that his
Lordship, directly he knew that it was not Mr. Baggs
who had sent me, would have me ignominiously
turned out of the House.  However, I was not given
much time to indulge in my Conjectures and my
Fears, for presently I was ushered into a large room,
dimly lighted by a couple of wax candles and the
Walls of which, I noticed, were entirely lined with Books.

After the Menial had closed the door behind me,
a Voice bade me curtly to come forward and to state
mine Errand.  Then I saw that my Lord Stour was
not alone.  He was sitting in a chair in front of the
fire, and opposite to him sat the beautiful Lady
Barbara, whilst standing in front of the hearth, with
legs apart and hands thrust in the pockets of his
breeches, was Lord Douglas Wychwoode.

What Courage was left in me now went down
into my shoes.  I felt like a Man faced with three
Enemies where he had only expected to meet one.
My Throat felt very dry and my Tongue seemed to
cleave to my Palate.  Nevertheless, in response to a
reiterated curt Command to state mine Errand, I
did so unfalteringly.

"Mr. Thomas Betterton, one of His Majesty's
Well-Beloved Servants," I said, "hath sent me to
his Lordship the Earl of Stour."

My Words were greeted with an angry Oath from
Lord Douglas, an ironical Laugh from my Lord
Stour and a strange little Gasp, half of Terror,
wholly of Surprise, from the Lady Barbara.

"Methought You came from Mr. Baggs," my
Lord Stour remarked haughtily.  "So at least You
gave my Servant to understand, else You would
not have been admitted."

"Your Lordship's Servant misunderstood me,"
I rejoined quite quietly.  "I gave my name as Clerk
to Mr. Baggs; but mine Errand concerns Mr. Thomas
Betterton, and he honours me with his Friendship."

"And as Mr. Betterton's Affairs do not concern
me in any way——" his Lordship began coldly, and
would no doubt have dismissed me then and there,
but that the Lady Barbara interposed gently yet with
great Firmness.

"I pray You, my Lord," she said, "do not be
over-hasty.  We might at least listen to what
Mr. Betterton's Messenger has to say."

"Yes," added Lord Douglas in his habitual
brusque Manner.  "Let us hear what the Fellow wants."

This was not encouraging, you will admit; but,
like many over-timid People, there are times when
I am conscious of unwonted Calm and Determination.
So even now I confronted these two
supercilious Gentlemen with as much Dignity as I could
command, and said, addressing myself directly to
the Earl of Stour:

"Mr. Betterton hath sent me to You, my Lord,
to demand Satisfaction for the abominable Outrage
which You perpetrated upon his Person nigh on two
months ago."

Lord Stour shrugged his Shoulders and riposted
coldly:

"That tune is stale, my Man.  Mr.—er—Betterton
has had mine Answer."

"Since then, my Lord," I insisted firmly, "Time
hath no doubt brought saner Reflection.  Mr. Betterton's
Fame and his Genius have raised him to a
level far above that conferred by mere Birth."

"Have made a Gentleman of him, You mean?"
Lord Stour rejoined with a sarcastic curl of the lip.

"More noble far than any Gentleman in the
Land," I retorted proudly.

He gave a harsh laugh.

"In that case, my Man," he said tartly, "you
can inform your worthy Friend that two hundred
years hence my Descendants might fight him on a
comparatively equal Footing.  But until then," he
added firmly and conclusively, "I must repeat for
the last time what I have already told Mr.—er—Betterton:
the Earl of Stour cannot cross Swords
with a Mountebank."

"Take care, my Lord, take care——"

The Exclamation had burst quite involuntarily
from my Lips.  The next moment I felt ashamed
to have uttered it, for my Lord Stour looked me up
and down as he would an importunate Menial, and
Lord Douglas Wychwoode strode towards me and
pointed to the door.

"Get out!" he commanded curtly.

There was nothing more to be done—nothing
more to be said, if I desired to retain one last
Shred of Dignity both for myself and for the great
Artist who—in my Person this time—had once
again been so profoundly humiliated.

My wet cloak I had left down in the Hall, but I
still held my hat in my hands.  I now bowed with
as much Grace as I could muster.  Lord Douglas
still pointed a peremptory finger towards the door,
making it clear that I was not going of mine own
Accord, like the Intermediary of any Gentleman
might be, but that I was being kicked out like some
insolent Varlet.

Oh! the shame of it!  The shame!

My ears were tingling, my temples throbbing.  A
crimson Veil, thrust before mine eyes by invisible
Hands, caused my footsteps to falter.  Oh! if only
I had had the strength, I should even then have
turned upon those aristocratic Miscreants and, with
my hands upon their throats, have forced them to
eat their impious Words.

But even as I crossed the Threshold of that Room
where I had suffered such bitter Humiliation, I
heard loud and mocking Laughter behind me; and
words such as: "Insolence!" "Mountebank!"
"Rogue!" and "Vagabond!" still reached my ears.

I suppose that the door did not close quite fully
behind me, for even as I crossed the landing
meseemed that I heard the Lady Barbara's voice raised
in a kind of terrified Appeal.

"Would to God, my dear Lord," she appeared to
plead with passionate Earnestness, "You had not
incurred the Enmity of that Man.  Ever since that
awful day I have felt as if You were encompassed
by Spirits of Hate and of Vengeance which threaten
our Happiness."

Her Voice broke in a sob.  And, indeed, I found
it in my heart to pity her, for she seemed deeply
grieved.  I still could hear him—her Lover and
mine Enemy, since he was the Enemy of my
Friend—trying to laugh away her fears.

"Nay, sweetheart," he was saying tenderly.  "A
Man like that can do us no harm.  Mine own
Conscience is clear—my Life honourable—and to-night
will see the triumph of your Cause, to which I have
given willing help.  That Man's Malice cannot touch
me, any more than the snarling of a toothless cur.
So do not waste these precious moments, my
Beloved, by thinking of him."

After which the door behind me was closed to,
and I heard nothing more.  I hurried down the
Stairs, snatched up my cloak and hurried out of the
House.

Never should I have believed that a human Heart
could contain so much Hatred as mine held for my
Lord Stour at that moment.


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I found Mr. Betterton waiting for me under the
Gateway where I had left him a quarter of an hour ago.

As soon as he heard my footsteps upon the
uneven pavement of the fore-court, he came forward
to meet me, took hold of my cloak and dragged me
back into shelter.

He only said the one word: "Well?" but it is
not in my power, dear Mistress, to render adequately
all that there was of Anxiety, Impatience and of
Passion in that one brief Query.

I suppose that I hesitated.  Of a truth the
Message which I was bringing was choking me.  And he
who is so sensitive, so understanding, learned
everything, and at once, from my Silence.

"He hath refused?" he said simply.

I nodded.

"He will not fight me?"

And my Silence gave reply.  A curious, hoarse
Cry, like that of a wounded Animal, escaped his
Throat and for a moment we were both silent—so
silent that the patter of the rain appeared like some
thunderous Noise: and the divers sounds of the
great City wrapped in the Cloak of Evening came
to us with sharp and eerie Distinctness.  Far away,
a dog barked; some belated Chairman called:
"Make room, there!"; a couple of Watchmen
passed close by, clinking their halberts against the
ground, and from one of the noble Mansions nigh
to us there came the sound of Revelry and of
Laughter.

I felt like in a Dream, conscious only that the
Finger of Destiny was pointing to the Dial of a
Clock, and that I was set here to count the Seconds
and the Minutes until that ghostly Finger had
completed its task and registered the final Hour when
the Decrees of God would inevitably be fulfilled.

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.. _`the hour`:

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   CHAPTER X

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   THE HOUR

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A quarter of an hour—perhaps less—later, we
were speeding back, Mr. Betterton and I, down
Canon's Row on our way to Westminster Stairs,
intending to take boat for the City.

In the terrible mental upheaval which had
followed on the renewed Outrage that had been put
upon my beloved Friend, I had well-nigh forgotten
that secret conspiracy which was even now threatening
the stability of our Country, and in which my
former Employer and his Spouse were so deeply
involved.

The striking of Church Bells far and near,
chiming the hour of eight, recalled me to the danger
which threatened Mr. Baggs along with his more
aristocratic co-traitors.  And, strangely enough,
Mr. Betterton thought of this at the very same time.
He had been sunk in moody Reverie ever since my
Silence had told him the grim tale of my
unsuccessful Embassy to the Earl of Stour, and through
the darkness it was impossible even for my devoted
eyes to watch the Play of Emotions upon his
tell-tale face, or to read in his eyes the dark thoughts
which I knew must be coursing through his Brain.

In myself, I could not help but be satisfied at the
turn of Events.  The Conspirators, denounced by
me to the Countess of Castlemaine, would of a
certainty meet the Punishment which they so fully
deserved.  Lord Stour was one of them, so was Lord
Douglas Wychwoode.  The Scaffold, or at least,
Banishment, would be their lot, and how could I
grieve—I, who hated them so!—that the Earth
would presently be rid of two arrogant and
supercilious Coxcombs, Traitors to their King,
vainglorious and self-seeking.  True, the Lady Barbara
would weep.  But when I remembered the many
bitter tears which you, dear Mistress, have shed
these past months because she had enchained
the fancy of the Man whom you loved, then had
scorned his Ardour and left him a Prey to
Humiliation and Shame at the hands of Men unworthy to
lick the dust at his feet; when I remembered all
that, I could find no Pity in my heart for the Lady
Barbara, but rather a Hope that one so exquisitely
fair would pass through Sorrow and Adversity the
purer and softer for the Ordeal.

True again, that for some reason still unexplained
Mr. Betterton appeared to desire with an almost
passionate intensity that his successful Rival should
escape the fate of his fellow-Conspirators.  Such
Magnanimity was beyond my Comprehension, and
I felt that the Sentiment which engendered it could
not be a lasting one.  Mr. Betterton was for the
moment angry with me—very angry—for what I
had done; but his Anger I knew would soon melt
in the Warmth of his own kindly Heart.  He would
forgive me, and anon forget the insolent Enemy
after the latter had expiated his Treachery and his
Arrogance upon the Scaffold.  The whole of this
hideous past Episode would then become a mere
Memory, like unto a nightmare which the healthful
freshness of the newly-born Day so quickly dispels.


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So on the whole it was with a lightened heart
that I stepped into the boat in the wake of
Mr. Betterton.  I thanked the Lord that the Rain had
ceased for the moment, for truly I was chilled to
the Marrow and could not have borne another wetting.

Every Angle and Stone and Stair and Landing
Stage along the Embankment was of course familiar
to me; and I could not help falling into a Reverie
at sight of those great houses which were the City
homes of some of the noblest Families in the Land.
How many of these stately walls, thought I,
sheltered a nest of Conspirators as vile and as disloyal
as were Lord Douglas Wychwoode and his friends?
Suffolk House and Yorke House, Salisbury House
and Worster House, to mention but a few.  How
did the mere honest Citizen know what went on
behind their Portals, what deadly secrets were
whispered within their doors?

I had been taught all my life to respect those who
are above me in Station and to reverence our titled
Nobility; but truly my short Experience of these
high-born Sparks was not calculated to enhance my
Respect for their Integrity or my Admiration for
their Intellect.  Some older Gentlemen there were,
such as the Lord Chancellor himself, who were
worthy of Everybody's regard; but I must confess
that the Behaviour of the younger Fops was oft
blameworthy.

I might even instance our Experience this dark
night after we had landed at the Temple Stairs, and
were hurrying along our way up Middle Temple
Lane in the wake of our linkmen.  We were
speeding on, treading carefully so as to avoid as much
as was possible the mud which lay ankle-deep in
the Lane, when we suddenly spied ahead of us a
party of "Scourers"—young Gentlemen of high
Rank, very much the worse for drink, who, being
at their wits' end to know how to spend their
evenings, did it in prowling about the Streets, insulting
or maltreating peaceable Passers-by, molesting
Women, breaking Tavern windows, stealing
Signboards and otherwise rendering themselves noxious
to honest Citizens, and helping to make the Streets
of our great City an object of terror by night, in
emulation of highway Robbers and other foul
Marauders.

No doubt Mr. Betterton and I would—despite the
aid of our two linkmen and of their stout Cudgels—have
fallen a victim to these odious Miscreants,
and the great Actor would of a surety have been
very rudely treated, since he had so often denounced
these Mal-practices from the Stage and held up to
public Ridicule not only the young Rakes who took
part in the riotous Orgies, but also our Nightwatchmen,
who were too stupid or too cowardly to cope
with them.  But, knowing our danger, we avoided
it, and hearing the young Mohocks coming our way
we slipped up Hare Alley and bided our time until
the noise of Revels and Riotings were well behind us.

I heard afterwards that those Abominable
Debauchees—who surely should have known better,
seeing that they were all Scions of great and noble
Families—had indeed "scoured" that night with
some purpose.  They broke into Simond's Inn in
Fleet Street, smashed every Piece of Crockery they
could find there, assaulted the Landlord, beat the
Customers about, broke open the money-box, stole
some five pounds in hard cash and insulted the
waiting-maids.  Finally they set a seal to their
Revels by falling on the Nightwatchmen who had
come to disperse them, beating them with their own
halberts and with sticks, and wounding one so
severely that he ultimately died in Hospital, while
the Miscreants themselves got off scot-free.

Truly a terrible state of Affairs in such a noble
City as London!


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As for Mr. Betterton and myself, we reached the
corner of Chancery Lane without serious
Adventure.  As we neared the house of Mr. Theophilus
Baggs, however, I felt my Courage oozing down
into my shoes.  Truly I could not then have faced
my former Employer, whom I had just betrayed,
and the mean side of my Action in the Matter came
upon me with a shaming force.

I begged Mr. Betterton, therefore, to go and
speak with Mr. Baggs whilst I remained waiting
outside upon the doorstep.

Of all that miserable day, this was perhaps to me
the most painful moment.  From the instant that
Mr. Betterton was admitted into the house until he
returned to me some twenty minutes later, I was
in a cold sweat, devoured with Apprehension and
fighting against Remorse.  I could not forget that
Mr. Baggs had been my Master and Employer—if
not too kind an one—for years, and if he had been
sent to the Tower and accompanied his fellow
Conspirators upon the Scaffold, I verily believe that I
should have felt like Judas Iscariot and, like him,
would have been unable to endure my life after such
a base Betrayal.

Fortunately, however, Mr. Betterton was soon
able to reassure me.  He had, he said, immediately
warned Mr. Baggs that something of the Secret
of the Conspiracy had come to the ears of the
Countess of Castlemaine, and that all those who
were in any way mixed up in the Affair would be
wise to lie low as far as possible, at any rate for
a while.

Mr. Baggs, it seems, was at first terrified, and
was on the point of losing his Head and committing
some act of Folly through sheer fright.  But
Mr. Betterton's quieting Influence soon prevailed.  The
worthy Attorney, on thinking the matter over,
realized that if he destroyed certain Documents
which might prove incriminating to himself, he
would have little else to fear.  He himself had never
written a compromising Letter—he was far too
shrewd to have thus committed himself—and there
was not a scrap of paper in any one else's
possession which bore his Name or might mark his
Identity, whilst he had not the slightest fear that the
other Conspirators—who were all of them
Gentlemen—would betray the Complicity of an humble
Attorney who had rendered them loyal Service.

Strangely enough, Mr. Baggs never suspected me
of having betrayed the whole thing; or, if he did,
he never said so.  So many People plotted these
days, so many Conspiracies were hatched then blown
upon, that I for one imagine that Mr. Baggs had a
hand in several of these and was paid high Fees
for his share in them.  Then, when anything
untoward happened, when mere Chance, or else a
Traitor among the Traitors, caused the Conspiracy
to abort, the worthy Attorney would metaphorically
shake the dust of political Intrigue from his shabby
shoes, and make a bonfire of every compromising
Document that might land him in the Tower and
further.  After which, he was no doubt ready to
begin all over again.

So it had occurred in this instance.  Mr. Betterton
did not wait to see the bonfire, which was just
beginning to blaze merrily in the old-fashioned
hearth.  He told me all about it when he joined me
once more upon the doorstep, and for the first time
that day I heard him laugh quite naturally and
spontaneously while he recounted to me Mr. Baggs'
Terrors and Mistress Euphrosine's dignified
Fussiness.

"She would have liked to find some Pretext," he
said quite gaily, "for blaming me in the Matter.
But on the whole, I think that they were both
thankful for my timely Warning."


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But, as far as I was concerned, this ended once
and for all my Connection with the house of
Mr. Theophilus Baggs, and since that memorable night
I have never once slept under his roof.

I went back with Mr. Betterton to his House in
Tothill Street.  By the time we reached it, it was
close on ten o'clock.  Already he had intimated to
me that henceforth I was to make my home with
him; and as soon as we entered the House he
ordered his Servant to make my room and bed ready
for me.  My Heart was filled with inexpressible
gratitude at his Kindness.  Though I had, in an
altogether inexplicable manner, run counter to his
Plans, he was ready to forgive me and did not
withdraw his Friendship from me.

As time went on, I was able to tell him something
of the Emotions which coursed through my Heart
in recognition of his measureless Kindness to me;
but on that first evening I could not speak of it.
When I first beheld the cosy room which he had
assigned to me, with its clean and comfortable bed
and substantial furniture, I could only bow my
Head, take his Hand and kiss it reverently.  He
withdrew it as if he had been stung.

"Keep such expressions of Respect," he said
almost roughly, "for one who is worthy."

"You," I riposted simply, "are infinitely worthy,
because You are good."

Then once again his harsh, mirthless Laugh—so
unlike his usual light-hearted Merriment—grated
upon mine ear.

"Good!" he exclaimed.  "Nay, friend Honeywood,
You are not, meseems, a master of intuition.
Few Hearts in London this night," he added
earnestly, "harbour such evil Desires as mine."

But in spite of what he said, in spite of that
strange look in his eyes, that Laugh which
proclaimed a perturbed Soul, I could not bring myself
to believe that his noble Heart was a Prey to aught
but noble Desires, and that those awful and subtle
Schemes of deadly Revenge which have subsequently
threatened to ruin his own Life were even now
seething in his Brain.

For the moment, I only remembered that when
first he had requested me to accompany him on his
evening Peregrinations, it had been with a view to
visiting the Countess of Castlemaine, and I now
reminded him of his Purpose, thinking that his
desire had been to beg for my Lord Stour's pardon.
I did so, still insisting upon her Ladyship's avowed
Predilection for himself, and I noticed that while
I spoke thus he smiled grimly to himself and
presently said with slow Deliberation:

"Aye!  Her Ladyship hath vowed that out of
Gratitude for his public Eulogy of her Virtue and
her Beauty, she would grant Mr. Thomas Betterton
any Favour he might ask of her."

"Aye! and her Ladyship is not like to go back
on her word," I assented eagerly.

"Therefore," he continued, not heeding me, "the
Countess of Castlemaine, who in her turn can
obtain any Favour she desires from His Majesty the
King, will at my request obtain a full and gracious
Pardon for the Earl of Stour."

"She will indeed!" I exclaimed, puzzled once
more at this strange trait of Magnanimity—Weakness,
I called it—on the part of a Man who had on
two occasions been so monstrously outraged.  "You
are a hero, Sir," I added in an awed whisper, "to
think of a pardon for your most deadly Enemy."

He turned and looked me full in the eyes.  I
could scarce bear his Glance, for there seemed to
dwell within its glowing depths such a World of
Misery, of Hatred and of thwarted Passion, that
my Soul was filled with dread at the sight.  And
he said very slowly:

"You are wrong there, my Friend.  I was not
thinking of a pardon for mine Enemy, but of
Revenge for a deadly Insult, which it seems cannot
be wiped out in Blood."


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I would have said something more after that, for
in truth my Heart was full of Sympathy and of
Love for my Friend and I longed to soothe and
console him, as I felt I could do, humble and
unsophisticated though I was.  Thoughts of You, dear
Mistress, were running riot in my Brain.  I longed
at this momentous hour, when the Fate of many
Men whom I knew was trembling in the balance, to
throw myself at Mr. Betterton's feet and to
conjure him in the name of all his most noble Instincts
to give up all thoughts of the proud Lady who had
disdained him and spurned his Affections, and to
turn once more to the early and pure Love of his
Life—to You, dear Mistress, whose Devotion had
been so severely tried and yet had not been found
wanting, and whose influence had always been one
of Gentleness and of Purity.

But, seeing him sitting there brooding, obviously a
Prey to Thoughts both deep and dark, I did not dare
speak, and remained silent in the hope that, now that
I was settled under his roof, an Opportunity would
occur for me to tell him what weighed so heavily on
my Heart.

Presently the Servant came in and brought
Supper, and Mr. Betterton sat down to it, bidding
me with perfect Grace and Hospitality to sit
opposite to him.  But we neither of us felt greatly
inclined to eat.  I was hungry, it is true; yet every
Morsel which I conveyed to my mouth cost me an
effort to swallow.  This was all the more remarkable
as at the moment my whole Being was revelling
in the Succulence of the fare spread out before me,
the Excellence of the Wine, the snowy Whiteness of
the Cloths, the Beauty of Crystal and of Silver,
all of which bore testimony to the fastidious Taste
and the Refinement of the great Artist.

Of the great Events which were even then shaping
themselves in White Hall, we did not speak.  We
each knew that the Other's mind was full of what
might be going on even at this hour.  But
Mr. Betterton made not a single Reference to it, and
I too, therefore, held my tongue.  In fact, we spoke
but little during Supper, and as I watched my
dearly loved Friend toying with his food, and I
myself felt as if the next mouthful would choke me,
I knew his Mind was far away.

It was fixed upon White Hall and its stately
Purlieus and upon the house of the Countess of
Castlemaine, which overlooked the Privy Gardens,
and of His Majesty the King.  His senses, I knew,
were strained to catch the sound of distant
Murmurs, of running Footsteps, of the grinding of Arms
or of pistol shots.

But not a Sound came to disturb the peaceful
Silence of this comfortable Abode.  The Servant
came and went, bringing food, then clearing it away,
pouring Wine into our glasses, setting and removing
the silver Utensils.

