Chapter XVII: The day will be so happy; for I've seen you at the dawn

The room was quickly cleared, the King's courtiers jostling one another in their efforts to carry out the royal bidding.

Charles turned with a merry laugh and seized Nell in his arms almost fiercely.

"A subterfuge!" he cried eagerly. "Nell, quick; one kiss!"

"Nay; you question my constancy to-night," said Nell, sadly, as she looked into his eyes, with the look of perfect love. "You do not trust me."

"I do, sweet Nell," protested the King, earnestly.

"You bring me Portsmouth's lips," said Nell, with sad reproof.

"I left her dance for you," replied the King, drawing her closer to him.

"At near sunrise, Sire," sighed Nell, reprovingly, as she drew back the curtain and revealed the first gray streaks of the breaking light of day.

"Nay, do not tantalize me, Nell," besought the King, throwing himself upon the couch. "I am sad to-night."

The woman's forgiving heart was touched with sympathy. Her eyes sought his sadly beautiful face. She ran to him, fell upon her knees and kissed his hand tenderly.

"Tantalize my King!" she cried. "The day will be so happy; for I've seen you at the dawn." There was all the emotional fervour and pathetic tenderness which the great composer has compressed into the love-music of "Tristan and Isolde" in her voice.

"My crown is heavy, Nell," he continued. "Heaven gives us crowns, but not the eye to see the ending of our deeds."

"God sees them," said Nell. "Ah, Sire, I thank the Maker of the world for giving a crown to one whom I respect and love."

"And I curse it," cried the King, with earnest eyes; "for 'tis the only barrier to our united love. It is the sparkling spider in the centre of a great web of intrigue and infamy."

"You make me bold to speak. Cut the web, Sire, which binds thy crown to France. There is the only danger."

"Thou art wrong, Nelly, wrong!" He spoke in deep, firm accents. "I have decided otherwise."

He rose abruptly, his brow clouded with thought. She took his hand tenderly.

"Then, change your mind, Sire," she pleaded; "for I can prove--"

"What, girl?" he asked eagerly, his curiosity awakened by her manner.

Nell did not respond. To continue would reveal Adair, and she could not think of that.

"What, I say?" again asked Charles, impatiently.

"To-morrow, Sire," laughed Nell, evasively.

"Aye, to-morrow and to-morrow!" petulantly repeated the King.

He was about to demand a direct reply but was stayed by the sound of a struggle without.

It befell in the nick of time for Nell, as all things, indeed, in life seemed to befall in the nick of time for her. The impious huswives shook their heads and attributed it to the evil influence; the pious huswives asserted it was providential; Nell herself laughingly declared it was her lucky star.

"Ho, without there!" Charles cried, impatiently--almost angrily--at the interruption. "Whence comes this noisy riot?"

James, Rochester and the others unceremoniously re-entered.

"Pardon, Sire," explained the Duke of York; "the guard caught but now an armed ruffian prowling by the house. They report they stayed him on suspicion of his looks and insolence."

"Adair! Adair! My life upon't!" laughed the King, ever ready for sport. "Set him before us."

An officer of the guard departed quickly to bring in the offender. The courtiers took up the King's cry most readily; and there was a general cackle of "Adair!" "Adair!" "A trial!" "Sire!" "Bring in the coward!"

Nell stood in the midst of the scene, the picture of demure innocence.

"They've caught Adair!" she whispered to Moll, mischievously.

"Aye, gallants," cried the Merry Monarch, approvingly, "we'll form a Court of Inquiry. This table shall be our bench, on which we'll hem and haw and puff and look judicial. Odsfish, we will teach Radamanthus and Judge Jeffreys ways of terrorizing."

He sprang upon the table, which creaked somewhat beneath the royal burden, and assumed the austere, frowning brow of worldly justice.

"_Oyer, oyer_, all ye who have grievances--" cried the garrulous Rochester in the husky tones of the crier, who most generally assumes that he is the whole court and oftentimes should be.

"Mistress Nell," commanded the royal judge, summoning Nell to the bar, "thou shalt be counsel for the prisoner; Adair's life hangs upon thy skill to outwit the law."

"Or bribe the judge, Sire?" suggested Nell, demurely.

"Not with thy traitor lips," retorted Charles, with the injured dignity of a petty justice about to commit a flash of true wit for contempt of court.

"Traitor lips?" cried Nell, sadly. "By my troth, I never kissed Adair. I confess, I tried, your Majesty; but I could not."

"Have a care," replied the King, in a tone which indicated that the fires of suspicion still smouldered in his breast; "I am growing jealous."

