Front matter (continued 2)

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."

4

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.

5

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.

6

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.

7

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.

CHAPTER V

THE OUTRAGE

1

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.

2

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.

3

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.

4

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.

CHAPTER VI

THE GATHERING STORM

1

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.

2

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.

3

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.

4

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.

5

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.

6

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.

7

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.

8

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.

9

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.

CHAPTER VII

AN ASSEMBLY OF TRAITORS

1

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.