Anon Mr. Betterton and I both started and
furtively caught one another's Glance.  The tower
clock of Westminster was striking eleven.

"For Good or for Evil, all is over by now,"
Mr. Betterton said quietly.  "Come, friend
Honeywood; let's to bed."

I went to bed, but not to sleep.  For hours I lay
awake, wondering what had happened.  Had the
Conspirators succeeded and was His Majesty a
Prisoner in their hands? or were they themselves
Captives in that frowning Edifice by the Water,
which had witnessed so many Deaths and such grim
Tragedies, and from which the only Egress led
straight to the Scaffold?

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   CHAPTER XI

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   RUMOURS AND CONJECTURES

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Very little of what had actually occurred came to
the ear of the Public.  In fact, not one Man in ten
in the whole of the Cities of London and
Westminster knew that a couple of hours before
midnight, when most simple and honest Citizens were
retiring to their beds, a batch of dangerous
Conspirators had been arrested even within the
Precincts of White Hall.

I heard all that there was to know from
Mr. Betterton, who went out early the following
Morning and returned fully informed of the events of the
preceding Night.  Subsequently too, I gleaned a
good deal of information through the instrumentality
of Mistress Floid.  As far as I could gather,
the Conspirators did carry out their Project just
as they had decided on it in my Presence.  They did
assemble in King Street and in the by-lanes leading
out of it, keeping my Lady Castlemaine's House in
sight, whilst others succeeded in Concealing
themselves about the Gardens of White Hall, no doubt
with the Aid of treacherous and suborned Watchmen.

The striking of the hour of ten was to be the
signal for immediate and concerted Action.  Those
in the Gardens stood by on the watch, until after
His Majesty the King had walked across from his
Palace to Her Ladyship's House.  His Majesty, as
was his wont when supping with Lady Castlemaine,
entered her house by the back door, and his Servants
followed him into the house.

Then the Conspirators waited for the Hour to
strike.  Directly the last clang of church bells had
ceased to reverberate through the humid evening air,
they advanced both from the Back and the Front
of the House simultaneously, when they were set
upon on the one side by a Company of His Majesty's
Body Guard under the Command of Major
Sachvrell, who had remained concealed inside the
Palace, and on the other by a Company of
Halberdiers under the Command of Colonel Powick.

When the Traitors were thus confronted by loyal
Troops, they tried to put up a Fight, not realizing
that such measures had been taken by Major
Sachvrell and Colonel Powick that they could not
possibly hope to escape.

A scuffle ensued, but the Conspirators were very
soon overpowered, as indeed they were greatly
outnumbered.  The Neighbourhood—even then
slumbering peacefully—did no more than turn over in
bed, marvelling perhaps if a party of Mohocks on
mischief bent had come in conflict with a Posse of
Night-watchmen.  The Prisoners were at once
marched to the Tower, despite the Rain which had
once more begun to fall heavily; and during the
long, wearisome Tramp through the City, their
Ardour for Conspiracies and Intrigues must have
cooled down considerably.

The Lieutenant of the Tower had everything
ready for the Reception of such exalted Guests; for
in truth my Lady Castlemaine had not allowed
things to be done by halves.  Incensed against her
Enemies in a manner in which only an adulated and
spoilt Woman can be, she was going to see to it
that those who had plotted against her should be as
severely dealt with as the Law permitted.


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Later on, I had it from my friend, Mistress
Floid, that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode visited
the Countess of Castlemaine during the course of
the morning.  She arrived at her Ladyship's House
dressed in black and with a Veil, as if of mourning,
over her fair Hair.

Mistress Floid hath oft told me that the Interview
between the two Ladies was truly pitiable, and that
the Lady Barbara presented a heart-rending
Spectacle.  She begged and implored her Ladyship to
exercise Mercy over a few young Hotheads, who
had been misled into Wrong-doing by inflammatory
Speeches from Agitators, these being naught but
paid Agents of the Dutch Government, she averred,
set to create Discontent and if possible Civil War
once again in England, so that Holland might
embark upon a War of Revenge with some Certainty
of Success.

But the Countess of Castlemaine would not listen
to the Petition at all, and proud Lady Barbara
Wychwoode then flung herself at the other Woman's
feet and begged and implored for Pardon for her
Brother, her Lover and her Friends.  Mistress Floid
avers that my Lady Castlemaine did nothing but
laugh at the poor Girl's pleadings, saying in a
haughty, supercilious Manner:

"Beauty in tears?  'Tis a pretty sight, forsooth!
But had your Friends succeeded in their damnable
Plot, would You have shed tears of sympathy for
Me, I wonder?"

And I could not find it in me to be astonished at
my Lady Castlemaine's Spitefulness, for in truth the
Lady Barbara's Friends had plotted her Disgrace
and Ruin.  Not only that, they had taken every
opportunity of vilifying her Character and making
her appear as odious in the Eyes of the People as
they very well could.

You must not infer from this, dear Mistress, that
I am upholding my Lady Castlemaine in any way.
Her mode of life is abhorrent to me and I deeply
regret her Influence over His Majesty and over the
public Morals of the Court Circle, not to say of the
entire Aristocracy and Gentry.  I am merely noting
the fact that human Nature being what it is, it is
not to be wondered at that when the Lady had a
Chance of hitting back, she did so with all her
Might, determined to lose nothing of this
stupendous Revenge.

However secret the actual Arrest of the
Conspirators was kept from public Knowledge, it soon
transpired that such great and noble Gentlemen as
Lord Teammouth, Lord Douglas Wychwoode, the
Earl of Stour, not to mention others, were in the
Tower, and that a sensational Trial for Conspiracy
and High Treason was pending.

Gradually the History of the Plot had leaked
out, and how it had become abortive owing to an
anonymous Denunciation (for so it was called).
The Conspiracy became the talk of the Town.
Several Ladies and Gentlemen, though not directly
implicated in the Affair, but of known ultra-Protestant
views, thought it best to retire to their Country
Estates, ostensibly for the benefit of their Health.

Sinister Rumours were afloat that the
Conspirators would be executed without Trial—had
already suffered the extreme Penalty of the Law;
that the Marquis of Sidbury, Father of Lord
Douglas Wychwoode, had suddenly died of Grief;
that Torture would be applied to the proletarian
Accomplices of the noble Lords—of whom there
were many—so as to extract further Information
and Denunciations from them.  In fact, the Town
seethed with Conjectures; People talked in
Whispers and dispersed at sight of any one who was
known to belong to the Court Circle.  The Theatres
played to empty Benches, the Exchanges and Shops
were deserted, for no one liked to be abroad when
Arrests and Prosecutions were in the Air.

Through it all, very great Sympathy was evinced
for the Lady Barbara Wychwoode, whose pretty
Face was so well-known in Town and whose Charm
of Manner and kindly Disposition had endeared her
to many who had had the privilege of her Acquaintance.
Public Opinion is a strange and unaccountable
Factor in the Affairs of Men, and Public
Opinion found it terribly hard that so young and
adulated a Girl as was the Lady Barbara should
at one fell swoop lose Brother, Lover and Friends.
And I may truly say that Satisfaction was
absolutely genuine and universal when it became known
presently that the young Earl of Stour had
received a full and gracious Pardon for his supposed
Share in the abominable Plot.

Whether, on closer Investigation, he had been
proved innocent or whether the Pardon was due to
exalted or other powerful Influences, no one knew
as yet: all that was a Certainty was that my Lord
Stour presently left the Tower a free Man even
whilst his Friends were one and all brought to
Trial, and subsequently most of them executed for
High Treason, or otherwise severely punished.

Lord Teammouth suffered Death upon the
Scaffold, so did Sir James Campsfield and Mr. Andrew
Kinver; and there were others, whose Names escape
me for the moment.  Lord Douglas Wychwoode
succeeded in fleeing to Scotland and thence to
Holland; most people averred owing to the marvellous
Pluck and Ingenuity of his Sister.  A number of
Persons of meaner degree were hanged; in fact, a
Reign of Terror swept over the country, and many
thought that the Judges had been unduly harsh and
over free with their Pronouncements of Death
Sentences.

But it was obvious that His Majesty himself
meant to make an Example of such abominable
Traitors, before political Intrigues and Rebellion
spread over the Country once again.

It was all the more strange, therefore, that one
of the Conspirators—the Earl of Stour, in fact,
whose name had been most conspicuous in connection
with the Affair—should thus have been the only
one to enjoy Immunity.  But, as I said before,
nothing but Satisfaction was expressed at first for
this one small Ray of Sunshine which came to
brighten poor Lady Barbara Wychwoode's Misery.

As for me, I did not know what to think.  Surely
my heart should have been filled with Admiration
for the noble Revenge which a great Artist had
taken upon a hot-headed young Coxcomb.  Such
Magnanimity was indeed unbelievable; nay, I felt
that it showed a Weakness of Character of which in
my innermost Heart I did not believe Mr. Betterton
capable.

To say that I was much rejoiced over the
Clemency shown to my Lord Stour would be to deviate
from the Truth.  Looking back upon the Motives
which had actuated me when I denounced the
infamous Plot to the Countess of Castlemaine, I could
not help but admit to myself that Hatred of a young
Jackanapes and a Desire for Vengeance upon his
impudent Head had greatly influenced my Course
of Action.  Now that I imagined him once more
kneeling at the Lady Barbara's feet, an accepted
Lover, triumphant over Destiny, all the Sympathy
which I may have felt for him momentarily in the
hour of his Adversity, died out completely from my
Heart, and I felt that I hated him even more
virulently than before.

His Image, as he had last stood before me in the
dimly-lighted room of his noble Mansion,
surrounded by Books, costly Furniture, and all the
Appurtenances of a rich and independent Gentleman,
was constantly before my Mind.  I could, just by
closing mine eyes, see him sitting beside the hearth,
with the lovely Lady Barbara beaming at him from
the place opposite, and his Friend standing by,
backing him up with Word and Deed in all his
Arrogance and Overbearing.

"The Earl of Stour cannot cross swords with a
Mountebank."

I seemed to hear those Words reverberating
across the street like the clank of some ghostly
Bell; and whenever mine ears rang to their sound
I felt the hot Blood of a just Wrath surge up to
my cheeks and my feeble Hands would close in a
Clutch, that was fierce as it was impotent.


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The reported Death from grief of the Marquis
of Sidbury proved to be a false Rumour.  But the
aged Peer did suffer severely from the Shame put
upon him by his Son's Treachery.  The Wychwoodes
had always been loyal Subjects of their
King.  At the time of the late lamented Monarch's
most crying Adversity, he knew that he could always
count on the Devotion of that noble Family, the
Members of which had jeopardized their entire
Fortune, their very Existence, in the royal Cause.

Of course, the present Marquis's two Children
were scarce out of the Nursery when the bitter
Conflict raged between the King and his People;
but it must have been terribly hard for a proud
Man to bear the thought that his only Son, as soon
as he had reached Man's Estate, should have raised
his Hand against his Sovereign.

No doubt owing to the disturbed State of many
influential Circles of Society that Winter, and the
number of noble Families who were in mourning
after the aborted Conspiracy and the wholesale
Executions that ensued, the Marriage between the
Lady Barbara Wychwoode and the Earl of Stour
was postponed until the Spring, and then it would
take place very quietly at the Bride's home in
Sussex, whither she had gone of late with her
Father, both living there for a while in strict
Retirement.

Lord Douglas Wychwoode, so it was understood,
had succeeded in reaching Holland, where, I doubt
not, he continued to carry on those political
Intrigues against his lawful Sovereign which would
of a surety one day bring him to an ignominious End.

I was now living in the greatest Comfort and was
supremely happy, in the House of Mr. Betterton.
He employed me as his Secretary, and in truth my
place was no sinecure, for I never could have
believed that there were so many foolish Persons in
the World who spent their time in writing
Letters—laudatory or otherwise—to such great Men as
were in the public Eye.  I myself, though I have
always been a wholehearted Admirer of Men of
Talent and Erudition, would never have taken it
upon myself to trouble them with Effusions from my
Pen.  And yet Letter after Letter would come to
the house in Tothill Street, addressed to
Mr. Thomas Betterton.  Some written by great and
noble Ladies whose Names would surprise You,
dear Mistress, were I to mention them; others were
from Men of position and of learning who desired
to express to the great Artist all the Pleasure that
they had derived from his rendering of noble
Characters.

Mr. Pepys, a Gentleman of great knowledge and
a Clerk in the Admiralty, wrote quite frequently to
Mr. Betterton, sometimes to express unstinted
Praise for the great Actor's Performance in one of
his favourite Plays, or sometimes venturing on
Criticism, which was often shrewd and never disdained.

But, after all, am I not wasting time by telling
You that which You, dear Mistress, know well
enough from your own personal Experience?  I
doubt not but you receive many such Letters, both
from Admirers and from Friends, not to mention
Enemies, who are always to the fore when a Man
or Woman rises by Talent or Learning above the
dead level of the rest of Humanity.

It was then my duty to read those Letters and
to reply to them, which I did at Mr. Betterton's
Dictation, and in my choicest Caligraphy with many
Embellishments such as I had learned whilst I was
Clerk to Mr. Baggs.  Thus it was that I obtained
Confirmation of the Fact which was still agitating
my Mind: namely, Mr. Betterton's share in the
Events which led to His Majesty's gracious Pardon
being extended to the Earl of Stour.  I had, of
course, more than suspected all along that it was my
Friend who had approached the Countess of
Castlemaine on the Subject, yet could not imagine
how any Man, who was smarting under such a
terrible Insult, as Mr. Betterton had suffered at the
hands of my Lord Stour, could find it in his Heart
thus to return Good for Evil, and with such splendid
Magnanimity.

But here I had Chapter and Verse for the whole
Affair, because my Lady Castlemaine wrote to
Mr. Betterton more than once upon the Subject, and
always in the same bantering tone, chaffing him for
his Chivalry and his Heroism, saying very much
what I should myself, if I had had the Courage or
the Presumption to do so.  She kept him well
informed of her Endeavours on behalf of Lord Stour,
referring to the King's Severity and Obstinacy in
the matter in no measured Language, but almost
invariably closing her Epistles with a reiteration
of her promise to the great Artist to grant him any
Favour he might ask of her.

"I do work most strenuously on your behalf,
You adorably wicked Man," her Ladyship wrote in
one of her Letters; "but I could wish that You
would ask something of me which more closely
concerned Yourself."

On another occasion she said:

"For the first time yester evening I wrung a half
Promise from His Majesty; but You cannot
conceive in what a Predicament You have placed me,
for His Majesty hath shown signs of Suspicion
since I plead so earnestly on behalf of Lord Stour.
If my Insistence were really to arouse his Jealousy
your Protégé would certainly lose his Head and I
probably my Place in the King's Affections."

And then again:

"It greatly puzzles me why You should thus
favour my Lord Stour.  Is it not a fact that he
hath insulted You beyond the Hope of Pardon?
And yet, not only do You plead for your Enemy
with passionate insistence, but You enjoin me at
the same time to keep your noble purpose a Secret
from him.  Truly, but for my promise to You, I
would throw up the Sponge, and that for your own
good....  I did not know that Artists were
Altruists.  Methought that Egotism was their most
usual Foible."

Thus I could no longer remain in doubt as to
who the Benefactor was, whom my Lord of Stour
had to thank for his very life.  Yet, withal, the
Secret was so well kept that, even in this era of
ceaseless Gossip and Chatter, every one, even in the
most intimate Court Circle, was ignorant of the
subtle Intrigue which had been set in motion on
behalf of the young Gallant.

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   CHAPTER XII

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   POISONED ARROWS

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Do you remember, dear Mistress, those lovely
days we had in February this year?  They were
more like days of Spring than of Winter.  For a
fortnight we revelled in sunshine and a temperature
more fitting for May than for one of the Winter
months.

In London, Rich and Poor alike came out into
the Air like flies; the public Gardens and other
Places of common resort were alive with
Promenaders; the Walks and Arbours in the Gray's Inn
Walks or the Mulberry Garden were astir with
brilliant Company.  All day, whether you sauntered in
Hyde Park, refreshed yourself with a collation in
Spring Gardens or strolled into the New Exchange,
you would find such a crowd of Men and Women
of Mode, such a Galaxy of Beauty and Bevy of fair
Maids and gallant Gentlemen as had not been seen
in the Town since that merry month of May, nigh
on two years ago now, when our beloved King
returned from Exile and all vied one with the other
to give him a cheerful Welcome.

To say that this period was one of unexampled
Triumph for Mr. Betterton would be but to repeat
what You know just as well as I do.  He made
some truly remarkable hits in certain Plays of the
late Mr. William Shakespeare, notably in
"Macbeth," in "King Lear," and in "Hamlett."  Whether
I like these Plays myself or not is beside
the point; whatever I thought of them I kept to
myself, but was loud in my Admiration of the great
Actor, who indeed had by now conquered all Hearts,
put every other Performer in the Shade and raised
the Status of the Duke's Company of Players to a
level far transcending that ever attained by
Mr. Killigrew's old Company.

This Opinion, at any rate, I have the Honour of
sharing with all the younger generation of
Play-goers who flock to the Theatre in Lincoln's Inn
Fields, even while the King's House in Vere Street
is receiving but scanty Patronage.  Of course my
Judgment may not be altogether impartial, seeing
that in addition to Mr. Betterton, who is the finest
Actor our English Stage has ever known, the Duke's
House also boasts of the loveliest Actress that ever
walked before the Curtain.

You, dear Mistress, were already then, as You
are now, at the zenith of your Beauty and Fame,
and your damask Cheeks would blush, I know, if
you were to read for yourself some of the Eulogies
which the aforementioned Mr. Samuel Pepys in his
Letters to Mr. Betterton bestows upon the exquisite
Mistress Saunderson—"Ianthe," as he has been
wont to call you ever since he saw You play that
part in Sir William Davenant's "The Siege of Rhodes."

Of course I know that of late no other sentimental
tie hath existed outwardly between Mr. Betterton
and Yourself save that of Comradeship and friendly
Intercourse; but often when sitting in the Pit of the
Theatre I watched You and Him standing together
before the curtain, and receiving the Plaudits of an
enthusiastic Audience, I prayed to God in my Heart
to dissipate the Cloud of Misunderstanding which
had arisen between You; aye! and I cursed
fervently the Lady Barbara and her noble Lover, who
helped to make that Cloud more sombre and impenetrable.


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I naturally heard a great deal more of Society
Gossip these days than I was wont to do during
the time that I was a mere Clerk in the Employ
of Mr. Theophilus Baggs.  My kind Employer
treated me more as a Friend than a Servant.  I
had fine Clothes to wear, accompanied him on
several Occasions when he appeared in Public, and was
constantly in his tiring-room at the Theatre, where
he received and entertained a never-ending Stream
of Friends.

Thus, towards the end of the Month, I gathered
from the Conversation of Gentlemen around me
that the Marquess of Sidbury had come up to Town
in the Company of his beautiful Daughter.  He had,
they said, taken advantage of the fine Weather to
make the Journey to London, as he desired to consult
the Court Physician on the Matter of his Health.

I shall never forget the strange Look that came
into Mr. Betterton's face when first the Subject was
mentioned.  He and some Friends—Ladies as well
as Gentlemen—were assembled in the small
Reception Room which hath lately been fitted up behind
the Stage.  Upholstered and curtained with a
pleasing Shade of Green, the Room is much frequented
by Artists and their Friends, and it is always
crowded during the Performance of those Plays
wherein one of the leading Actors or Actresses has
a part.

We have taken to calling the place the Green
Room, and here on the occasion of a performance
of Mr. Webster's "Duchess of Malfy," in which
You, dear Mistress, had no part, a very brilliant
Company was assembled.  Sir William Davenant
was there, as a matter of course, so was Sir George
Etherege, and that brilliant young dramatist
Mr. Wycherley.  In addition to that, there were one or
two very great Gentlemen there, members of the
Court Circle and enthusiastic Playgoers, who were
also intimate Friends of Mr. Betterton.  I am
referring particularly to the Duke of Buckingham, to
my Lord Rochester, Lord Orrery and others.  A
brilliant Assembly forsooth, which testified to the
high Esteem in which the great Artist is held by all
those who have the privilege of knowing him.

I told You that when first the Name of the Lady
Barbara was mentioned in the Green Room, a
strange Glance, which I was unable to interpret, shot
out of Mr. Betterton's eyes, and as I gazed upon that
subtle, impalpable Change which suddenly transformed
his serene Expression of Countenance into
one that was almost Evil, I felt a curious sinking of
the Heart—a dread Premonition of what was to
come.  You know how his lips are ever ready to
smile: now they appeared thin and set, while the
sensitive Nostrils quivered almost like those of the
wild Beasts which we have all of us frequently
watched in the Zoological Gardens, when the
Attendants bring along the food for the day and they,
eager and hungry, know that the Hour of
Satisfaction is nigh.

"The fair Lady Babs," one of the young
Gallants was saying with studied Flippancy, "is more
beautiful than ever, methinks; even though she goes
about garbed in the Robes of Sorrow."

"Poor young thing!" commented His Grace of
Buckingham kindly.  "She has been hard hit in that
last Affair."

"I wonder what has happened to Wychwoode,"
added Lord Rochester, who had been a known
Friend of Lord Douglas.

"Oh! he reached Holland safely enough,"
another Gentleman whom I did not know averred.  "I
suppose he thinks that it will all blow over
presently and that he will obtain a free pardon——"

"Like my Lord Stour," commented Mr. Betterton drily.

"Oh! that's hardly likely," interposed Sir George
Etherege.  "Wychwoode was up to the neck in the
Conspiracy, whilst Stour was proved to be innocent
of the whole affair."

"How do you know that?" Mr. Betterton asked quietly.

"How do I know it?" retorted Sir George.
"Why? ... How do we all know it?"

"I was wondering," was Mr. Betterton's calm
Rejoinder.

"I imagine," broke in another Gentleman, "that
at the Trial——"

"Stour never stood his trial, now you come to
think of it," here interposed my Lord of Rochester.

"He was granted a free Pardon," asserted His
Grace of Buckingham, "two days after his Arrest."