Nell fell upon one knee and stretched forth her arms suppliantly.

"Adair is in such a tight place, Sire, he can scarcely breathe," she pleaded, with the zeal of a barrister hard-working for his first fee in her voice, "much less speak for himself. Mercy!"

"We will have justice; not mercy," replied the court, with a sly wink at Rochester. "Guilty or not guilty, wench?"

"Not guilty, Sire! Did you ever see the man who was?"

The King laughed despite himself, followed by his ever-aping courtiers.

"I'll plead for the Crown," asserted the grim James, with great vehemence, "to rid the realm of this dancing-Jack."

"Thou hast cause, brother," laughed the King. "Rochester, thou shalt sit by us here."

Rochester sprang, with a contented chuckle, into a chair on the opposite side of the table to that upon which his Majesty was holding his mock-court and seated himself upon its high back, so poised as not to fall. From this lofty bench, with a queer gurgle, to say nothing of a swelling of the chest, and with an approving glance from his Majesty, he added his mite to the all-inspiring dignity of the revellers' court.

"Judge Rochester!" continued the King, slapping him with his glove, across the table. "Judge--of good ale. We'll confer with the cups, imbibe the statutes and drink in the law. Set the rascal before us."

In obedience to the command, a man well muffled with a cloak was forced into the room, a guard at either arm.

Behind them, taking advantage of the open door to appease their curiosity, crowded many hangers-on of courtdom, among whom was Strings, who had met the revellers some distance from the house and had returned with them.

"Hold off your hands, knaves," commanded the prisoner, who was none other than Hart, the player, indignant at the detention.

"Silence, rogue!" commanded the King. "Thy name?"

"Sire!" cried Hart, throwing off his mantle and glancing for the first time at the judge's face. He sank immediately upon one knee, bowing respectfully.

"Jack Hart!" cried one and all, craning their necks in surprise and expectation.

"'Slife, a spy upon our merry-making!" exclaimed the displeased monarch. "What means this prowling, sir?"

"Pardon, pardon, my reply, your Majesty," humbly importuned the player. "Blinded by passion, I might say that I should regret."

"Your strange behaviour and stranger looks have meaning, sir," cried the King, impatiently. "Out with it! These are too dangerous times to withhold your thoughts from your King."

"No need for commands, Sire," entreated Hart. "The words are trembling on my lips and will out themselves in spite of me. At Portsmouth's ball, an hour past, I o'erheard that fop Adair boast to-night a midnight rendezvous here with Nell."

Nell placed her hands upon her heart.

"This--my old friend," she reflected sadly.

"Our jest turned earnest," cried Charles. "Well? Well?" he questioned, in peremptory tones.

"I could not believe my ears, Sire," the prisoner continued, faltering. "I watched to refute the lie--"

"Yes--yes--" exhorted the King, in expectation.

"I cannot go on."

"Knave, I command!"

"I saw Adair enter this abode at midnight." Hart's head fell, full of shame, upon his breast.

"'Sblood," muttered the King, scarce mindful that his words might be audible to those about him, "my heart stands still as if't were knifed. My pretty golden-head, my bonnie Nell!" He turned sharply toward the player. "Your words are false, false, sir! Kind Heaven, they must be."

"Pardon, Sire," pleaded Hart; "I know not what I do or say. Only love for Nell led me to this spot."

"Love!" cried Nell, with the irony of sadness. "Oh, inhuman, to spy out my ways, resort to mean device, involve my honour, and call the motive love!"

"You are cruel, cruel, Nell," sobbed Hart; and he turned away his eyes. He could not look at her.

"Love!" continued Nell, bitterly. "True love would come alone, filled with gentle admonition. I pity you, friend Hart, that God has made you thus!"

"No more, no more!" Hart quite broke beneath the strain.

"Dost hear, dost hear?" cried Charles, in ecstasy, deeply affected by Nell's exposition of true love. "Sir, you are the second to-night to belie the dearest name in England. You shall answer well to me."

"Ask the lady, Sire," pleaded Hart, in desperation. "I'll stake my life upon her reply."

"Nell?--Nell?" questioned the King; for he could scarce refuse to accept her word when a player had placed unquestioned faith in it.

Nell hid her face in her silken kerchief and burst into seeming spasmodic sobs of grief. "Sire!" was all the response the King could hear. He trembled violently and his face grew white. He did not know that Nell's tears were merry laughs.

"Her tears convict her," exclaimed Hart, triumphantly.

"I'll not believe it," cried the King.

Nell became more hysterical. She sobbed and sobbed, as though her heart would break, her face buried in her hands and her flying curls falling over and hiding all.