"At the Instance of the Countess of Castlemaine,
so I am told," concluded Mr. Betterton.

You see, he only put in a Word here and there,
but always to some purpose; and oh! that Purpose
I simply dared not guess.  I was watching him,
remember, watching him as only a devoted Friend
or a fond Mother know how to watch; and I saw
that set look on his Face grow harder and harder
and a steely, glittering Light flash out of his Eyes.

My God! how I suffered!  For with that Intuition
which comes to us at times when those whom
we love are in deadly peril, I had suddenly beheld
the Abyss of Evil into which my Friend was about
to plunge headlong.  Yes!  I understood now why
Mr. Betterton had pleaded with my Lady Castlemaine
for his Enemy's Life.  It was not in order
to confer upon him a lasting benefit and thus shame
him by his Magnanimity; but rather in order to do
him an Injury so irreparable that even Death could
not wipe it away.

But you shall judge, dear Mistress; and thus
judging You will understand much that has been
so obscure in my dear Friend's Character and in his
Actions of late.  And to understand All is to
forgive All.  One thing you must remember, however,
and that is that no Man of Mr. Betterton's Worth
hath ever suffered in his Pride and his innermost
Sensibilities as he hath done at the Hands of that
young Jackanapes whom he hated—as I had good
cause to know now—with an Intensity which was
both cruel and relentless.  He meant to be even with
him, to fight him with his own Weapons, which
were those of Contempt and of Ridicule.  He meant
to wound there, where he himself had suffered most,
in Reputation and in Self-Respect.

I saw it all, and was powerless to do aught save
to gaze in mute Heart-Agony on the marring of a
noble Soul.  Nay!  I am not ashamed to own it:
I did in my Heart condemn my Friend for what he
had set out to do.  I too hated Lord Stour, God
forgive me! but two months ago I would gladly
have seen his arrogant Head fall upon the Scaffold;
but this subtle and calculating Revenge, this cold
Intrigue to ruin a Man's Reputation and to
besmirch his Honour, was beyond my ken, and I could
have wept to see the great Soul of the Man, whom
I admired most in all the World, a prey to such an
evil Purpose.

"We all know," one of the young Sparks was
saying even now, "that my Lady Castlemaine
showed Stour marked favour from the very
moment he appeared at Court."

"We also know," added Mr. Betterton with
quiet Irony, "that the whisper of a beautiful
Woman often drowns the loudest call of Honour."

"But surely you do not think——?" riposted
Lord Rochester indignantly, "that—that——"

"That what, my lord?" queried Mr. Betterton calmly.

"Why, demme, that Stour did anything dishonourable?"

"Why should I not think that?" retorted Mr. Betterton,
with a slight Elevation of the Eyebrows.

"Because he is a Stourcliffe of Stour, Sir," broke
in Sir George Etherege in that loud, blustering way
he hath at times; "and bears one of the greatest
Names in the Land."

"A great Name is hereditary, Sir," rejoined the
great Actor quietly.  "Honesty is not."

"But what does Lady Castlemaine say about it
all?" interposed Lord Orrery.

"Lady Castlemaine hath not been questioned on
the subject, I imagine," interposed Sir William
Davenant drily.

"Ah!" rejoined His Grace of Buckingham.
"There you are wrong, Davenant.  I remember
speaking to her Ladyship about Stour one
day—saying how glad I was that he, at any rate, had had
nothing to do with that abominable Affair."

"Well?" came eagerly from every one.  "What
did she say?"

His Grace remained thoughtful for a time, as if
trying to recollect Something that was eluding his
Memory.  Then he said, turning to Mr. Betterton:

"Why, Tom, you were there at the time.  Do
You recollect?  It was at one of Her Ladyship's
Supper Parties.  His Majesty was present.  We all
fell to talking about the Conspiracy, and the King
said some very bitter things.  Then I thought I
would say something about Stour.  You remember?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Mr. Betterton.

"What did Lady Castlemaine say?"

"I don't think she said anything.  Methinks she
only laughed."

"So she did!" assented His Grace; "and winked
at You, you Rogue!  I recollect the Circumstance
perfectly now, though I attached no importance to
it at the time.  But I can see it all before me.  His
Majesty frowned and continued to look glum, whilst
the Countess of Castlemaine vowed with a laugh
that, anyway, my lord Stour was the handsomest
Gentleman in London, and that 'twere a pity to
allow such a beautiful Head to fall on the Scaffold."

"It certainly sounds very strange," mused my
Lord Rochester, and fell to talking in Whispers with
Sir George Etherege, whilst His Grace of Buckingham
went and sat down beside Mr. Betterton,
and obviously started to discuss the Incident of the
Supper Party all over again with the great Actor.
Other isolated Groups also formed themselves, and
I knew that my Lord Stour's Name was on every
one's lips.

Traducement and Gossip is Meat and Drink to
all these noble and distinguished Gentlemen, and
here they had something to talk about, which would
transcend in Scandal anything that had gone
before.  The story about my Lord Stour would
spread with the Rapidity which only evil-loving
Tongues can give.  Alas! my poor Friend knew that
well enough when he shot his poisoned Arrows into
the Air.  I was watching him whilst His Grace of
Buckingham conversed with him: I saw the feverishly
keen look in his eyes as he, in his turn, watched
the Ball of Slander and Gossip being tossed about
from one Group to another.  He said but little,
hardly gave Answer to His Grace; but I could see
that he was on the alert, ready with other little
poisoned Darts whenever he saw Signs of weakening
in the Volume of Backbiting, which he had so
deliberately set going.

"I liked Stour and I admired him," Lord
Rochester said at one time.  "I could have sworn
that Nature herself had written 'honest man' on
his face."

"Ah!——" interposed Mr. Betterton, with that
quiet Sarcasm which I had learned to dread.
"Nature sometimes writes with a very bad Pen."


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It was not to be wondered at that the Scandal
against my Lord Stour, which was started in the
Green Room of the Theatre, grew in Magnitude
with amazing Rapidity.  I could not tell you, dear
Mistress, what my innermost feelings were in
regard to the Matter: being an humble and ignorant
Clerk and devoted to the one Man to whom I owe
everything that makes life pleasing.  I had neither
the Wish nor the mental Power to tear my Heart
to Pieces, in order to find out whether it beat in
Sympathy with my Friend, or with the Victim of
such a complete and deadly Revenge.

My Lord Stour was not then in London.  He too,
like many of his Friends—notably the Marquis of
Sidbury and others not directly accused of Participation
in the aborted Plot—had retired to his Country
Estate, probably unwilling to witness the gaieties
of City Life, while those he cared for most were
in such dire Sorrow.  But now that the Lady
Barbara and her Father were once more in Town, there
was little doubt that he too would return there
presently.  Since he was a free Man, and Lord
Douglas Wychwoode had succeeded in evading the
Law, there was no doubt that the natural Elasticity
of Youth coupled with the prospect of the happy
future which lay before him, would soon enable him
to pick up the Threads of Life, there where they
had been so unexpectedly and ruthlessly entangled.

I imagine that when his Lordship first arrived in
Town and once more established himself in the
magnificent Mansion in Canon's Row which I had
bitter cause to know so well, he did not truly
visualize the Atmosphere of brooding Suspicion which
encompassed him where e'er he went.  If he did
notice that one or two of his former Friends did
give him something of a cold shoulder, I believe that
he would attribute this more to political than to
personal Reasons.  He had undoubtedly been
implicated in a Conspiracy which was universally
condemned for its Treachery and Disloyalty, and no
doubt for a time he would have to bear the brunt
of public Condemnation, even though the free
Pardon, which had so unexpectedly been granted
him, proved that he had been more misguided than
really guilty.

His Arrival in London, his Appearance in Public
Places, his obvious ignorance of the Cloud which
was hanging over his fair Name, were the subject
of constant Discussion and Comment in the Green
Room of the Theatre as well as elsewhere.  And I
take it that his very Insouciance, the proud
Carelessness wherewith he met the cold Reception which
had been granted him, would soon have got over
the scandalous tale which constant Gossip alone
kept alive, except that one tongue—and one
alone—never allowed that Gossip to rest.

And that Tongue was an eloquent as well as a
bitter one, and more cunning than even I could ever
have believed.

How oft in the Green Room, in the midst of a
brilliant Company, have I listened to the flippant
talk of gay young Sparks, only to hear it drifting
inevitably toward the Subject of my Lord Stour,
and of that wholly unexplainable Pardon, which
had left him a free Man, whilst all his former
Associates had either perished as Traitors, or were forced
to lead the miserable life of an Exile, far from
Home, Kindred and Friends.

Drifting, did I say?  Nay, the Talk was
invariably guided in that direction by the unerring
Voice of a deeply outraged Man who, at last, was
taking his Revenge.  A word here, an Insinuation
there, a witty Remark or a shrug of the shoulders,
and that volatile sprite, Public Opinion, would veer
back from any possible doubt or leniency to the
eternally unanswered Riddle: "When so many of
his Friends perished upon the Scaffold, how was it
that my Lord Stour was free?"

How it had come about I know not, but it is
certain that very soon it became generally known
that his Lordship had been entrusted by his Friends
with the distribution of Manifestos which were to
rally certain Waverers to the cause of the
Conspirators.  And it was solemnly averred that it was
in consequence of a Copy of this same Manifesto,
together with a list of prominent Names, coming
into the hands of my Lady Castlemaine, that so
many Gentlemen were arrested and executed,
and my Lord Stour had been allowed to go scot-free.

How could I help knowing that this last Slander
had emanated from the Green Room, with the object
of laying the final stone to the edifice of Calumnies,
which was to crush an Enemy's Reputation and fair
Fame beyond the hope of Retrieval?


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A day or two later my Lord Stour, walking with
a Friend in St. James's Park, came face to face with
Mr. Betterton, who had Sir William Davenant and
the Duke of Albemarle with him as well as one or
two other Gentlemen, whilst he leaned with his
wonted kindness and familiarity on my arm.
Mr. Betterton would, I think, have passed by; but my
Lord Stour, ignoring him as if he were dirt under
aristocratic feet, stopped with ostentatious good-will
to speak with the General.

But his Grace did in truth give the young Lord a
very cold shoulder and Sir William Davenant,
equally ostentatiously, started to relate piquant
Anecdotes to young Mr. Harry Wordsley, who was
just up from the country.

I saw my Lord Stour's handsome face darken
with an angry frown.  For awhile he appeared to
hesitate as to what he should do, then with scant
Ceremony he took the Duke of Albemarle by the
coat-sleeve and said hastily:

"My Lord Duke, You and my Father fought side
by side on many occasions.  Now, I like not your
Attitude towards me.  Will you be pleased to
explain?"

The General tried to evade him, endeavoured to
disengage his coat-sleeve, but my Lord Stour was
tenacious.  A kind of brooding Obstinacy sat upon
his good-looking face, and after awhile he reiterated
with almost fierce Insistence:

"No! no! you shall not go, my Lord, until You
have explained.  I am tired," he added roughly,
"of suspicious looks and covert smiles, an
atmosphere of ill-will which greets me at every turn.
Politically, many may differ from Me, but I have
yet to learn that a Gentleman hath not the right to
his own Opinions without being cold-shouldered by
his Friends."

The Duke of Albemarle allowed him to talk on
for awhile.  His Grace obviously was making up
his mind to take a decisive step in the matter.  After
a while he did succeed in disengaging his
coat-sleeve from the persistent Clutch of his young
Friend, and then, looking the latter straight between
the eyes, he said firmly:

"My Lord, as You say, your Father and I were
Friends and Comrades in Arms.  Therefore You
must forgive an old Man and a plain Soldier a
pertinent question.  Will you do that?"

"Certainly," was my Lord Stour's quiet Reply.

"Very well then," continued His Grace, while all
of us who were there held our breath, feeling that
this Colloquy threatened to have a grave issue.
"Very well.  I am glad that You have given me
this opportunity of hearing some sort of Explanation
from You, for in truth, Rumour of late hath
been over busy with your Name."

"An Explanation, my Lord?" the young Man
said, with an added frown.

"Aye!" replied His Grace.  "That's just the
Word.  An Explanation.  For I, my Lord, as your
Father's Friend, will ask You this: how is it that
while Teammouth, Campsfield and so many of your
Associates perished upon the Scaffold, You alone,
of those implicated in that infamous Plot, did obtain
an unconditional Pardon?"

Lord Stour stepped back as if he had been hit in
the face.  Boundless Astonishment was expressed in
the Gaze which he fixed upon the General, as well
as wrathful indignation.

"My Lord!" he exclaimed, "that Question is an
insult!"

"Make me swallow mine own Words," retorted
His Grace imperturbably, "by giving me a straight
Answer."

"Mine Answer must be straight," rejoined Lord
Stour firmly, "since it is based on Truth.  I do
not know."

The Duke shrugged his Shoulders, and there came
a sarcastic laugh from more than one of the
Gentlemen there.

"I give your Lordship my Word of Honour,"
Lord Stour insisted haughtily.  Then, as His Grace
remained silent, with those deep-set eyes of his fixed
searchingly upon the young Man, the latter added
vehemently: "Is then mine Honour in question?"

Whereupon Mr. Betterton, who hitherto had
remained silent, interposed very quietly:

"The honour of some Gentlemen, my Lord, is
like the Manifestation of Ghosts—much talked of
... but always difficult to prove!"

You know his Voice, dear Mistress, and that
subtle carrying Power which it has, although he
never seems to raise it.  After he had spoken You
could have heard the stirring of every little twig in
the trees above us, for no one said another Word
for a moment or two.  We all stood there, a
compact little Group: Lord Stour facing the Duke of
Albemarle and Mr. Betterton standing a step or two
behind His Grace, his fine, expressive Face set in a
mask of cruel Irony.  Sir William Davenant and
the other Gentlemen had closed in around those
three.  They must have felt that some strange Storm
of Passions was brewing, and instinctively they tried
to hide its lowering Clouds from public gaze.

Fortunately there were not many Passers-by just
then, and the little Scene remained unnoted by the
idly curious, who are ever wont to collect in Crowds
whenever anything strange to them happens to
attract their Attention.

My Lord Stour was the first to recover Speech.
He turned on Mr. Betterton with unbridled Fury.

"What!" he cried, "another sting from that
venomous Wasp?  I might have guessed that so
miserable a Calumny came from such a vile Caitiff
as this!"

"Abuse is not Explanation, my Lord," interposed
the Duke of Albemarle firmly.  "And I must
remind you that you have left my Question unanswered."

"Put it more intelligibly, my Lord," retorted
Lord Stour haughtily.  "I might then know how
to reply."

"Very well," riposted His Grace, still apparently
unmoved.  "I will put it differently.  I understand
that your Associates entrusted their treasonable
Manifestos to you.  Is that a fact?"

"I'll not deny it."

"You cannot," rejoined the Duke drily.  "Sir
James Campsfield, in the course of his Trial,
admitted that he had received his Summons through
You.  But a Copy of that Manifesto came into the
hands of my Lady Castlemaine just in time to cause
the Conspiracy to abort.  How was that?"

"Some Traitor," replied Lord Stour hotly, "of
whom I have no Cognizance."

"Yet it was You," riposted the General quietly,
"who received a free Pardon ... no one else.
How was that?" he reiterated more sternly.

"I have sworn to You that I do not know,"
protested my Lord Stour fiercely.

He looked now like a Man at Bay, trapped in a
Net which was closing in around him and from
which he was striving desperately to escape.  His
face was flushed, his eyes glowed with an unnatural
fire.  And always his restless gaze came back to
Mr. Betterton, who stood by, calm and impassive,
apparently disinterested in this Colloquy wherein a
man's Honour was being tossed about to the Winds
of Slander and of Infamy.  Now Lord Stour gazed
around him, striving to find one line of genuine
Sympathy on the stern Faces which were confronting him.

"My word of Honour, Gentlemen," he exclaimed
with passionate Earnestness, "that I do not know."

Honestly, I think that one or two of them did
feel for him and were inclined to give him Credence.
After all, these young Fops are not wicked; they
are only mischievous, as Children or young Puppies
are wont to be, ready to snarl at one another, to
yap and to tear to pieces anything that happens to
come in their way.  Moreover, there was the great
bond of Caste between these People.  They were,
in their innermost Hearts, loth to believe that one
of themselves—a Gentleman, one bearing a great
Name—could be guilty of this type of foul Crime
which was more easily attributable to a Plebeian.
It was only their Love of Scandal-monging and of
Backbiting that had kept the Story alive all these
weeks.  Even now there were one or two
sympathetic Murmurs amongst those present when my
Lord Stour swore by his Honour.

But just then Mr. Betterton's voice was heard
quite distinctly above that Murmur:

"Honour is a strangely difficult word to
pronounce on the Stage," he was saying to Sir William
Davenant, apparently *á propos* of something the
latter had remarked just before.  "You try and
say it, Davenant; you will see how it always
dislocates your Jaw, yet produces no effect."

"Therefore, Mr. Actor," Lord Stour broke in
roughly, "it should only be spoken by those who
have a glorious Ancestry behind them to teach them
its true Significance."

"Well spoken, my Lord," Mr. Betterton rejoined
placidly.  "But you must remember that but few
of His Majesty's Servants have a line of glorious
Ancestry behind them.  In that way they differ from
many Gentlemen who, having nothing but their
Ancestry to boast of, are very like a Turnip—the best
of them is under the ground."

This Sally was greeted with loud Laughter, and
by a subtle process which I could not possibly define,
the wave of Sympathy which was setting in the
direction of my Lord Stour, once more receded
from him, leaving him wrathful and obstinate, His
Grace of Albemarle stern, and the young Fops
flippant and long-tongued as before.

"My Lord Stour," the General now broke in once
more firmly, "'tis You sought this Explanation, not
I.  Now You have left my Question unanswered.
Your Friends entrusted their Manifestos to You.
How came one of these in Lady Castlemaine's hands?"

And the young Man, driven to bay, facing half
a dozen pairs of eyes that held both Contempt and
Enmity in their glance, reiterated hoarsely:

"I have sworn to You that I do not know."
Then he added: "Hath Loyalty then left this
unfortunate Land, that You can all believe such a vile
thing of me?"

And in the silence that ensued, Mr. Betterton's
perfectly modulated Voice was again raised in
quietly sarcastic accents:

"As You say, my Lord," he remarked.  "Loyalty
hath left this unfortunate Country.  Perhaps," he
added with a light shrug of the shoulders, "to take
Refuge with your glorious Ancestry."

This last Gibe, however, brought my Lord Stour's
exasperation to a raging Fury.  Pushing
unceremoniously past His Grace of Albemarle, who stood
before him, he took a step forward and confronted
Mr. Betterton eye to eye and, drawing himself up
to his full Height, he literally glowered down upon
the great Artist, who stood his Ground, placid and
unmoved.

"Insolent Varlet!" came in raucous tones from
the young Lord's quivering lips.  "If you had a
spark of chivalry or of honour in You——"

At the arrogant Insult every one drew their
breath.  A keen Excitement flashed in every eye.
Here was at last a Quarrel, one that must end in
bloodshed.  Just what was required—so thought
these young Rakes, I feel sure—to clear the
Atmosphere and to bring abstruse questions of
Suspicion and of Honour to a level which they could all
of them understand.  Only the Duke of Albemarle,
who, like a true and great Soldier, hath the greatest
possible Abhorrence for the gentlemanly Pastime
of Duelling, tried to interpose.  But Mr. Betterton,
having provoked the Quarrel, required no interference
from any one.  You know his way, dear
Mistress, as well as I do—that quiet Attitude which he
is wont to assume, that fraction of a second's
absolute Silence just before he begins to speak.  I know
of no Elocutionist's trick more telling than that.  It
seems to rivet the Attention, and at the same time
to key up Excitement and Curiosity to its greatest strain.

"By your leave, my Lord," he said slowly, and
his splendid Voice rose just to a sufficient pitch of
Loudness to be distinctly heard by those immediately
near him, but not one yard beyond.  "By your
leave, let us leave the word 'honour' out of our
talk.  It hath become ridiculous and obsolete, now
that every Traitor doth use it for his own ends."

But in truth my Lord Stour now was beside
himself with Fury.

"By gad!" he exclaimed with a harsh laugh.
"I might have guessed that it was your pestilential
Tongue which stirred up this Treason against me.
Liar!—Scoundrel!——"

He was for heaping up one Insult upon the other,
lashing himself as it were into greater Fury still,
when Mr. Betterton's quietly ironical laugh broke
in upon his senseless ebullitions.

"Liar?—Scoundrel, am I?" he said lightly, and,
still laughing, he turned to the Gentlemen who stood
beside him.  "Nay! if the sight of a Scoundrel
offends his Lordship, he should shut himself up in
his own Room ... and break his Mirror!"

At this, my Lord Stour lost the last vestige of his
self-control, seized Mr. Betterton by the Shoulder
and verily, I thought, made as if he would strike him.

"You shall pay for this Insolence!" he cried.

But already, with perfect *sang-froid*, the great
Artist had arrested his Lordship's uplifted hand and
wrenched it away from his shoulder.

"By your leave, my Lord," he said, and with
delicate Fingers flicked the dust from off his coat.
"This coat was fashioned by an honest tailor, and
hath never been touched by a Traitor's hand."

I thought then that I could see Murder writ
plainly on My Lord's face, which was suddenly
become positively livid.  The Excitement around us
was immense.  In truth I am convinced that every
Gentleman there present at the moment, felt that
something more deep and more intensely bitter lay
at the Root of this Quarrel, between the young
Lord and the great and popular Artist.  Even now
some of them would have liked to interfere, whilst
the younger ones undoubtedly enjoyed the Spectacle
and were laying, I doubt not, imaginary Wagers as
to which of the two Disputants would remain
Master of the Situation.

His Grace of Albemarle tried once more to interpose
with all the Authority of his years and of his
distinguished Position, for indeed there was
something almost awesome in Lord Stour's Wrath by
now.  But Mr. Betterton took the Words at once
out of the great General's mouth.

"Nay, my Lord," he said with quiet Firmness,
"I pray You, do not interfere.  I am in no danger,
I assure You.  My Lord Stour would wish to kill
me, no doubt.  But, believe me, Fate did not ordain
that Tom Betterton should die by such a hand
... the fickle Jade hath too keen a Sense of
Humour."

Whereupon he made a movement, as if to walk
away.  I felt the drag upon my arm where his
slender hand was still resting.  The Others were
silent.  What could they say?  Senseless Numskulls
though they were for the most part, they had enough
Perception to realize that between these two Men
there was Hatred so bitter that no mere
Gentlemanly Bloodshed could ever wipe it away.

But ere Mr. Betterton finally turned to go, my
Lord of Stour stepped out in front of him.  All the
Rage appeared to have died out of him.  He was
outwardly quite calm, only a weird twitching of his
lips testified to the Storm of Passion which he had
momentarily succeeded in keeping under control.

"Mr. Actor," he said slowly, "but a few Weeks
ago You asked me to cross swords with You....
I refused then, for up to this hour I have never
fought a Duel save with an Equal.  But now, I
accept," he added forcefully, even while the Words
came veiled and husky from his throat.  "I accept.
Do You hear me? ... for the laws of England
do not permit a Murder, and as sure as there's a
Heaven above me, I am going to kill You."

Mr. Betterton listened to him until the end.  You
know that Power which he hath of seeming to tower
above every one who stands nigh him?  Well! he
exercised that Power now.  He stepped quite close
to my Lord Stour, and though the latter is of more
than average height, Mr. Betterton literally
appeared to soar above him, with the sublime
Magnificence of an outraged Man coming into his own
at last.

"My Lord of Stour," he said, with perfect
quietude, "a few weeks ago you insulted me as
Man never dared to insult Man before.  With every
blow dealt upon my shoulders by your Lacqueys,
You outraged the Majesty of Genius ... yes! its
Majesty! ... its Godhead! ... You raised
your insolent hand against me—against me, the
Artist, whom God Himself hath crowned with
Immortality.  For a moment then, my outraged
Manhood clamoured for satisfaction.  I asked You to
cross swords with me, for You seemed to me
... then ... worthy of that Honour.  But to-day,
my Lord of Stour," he continued, whilst every
Word he spoke seemed to strike upon the ear like
Blows from a relentless Hammer; "Traitor to your
Friends, Liar and Informer!!!!  Bah!  His
Majesty's Well-Beloved Servant cannot fight with
such as You!"

In truth I do not remember what happened after
that.  The unutterable Contempt, the Disgust, the
Loathing expressed in my Friend's whole Attitude,
seemed to hit even me between the eyes.  I felt as if
some giant Hands had thrown a kind of filmy grey
veil over my Head, for I heard and saw nothing
save a blurred and dim Vision of uplifted Arms, of
clenched Fists and of a general Scrimmage, of which
my Lord Stour appeared to be the Centre, whilst
my ears only caught the veiled Echo of Words flung
hoarsely into the air:

"Let me go!  Let me go!  I must kill him!  I must!"

Mr. Betterton, on the other hand, remained
perfectly calm.  I felt a slight pressure on my arm and
presently realized that he and I had turned and were
walking away down the Avenue of the Park, and
leaving some way already behind us, a seething mass
of excited Gentlemen, all intent on preventing
Murder being committed then and there.

What the outcome of it all would be, I could not
visualize.  Mr. Betterton had indeed been able to
give Insult for Insult and Outrage for Outrage at
last.  For this he had schemed and worked and
planned all these weeks.  Whether God and Justice
were on his side in this terrible Revenge, I dared
not ask myself, nor yet if the Weapon which he had
chosen were worthy of his noble Character and of
his Integrity.  That public Opinion was on his side,
I concluded from the fact that the Duke of
Albemarle and Sir William Davenant both walked a few
yards with him after he had turned his back on my
Lord, and that His Grace constituting himself
Spokesman for himself and Sir William, offered
their joint Services to Mr. Betterton in case he
changed his mind and agreed to fight my Lord Stour
in duel.

"I thank your Grace," was Mr. Betterton's
courteous reply; "but I am not like to change my
Mind on that Score."

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.. _`the lady pleads`:

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   CHAPTER XIII

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   THE LADY PLEADS

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   1

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I am not able quite to determine in my own mind
whether the Lady Barbara Wychwoode did hear and
see something of the violent Scene which I have
just attempted to describe.

I told You, dear Mistress, that fortunately for
us all, this part of the Park where the Scene
occurred was for the moment practically deserted.  At
any rate, no Crowd collected around us, for which,
methinks, we were, every one of us, thankful.  If
a few of the Passers-by heard anything of the
altercation, they merely hurried past, thinking no doubt,
that it was only one or two young City Sparks, none
too sober even at this morning hour, who were
quarrelling among themselves.

When we walked away down the Avenue which
leads in the direction of Knight's Bridge,
Mr. Betterton's well-known, elegant figure was remarked
by a few Pedestrians on their way to and fro, as
was also the familiar one of the Duke of Albemarle,
and some People raised their hats to the great Artist,
whilst others saluted the distinguished General.

Presently His Grace and Sir William Davenant
took leave of Mr. Betterton, and a few moments
later the latter suggested that we should also begin
to wend our way homewards.

We retraced our steps and turned back in the
direction of Westminster.  Mr. Betterton was
silent; he walked quite calmly, with head bent and
firm footsteps, and I, knowing his humour, walked
along in silence by his side.

Then suddenly we came upon the Lady Barbara.

That she had sought this meeting I could not
doubt for a moment.  Else, how should a Lady of
her Rank and Distinction be abroad, and in a public
Park, unattended?  Indeed, I was quite sure that
she had only dismissed her maid when she saw
Mr. Betterton coming along, and that the Wench was
lurking somewhere behind one of the shrubberies,
ready to accompany her Ladyship home when the
interview was at an end.

I said that I am even now doubtful as to whether
the Lady Barbara saw and heard something of the
violent Altercation which had taken place a quarter
of an hour ago between her Lover and the great
Actor.  If not, she certainly displayed on that
occasion that marvellous intuition which is said to be
the prerogative of every Woman when she is in love.

She was walking on the further side of Rosamond
Pond when first I caught sight of her, and
when she reached the Bridge, she came deliberately
to a halt.  There is no other way across the Pond
save by the Bridge, so Mr. Betterton could not have
escaped the meeting even if he would.  Seeing the
Lady, he raised his hat and made a deep bow of
respectful salutation.  He then crossed the Bridge
and made as if he would pass by, but she held her
Ground, in the very centre of the Path, and when
he was quite near her, she said abruptly:

"Mr. Betterton, I desire a word with you."

He came at once to a halt, and replied with
perfect deference:

"I await your Ladyship's commands."


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I was for hurrying away, thinking that my
Presence would be irksome both to the Lady and to my
Friend; but an unmistakable pressure of Mr. Betterton's
hand on my arm caused me to stay where
I was.  As for the Lady, she appeared not to care
whether I stayed or went, for immediately she
retorted:

"My commands, Sir Actor?  They are, that you
at once and completely do Reparation for the wrong
which you are trying to do to an innocent Man."

She looked proud and commanding as a Queen,
looking through the veil of her lashes at Mr. Betterton
as if he were a supplicating Slave rather than
the great Artist whom cultured Europe delighted to
honour.  Never did I admire my Friend so much
as I did then.  His self-possession was perfect: his
attitude just the right balance 'twixt deference due
to a beautiful Woman and the self-assurance which
comes of conscious Worth.  He looked splendid,
too—dressed in the latest fashion and with unerring
taste.  The fantastic cut of his modish clothes
became his artistic Personality to perfection: the soft
shade of mulberry of which his coat was fashioned
made an harmonious note of colour in the soft grey
mist of this late winter's morning.  The lace at his
throat and wrists was of unspeakable value, filmy
and gossamer-like in texture as a cobweb; and in
his cravat glittered a diamond, a priceless gift to the
great English Artist from the King of France.

Indeed, the Lady Barbara Wychwoode might
look the world-famous Actor up and down with
well-studied superciliousness; she might issue her
commands to him as if she were his royal Mistress
and he but a Menial set there to obey her behest;
but, whatever she did, she could not dwarf his
Personality.  He had become too great for disdain or
sneers ever to touch him again; and the shafts of
scorn aimed at him by those who would set mere
Birth above the claims of Genius, would only find
their points broken or blunted against the
impenetrable armour of his Glory and his Fame.

For the nonce, I think that he was ready enough
to parley with the Lady Barbara.  He had not to
my knowledge spoken with her since that never
forgotten day last September; and I, not
understanding the complex workings of an Artist's heart,
knew not if his Love for her had outlived the crying
outrage, or had since then turned to Hate.

In answer to her peremptory command, he
assumed an air of innocent surprise.

"I?" he queried.  "Your Ladyship is pleased to
speak in riddles."

"Nay!" she retorted.  "'Tis you, Sir, who
choose not to understand.  But I'll speak more
plainly, an you wish.  I am a woman, Mr. Actor,
and I love the Earl of Stour.  Now, you know just
as well as I do, that his Lordship's honour has of
late been impugned in a manner that is most
mysterious.  His Friends accuse him of treachery; even
mere Acquaintances prefer to give him the cold
shoulder.  And this without any definite Indictment
being levelled against him.  Many there are who
will tell You that they have not the faintest
conception of what crime my Lord Stour stands
accused.  Others aver that they'll not believe any
Slander that may be levelled against so high-souled
a Gentleman.  Nevertheless, the Slander continues.
Nay! it gathers volume as it worms its way from
one house to another, shedding poison in its wake
as it drifts by; and more and more People now
affect to look another way when the Earl of Stour
comes nigh them, and to be otherwise engaged when
he desires to shake them by the hand."

She paused for a moment, obviously to regain her
Composure, which was threatening to leave her.
Her cheeks were pale as ashes, her breath came and
went in quick, short gasps.  The Picture which she
herself had drawn of her Lover's plight caused her
heart to ache with bitterness.  She seemed for the
moment to expect something—a mere comment,
perhaps, or a word of Sympathy, from Mr. Betterton.
But none came.  He stood there, silent and
deferential, with lips firmly set, his slender Hand
clutched upon the gold knob of his stick, till the
knuckles shone creamy-white, like ivory.  He
regarded her with an air of Detachment rather than
Sympathy, and though by her silence she appeared
to challenge him now, he did not speak, and after
awhile she resumed more calmly:

"My Lord of Stour himself is at his wits' ends
to interpret the attitude of his Friends.  Nothing
tangible in the way of a spoken Calumny hath as
yet reached his ears.  And his life has been rendered
all the more bitter that he feels that he is being
struck by a persistent but mysterious Foe in what
he holds dearer than aught else on earth, his
Integrity and his Honour."

"'Tis a sad case," here rejoined Mr. Betterton,
for her Ladyship had paused once more.  "But, by
your leave, I do not see in what way it concerns me."

"Nay! but I think you do, Sir Actor," Lady
Barbara riposted harshly.  "Love and Hate,
remember, see clearly where mere Friendship and
Indifference are blind.  Love tells me that the Earl
of Stour's Integrity is Unstained, his Honour
unsullied.  But the Hatred which you bear him,"
added her Ladyship almost fiercely, "makes me look
to You for the cause of his Disgrace."

No one, however, could have looked more utterly
astonished, more bland and uncomprehending, as
Mr. Betterton did at that moment.  He put up his
hand and regarded the Lady with an indulgent
smile, such as one would bestow on a hot-headed Child.

"Nay, your Ladyship!" he said courteously.
"I fear that you are attributing to an humble
Mountebank a power he doth not possess.  To
disgrace a noble Gentleman?" he exclaimed with
well-feigned horror.  "I?—a miserable Varlet—an
insolent cur whom one thrashes if he dares to bark!"

"Ah!" she broke in, with a swift exclamation.
"Then I have guessed the truth!  This is your Revenge!"

"Revenge?" he queried blandly.  "For what?"

"You hate the Earl of Stour," she retorted.

Once more his well-shaped hand went up, as if in
gentle protest, and he uttered a kind and deprecating "Oh!"

"You look upon the Earl of Stour as your
enemy!" she insisted.

"I have so many, your Ladyship," he riposted
with a smile.

"'Twas you who obtained his Pardon from my
Lady Castlemaine."

"The inference is scarcely logical," he retorted.
"A man does not as a rule sue for pardon for his Enemy."

"I think," she rejoined slowly, "that in this case
Mr. Betterton did the illogical thing."

"Then I do entreat your Ladyship," he
protested with mock terror, "not to repeat this
calumny.  *I*, accused of a noble action!  Tom Betterton
pardoning his Enemies!  Why, my friends
might believe it, and it is so difficult these days to
live down a good Reputation."

"You choose to sharpen your wit at my expense,
Sir Actor," the lady rejoined with her former
haughtiness, "and to evade the point."

"What is the point, your Ladyship?" he queried
blandly.

"That you set an end to all these Calumnies
which are levelled against the Earl of Stour."

"How can we stay the Sun in his orbit?" he
retorted; "or the Stars in their course?"

"You mean that your Campaign of Slander has
already gone too far?  But remember this,
Mr. Betterton: that poisoned darts sometimes wound the
hand that throws them.  You may pursue the Earl
of Stour with your Hatred and your Calumnies,
but God will never allow an innocent Man to suffer
unjustly."

Just for a few seconds Mr. Betterton was silent.
He was still regarding the Lady with that same
indulgent smile which appeared to irritate her nerves.
To me, the very air around seemed to ring as if
with a clash of ghostly arms—the mighty clash of
two Wills and two Temperaments, each fighting for
what it holds most dear: she for the Man whom she
loved, he for his Dignity which had been so cruelly
outraged.

"God will never allow," she reiterated with slow
emphasis, "an innocent Man to suffer at the hands
of a Slanderer."

"Ah!" riposted Mr. Betterton suavely.  "Is
your Ladyship not reckoning over-confidently on
Divine interference?"

"I also reckon," she retorted, "on His Majesty's
sense of justice—and on the Countess of Castlemaine,
who must know the truth of the affair."

"His Majesty's senses are very elusive," he
rejoined drily, "and are apt to play him some
wayward tricks when under the influence of the
Countess of Castlemaine.  The Earl of Stour, it seems,
disdained the favours which that Lady was willing
to bestow on him.  He preferred the superior
charms and intellect of the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode.  A very natural preference, of course," he
added, with elaborate gallantry.  "But I can assure
your Ladyship that, as Helpmeets to heavenly
Interference, neither His Majesty nor the Countess
of Castlemaine are to be reckoned with."

She bit her lip and cast her eyes to the ground.
I could see that her lovely face expressed acute
disappointment and that she was on the verge of tears.
I am not versed in the ways of gentle Folk nor yet
in those of Artists, but I could have told the Lady
Barbara Wychwoode that if she wanted to obtain
Sympathy or Leniency from Mr. Betterton, she had
gone quite the wrong way to work.

Even now, I think if she had started to plead
... but the thought of humbling herself before
a Man whom she affected to despise was as far
from this proud Woman's heart, as are thoughts
of self-glorification from mine.

A second or two later she had succeeded in
forcing back the tears which had welled to her eyes,
and she was able once more to look her Adversary
straight in the face.

"And will you tell me, Sir Actor," she queried
with cold aloofness, "how far you intend to carry
on this Infamy?"

And Mr. Betterton replied, equally coldly and
deliberately:

"To the uttermost limits of the Kingdom, Madam."

"What do you mean?" she riposted.

He drew a step or two nearer to her.  His face
too was pale by now, his lips trembling, his eyes
aglow with Passion masterfully kept under control.
His perfect voice rose and fell in those modulated
Cadences which we have all learned to appreciate.

"Only this, your Ladyship," he began quite
slowly.  "For the present, the History of the Earl
of Stour's treachery is only guessed at by a few.
It is a breath of Scandal, born as you say somewhat
mysteriously, wafted through Palaces and noble
Mansions to-day—dead, mayhap, to-morrow.  But
I have had many opportunities for thought of late,"
he continued—and it seemed to me as if in his
quivering voice I could detect a tone of Threat as
well as of Passion—"and have employed my leisure
moments in writing an Epilogue which I propose
to speak to-morrow, after the Play, His Majesty and
all the Court being present, and many Gentlemen
and Ladies of high degree, as well as Burgesses and
Merchants of the City, and sundry Clerks and other
humbler Folk.  A comprehensive Assembly, what? and
an attentive one; for that low-born Mountebank,
Tom Betterton, will be appearing in a new
play and the Playhouse will be filled to the roof in
order to do him honour.  May I hope that the Lady
Barbara Wychwoode herself——"

"A truce on this foolery, Sir," she broke in
harshly.  "I pray you come to the point."

She tried to look brave and still haughty, but I
knew that she was afraid—knew it by the almost
unearthly pallor of her skin, and the weird glitter
in her eyes as she regarded him, like a Bird
fascinated by a Snake.

"The point is the Epilogue, my Lady," Mr. Betterton
replied blandly.  "And after I have spoken
it to-morrow, I shall speak it again and yet again,
until its purport is known throughout the length
and breadth of the Land.  The subject of that
Epilogue, Madam, will be the secret History of a certain
aborted Conspiracy, and how it was betrayed in
exchange for a free Pardon by one of our noblest
Gentlemen in England.  Then, I pray your
Ladyship to mark what will happen," he continued, and
his melodious voice became as hard and trenchant as
the clang of metal striking metal.  "After that
Epilogue has been spoken from the Stage half a dozen
times after His Majesty has heard it and shrugged
his shoulders, after my Lady Castlemaine has
laughed over it and my Lord of Rochester aped it
in one of his Pasquinades, there will be a man whose
Name will be a by-word for everything that is most
infamous and most false—a Name that will be
bandied about in Taverns and in drinking Booths,
quipped, decried, sneered at, anathematized; a
Name that will be the subject of every lampoon and
every scurrilous rhyme that finds over-ready
purchasers—a Name, in fact, that will for ever be
whispered with bated breath or bandied about in a
drunken brawl, whene'er there is talk of treachery
and of dishonour!"

At this, she—great Lady to her finger tips—threw
up her head proudly, still defying him, still
striving to hide her Fears and unwilling to
acknowledge Defeat.

"It will be your Word against his," she said with
a disdainful curl of her perfect lips.  "No one
would listen to such calumnies."

And he—the world-famed Artist—at least as
proud as any high born Gentleman in the Land,
retorted, equally haughtily:

"When Tom Betterton speaks upon the Stage,
my Lady, England holds her breath and listens
spellbound."

I would I could render the noble Accent of his
magnificent Voice as he said this.  There was no
self-glorification in it, no idle boasting; it was the
accent of transcendent Worth conscious of its Power.

And it had its effect upon the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode.  She lowered her Eyes, but not before
I had perceived that they were full of Tears; her
Lips were trembling still, but no longer with
Disdain, and her hands suddenly dropped to her side
with a pathetic gesture of Discouragement and of
Anguish.

The next moment, however, she was again
looking the great Actor fully in the face.  A change
had come over her, quite suddenly methought—a
great Change, which had softened her Mood and to
a certain extent lowered her Pride.  Whether this
was the result of Mr. Betterton's forceful
Eloquence or of her own Will-power, I could not guess;
but I myself marvelled at the Tone of Entreaty
which had crept into her Voice.

"You will not speak such Falsehoods in Public,
Sir," she said with unwonted softness.  "You will
not thus demean your Art—the Art which you love
and hold in respect.  Oh, there must be some
Nobility in You! else you were not so talented.  Your
Soul must in truth be filled with Sentiments which
are neither ignoble nor base."

"Nay!" he exclaimed, and this time did not
strive to conceal the intense Bitterness which, as
I knew well enough, had eaten into his very Soul;
"but your Ladyship is pleased to forget.  I am
ignoble and base!  There cannot be Nobility in me.
I am only the low-born Lout!  Ask my Lord of
Stour; ask your Brother!  They will tell you that I
have no Feelings, no Pride, no Manhood—that I
am only a despicable Varlet, whom every Gentleman
may mock and insult and whip like a dog.  To You
and to your Caste alone belong Nobility, Pride and
Honour.  Honour!!!"—and he broke into a
prolonged laugh, which would have rent your Heart to
hear—"Honour!  Your false Fetish!  Your counterfeit
God!!  Very well, then so be it!!  That
very Honour which he hath denied me, I will wrench
from him.  And since he denied me Satisfaction by
the Sword, I turn to my own weapon—my Art—and
with it I will exact from him to the uttermost
fraction, Outrage for Outrage—Infamy for Infamy."

His wonderful Voice shook, broke almost into a
sob at last.  I felt a choking sensation in my Throat
and my Eyes waxed hot with unshed Tears.  As if
through a mist, I could see the exquisite Lady
Barbara Wychwoode before me, could see that she, too,
was moved, her Pride crushed, her Disdain yielding
to involuntary Sympathy.

"But he is innocent!" she pleaded, with an
accent verging on Despair.

"And so was I!" was his calm retort.

"He——" she entreated, "he loves me——"

"And so do I!" he exclaimed, with a depth of
Passion which brought the hot Blood to her pale
Cheeks.  "*I* would have given my Life for one
Smile from your Lips."

Whereupon, womanlike, she shifted her ground,
looked him straight between the Eyes, and, oh!  I
could have blushed to see the Wiles she used in order
to weaken his Resolve.

"You love me?" she queried softly, and there
was now a tone of almost tender Reproach in her
Voice.  "You love me! yet you would drag the
Man who is dearer to me than Life to Dishonour
and to Shame.  You trap him, like a Fowler does
a Bird, then crush him with Falsehoods and
Calumnies!  No, no!" she exclaimed—came a step
or two nearer to him and clasped her delicate Hands
together in a Gesture that was akin to Prayer.  "I'll
not believe it!  You will tell the Truth, Mr. Betterton,
publicly, and clear him....  You
will....  You will!  For my sake—since You
say You love me."

But the more eager, the more appealing she grew,
the calmer and more calculating did he seem.  Now
it was his turn to draw away from Her, to measure
Her, as it were, with a cold, appraising Look.