"Adair's sides are aching," she chuckled, in apparent convulsions of sorrow. "He's laughing through Nell's tears."

Meanwhile, Moll had been standing by the window; and, though she was watching eagerly the exciting scene within the room, she could not fail to note the sound of galloping horses and the rattling of a heavy coach on the roadway without.

"A coach and six at break-neck speed," she cried, "have landed at the door. A cavalier alights."

"Time some one arrived," thought Nell, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, to see that Adair was well hidden, and to arrange her curls, to bewitch the new arrivals, whosoever they might be.

As the cavalier dashed up the path, in the moonlight, Moll recognized the Duke of Buckingham, and at once announced his name.

"Ods-pitikins!" exclaimed Charles, angrily. "No leisure for Buckingham now. We have other business."

He had scarce spoken, however, when Buckingham, unceremoniously and almost breathless, entered the room.

"How now?" cried the King, fiercely, as the Duke fell on his knee before him; for his temper had been wrought to a high pitch.

"Pardon, your Majesty," besought his lordship, in nervous accents. "My mission will excuse my haste and interruption. Your ear I crave one moment. Sire, I am told Nell has to-night secreted in this house a lover!"

"Another one!" whispered Nell to Moll.

"'Tis hearsay," cried the King, now at fever-heat, "the give-and-take of gossips! I'll none of it."

"My witness, Sire!" answered Buckingham.

He turned toward the door; and there, to the astonishment of all, stood the Duchess of Portsmouth, who had followed him from the coach, a lace mantilla, caught up in her excitement, protecting her shapely shoulders and head.

As the assembled courtiers looked upon the beautiful rivals, standing, as they did, face to face before the King, and realized the situation, their faces grew grave, indeed.

The suspense became intense.

"The day of reckoning's come," thought Nell, as she met with burning glances the Duchess's eyes.

"Speak, your grace," exhorted Buckingham. "The King attends you."

"Nay, before all, my lord?" protested Portsmouth, with pretended delicacy. "I could not do Madame Gwyn so much injustice."

"If your speech concerns me," observed Nell, mildly, "out with it boldly. My friends will consider the source."

"Speak, and quickly!" commanded Charles.

"I would rather lose my tongue," still protested the Duchess, "than speak such words of any one; but my duty to your Majesty--"

"No preludes," interrupted the King; and he meant it, too. He was done with trifling, and the Duchess saw it.

"My servants," she said, with a virtuous look, "passing this abode by chance, this very night, saw at a questionable hour a strange cavalier entering the boudoir of Madame Gwyn!"

"She would make my honour the price of her revenge," thought Nell, her eyes flashing. "She shall rue those words, or Adair's head and mine are one for naught."

"What say you to this, Nell?" asked the King, the words choking in his throat.

"Sire,--I--I--" answered Nell, evasively. "There's some mistake or knavery!"

"She hesitates," interpolated the Duchess, eagerly.

"You change colour, wench," cried Charles, his heart, indeed, again upon the rack. "Ho, without there! Search the house."

An officer entered quickly to obey the mandate.

"Stay, Sire," exclaimed Nell, raising herself to her full height, her hot, trembling lips compressed, her cheeks aflame. "My oath, I have not seen Adair's face this night."

Her words fell upon the assemblage like thunder from a June-day sky. The King's face brightened. The Duchess's countenance grew pale as death.

"_Mon Dieu!_ Adair!" she gasped in startled accents to Lord Buckingham, attendant at her side. "Could it be he my servants saw? The packet! Fool! Why did I give it him?"

Buckingham trembled violently. He was even more startled than Portsmouth; for he had more to lose. England was his home and France was hers.

"The scales are turning against us," he whispered. "Throw in this ring for safety. Nell's gift to Adair; you understand."

He slipped, unobserved, upon the Duchess's finger the jewelled ring the King had given to Almahyde among the roses at the performance of "Granada."

"Yes! Yes! 'Tis my only chance," she answered, catching at his meaning; for her wits were of the sharpest in intrigue and cunning, and she possessed the boldness too to execute her plans.

She approached the King, with the confident air possessed by great women who have been bred at court.

"Your Majesty recognizes this ring?" she asked in mildest accents.

"The one I gave to Nell!" answered the astonished King.

"The one Adair this night gave to me," said Portsmouth, calmly.

"'Tis false!" cried Nell, who could restrain her tongue no longer. "I gave that ring to dear old Strings."

"A rare jewel to bestow upon a fiddler," said the Duchess, sarcastically.