"For Your sake?" he said with perfect quietude,
almost as if the matter had become outside himself.
I cannot quite explain the air of detachment which
he assumed—for it was an assumption, on that I
would have staked my Life at the moment.  I, who
know him so well, felt that deep down within his
noble Heart there still burned the fierce flames of
an ardent Passion, but whether of Love or Hate,
I could not then have told You.

She had recoiled at the coolness of his Tone;
and he went on, still speaking with that strange,
abnormal Calm:

"Yes!" he said slowly, "for *Your* love I would
do what You ask ... I would forego that Feast
of Satisfaction, the Thought of which hath alone
kept me sane these past few months....  Yes! for
the Love of Lady Barbara Wychwoode I could
bring myself to forgive even his Lordship of Stour
for the irreparable wrong which he hath done to
Me.  I would restore to him his Honour, which
now lies, a Forfeit, in my Hands: for I shall then
have taken Something from him which he holds
well-nigh as dear."

He paused, and met with the same calm relentlessness
the look of Horror and of Scorn wherewith
she regarded him.

"For my Love?" she exclaimed, and once more
the warm Blood rushed up to her face, flooding her
wan Cheeks, her pale Forehead, even her delicate
Throat with crimson.  "You mean that
I? ... Oh! ... what Infamy! ... So, Mr. Actor,
that was your reckoning!" she went on with
supreme Disdain.  "It was not the desire for
Vengeance that prompted You to slander the Earl of Stour,
but the wish to entrap *me* into becoming your Wife.
You are not content with Your Laurels.  You want
a Coat of Arms ... and hoped to barter one
against Your Calumnies!"

"Nay, your Ladyship!" he rejoined simply, "in
effect, I was actually laying a Name famed
throughout the cultured world humbly at your feet.  You
made an appeal to my Love for You—and I laid a
test for your Sincerity.  Mine I have placed beyond
question, seeing that I am prepared to drag my
Genius in the dust before Your Pride and the
Arrogance of Your Caste.  An Artist is a Slave of his
Sensibilities, and I feel that if, in the near Future,
I could see a Vision of your perfect hand resting
content in mine, if, when You pleaded again for my
Lord Stour, You did so as my promised Wife—not
his—I would do all that You asked."

She drew herself up to her full height and glanced
at him with all the Pride which awhile ago had
seemed crushed beyond recall.

"Sir Actor," she said coldly, "shame had gripped
me by the throat, or I should not have listened so
long to such an Outrage.  The Bargain You
propose is an Infamy and an Insult."

And she gathered up her Skirts around her, as
if their very contact with the Soil on which he trod
were a pollution.  Then she half turned as if ready
to go, cast a rapid glance at the Shrubberies close
by, no doubt in search of her Attendant.  Why it
was that she did not actually go, I could not say,
but guessed that, mayhap, she would not vacate the
Field of Contention until quite sure that there was
not a final Chance to soften the Heart of the Enemy.
She had thrown down yet another Challenge when
she spoke of his proposed Bargain as an Infamy;
but he took up the Gage with the same measured
Calm as before.

"As you will," he said.  "It was in Your
Ladyship's name that the Earl of Stour put upon Me
the deadliest Insult which any Man hath ever put
on Man before.  Since then, every Fibre within Me
has clamoured for Satisfaction.  My Work hath
been irksome to me ... I scarce could think
... My Genius lay writhing in an agony of
Shame.  But now the hour is mine—for it I have
schemed and lied—aye, lied—like the low-born cur
You say I am.  A thousand Devils of Hate and of
Rage are unchained within me.  I cannot grapple
with them alone.  They would only yield—to your kiss."

"Oh!" she cried in uttermost despair, "this is
horrible!"

"Then let the Man you love," he rejoined coldly,
"look to himself."

"Conscious of his Innocence, my Lord Stour and
I defy you!"

"Ah, well!" he said imperturbably, "the Choice
is still with Your Ladyship.  Remember that I do
not speak my Epilogue until to-morrow.  When I
do, it will be too late.  I have called my Phantasy
'The Comedie of Traitors.'"

Whereupon he bowed low before her, in the most
approved Fashion.  But already she was fleeing up
the path in the direction of Westminster.  Soon her
graceful Figure was lost to our sight behind an
intervening clump of Laurels.  Here no doubt her
Ladyship's Attendant was waiting for her Mistress,
for anon I spied two figures hurrying out of the Park.


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For a long time Mr. Betterton remained standing
just where he was, one hand still clutching the knob
of his Stick, the other thrust in the pocket of his
capacious Coat.  I could not see his Face, since his
Back was turned towards me, and I did not dare
move lest I should be interrupting his Meditations.
But to Me, even that Back was expressive.  There
was a listlessness, hardly a stoop, about it, so unlike
my Friend's usual firm and upright Carriage.  How
could this be otherwise, seeing what he had just
gone through—Emotions that would have swept
most Men off their mental balance.  Yet he kept
his, had never once lost control of himself.  He had
met Disdain with Disdain in the end, had kept
sufficient control over his Voice to discuss with absolute
calm, that Bargain which the Lady Barbara had
termed infamous.  There had been a detachment
about his final Ultimatum, a "take it or leave it"
air, which must have been bitterly galling to the
proud Lady who had stooped to entreat.  He was
holding the winning Hand and did not choose to yield.

And it was from his attitude on that Day that I,
dear Mistress, drew an unerring inference.
Mr. Betterton had no Love for the Lady Barbara, no
genuine, lasting Affection such as, I maintain, he
has never ceased to feel for You.  Passion swayed
him, because he has, above all, that unexplainable
artistic Temperament which cannot be measured by
everyday Standards.  Pride, Bitterness,
Vengefulness—call it what you will; but there was not a
particle of Love in it all.  I verily believe that his
chief Desire, whilst he stood pondering there at the
bridgehead, was to humiliate the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode by forcing her into a Marriage which
she had affected to despise.  He was not waiting for
her with open, loving Arms, ready to take her to his
Heart, there to teach her to forget the Past in the
safe haven of his Love.  He was not waiting to lay
his Service at her feet, and to render her happy as
the cherished Wife and Helpmate of the great Artist
whom all England delighted to honour.  He was
only waiting to make her feel that She had been
subjected to his Will and her former Lover brought
down to Humiliation, through the Power of the
miserable Mountebank whom they had both deemed
less than a Man.

Thus meditating, I stood close to my Friend, until
Chance or a fleeting Thought brought him back to
the realities of Life.  He sighed and looked about
him, as a Man will who hath just wakened from a
Dream.  Then he spied me, and gave me his wonted
kindly smile and glance.

"Good old John!" he said, with a self-deprecating
shrug of the shoulders.  "'Twas not an edifying
Scene You have witnessed, eh?"

"'Twas a heartrending one," I riposted almost
involuntarily.

"Heartrending?" he queried, in a tone of intense
bitterness, "to watch a Fool crushing every Noble
Instinct within him for the sake of getting even
with a Man whom he neither honours nor esteems?"

He sighed again, and beckoned to me to follow him.

"Let us home, good Honeywood," he said.  "I
am weary of all this wrangle, and pine to find solace
among the Poets."

Nor did he mention the name of the Lady Barbara
again to me, and I was left to ponder what was
going on in his Mind and whether his cruelly
vengeful Scheme for the final undoing of my Lord Stour
would indeed come to maturity on the following
day.  I knew that a great and brilliant Representation
of the late Mr. William Shakespeare's play,
"Twelfth Night," was to be given at the Duke's
Theatre, with some of the new Scenery and realistic
scenic Effects brought over last Autumn from Paris
by Mr. Betterton.  His Majesty had definitely
promised that he would be present and so had the
Countess of Castlemaine, and there would doubtless be
a goodly and gorgeous Company present to applaud
the great Actor, whose Performance of Sir Toby
Belch was one of the Marvels of histrionic Art,
proclaiming as it did his wonderful versatility, by
contrast with his equally remarkable exposition of
the melancholy Hamlett, Prince of Denmark.

That I now awaited that Day with Sorrow in
my Heart and with measureless Anxiety, You, dear
Mistress, will readily imagine.  Until this morning
I had no idea of the terrible Thunderbolt which my
Friend had in preparation for those who had so
shamefully wronged him; and I still marvelled
whether in his talk with the Lady Barbara there had
not lurked some idle Threats rather than a serious
Warning.  How could I think of the Man whom
I had learned to love and to reverence as one who
would nurture such cruel Schemes?  And yet, did
not the late Mr. Shakespeare warn us that
"Pleasure and Revenge have ears more deaf than Adders
to the voice of any true decision"?  Ah, me! but
I was sick at heart.

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   CHAPTER XIV

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   THE RULING PASSION

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And now, dear Mistress, I come to that memorable
Evening wherein happened that which causes
You so much heart-ache at this Hour.

I know that the Occurrences of that Night have
been brought to your Notice in a garbled Version,
and that Mr. Betterton's Enemies have placed the
Matter before You in a manner calculated to blacken
his Integrity.  But, as there is a living Judge above
Us all, I swear to You, beloved Mistress, that what
I am now purposing to relate is nothing but the
Truth.  Remember that, in this miserable Era of
Scandal and Backbiting, of loose Living and
Senseless Quarrels, Mr. Betterton's Character has always
stood unblemished, even though the evil Tongue of
Malice hath repeatedly tried to attack his
untarnished Reputation.  Remember also that the great
Actor's few but virulent Enemies are all Men who
have made Failures of their Lives, who are Idlers,
Sycophants or Profligates, and therefore envious of
the Fame and Splendour of one who is thought
worthy to be the Friend of Kings.


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We spoke but little together that day on our way
home from the Park.  Mr. Betterton was moody,
and I silent.  We took our dinner in quietude.
There being no Performance at the Theatre that
day, Mr. Betterton settled down to his Desk in the
afternoon, telling me that he had some writing to do.

I, too, had some of his Correspondence to attend
to, and presently repaired to my room, my Heart
still aching with Sorrow.  Did I not guess what
Work was even now engrossing the Attention of
my Friend?  He was deep in the Composition of
that cruel Lampoon which he meant to speak on the
Stage to-morrow, in the presence of His Majesty
and of a large and brilliant Assembly.  Strive as I
might, I could not to myself minimize the probable
Effect of the Lampoon upon the Mind of the Public.
It is not for me, dear Mistress, to remind You of
the amazing Popularity of Mr. Betterton—a
Popularity which hath never been equalled ere this by
any Actor, Artist or Poet in England.  Whatever
he spoke from the Stage would be treasured and
reiterated and commented upon, until every Citizen
of London and Westminster became himself a
storehouse of Mud that would be slung at the unfortunate
Earl of Stour.  And the latter, by refusing to
fight Mr. Betterton when the Latter had been the
injured Party, had wilfully cast aside any Weapon
of Redress which he might after this have called
to his Aid.

Well! we all know the Effect of scurrilous Quips
spoken from the Stage; even the great Mr. Dryden
or the famous Mr. Wycherley have not been above
interpolating some in their Plays, for the Confusion
of their Enemies; and many a Gentleman's or a
Lady's Reputation has been made to suffer through
the Vindictiveness of a noted Actor or Playwright.
But, as you know, Mr. Betterton had never hitherto
lent himself to such Scandal-monging; he stood far
above those petty Quarrels betwixt Gentlemen and
Poets that could be settled by wordy Warfare across
the Footlights.  All the more Weight, therefore,
would the Public attach to an Epilogue specially
written and spoken by him on so great an occasion.
And, alas! the Mud-slinging was to be of a very
peculiar and very clinging Nature.

"Then let the Man you love look to himself!"
the outraged Artist had said coldly, when
confronted for the last time by the Lady Barbara's
Disdain.  And in my Mind I had no doubt that, for
Good or for Evil, if Tom Betterton set out to do a
Thing, he would carry it through to its bitter End.


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When, having finished my work, I went into
Mr. Betterton's study, I found him sitting beside his
Desk, though no longer writing.  He was leaning
back against the cushions of his chair with eyes
closed, his face set and hard.  Some loose papers,
covered with his neat, careful Caligraphy, lay in
an orderly heap upon the Desk.

His Work was evidently finished.  Steeped in
Bitterness and in Vengeance, his Pen had laboured
and was now at rest.  The Eloquence of the
incomparable Actor would now do the rest.

As I entered the Room, the tower clock of
Westminster was just striking seven.  The deep bay
Window which gave on a solitary corner of
St. James's Park, was wide open, and through it there
came from afar, wafted upon the evening breeze, the
strains of a masculine Voice, warm and mellow,
singing to the accompaniment of one of those
stringed Instruments which have been imported of
late from Italy.

The Voice rose and fell in pleasing Cadences, and
some of the Words of the Song reached mine Ear.

   |  "You are my Life.  You ask me why?
   |  Because my hope is in your love."
   |

Whether Mr. Betterton heard them or not, I could
not say.  He sat there so still, his slender Hands—white
and tapering, the veritable Hands of an Artist—rested
listlessly upon the arms of his chair.

   |  "Through gloomy Clouds to sunlit Skies,
   |  To rest in Faith and your dear Eyes."
   |

So sang the sweet Minstrel out there in the fast
gathering Gloom.  I went up to the window and
gazed out into the open Vista before me.  Far away
I could see the twinkling lights from the windows
of St. James's Palace, and on my right those of
White Hall.  The Singer I could not see.  He
appeared to be some distance away.  But despite
the lateness of the hour, the Park was still alive
with people.  And indeed as I leaned my Head
further out of the Window, I was struck by the
animated spectacle which it presented.

No doubt that the unwonted mildness of this
early spring evening had induced young Maids and
Gallants, as well as more sober Folk and Gentlemen,
to linger out in the open.  The charm of the
Minstrel and his Song, too, must have served as an
additional Attraction, for as I watched the People
passing to and fro, I heard snatches of Conversation,
mostly in praise of the Singer or of the Weather.

Anon I espied Sir William Davenant walking with
Mr. Killigrew, and my Lord of Rochester dallying
with a pretty Damsel; one or two more Gentlemen
did I recognize as I gazed on the moving Sight, until
suddenly I saw that which caused me to draw my
Head back quickly from the Window and to gaze
with added Anxiety on the listless Figure of my Friend.

What I had seen down below had indeed filled
my Heart with Dread.  It was the Figure of my
Lord Stour.  I could have sworn to it, even though
his Lordship was wrapped in a mantle from Head to
Foot and wore a broad-rimmed Hat, both of which
would indeed have disguised his Person completely
before all Eyes save those of Love, of Hate, or of
an abiding Friendship.

What was my Lord Stour doing at this Hour,
and in disguise, beneath the Window of his bitterest
Foe?  My Anxiety was further quickened by the
Certainty which I had that neither he nor the Lady
Barbara would allow Mr. Betterton's Schemes to
mature without another Struggle.  Even as I once
more thrust my Head out of the Window, in order
to catch another glimpse of the moody and solitary
Figure which I had guessed to be Lord Stour,
methought that close by the nearest Shrubbery I espied
the Figure of the Lady Barbara, in close
conversation with her Attendant.  Both Women were
wrapped in dark Mantles and wore thick veils to
cover their Hair.

A dark presentiment of Evil now took possession
of my Soul.  I felt like a Watch-dog scenting
Danger from afar.  The Man whom I loved better than
any other on Earth was in peril of his Life, at the
hands of an Enemy driven mad by an impending
Doom—of that I felt suddenly absolutely convinced.
And somehow, I felt equally convinced at the
moment that we—I, the poor, insignificant Clerk, as
well as my illustrious Friend—were standing on the
Brink of an overwhelming Catastrophe.

I had thought to warn him then and there, yet
dared not do so in so many words.  Men in the
prime of Life and the plentitude of their mental
Powers are wont to turn contemptuous and obstinate
if told to be on their guard against a lurking
Enemy.  And I feared that, in his utter contempt
for his Foe, Mr. Betterton might be tempted to do
something that was both unconsidered and perilous.

So I contented myself for the nonce with turning
to my Friend, seeing that he had wakened from his
reverie and was regarding me with that look of
Confidence and Kindliness which always warmed
my heart when I was conscious of it, I merely
remarked quite casually:

"The Park is still gay with Ladies and Gallants.
'Tis strange at this late hour.  But a Minstrel is
discoursing sweet Music somewhere in the distance.
Mayhap people have assembled in order to listen
to him."

And, as if to confirm my Supposition, a merry
peal of laughter came ringing right across the Park,
and we heard as it were the hum and murmur of
Pedestrians moving about.  And through it all the
echo of the amorous Ditty still lingering upon the
evening air:

   |  "For you are Love—and I am yours!"
   |

"Close that window, John," Mr. Betterton said,
with an impatient little sigh.  "I am in no mood
for sentimental Ballads."

I did as he desired, and whilst in the act of closing
the Window, I said guardedly:

"I caught sight of my Lord Stour just now,
pacing the open Ground just beneath this Window.  He
appeared moody and solitary, and was wrapped
from head to foot in a big Mantle, as if he wished
to avoid Recognition."

"I too am moody and solitary, good Honeywood,"
was Mr. Betterton's sole comment on my
remark.  Then he added, with a slight shiver of his
whole body: "I prithee, see to the Fire.  I am
perished with the cold."

I went up to the Hearth and kicked the dying
embers into a Blaze; then found some logs and
threw them on the Fire.

"The evening is warm, Sir," I said; "and you
complained of the Heat awhile ago."

"Yes," he rejoined wearily.  "My head is on
fire and my Spine feels like ice."

It was quite dark in the Room now, save for the
flickering and ruddy firelight.  So I went out and
bade the Servant give me the candles.  I came back
with them myself and set them on the Desk.  As
I did so, I glanced at Mr. Betterton.  He had once
more taken up his listless Attitude; his Head was
leaning against the back of his Chair, and I could
not fail to note how pallid his Face looked and how
drawn, and there was a frown between his Brows
which denoted wearying and absorbing Thoughts.
Wishing to distract him from his brooding Melancholy,
I thought of reminding him of certain artistic
and social Duties which were awaiting his Attention.

"Will you send an Answer, Sir," I asked him
with well-assumed indifference, "to the Chancellor?
It is on the Subject of the Benefit Performance in
aid of the Indigent Poor of the City of Westminster.
His Lordship again sent a messenger this
afternoon."

"Yes!" Mr. Betterton replied readily enough,
and sought amongst his Papers for a Letter which
he had apparently written some time during the
Day.  "If His Lordship's Messenger calls again,
let him have this Note.  I must arrange for the
Benefit Performance, of course.  But I doubt if
many members of the Company will care to give
their Services."

"I think that Mr. Robert Noakes would be
willing," I suggested.  "Also Mr. Lilleston."

"Perhaps, perhaps!" he broke in listlessly.  "But
we must have Actresses too, and they——"

He shrugged his shoulders, and I rejoined with
great alacrity:

"Oh!  I feel sure that Mistress Saunderson would
be ready to join in any benevolent Scheme for the
betterment of the Poor."

"Ah! but she is an Angel!" Mr. Betterton
exclaimed.  And, believe me, dear Mistress, that those
words came as if involuntarily to his Lips, out of
the Fulness of his Heart.  And even when he had
spoken, a Look of infinite Sadness swept over his
Face and he rested his Head against his Hand,
shading his Eyes from the light of the Candles, lest
I should read the Thoughts that were mirrored
therein.

"There came a messenger, too, this afternoon,"
I reminded him, "from Paris, with an autograph
Letter from His Majesty the King of France."

"Yes!" he replied, and nodded his Head, I
thought, uncomprehendingly.

"Also a letter from the University of Stockholm.
They propose that You should visit the City
in the course of the Summer and——"

"Yes, yes!  I know!" he rejoined impatiently.
"I will attend to it all another time ... But not
to-night, good Honeywood," he went on almost
appealingly, like a Man wearied with many Tasks.
"My mind is like a squeezed Orange to-night."

Then he held out his Hand to me—that beautiful,
slender Hand of his, which I had so often kissed
in the excess of my Gratitude—and added with
gentle Indulgence:

"Let me be to-night, good Friend.  Leave me to
myself.  I am such poor Company and am best alone."

I took his hand.  It was burning hot, as if with
inward Fever.  All my Friendship for him, all my
Love, was at once on the alert, dreading the
ravages of some inward Disease, brought on mayhap
by so much Soul-worry.

"I do not relish leaving You alone to-night," I
said, with more gruffness than I am wont to
display.  "This room is easy of Access from the Park."

He smiled, a trifle sadly.

"Dost think," he asked, with a slight shrug of
the shoulders, "that a poor Mountebank would
tempt a midnight Robber?"

"No!" I replied firmly.  "But my Lord Stour,
wrapped to the eyes in his Mantle, hath prowled
beneath these Windows for an hour."  Then, as he
made no comment, I continued with some Fervour:
"A determined Man, who hates Another, can easily
climb up to a first floor Window——"

"Tush, friend!" he broke in sharply.  "I am
not afraid of his Lordship ... I am afraid of
nothing to-night, my good Honeywood," he added
softly, "except of myself."


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You certainly will not wonder, dear Mistress,
that after that I did not obey his Commands to leave
him to himself.  I am nothing of an Eavesdropper,
God knows, nor yet would I pry into the Secrets of
the Soul of the one Man whom I reverence above
all others.  But, even as I turned reluctantly away
from him in order to go back to my Room, I
resolved that, unless he actually shut the Door in my
Face, I would circumvent him and would remain
on the watch, like a faithful Dog who scents Danger
for his Master.  In this I did not feel that I was
doing any Wrong.  God saw in my Heart and knew
that my Purpose was innocent.  I thank Him on
my Knees in that He strengthened me in my
Resolve.  But for that Resolve, I should not have been
cognizant of all the details of those Events which
culminated in such a dramatic Climax that night,
and I would not have been able to speak with
Authority when placing all the Facts before You.  Let
me tell You at once that I was there, in Mr. Betterton's
Room, during the whole of the time that the
Incident occurred which I am now about to relate.

He had remained sitting at his Desk, and I went
across the Room in the direction of the
communicating Door which gave on my own Study.  But I
did not go through that Door.  I just opened and
shut it noisily, and then slipped stealthily behind the
tall oaken Dresser, which stands in a dark Angle
of the Room.  From this point of Vantage I could
watch closely and ceaselessly, and at the slightest
Suspicion of immediate Danger to my Friend I
would be free to slip out of my Hiding-place and to
render him what Assistance he required.  I had to
squat there in a cramped Position, and I felt half
suffocated with the closeness of the Atmosphere
behind so heavy a Piece of Furniture; but this I
did not mind.  From where I was I could command
a view of Mr. Betterton at his Desk, and of the
Window, which I wished now that I had taken the
Precaution to bar and bolt ere I retired to my
Corner behind the Dresser.

For awhile, everything was silent in the Room;
only the great Clock ticked loudly in its case, and
now and again the blazing logs gave an intermittent
Crackle.  I just could see the outline of
Mr. Betterton's Shoulder and Arm silhouetted against
the candle light.  He sat forward, his elbow resting
upon the Desk, his Head leaning against his Hand,
and so still that presently I fell to thinking that he
must have dropped to sleep.

But suddenly he gave that quick, impatient Sigh
of his, which I had learned to know so well, pushed
back his chair, and rose to his Feet.  Whereupon,
he began pacing up and down the Room, in truth
like some poor, perturbed Spirit that is denied the
Solace of Rest.

Then he began to murmur to himself.  I know
that mood of his and believe it to be peculiar to the
artistic Temperament, which, when it feels itself
untrammelled by the Presence of Others, gives vent
to its innermost Thoughts in mumbled Words.

From time to time I caught Snatches of what he
said—wild Words for the most part, which showed
the Perturbation of his Spirit.  He, whose Mind
was always well-ordered, whose noble Calling had
taught him to co-ordinate his Thoughts and to
subdue them to his Will, was now murmuring
incoherent Phrases, disjointed Sentences that would
have puzzled me had I not known the real Trend of
his Mood.

"Barbara!..." he said at one time.  "Beautiful,
exquisite, innocent Lady Babs; the one pure
Crystal in that Laboratory of moral Decomposition,
the Court of White Hall...."  Then he paused,
struck his Forehead with his Hand, and added with
a certain fierce Contempt: "But she will yield
... she is ready now to yield.  She will cast aside her
Pride, and throw herself into the arms of a Man
whom she hates, all for the sake of that young
Coxcomb, who is not worthy to kiss the Sole of
her Shoe!"

Again he paused, flung himself back into his
Chair, and once more buried his Face in his Hands.

"Oh, Woman, Woman!" I could hear him
murmuring.  "What an Enigma!  How can the mere
Man attempt to understand thee?"

Then he laughed.  Oh!  I could not bear the sound
of that laugh: there was naught but Bitterness in
it.  And he said slowly muttering between his Teeth:

"The Philosopher alone knows that Women are
like Melons: it is only after having tasted them that
one knows if they are good."

Of course, he said a great deal more during the
course of that dreary, restless hour, which seemed
to me like a Slice out of Eternity.  His
Restlessness was intense.  Every now and then he would
jump up and walk up and down, up and down,
until his every Footstep had its counterpart in the
violent beatings of my Heart.  Then he would fling
himself into a Chair and rest his Head against the
Cushions, closing his Eyes as if he were in bodily
Pain, or else beat his Forehead with his Fists.

Of course he thought himself unobserved, for
Mr. Betterton is, as You know, a Man of great
mental Reserve.  Not even before me—his faithful
and devoted Friend—would he wittingly have
displayed such overmastering Emotion.  To say that
an equally overwhelming Sorrow filled my Heart
would be but to give You, dear Mistress, a feeble
Statement of what I really felt.  To see a Man of
Mr. Betterton's mental and physical Powers so
utterly crushed by an insane Passion was indeed
heartrending.  Had he not everything at his Feet
that any Man could wish for?—Fame, Honours, the
Respect and Admiration of all those who mattered
in the World.  Women adored him, Men vied with
one another to render him the sincerest Flattery by
striving to imitate his Gestures, his Mode of Speech,
the very Cut of his Clothes.  And, above all—aye,
I dare assert it, and You, beloved Mistress will, I
know, forgive me—above all, he had the Love of a
pure and good Woman, of a talented Artist—yours,
dear Lady—an inestimable Boon, for which many a
Man would thank his Maker on his Knees.

Ah! he was blind then, had been blind since that
fatal Hour when the Lady Barbara Wychwoode
crossed his Path.  I could endorse the wild Words
which he had spoken to her this forenoon.  A
thousand devils were indeed unchained within him; but
'tis not to her Kiss that they would yield, but rather
to the gentle Ministration of exquisite Mistress
Saunderson.

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   CHAPTER XV

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   MORE DEAF THAN ADDERS

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   1

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I felt so cramped and numb in my narrow hiding-place
that I verily believe I must have fallen into a
kind of trance-like Slumber.

From this I was suddenly awakened by the loud
Clang of our front-door Bell, followed immediately
by the Footsteps of the Serving Man upon the
Landing, and then by a brief Colloquy between him
and the belated Visitor.

Seriously, at the moment I had no Conception of
who this might be, until I glanced at Mr. Betterton.
And then I guessed.  Guessed, just as he had already
done.  Every line of his tense and expectant
Attitude betrayed the Fact that he had recognized the
Voice upon the Landing, and that its sound had
thrilled his very Soul and brought him back from
the Land of Dreams and Nightmare, where he had
been wandering this past hour.

You remember, dear Lady, the last time
Mr. Betterton played in a Tragedy called "Hamlett,"
wherein there is a Play within a Play, and the
melancholy Prince of Denmark sets a troupe of
Actors to enact a Representation of the terrible
Crime whereof he accuses both his Uncle and his
Mother?  It is a Scene which, when played by
Mr. Betterton, is wont to hold the Audience enthralled.
He plays his Part in it by lying full length on the
Ground, his Body propped up by his Elbow and his
Chin supported in his Hand.  His Eyes—those
wonderful, expressive Eyes of his—he keeps fixed upon
the guilty Pair: his Mother and his Uncle.  He
watches the play of every Emotion upon their
faces—Fear, Anger, and then the slowly creeping,
enveloping Remorse; and his rigid, stern Features
express an Intensity of Alertness and of Expectancy,
which is so poignant as to be almost painful.

Just such an Expression did my dear Friend's
Face wear at this Moment.  He had pushed his
Chair back slightly, so that I had a fuller view of
him, and the flickering light of the wax Candles
illumined his clear-cut Features and his Eyes, fixed
tensely upon the door.


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The next moment the serving Man threw open
the door and the Lady Barbara walked in.  I could
not see her until she had advanced further into the
middle of the Room.  Then I beheld her in all her
Loveliness.  Nay!  I'll not deny it.  She was still
incomparably beautiful, with, in addition, that
marvellous air of Breeding and of Delicacy, which
rendered her peerless amongst her kind.  I hated
her for the infinite wrong which she had done to my
Friend, but I could not fail to admire her.  Her
Mantle was thrown back from her Shoulders and a
dark, filmy Veil, resembling a Cloud, enveloped her
fair Hair.  Beneath her Mantle she wore a Dress
of something grey that shimmered like Steel in the
Candlelight.  A few tendrils of her ardent Hair had
escaped from beneath her Veil, and they made a
kind of golden Halo around her Face.  She was
very pale, but of that transparent, delicate Pallor
that betokens Emotion rather than ill-health, and her
Eyes looked to me to be as dark as Sloes, even
though I knew them to be blue.

For the space of one long Minute, which seemed
like Eternity, these two remained absolutely still,
just looking at one another.  Methought that I could
hear the very heart-beats within my breast.  Then
the Lady said, with a queer little catch in her Throat
and somewhat hesitatingly:

"You are surprised to see me, Sir, no doubt
... but ..."

She was obviously at a loss how to begin.  And
Mr. Betterton, aroused no doubt by her Voice from
his absorption, rose quickly to his Feet and made
her a deep and respectful Obeisance.

"The Angels from Heaven sometimes descend to
Earth," he said slowly; "yet the Earth is more
worthy of their Visit than is the humble Artist of
the Presence of his Muse."  Then he added more
artlessly: "Will You deign to sit?"

He drew a Chair forward for her, but She did
not take it, continued to speak with a strange,
obviously forced Gaiety and in a halting Manner.

"I thank you, Sir," she said.  "That is
... no ... not yet ... I like to look about me."

She went close up to the Desk and began to finger
idly the Books and Papers which lay scattered
pell-mell upon it, he still gazing on her as if he had
not yet realized the Actuality of her Presence.
Anon she looked inquiringly about her.

"What a charming room!" she said, with a little
cry of wonder.  "So new to me!  I have never seen
an Artist's room before."

"For weeks and months," Mr. Betterton rejoined
simply, "this one has been a temple, hallowed by
thoughts of You.  Your Presence now, has henceforth
made it a Sanctuary."

She turned full, inquiring Eyes upon him and
riposted with childlike Ingenuousness:

"Yet must You wonder, Sir, at my Presence
here ... alone ... and at this hour."

"In my heart," he replied, "there is such an
Infinity of Happiness that there is no Room for
Wonder."

"An Infinity of Happiness?" she said with a
quaint little sigh.  "That is what we are all
striving for, is it not?  The Scriptures tell us that this
Earth is a Vale of Tears.  No wonder!" she added
naïvely, "since we are so apt to allow Happiness to
pass us by."

Oh! how I wished I had the Courage then and
there to reveal myself to these Twain, to rush out of
my Hiding-place and seize that wily Temptress who,
I felt sure, was here only for the undoing of a Man
whom she hated with unexampled Bitterness.  Oh,
why hath grudging Nature made me weak and
cowardly and diffident, when my whole Soul yearns at
times to be resourceful and bold?  Believe me, dear
Mistress, that my Mind and my Will-power were
absolutely torn between two Impulses—the one
prompting me to put a stop to this dangerous and
purposeless Interview, this obvious Trap set to catch
a great and unsuspecting Artist unawares; and the
other urging me not to interfere, but rather to allow
Destiny, Fate or the Will of God alone to straighten
out the Web of my Friend's Life, which had been
embroiled by such Passions as were foreign to his
noble Nature.

And now I am thankful that I allowed this latter
Counsel to prevail.  The Will of God did indeed
shape the Destinies of Men this night for their
Betterment and ultimate Happiness.  But, for the
moment, the Threads of many a Life did appear to
be most hopelessly tangled: the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode, daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury,
the fiancée of the Earl of Stour, was in the house of
Tom Betterton, His Majesty's Well-Beloved Servant,
and he was passionately enamoured of her and
had vowed Vengeance against the Man she loved.
As he gazed on her now there was no Hatred in
his Glance, no evil Passion disturbed the Look of
Adoration wherewith he regarded her.

"Barbara," he pleaded humbly, "be merciful to
me....  For pity's sake, do not mock me with
your smile!  My dear, do you not see that I scarce
can believe that I live ... and that you are here?
... You! ... You!" he went on, with
passionate Earnestness.  "My Divinity, whom I only
dare approach on bended Knees, whose Garment I
scarce dare touch with my trembling Lips!"

He bent the Knee and raised the long, floating
End of her cloudlike Veil to his Lips.  I could have
sworn at that Moment that she recoiled from him
and that she made a Gesture to snatch away the
Veil, as if his very Touch on it had been Pollution.
That Gesture and the Recoil were, however, quite
momentary.  The next second, even whilst he rose
once more to his Feet, she had already recovered
herself.

"Hush!" she said gently, and drew herself
artlessly away from his Nearness.  "I want to listen....
People say that Angels wait upon Mr. Betterton
when he studies his Part ... and I want to
hear the flutter of their Wings."

"The Air vibrates with the Echo of your sweet
Name," he rejoined, and his exquisite Voice sounded
mellow and vibrant as a sensitive Instrument
touched by a Master's Hand.  "Your name, which
with mad longing I have breathed morning, noon
and eve.  And now ... now ... I am not
dreaming ... You are near me! ... You, the
perfect Lady Barbara ... my Lady Babs....
And you look—almost happy!"

She gave him a Look—the true Look of a Siren
set to enchain the Will of Man.

"Happy?" she queried demurely.  "Nay, Sir
... puzzled, perhaps."

"Puzzled?" he echoed.  "Why?"

"Wondering," she replied, "what magic is in the
air that could make a Woman's Heart ... forsake
one Love ... for ... for Another."

Yes!  She said this, and looked on him straight
between the Eyes as she spoke.  Yet I knew that she
lied, could have screamed the Accusation at her, so
convinced was I that she was playing some subtle
and treacherous Game, designed to entrap him and
to deliver him helpless and broken into her Power.
But he, alas! was blinded by his Passion.  He saw
no Siren in her, no Falsehood in her Smile.  At her
Words, I saw a great Light of Happiness illumine
his Face.

"Barbara!" he pleaded.  "Have pity on me, for
my Reason wanders.  I dare not call it back, lest this
magic hour should prove to be a Dream."

He tried to take her in his Arms, but she evaded
him, ran to the other side of the Desk, laughing
merrily like a Child.  Once again her delicate
Fingers started to toy with the Papers scattered
there.

"Oh, ho!" she exclaimed, with well-feigned
astonishment.  "Your desk!  Why, this," she said,
placing her Hand upon the neat pile before her,
"must be that very Thunderbolt wherewith
to-morrow you mean to crush an arrogant Enemy!"

"Barbara!" he rejoined with ever growing passion,
and strove to take her Hand.  "Will you not
let me tell You——"

"Yes, yes!" she replied archly, and quietly
withdrew her Hand from his grasp.  "You shall speak
to me anon some of those Speeches of our great
Poets, which your Genius hath helped to
immortalize.  To hear Mr. Betterton recite will be an
inestimable Privilege ... which your many
Admirers, Sir, will envy me."

"The whole world would envy me to-night," he
retorted, and gazed on her with such Ardour that
she was forced to lower her Eyes and to hide their
Expression behind the delicate Curtain of her Lashes.

I, who was the dumb Spectator of this cruel
Game, saw that the Lady Barbara was feeling her
way towards her Goal.  There was so much Excitement
in her, such palpitating Vitality, that her very
Heart-beats seemed to find their Echo in my breast.
Of course, I did not know yet what Game it was
that she was playing.  All that I knew was that it
was both deadly and treacherous.  Even now, when
Mr. Betterton once more tried to approach her and
she as instinctively as before recoiled before him, she
contrived to put strange softness into her Voice, and
a subtle, insidious Promise which helped to confuse
his Brain.

"No—no!" she said.  "Not just yet ... I
pray you have pity on my Blushes.  I—I still am
affianced to my Lord Stour ... although..."

"You are right, my beloved," he rejoined simply.
"I will be patient, even though I am standing on the
Threshold of Paradise.  But will You not be
merciful?  I cannot see you well.  Will you not take off
that Veil? ... It casts a dark shadow over your Brow."

This time she allowed him to come near her, and,
quite slowly, she unwound the Veil from round her
Head.  He took it from her as if it were some
hallowed Relic, too sacred to be polluted by earthly
Touch.  And, as her back was turned towards him,
he crushed the Gossamer between his Hands and
pressed its Fragrance to his Lips.

"There!" she said coolly.  "'Tis done.  Your
magic, Sir Actor, has conquered again."

It seemed to me that she was more self-possessed
now than she had been when first she entered the
Room.  Indeed, her Serenity appeared to grow as his
waned perceptibly.  She still was a little restless,
wandering aimlessly about the Room, fingering the
Books, the Papers, the Works of Art that lay
everywhere about; but it seemed like the restlessness of
Curiosity rather than of Excitement.  In her own
Mind she felt that she held the Winning Hand—of
this I was convinced—and that she could afford to
toy with and to befool the Man who had dared to
measure his Power against hers.

After awhile, she sat down in her Chair which he
had brought forward for her, and which stood close
to the Desk.

"And now, Sir," she said with cool composure,
"'tis You who must humour me.  I have a fancy
... now, at this moment ... and my Desire
is to be thoroughly spoiled."

"Every Whim of yours," he rejoined, "is a
Command to your humble Slave."

"Truly?" she queried.

"Truly."

"Then will You let me see you ... sitting at
your Desk ... Pen in hand ... writing
something just for me?"

"All my work of late," he replied, "has been done
because of You ... but I am no Poet.  What I
speak may have some Merit.  What I write hath none."

"Oh!" she protested with well-simulated
Coquetry, "what I desire You to write for me, Sir
Actor, will have boundless Merit.  It is just a couple
of Lines designed to ... to ... prove your
Love for me—Oh!" she added quickly, "I scarce
dare believe in it, Sir ... I scare understood
... You remember, this morning in the Park, I
was so excited, yet you asked me—to be—your Wife!"

"My Wife!" he cried, his Voice ringing with
triumphant Passion.  "And you would consent?——"

"And so I came," she riposted, evading a direct
Answer, "to see if I had been dreaming ... if,
indeed, the great and illustrious Mr. Betterton had
stooped to love a Woman ... and for the sake
of that Love would do a little Thing for Her."

Lies!  Lies!  I knew that every Word which she
spoke was nothing but a Lie.  My God! if only I
could have unriddled her Purpose!  If only I could
have guessed what went on behind those marvellous
Eyes of hers, deep and unfathomable as the Sea!
All I knew—and this I did in the very Innermost of
my Soul—was that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode
had come here to-night in order to trick Mr. Betterton,
and to turn his Love for her to Advantage for
my Lord Stour.  How carefully she had thought out
the Part which she meant to play; how completely
she meant to have him at her Mercy, only in order
to mock and deride him in the End, I had yet to learn.

Even now she completed his Undoing, the
Addling of his noble Mind, by casting Looks of
shy Coquetry upon him.  What Man is there who
could have resisted them?  What Man, who was
himself so deeply infatuated as was Mr. Betterton,
could believe that there was Trickery in those
Glances?  He sat down at his Desk, as she had
desired him to do, and drew Pen, Ink and Paper
closer to his Hand.

"An you asked my Life," he said simply, "I
would gladly give it to prove my Love for You."  Then,
as she remained silent and meditative, he
added: "What is your Ladyship's wish?"

"Oh!" she replied, "'tis a small matter
... It concerns the Earl of Stour ...  We were
Friends ... once ... Playmates when we were
Children ... That Friendship ripened into
a—a—Semblance of Love.  No!  No!" she went on
rapidly, seeing that at her Words he had made a
swift Movement, leaning towards her.  "I pray you,
listen.  That Semblance of Love may have gone
... but Friendship still abides.  My Lord Stour,
the Playmate of my Childhood, is in sore trouble
... I, his Friend, would wish to help him, and
cannot do this without your Aid.  Will You—will
You grant me this Aid, Sir," she queried shyly, "if
I beg it of You?"

"Your Ladyship has but to command," he
answered vaguely, for, in truth, his whole Mind
was absorbed in the contemplation of her Loveliness.

"'Twas You," she asserted boldly, "who begged
for his Lordship's pardon from the Countess of
Castlemaine ... 'Twas not he who betrayed his
Friends.  That is a Fact, is it not?"

"A Fact.  Yes," he replied.

"Then I pray you, Sir, write that down," she
pleaded, with an ingenuous, childish Gesture, "and
sign it with your Name ... just to please me."

She looked like a lovely Child begging for a Toy.
To think of Guile in connection with those Eyes,
with that Smile, seemed almost a Sacrilege.  And
my poor Friend was so desperately infatuated just
then!  Has any Man ever realized that Woman is
fooling him, when she really sets her Wiles to
entrap him?  Surely not a Man of Mr. Betterton's
keen, artistic and hot-blooded Temperament.  I saw
it all now, yet I dared not move.  For one thing,
the time had gone by when I might have done it with
good Effect.  Now it was too late.  Any interference
on my part would only have led to Ignominy
for myself and the severance of a Friendship that
I valued more than Life itself.  Betwixt a Friend's
warning and a Woman's Cajolery, what Man would
hesitate?  What could I, in any event, have done
now, save to hold up the inevitable Catastrophe for
a few Moments—a few Seconds, perhaps?  Truly,
my hour was past.  I could but wait now in Silence
and Misery until the End.

There she sat, pleading, speaking that eternal
Phrase, which since the beginning of primeval times
hath been used by wily Woman for the undoing of a
generous-minded Man.

"Will You do this, Sir—just to please me?"

"I swear to You that it shall be done," he
rejoined with passionate fervour.  "But will you not
let me tell you first——"

"No!—No!" she said quickly, clasping her
delicate hands.  "I pray You—not just yet.  I—I so
long to see You write ... there ... at this
Desk, where lie piled letters from every illustrious
Person and every crowned Head in Europe.  And
now You will write," she entreated, in the tone of an
indulged and wayward Child.  "You will?  Just
one little Document for me, because ... because
You say You love me, and ... because ... I..."

"Barbara!" he cried in an Ecstasy of Happiness.
"My Beloved!"

He was on the point of falling on his Knees, but
once more a demure Gesture, a drawing back of her
whole Figure, restrained him.

"No!  No!" she reiterated firmly.  "When you
have written, I will listen——"—another Glance,
and he was vanquished.  Then she completed her
Phrase—"to all you have to say."

He drew back with a sigh, and took up his Pen.

"As you command," he said simply, and made
ready to write.


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Even now, whene'er I close mine Eyes, I can see
those twain as a vivid Picture before me.  The
Massive Desk, littered with papers, the Candles
flickering in their Sconces, illumining with their
elusive Light the Figure of the great Actor, sitting
with shoulders slightly bent forward, one Arm
resting upon the Desk, half buried in the filmy folds of
her Ladyship's Veil, his Face upturned towards the
Enchantress, who held him at this Hour an absolute
Slave to her Will.  She had risen from her Chair
and stood immediately behind him; her Face I could
not see, for her back was towards me, but the light
caught the loose Tendrils of her fair Hair, and from
where I stood watching, this looked just like a
golden Aureole around her small Head, bent slightly
towards him.  She too was leaning forward, over
him, with her Hand extended, giving him Directions
as to what he should write.

"Oh, I pray You," she said with an impatient
little Sigh, "do not delay!  I will watch You as You
write.  I pray You write it as a Message addressed
to the Court of White Hall.  Not in Poetry," she
added, with a nervous little Laugh; "but in Prose,
so that all may understand."

He bent to his task and began to write, and she
straightened out her elegant Figure and murmured,
as if oppressed: "How hot this room is!"

Slowly, as if in Absence of Mind, She wandered
towards the Window.

"I have heard it said," she remarked, "that
Mr. Betterton's worst enemy is the cold.  But a
fire! ... on such a glorious Evening.  The first Kiss
of awakening Spring."

She had reached the Window now, and stood for
awhile in the Bay, leaning against the Mullion; and
I could not help but admire her Duplicity and her
Pluck.  For, indeed, She had risked Everything that
Woman holds most dear, for the sake of the Man
she loved.  And She could not help but know that
She herself and her fair Name would anon be at
the mercy of a Man whom her Cajoleries and her
Trickery would have rendered desperate.

Anon, as if quite overcome by the Heat, she threw
open the Casement, and then leaned out, peering into
the Darkness beyond.  Ensconced in my Corner at
some distance from the Window, I was conscious
of the Movement and subdued Noise which came up
from the still crowded Park.  A number of People
appeared to be moving out there, and even as I
strained my Ears to listen, I caught the sweet sound
of the selfsame Song of awhile ago, wafted hither
on the cool night Air:

   |  "You are my Life!  You ask me why?
   |  Because my Hope is in Your Love."
   |

I caught myself marvelling if the Ladies and
Gallants of the Court had strolled out into the Park
at this hour, drawn thither by the amorous Melodies
sung by the unknown Minstrel; or by the balmy Air
of Spring; or merely by the passing Whim of some
new Fashion or Fancy.  I even strained my Ears
so that I might recognise the sound of Voices that
were familiar to me.  I heard my Lord of
Rochester's characteristic Laugh, Sir William
Davenant's dictatorial tones and the high-pitched
Cackle of Mr. Killigrew.

So doth our Mind oft dwell on trivial Thoughts
at times of gravest Stress.  Her Ladyship had sat
down on a low Stool beside the Window.  I could
only see the vague outline of her—the Expression
of her Face, the very Poise of her Head, were wrapt
in the surrounding Gloom.

For awhile there was perfect Silence in the Room,
save for the monotonous ticking of the old Clock
and the scratching of Mr. Betterton's Pen as he
wrote with a rapid and unhesitating Hand.

The Minutes sped on, and anon he had completed
his Task.  I saw him lay down his Pen, then raise
the Paper and read through very carefully all that
he had written, and finally strew Sand upon the
momentous Document.  For awhile after that he
remained perfectly still, and I observed his clear-cut
Face, with Eyes fixed as it were inwards into his
own Soul, and sensitive Lips pressed tightly one
against the other.  The Hand which held the
Document was perfectly steady, an obedient slave to his
Will.  And yet that Sign-manual, as directed by her
Ladyship, was a direct Avowal of a dastardly Deed,
of the gratuitous Slandering of an innocent Man's
Honour, without Provocation or Justification, seeing
that no mention was made in the Confession of the
abominable Outrage which had brought about this
grim Retaliation, or of the Refusal on the part of
his Lordship to grant the Satisfaction that is
customary between Gentlemen.  It was, in fact, his own
Integrity and his own Honour that the eminent
Actor was even now bartering for a Woman's Love.
This will prove to You, dear Mistress, that
Mr. Betterton's Love for the Lady Barbara Wychwoode
did not at any time resemble true Affection, which,
of all the Passions to which the human Heart is apt
to become Slave, is the one that leads the Mind to
the highest and noblest Thoughts; whereas an
Infatuation can only be compared to a Fever.  Man
hath no more control over the one than he hath over
the other, and cannot curb its Violence or the
Duration of its Attack.


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The next thing that I remember most clearly is
seeing Mr. Betterton put the fateful Paper down
again, take up her Ladyship's Veil and bury his Face
in its cloudy Folds.  I heard him murmur faintly,
after awhile:

"Now, if I dared, I would believe myself almost happy!"

Then he rose, picked up the Paper, and with it
went up to the Lady Barbara.

"'Tis done, as you did command," he said quite
quietly, and placed the Document in her Hand.  She
took it from him and rose to her Feet.

"A Light, I pray You," she said coldly.

He brought one of the Candles across and stood
beside her, holding it aloft.  She read the Paper
through with great Deliberation, nodding Approval
from time to time as she did so.  Then she folded
it into a very small Compass, while she thanked him
coldly and guardedly.  He then went back to the
Desk with the Candle and put it down.  During
these few Seconds, whilst his back was turned to
her, I noticed that the Lady Barbara took a heavy,
jewelled Brooch from her Gown and fastened it by
its pin to the Document.  Her movements were
methodical but very quick, and my own Mind
worked too slowly to guess at her Intention.

The next moment, Mr. Betterton was once more
by her side.  Eager, alert, and with the glow of
Triumph in his Eyes, he flung himself at her Feet.
She was his now!—his by Right of Conquest!  He
had won her by measureless Self-Sacrifice, and now
he meant to hold the Guerdon for which he had paid
so heavy a Price.

"Because you deigned to cross this humble
Threshold," he said, and his arms encircled her
Waist with the masterful and passionate Gesture
of a Victor, "the poor Actor places his Name and
Fame, his Pride and baffled Revenge, at your feet."

"At the World's Feet, Sir Mountebank!" she
cried exultantly, and with a swift movement she
flung the weighted Paper far out through the
Window.  Then, leaning out into the Darkness, she
called at the top of her Voice: "To me, Adela!
Here is the Message from Mr. Betterton.  Take it
to my Lord Sidbury at once!"

But Mr. Betterton was no longer in a mental State
to care what happened after this; I doubt if he
realized just what was impending.  He was still on
his Knees, holding on to her with both Arms.

"Nay!" he said wildly.  "That is as You please.
Let the whole World think me base and abject.
What care I for Honour, Fame or Integrity now
that You are here, and that You will be my Wife?"

Ah! the poor, deluded Fool!  How could he be
so blind?  Already the Lady Barbara had turned
on him with flashing Eyes, and a loud, hysterical
Laugh of measureless Contempt broke from her Lips.

"Your Wife!" she exclaimed, and that harsh
laugh echoed through the Silence of the House.
"So, Mr. Actor, you thought to entrap the Daughter
of the Marquis of Sidbury into becoming your
Wife! ... Nay! you miserable Fool!  'Twas I
entrapped and cheated you....  Your Wife!
Ye Saints in Heaven, hear him!  His Wife!  The
Wife of Thomas Betterton, the Mountebank!!  I!!!"

Her Words, her Laughter, the Bitterness of her
Contempt, stung him like a Whip-lash.  In an
instant, he was on his Feet, staggered back till he
came in contact with the Desk, to which he clung
with both hands, while he faced her, his Cheeks
pale as Ashes, his Eyes glowing with a Light that
appeared almost maniacal.

"You cheated me?" he murmured inarticulately.
"You lied to me? ... You ... I'll not
believe it ... I'll not believe it...."

She appeared not to heed him, was gazing out of
the Window, shouting directions to some one—her
waiting-maid, no doubt, or other Confidante—who
was searching for the Paper down below.

"There, Adela!" she called out eagerly.  "Dost
see ... just by those bushes ... something
white ... my brooch....  Dost see?"

Suddenly she gave a Cry of Triumph, and then
turned back exultantly to her baffled Foe.

"My maid," she said, somewhat wildly, and
panting as if she were exhausted with fast running.
"We had planned it all ... She is devoted to me
... She has been on the Watch ... She has
the paper now ... There!" she added, and with
outstretched arm pointed out into the Gloom
beyond.  "There; Do you see?"

Can You wonder that her Trickery, her Contempt
had made him mad?  Indeed, even I felt that at that
moment I could have held her slender throat between
my two Hands and crushed the Life out of her.  To
a Man of Mr. Betterton's temperament, the
Provocation was obviously beyond his Powers of
Endurance.  Even in the dim Light, I could see a positive
Fury of Passion akin to Hate literally distorting his
Face.  The next second he was once more by her
side, and whilst she still cried wildly: "Do you see?
Do you see?  Run, Adela, run!" he seized her in
his arms and retorted roughly:

"I see nothing now but your Beauty, and that
has made me mad."

"Run, Adela!  Run!" she cried again.  "That
message from Mr. Betterton is for the whole World
to see!"

But he held her tightly round the Shoulders now,
and she, probably realizing her Danger for the first
time, strove to struggle against his Embrace.

"Let me go!" she commanded.  "Let me go! or
I swear by God in Heaven that I will find the
Strength to kill myself and You."

"I love You," was his only reply to her Threat.
"Nay!" he added, speaking in rapid, jerky Phrases,
the while she continued to struggle with ever
growing loss of Power.  "You shall kill me later if You
will, but not till I have lived.  My Dear, my Love,
my Saint!  Have I not worshipped you for days and
months?  Have I not held You in Dream in my
Arms?  You are my Muse, my Divinity, my Hope!
Mine!  Mine!  Exquisite, adorable Lady Barbara!
No!  No!  You cannot escape, struggle how You
might.  This is my hour!  'Tis you who gave it me,
and I defy Heaven itself to rob me of a single instant!"

My God! what could I do?  More and more did
I curse the Folly and Cowardice which had kept me
riveted to this Spot all this while.  Now there was
nothing for it but to reveal my Presence, to draw
upon my foolish Head the Contempt and Anger of a
Man for whom I would gladly have laid down my
Life.  My Brain became confused.  I ceased to see
clearly.  A ruddy Mist was gathering before my
Eyes.  I was on the Verge of losing Consciousness
and was struggling pitifully to retain Command over
my Senses.  Through this fast approaching Swoon
I could hear, as through an intervening Veil, the
hoarse and broken Accents of the Voice that I loved
so well:

"You are here alone with me.  The last shred
of my Reason is scattered to the Winds.  England,
Fame, the World, are empty Words to me.  Do you
not see that now I am ready to die an hundred
Deaths, for at last I shall have lived ... I shall
have held You in my Arms."

And one great and pitiful Appeal from her Lips:
"Oh, God!  If there is Justice in Heaven—defend
me now——"

And, even half conscious as I was, I saw her—yes,
saw her quite distinctly give a sudden wrench
which freed her right Arm.  She plunged her Hand
into the bosom of her Gown, and the next instant
the flickering light of the Candle flashed a vivid
gleam upon the narrow steel blade of a dagger
which she held.  This, with the swiftness of
lightning, brought me back to the Consciousness of the
present, grim Reality.  With a loud and sudden Cry,
I darted out of my Hiding Place and stood there
before them both, pale no doubt with a well-nigh
unearthly Pallor, which must have given me the
Appearance of a Ghost.

It was now the Lady Barbara who was nigh to
Swooning.  But, with that coolness which comes at
times to the Helpless and the Weak, I had already
snatched her Veil from the Desk, and whilst she
tottered and almost fell into my Arms, I wrapped
it around her Head.

"Quick!  The Door!" I said.  "You are quite safe!"

I dared not look at Mr. Betterton.  Indeed, I
could not even now tell You in what Attitude or
with what Expression of Face he watched me whilst
I seemed thus to take Command of the Situation.
The Lady Barbara was trembling so violently that
some few moments elapsed before she was able to
walk across the Room.  When she finally did so,
her Foot kicked against the Dagger which had
dropped from her Hand when I so suddenly
appeared before her.  She gave a faint Cry of Horror,
and I stooped and picked up the Dagger and placed
it back in her Hand without looking at her.


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Her Ladyship then went on towards the door.
But suddenly she came to a halt, and I, who was
close to her heels, paused likewise, for I felt that
every drop of Blood within me had turned to Ice.
From the Hall below there had come the sound of
angry Altercation and a Man's voice was raised
loudly and peremptorily, saying:

"Let me pass, man!  I will speak with Mr. Betterton."

The voice was that of my Lord Stour.

The Lady Barbara stood quite still for a moment,
rigid as a carved Statue.  Then a low, inexpressibly
pathetic Moan rose to her Lips.

"Oh! for the Earth to open!" she cried pitiably,
"and bury me and this Shame——"

She was overwrought and weak with Emotion,
but in any Event it was a terrible Position for any
Lady of Rank to be found in, at this late hour, and
alone.  Overcome no doubt with the superabundance
of harrowing Sensations, she tottered as if
about to swoon.  Mr. Betterton caught her as she fell.

"My Divinity!  My Queen!" he murmured
quickly.  "No one shall harm you, I swear it!  No
one shall!"  Then he added under his breath:
"Heaven above me, help me to protect her!"

Whereupon he lifted her up in his Arms as if
she were a Child, and carried her as far as the
Embrasure of the Window.  Then, with one of
those quick movements which were so characteristic
of him, he drew the Curtains together, which shut
off the Bay from the rest of the Room and screened
its fair Occupant completely from view.

He was a different Man now to the Passion-racked
Creature of awhile ago; absolutely calm; the
Man I had known and loved and respected all these
years.  Though my whole Being was still convulsed
in an Agony of Apprehension, I felt that from him
now would come moral Comfort for me and
Protection for the unfortunate Lady, whose Burden of
Sorrow had at last touched his Heart.  And I do
verily believe, dear Lady, that in that Instant of
supreme Danger for us all, his Passion fell from him
like a Curtain from before his Eyes.  It had gone
through its culminating Anguish when he discovered
that she whom he loved had lied to him and cheated
him.  Now, when she stood here before him, utterly
helpless and utterly crushed, his Infatuation
appeared to writhe for one Moment in the Crucible of
his own Manliness and Chivalry, and then to emerge
therefrom hallowed and purified.


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In the meanwhile, less than a minute had elapsed.
My Lord Stour had ascended the Stairs, undeterred
by the Protestations of Mr. Betterton's Servant.
The next moment he had violently wrenched the
Door open and now stood before us, pale, trembling
with Rage or Excitement, hatless, his Mantle
thrown back from his Shoulders.  His right Hand
clutched his naked Sword, and in his Left he had
a crushed ball of paper, held together by her
Ladyship's brooch.  His entire Attitude was one of firm
and deadly Menace.

"I heard a Voice!" he exclaimed, staring wildly
around him.  "I saw a Face—a Form....  This
Paper was flung out from yonder Window
... was picked up by a serving Wench....  What
does it mean?" he queried harshly, and advanced
threateningly towards Mr. Betterton, who was
standing midway between him and the curtained Bay.

"How can I tell?" riposted the great Actor
blandly, with a careless Shrug of his Shoulders.  "I
was not moon-gazing, as your Lordship appears to
have done.  A paper, did You say?"

"You are not alone," retorted my Lord roughly.
"I heard a voice ... just now...."

"We are all apt to hear voices in the moonlight,
my Lord," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply.  "The
Artist hears his Muse, the Lover his Mistress, the
Criminal his Conscience."

His unruffled calm seemed to exasperate his
Lordship's fury, for he now appeared even more
menacing than before.

"And did You perchance hear a Voice to-night,
Sir Actor," he queried, his voice hoarse with
Passion, "warning You of Death?"

"Nay!" replied Mr. Betterton.  "That Voice
whispers to Us all, and always, my Lord, even in
our Cradles."

"Then hear it for the last time now, and from my
Lips, you abominable Mountebank!" my Lord cried,
beside himself in truth.  "For unless You draw
aside that Curtain, I am going to kill You."

"That is as you please," retorted Mr. Betterton
simply.

"Stand aside!" commanded his Lordship.

But Mr. Betterton looked him calmly up and
down and did not move one inch.

"This is a most unwarrantable Interference," he
said quietly, "with the Freedom of His Majesty's
well-beloved Servant.  Your Lordship seems to
forget that every inch of this Floor is mine, and that I
stand on it where I please.  I pray you, take that
Paper—that Message—elsewhere.  An it came
down from Heaven, read it—but leave me in Peace."

"I'll not go," asserted my Lord harshly, "till
you have drawn aside that Curtain."

"Then we'll see whose Legs will weary first, my
Lord, yours or mine," was Mr. Betterton's unruffled
rejoinder.

"Draw then and defend yourself!" cried my
Lord, who before his Enemy's unbroken Calm, had
lost what Semblance of Self-Control he still possessed.

"I am unarmed," riposted Mr. Betterton simply.

"Then let Satan have his due," exclaimed the
young Hothead, and raised his Sword ready to
strike, "for your Soul shall go down to Hell at last!"

In a moment, of course, I was on him.  But he
had the vigour of a trained Soldier, enhanced by an
overwhelming Passion of Enmity and of Rage; and
though I seized him unawares—I doubt if he had
realized that I was in the Room—he shook me off
in an instant, as a Dog might shake off an
importunate Rat.  Before I had time to recover my breath
from his quick and furious Defence, he had turned
on me and dealt me such a vigorous Blow with his
Fist between the Eyes, that the whole Room began
to gyrate around me and the Atmosphere became
peopled with Stars.  I staggered and half fell
against the Dresser that had sheltered me awhile
ago.  For the space of half a dozen seconds mine
Eyes were closed.


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When I opened them again, the Scene had indeed
changed.  Her Ladyship had pushed the Curtains
aside and stood there in the window Embrasure,
revealed to her irate Lover.  And he, though he
must have known that she was there all the Time,
appeared so staggered by her Apparition that his
Arm dropped by his side and his Sword fell with a
clatter to the Ground, while he murmured as if in
the last Throes of mental Suffering:

"Barbara ... my Barbara ..  here—alone—at
night ... with this Man!..."

Her Ladyship, however, appeared perfectly
composed.  The light of the Candles revealed her
exquisite Face, pale but serene, and her small Head
crowned with the Aureole of her golden Hair, held
up proudly as one who hath naught to fear, naught
for which she need be ashamed.  She pointed with
perfect steadiness to the Paper which my Lord still
held tightly clasped in his left Hand.

"That paper!" she said, and only a slight veiling
of her Voice betrayed the Emotion which she felt.
"I sent it.  'Tis for you, my Lord.  It will clear
your Honour, and proclaim your Innocence."

But his Lordship did not appear to hear her.  He
continued to murmur to himself mechanically, and
in tones of the deepest Despair:

"Barbara ... alone ... with him!"

"Read that Paper, my dear Lord," her Ladyship
insisted with calm dignity, "ere with another
Thought you further dare to wrong me!"

These simple Words, however, so full of
conscious Worth and of Innocence, let loose the
Floodgates of my Lord's pent-up, insensate jealousy.

"Wrong you!" he cried, and a harsh, almost
maniacal laugh broke from his choking Throat.
"Wrong you!  Nay!  I suppose I must be grateful
and thank Heaven on my Knees that You, my
promised Bride, deigned to purchase mine Honour
at the Price of your Kisses!"

At this gross Insult her Ladyship uttered a pitiful
Moan; but ere she could give Reply, Mr. Betterton,
who hitherto had not interfered between the Twain,
now did so, and in no measured Tone.

"Silence, Madman!" he commanded, "ere You
blaspheme."

But my Lord had apparently lost his last Shred
of Reason.  Jealousy was torturing him in a
manner that even Hatred had failed to do.

"God!" he exclaimed repeatedly, calling to the
Almighty to witness his Soul-Misery.  "I saw her
at that Window....  Who else saw her?...
How many Varlets and jabbering Coxcombs know
at the present moment that the Lady Barbara
Wychwoode spends the night alone with a Mountebank?"  In
an excess of ungoverned Rage he tore the Paper
to shreds and threw the Scraps almost into her
Ladyship's Face.  "Take back your Proofs!" he
cried.  "I'll not take mine Honour from Your
hands!  Ah!" he added, and now turned once more
toward Mr. Betterton, who, I could see, was calmly
making up his Mind what next to do.  "Whoever
you are—Man or Devil—are you satisfied with your
Revenge?  Was it not enough to cover *me* with
Infamy; what need had You to brand *Her* with
Dishonour?"

Overcome with Emotion, his Soul on the Rack,
his Heart wounded and bleeding, he appeared like a
lost Spirit crying out from an Abyss of Torment.
But these last Ravings of his, these final, abominable
Insults, levelled against the Woman who had done
so much for him, and whom he should have been the
first to protect, lashed Mr. Betterton's ire and
contempt into holy Fury.

"Ye gods in Heaven, hear him!" he cried, with
an outburst of Rage at least as great as that of the
other Man.  "He loves her, and talks of Dishonour,
whilst I love her and only breathe of Worship!
By all the Devils in Hell, my Lord Stour, I tell you
that you lie!"

And before any of us there realized what he
meant to do, he ran to the Window, threw open all
the Casements with such violence that the glass
broke and fell clattering down upon the gravelled
place below.

"Hallo!" he called in a stentorian Voice.
"Hallo, there!"

My Lord Stour, bewildered, un-understanding,
tried to bluster.

"What are you doing, man?" he queried
roughly.  "Silence!  Silence, I say!"

But Mr. Betterton only shouted the louder.

"Hallo, there!  Friends!  Enemies!  England!  Here!"

I could hear the Tumult outside.  People were
running hither from several directions, thinking, no
doubt, that a Fire had broken out or that Murder
was being done.  I could hear them assembling
beneath the window, which was not many feet from
the Ground.  "Why! it's Tom Betterton!" some of
them said.  And others added: "Hath he gone
raving mad?"

"Is any one there who knows me?" queried
Mr. Betterton loudly.

"Yes!  Yes!" was the ready response.

"Who is it?" he asked, peering into the darkness
below.

I heard Sir William Davenant's voice give reply.

"Killigrew and I are down here, Tom.  What in
the Name of —— is the matter?"

"Come round to my rooms, Davenant," Mr. Betterton
replied; "and bring as many friends with you
as you can."

He was standing in the Bay of the Window, and
his Figure, silhouetted against the Light in the
Room, must have been plainly visible to the crowd
outside.  That a number of People had assembled by
now was apparent by the Hum and Hubbub which
came to us from below.  Unable to restrain my
Curiosity, I too approached the open Casements and
peered out into the Gloom.  Just as I thought, quite
a Crowd had collected down there, some of whom
were making ready to climb up to the Window by
way of the Gutter-pipes or the solid stems of the
Ivy, whilst others were trooping down the narrow
little Alley which connects Tothill Street with the
Park at the base of Mr. Betterton's house.  There
was a deal of talking, laughing and shouting.
"Tom Betterton is up to some Prank," I heard
more than one Person say.


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Perhaps You will wonder what was my Lord's
Attitude during the few minutes—it was less than
five—which elapsed between the Instant when
Mr. Betterton first threw open the Casements, and that
when the Crowd, headed by Sir William Davenant
and Mr. Killigrew, trooped down the Alley on their
Way to this House.  To me he seemed at first
wholly uncomprehending, like a Man who has
received a Blow on the Head—just as I did from his
Fist a moment ago—and before whose Eyes the
Walls of the Room, the Furniture, the People, are
all swimming in an Ocean of Stars.  I imagine that
at one time the Thought flashed as Lightning
through his Mind that this was but the culminating
Outrage, wherewith his Enemy meant to pillory him
and his Bride before a jeering Public.  That was
the moment when he turned to her Ladyship and,
uttering a hoarse Cry, called to her by Name.  She
was, just then, leaning in semi-consciousness against
the Angle of the Bay.  She did not respond to his
Call, and Mr. Betterton, quick in his Movements,
alert now like some Feline on the prowl, stepped
immediately in front of Her, facing my Lord and
screening Her against his Approach.

"Stand back, Man," he commanded.  "Stand
back, I tell You!  You shall not come nigh Her
save on bended Knees, with Head bowed in the
Dust, suing for Pardon in that you dared to Insult
her."

Everything occurred so quickly, Movements,
Events, High Words, threatening Gestures from
both sides, followed one another in such rapid
Succession, that I, overcome with Agitation and the
Effect of the stunning Blow which I had received,
was hardly able to take it all in.  Much less is it in
my Power to give You a faithful Account of it
all.  Those five Minutes were the most spirit-stirring
ones I have ever experienced throughout my
Life—every Second appeared surcharged with an
exciting Fluid which transported Me to supernal
Regions, to Lands of Unrealities akin to vivid Dreams.

At one Moment, I remember seeing my Lord
Stour make a rapid and furtive movement in the
direction of his Sword, which lay some little
Distance from him on the Ground, but Mr. Betterton
was quicker even than his Foe, more alert, and with
one bound he had reached the Weapon, ere my
Lord's Hand was nigh it, had picked it up and,
with a terrific Jerk, broke it in half across his Knee.
Then he threw the mangled Hilt in one direction, the
Point in another, and my Lord raised his Fists,
ready, methinks, to fly at his Throat.

But, as I have already told You, dear Mistress,
the whole Episode stands but as a confused Mirage
before my Mind; and through it all I seemed to see
a mere Vision of her Ladyship, pale and ethereal,
leaning against the Angle of the Bay; one delicate
Hand was clutching the heavy Curtain, drawing
it around her as it were, as if in a pathetic and
futile Desire to shield herself from view.

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.. _`the game of love`:

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   CHAPTER XVI

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   THE GAME OF LOVE

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   1

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In the meanwhile, the Crowd all round the House
had visibly swelled.  Some People were still
standing immediately beneath the Bow-window, whilst
Others swarmed into Tothill Street; the foremost
amongst the Latter had given a vigorous Tug at
the Bell-pull, and the front Door being opened for
them by the bewildered Servant, they had made a
noisy Irruption into the House.  We could hear
them clattering up the Stairs, to the Accompaniment
of much Laughing and Talking, and the
oft-reiterated Refrain: "Tom Betterton is up to some
Prank!  Hurrah!"

Some few again, more venturesome and certainly
more Impudent than most, had indeed succeeded in
scrambling up to the Window, and, one after
another, Heads and Shoulders began to appear in the
Framework of the open Casements.

Her Ladyship had no doubt realized from the first
that Escape became impossible, within two Minutes
of Mr. Betterton's first Summons to the Public.
Just at first, perhaps, if my Lord had preserved his
entire Presence of Mind, he might have taken her
by the Hand and fled with Her out of the House,
before the unruly Crowd had reached Tothill Street.
But my Lord, blinded by jealous Rage, had not
thought of Her quickly enough, and now the Time
was past, and he remained impotent, gasping with
Fury, hardly conscious of his Actions.  He had
been literally swept off his Feet by Mr. Betterton's
eagle-winged *coup de main*, which left him puzzled
and the prey to a nameless Terror as to what was
about to follow.

Now, when he saw a number of Gentlemen trooping
in by the Door, he could but stare at them in
utter Bewilderment.  Most of these Gallants were
personally known to him: Sir William Davenant
was in the forefront with Mr. Thomas Killigrew of
the King's Theatre, and the Earl of Rochester was
with them, as well as Mr. Wycherley.  I also
recognized Sir Charles Sedley and old Sir John Denham,
as well as my Lord Roscommon, among the crowd.

They had all rushed in through the Door, laughing
and jesting, as was the wont of all these gay
and courtly Sparks; but at sight of the Lady
Barbara, they halted.  Gibes and unseemly Jokes broke
upon their Lips, and for the most part their Hands
went up to their Hats, and they made her Ladyship
a deep obeisance.  Indeed, just then she looked more
like a Wraith than a living Woman, and the Light
of the Candles, which flickered wildly in the
Draught, accentuated the Weirdness of her Appearance.

"What is it, Tom?  What is amiss?"  Sir
William Davenant was thus the first to speak.

"We thought You were playing some Prank."

"You did call from that Window, did You not,
Tom?" my Lord Rochester insisted.

And one or two of the Gentlemen nodded
somewhat coldly to my Lord Stour.

"Yes.  I did call," Mr. Betterton replied, quite
firmly.  "But 'twas no Whim on my Part thus to
drag You into my House.  It was not so much my
Voice that you heard as the Trumpet blast of Truth."

At this, my Lord Stour broke into one of those
harsh, mirthless Fits of Laughter which betokened
the perturbation of his Spirit.

"The Truth!" he exclaimed with a cutting Sneer.
"From You?"

"Aye! the Truth!" Mr. Betterton rejoined with
perfect calm, even whilst his Friends glanced,
puzzled and inquiring, from my Lord Stour to him,
and thence to her Ladyship's pale face, and even to
Me.  "The Truth," he added with a deep Sigh as
of intense Relief; "The Truth, at Last!"

He stood in the centre of the Room, with one
Hand resting upon the Desk, his Eyes fixed
fearlessly upon the Sea of Faces before him.  Not the
slightest Tremor marred the perfect Harmony of
his Voice, or the firm poise of his manly Figure.
You know as well as I do, dear Mistress, the
marvellous Magnetism of Mr. Betterton's Personality,
the Way he hath of commanding the Attention of
a Crowd, whenever he chooseth to speak.  Think of
him then, dear Lady, with Head thrown back, his
exquisite Voice rising and falling in those subtle
and impressive Cadences wherewith he is wont to
hold an Audience enthralled.  Of a truth, no
experienced Manager in Stage-Craft could have devised
so thrilling an Effect, as the Picture which
Mr. Betterton—the greatest Actor of this or of any
Time—presented at that Moment, standing alone,
facing the Crowd which was thrilled into deadly
Silence, and with the wraith-like Figure of that
exquisitely beautiful Woman as a Foil to his own
self-possessed, virile Appearance.

"Gentlemen," he began, with slow, even
Emphasis, "I pray you bear with me; for what I have
to say will take some time in telling.  Awhile ago his
Lordship of Stour put upon me such an Insult as
the Mind of Man can hardly conceive.  Then, on
the Pretence that I was not a born Gentleman as
he was, he refused me Satisfaction by the Sword.
For this I hated him and swore that I would be even
with him, that I would exact from his Arrogance,
Outrage for Outrage, and Infamy for Infamy."  He
then turned to my Lord Stour and spoke to him
directly.  "You asked me just now, my Lord, if
my Revenge was satisfied.  My answer to that is:
not yet!  Not until I see You on Your bended
Knees here, before these Gentlemen—my Friends
and Yours—receiving from the miserable
Mountebank whom you mocked, the pitiful cur whom You
thrashed, that which you hold—or should hold—more
precious than all the Treasures of this earth:
your Honour and the good Name of the Lady who
honours You with her Love!  Gentlemen!" he went
on, and once more faced the Crowd.  "You know
the Aspersions which have been cast on my Lord
Stour's Loyalty.  Rumours have been current that
the late aborted Conspiracy was betrayed by him to
the Countess of Castlemaine, and that She obtained
his Pardon, whilst all or most of his Associates
were driven into Exile or perished on the Scaffold.
Well, Gentlemen, 'twas I who begged for my Lord's
pardon from the Countess of Castlemaine.  His
Degradation, his Obloquy, was the Revenge which
I had studiously planned.  Nay!  I pray you, hear
me unto the End," he continued, as a loud Murmur
of Horror and of Indignation followed on this
Self-Accusation.  "My Lord Stour is no Traitor, save
to Her whom he loves and whom in his Thoughts
he hath dared to outrage.  The Lady Barbara
Wychwoode deigned to plead with me for the Man whom
she honoured with her Love.  She pleaded with me
this afternoon, in the Park, in sight of many
Passers-by; but I in my Obstinacy and Arrogance
would not, God forgive me, listen to her."

He paused, and I could see the beads of
Perspiration glittering upon his Forehead, white now
like Italian Alabaster.  They all stood before him,
subdued and silent.  Think of Sir William
Davenant, dear Mistress, and his affection for
Mr. Betterton; think of my Lord Roscommon and of Sir
Charles Sedley and his Lordship of Rochester,
whose Admiration for Mr. Betterton's Talent was
only equalled by their Appreciation for His Worth!
It was before them all, before all these fastidious
Gentlemen, that the great and sensitive Artist had
elected to humble his Pride to the dust.

But you shall judge.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Betterton went on after a
brief while; "We all know that Love is a Game
at which one always cheats.  I loved the Lady
Barbara Wychwoode.  I had the presumption to dream
of her as my future Wife.  Angered at her Scorn
of my Suit, I cheated her into coming here to-night,
luring her with the Hope that I would consent to
right the Man for whose sake she was willing to
risk so much, for whom she was ready to sacrifice
even her fair Name.  Now I have learned to my
hurt that Love, the stern little god, will not be
trifled with.  When we try to cheat him, he cheats
us worse at the last; and if he makes Kings of us,
he leaves us Beggars in the End.  When my Lord
Stour, burning with sacrilegious jealousy, made
irruption into my Room, the Lady Barbara had
just succeeded in wringing from me an Avowal
which proclaimed his Integrity and my Shame.  She
was about to leave me, humbled and crushed in my
Pride, she herself pure and spotless as the Lilies,
unapproachable as the Stars."


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Mr. Betterton had ceased speaking for some time;
nevertheless, Silence profound reigned in the dark,
wainscotted Room for many seconds after the final
echo of that perfect Voice had ceased to reverberate.
Indeed, dear Mistress, I can assure You that, though
there were at least fifty Persons present in the
Room, including those unknown to Me who were
swarming around the Framework of the Casements,
you might have heard the proverbial Pin drop just
then.  A tense Expression rested on every Face.
Can You wonder that I scanned them all with the
Eagerness born of my Love for the great Artist,
who had thus besmirched his own fair Name in
order to vindicate that of his bitterest Foe?  That
I read Condemnation of my Friend in many a
Glance, I'll not deny, and this cut me to the Quick.

True!  Mr. Betterton's Scheme of Vengeance had
been reprehensible if measured by the high
Standards of Christian Forbearance.  But remember how
he had been wronged, not once, but repeatedly; and
even when I saw the Frown on my Lord
Roscommon's brow, the Look of Stern Reproof in Sir
Charles Sedley's Face, there arose before mine Eyes
the Vision of the great and sensitive Artist, of the
high-souled Gentleman, staggering beneath the
Blows dealt by a band of hired Ruffians at the
Bidding of this young Coxcomb, whose very Existence
was as naught in the Eyes of the cultured World
beside the Genius of the inimitable Mr. Betterton.

I said that the Silence was tense.  Meseemed that
no one dared to break it.  Even those idly Curious
who had swarmed up the Rainpipes of this House
in order to witness one of Tom Betterton's Pranks,
felt awed by the Revelation of this Drama of a
great Man's Soul.  Indeed, the Silence became
presently oppressive.  I, for one, felt a great Buzzing
in mine Ears.  The Lights from the Candles
assumed weird and phantasmagoric Proportions till
they seared my aching Eyes.

Then slowly my Lord Stour approached her
Ladyship, sank on his Knees before Her and raised the
Hem of her Robe to his Lips.  A sob broke from
her Throat; she tried to smother it by pressing her
Handkerchief into her Mouth.  It took Her a second
or two to regain her Composure.  But Breeding and
Pride came to her Aid.  I saw the stiffening of her
Figure, the studied and deliberate Movement
wherewith She readjusted her Mantle and her Veil.

My Lord Stour was still on his Knees.  At a
sign from her Ladyship he rose.  He held out his
left Arm and she placed her right Hand on it, then
together they went out of the Room.  The Crowd of
Gentlemen parted in order to make way for the
Twain, then when they had gone through, some of
the Gentlemen followed them immediately; others
lingered for awhile, hesitating.  Sir William
Davenant, Mr. Killigrew, my Lord Rochester, all
of Mr. Betterton's Friends, appeared at first inclined
to remain in order to speak with him.  They even
did me the Honour of consulting me with a Look,
asking of my Experience of the great Actor whether
they should stay.  I slowly shook my Head, and
they wisely acted on my Advice.  I knew that my
Friend would wish to be alone.  He, so reserved,
so proud, had laid his Soul bare before the Public,
who was wont to belaud and to applaud him.  The
Humiliation and the Effort must have been a terrible
Strain, which only Time and Solitude could
effectually cure.

He had scarce moved from his Position beside the
Desk, still stood there with one slender Hand
resting upon it, his Gaze fixed vaguely upon the Door
through which his Friends were slowly filing out.

Within two minutes or less after the Departure of
my Lord Stour and her Ladyship, the last of the
Crowd of Gentlemen and of Idlers had gone.  Anon
I went across the Room and closed the Door behind
them.  When I turned again, I saw that the knot of
quidnuncs no longer filled the Casements, and a
protracted hum of Voices, a crackling of Ivy twigs
and general sound of Scrimmage and of Scrambling
outside the Window, proclaimed the Fact that even
they had had the Sense and the Discretion to retire
quietly from this Spot, hallowed by the Martyrdom
of a great Man's Soul.


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Thus I was left alone with my Friend.

He had drawn his habitual Chair up to the Desk
and sat down.  Just for a few Moments he rested
both his Elbows on the Desk and buried his Face
in his Hands.  Then, with that familiar, quick little
Sigh of His, He drew the Candles closer to him and,
taking up a Book, he began to read.

I knew what it was that he was reading, or,
rather, studying.  He had been absorbed in the
Work many a time before now, and had expressed
his ardent Desire to give public Readings of it one
day when it was completed.  It was the opening
Canto of a great Epic Poem, the manuscript of
which had been entrusted to Mr. Betterton for
Perusal by the author, Mr. John Milton, who had
but lately been liberated from prison through the
untiring Efforts of Sir William Davenant on his
behalf.  Mr. Milton hoped to complete the Epic in
the next half-dozen years.  Its Title is "Paradise Lost."

I remained standing beside the open Window,
loath to close it as the Air was peculiarly soft and
refreshing.  Below me, in the Park, the idle,
chattering Crowd had already dispersed.  From far
away, I still could hear the sweet, sad Strains of the
amorous Song, and through the Stillness of the
Evening, the Words came to mine Ear, wafted on
the Breeze:

   |  "You are my Faith, my Hope, my All!
   |    What e'er the Future may unfold,
   |  No trial too great—no Thing too small.
   |    Your whispered Words shall make me bold
   |  To win at last for Your dear Sake
   |    A worthy Place in Future's World."
   |

I felt my Soul enwrapt in a not unpleasant
reverie; an exquisite Peace seemed to have
descended on my Mind, lately so agitated by Thoughts
of my dear, dear Friend.

Suddenly a stealthy Sound behind Me caused me
to turn; and, in truth, I am not sure even now if
what I saw was Reality, or the Creation of mine
own Dreams.

The Lady Barbara had softly and surreptitiously
re-entered the Room.  She walked across it on tip-toe,
her silken Skirts making just the softest possible
*frou-frou* as she walked.  Her cloud-like Veil
wrapped her Head entirely, concealing her fair Hair,
and casting a grey Shadow over her Eyes.  Mr. Betterton
did not hear her, or, if he did, he did not
choose to look up.  When her Ladyship was quite
close to the Desk, I noticed that she had a Bunch
of white Roses in her Hand such as are grown in
the Hot-houses of rich Noblemen.

For a few Seconds she stood quite still.  Then
she raised the Roses slowly to her Lips, and laid
them down without a word upon the Desk.

After which, she glided out of the Room as
silently, as furtively, as she came.


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And thus, dear Mistress, have I come to the end
of my long Narrative.  I swear to You by the living
God that everything which I have herein related is
the Truth and Naught but the Truth.

There were many People present in Mr. Betterton's
room during that memorable Scene, when he
sacrificed his Pride and his Revenge in order to
right the Innocent.  Amongst these Witnesses there
were some, whom Malice and Envy would blind
to the Sublimity of so noble an Act.  Do not listen
to them, honoured Mistress, but rather to the
promptings of your own Heart and to that unerring
Judgment of Men and of Events which is the
Attribute of good and pure Women.

Mr. Betterton hath never forfeited your Esteem
by any Act or Thought.  The Infatuation which
momentarily dulled his Vision to all save to the Beauty
of the Lady Barbara, hath ceased to exist.  Its
course was ephemeral and hath gone without a
Trace of Regret or Bitterness in its wake.  The
eminent Actor, the high-souled Artist, whom all
cultured Europe doth reverence and admire, stands
as high to-day in that same World's Estimation as
he did, before a young and arrogant Coxcomb dared
to measure his own Worth against that of a Man
as infinitely above him as are the Stars.  But, dear
Mistress, Mr. Betterton now is lonely and sad.  He
is like a Man who hath been sick and weary, and is
still groping after Health and Strength.  Take pity
on his Loneliness, I do conjure You.  Give him back
the inestimable Boon of your Goodwill and of your
Friendship, which alone could restore to him that
Peace of Mind so necessary for the furtherance of
his Art.

And if, during the Course of my Narrative, I
have seemed to you over-presumptuous, then I do
entreat your Forgiveness.  Love for my Friend and
Reverence for your Worth have dictated every
Word which I have written.  If, through my
Labours, I have succeeded in turning away some
of the just Anger which had possessed your Soul
against the Man whom, I dare aver, you still honour
with your Love, then, indeed, I shall feel that even
so insignificant a Life as mine hath not been wholly
wasted.

I do conclude, dear and honoured Mistress, with
a Prayer to Almighty God for your Welfare and
that of the Man whom I love best in all the World.
I am convinced that my Prayer will find Favour
before the Throne of Him who is the Father of us
All.  And He who reads the innermost Secrets of
every Heart, knows that your Welfare is coincident
with that of my Friend.  Thus am I content to
leave the Future in His Hands.

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   And I myself do remain, dear Mistress,
       Your humble and obedient Servant,
           JOHN HONEYWOOD.

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.. _`epilogue`:

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   EPILOGUE

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Ring down the Curtain.  The Play is ended.
The Actors have made their final Bow before You
and thanked You for your Plaudits.  The chief
Player—a sad and lonely Man—has for the nonce
spoken his last upon the Stage.

All is Silence and Mystery now.  The Lights are
out.  And yet the Audience lingers on, loath to
bid Farewell to the great Artist and to his minor
Satellites who have helped to wile away a few
pleasant Hours.  You, dear Public, knowing so much
about them, would wish to know more.  You wish
to know—an I am not mistaken—whether the
Labour of Love wrought by good Master Honeywood
did in due course bear its Fruitfulness.  You
wish to know—or am I unduly self-flattered—whether
the Play of Passion, of Love and of
Revenge, set by the worthy Clerk before You, had
an Epilogue—one that would satisfy your Sense of
Justice and of Mercy.

Then, I pray You, turn to the Pages of History,
of which Master Honeywood's Narrative forms an
integral and pathetic Part.  One of these Pages will
reveal to You that which You wish to know.
Thereon You will see recorded the Fact that, after a
brief and distinguished Visit during that Summer to
the City and University of Stockholm, where
Honours without number were showered upon the
great English Actor, Mr. Betterton came back to
England, to the delight of an admiring Public,
for he was then in the very Plenitude of his Powers.

Having read of the Artist's triumph, I pray You
then to turn over the Page of the faithful Chronicle
of his Career, and here You will find a brief Chapter
which deals with his private Life and with his
Happiness.  You will see that at the End of this
self-same year 1662, the Register of St. Giles',
Cripplegate, contains the Record of a Marriage
between Thomas Betterton, Actor, of the parish
of St. Margaret's, Westminster, and Mary
Joyce Saunderson, of the aforesaid parish of St. Giles'.

That this Marriage was an exceptionally happy
one we know from innumerable Data, Minutes and
Memoranda supplied by Downes and others; that
Master John Honeywood was present at the
Ceremony itself we may be allowed to guess.  Those
of us who understand and appreciate the artistic
Temperament, will readily agree with the worthy
Clerk when he said that it cannot be judged by
ordinary Standards.  The long and successful Careers
of Thomas Betterton and of Mistress Saunderson
his Wife testify to the Fact that their Art in no
way suffered, while their Souls passed through the
fiery Ordeal of Passion and of Sorrow; but rather
that it became ennobled and purified, until they
themselves took their place in the Heart and
Memory of the cultured World, among the Immortals.

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THE END

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----

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  By BARONESS ORCZY

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   His Majesty's Well-Beloved
   The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel
   Flower o' the Lily
   The Man in Grey
   Lord Tony's Wife
   A Sheaf of Bluebells
   Leatherface
   The Bronze Eagle
   A Bride of the Plains
   The Laughing Cavalier
   "Unto Cæsar"
   El Dorado
   Meadowsweet
   The Noble Rogue
   The Heart of a Woman
   Petticoat Rule

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   GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

   NEW YORK

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.. pgfooter::