"It is true," said Strings, who had wormed his way through the group at mention of his name and now stood the meek central figure at the strange hearing. "My little ones were starving, Sire; and Nell gave me the ring--all she had. They could not eat the gold; so I sold it to the Duke of Buckingham!"

"We are lost," whispered Buckingham to Portsmouth, scarce audibly.

"Coward!" sneered the Duchess, contemptuously. "I am not ready to sail for France so soon."

The King stood irresolute. Events had transpired so quickly that he scarce knew what it was best to do. His troubled spirit longed for a further hearing, while his heart demanded the ending of the scene with a peremptory word.

Before he could decide upon his course, the Duchess had swept across the room, with queenly grace.

"Our hostess will pardon my eyes for wandering," she said, undaunted; "but her abode is filled with pleasant surprises. Sire, here is a piece of handiwork."

She knelt by the couch, and drew from under it a coat of gray, one sleeve of which had caught her eye.

Nell looked at Moll with reproving glances.

"Marry, 'tis Strings's, of course," continued Portsmouth, dangling the coat before the wondering eyes of all. "The lace, the ruffle, becomes his complexion. He fits everything here so beautifully."

As she turned the garment slowly about, she caught sight of a package of papers protruding from its inner pocket, sealed with her own seal. For the first time, the significance of the colour of the coat came home to her.

"_Mon Dieu_," she cried, "Adair's coat.--The packet!"

Her fingers sought the papers eagerly; but Nell's eye and hand were too quick for her.

"Not so fast, dear Duchess," said Nell, sweetly, passing the little packet to his Majesty. "Our King must read these papers--and between the lines as well."

"Enough of this!" commanded Charles. "What is it?"

"Some papers, Sire," said Nell, pointedly, "given for a kiss and taken with a kiss. I have not had time to read them."

"Some family papers, Sire," asserted the Duchess, with assumed indifference, "stolen from my house."

She would have taken them from his Majesty, so great, indeed, was her boldness; but Nell again stayed her.

"Aye, stolen," said Nell, sharply; "but by the hostess herself--from her unsuspecting, royal guest. There, Sire, stands the only thief!" She pointed accusingly at Portsmouth.

"My signature!" cried Charles, as he ran his eye down a parchment. "The treaties! No more Parliaments for England. I agreed to that."

"I agree to that myself," said Nell, roguishly. "England's King is too great to need Parliaments. The King should have a confidential adviser, however--not French," and she cast a defiant glance at Portsmouth, "but English. Read on; read on."

She placed her pretty cheek as near as possible to the King's as she followed the letters over his shoulder.

"A note to Bouillon!" he said, perusing the parchments further. "Charles consents to the fall of Luxembourg. I did not sign all this. I see it all: Louis's ambition to rule the world, England's King debased by promises won and royal contracts made with a clever woman--forgery mixed with truth. Sweet Heaven, what have I done!"

"The papers have not gone, Sire," blandly remarked Nell.

"Thanks to you, my Nell," said Charles. He addressed Portsmouth sharply: "Madame, your coach awaits you."

"But, Sire," replied the Duchess, who was brave to the last, "Madame Gwyn has yet Adair to answer for!"

"Adair will answer for himself!" cried Nell, triumphantly.

She threw aside the pink gown and stood as Adair before the astonished eyes of all.

"At your service," she said, bowing sweetly to the Duchess.

"A player's trick!" cried Portsmouth, haughtily, as a parting shot of contempt.

"Yes, Portsmouth," replied Nell, still in sweetest accents, "to show where lies the true and where the false."

"You are a witch," hissed Portsmouth.

"You are the King's true love," exclaimed the Merry Monarch. "To my arms, Nell, to my arms; for you first taught me the meaning of true love! Buckingham, you forget your courtesy. Her grace wishes to be escorted to her coach."

"_Bon voyage_, madame," said Nell, demurely, as the Duchess took Buckingham's arm and departed.

The King's eyes fell upon the player, Hart, who was still in custody.

"Away with this wretch!" he cried, incensed at his conduct. "I am not done with him."

"Forgive him, Sire," interceded Nell. "He took his cue from Heaven, and good has come of it."

"True, Nell," said the King, mercifully. Then he turned to Hart: "You are free; but henceforth act the knave only on the stage." Hart bowed with shame and withdrew.

"Sire, Sire," exclaimed Strings, forgetting his decorum in his eagerness.

"Well, Strings?" inquired the King, good-humouredly; for there was now no cloud in his sky.

"Let me play the exit for the villains?" he pleaded unctuously. "The old fiddle is just bursting with tunes."

"You shall, Strings," replied his Majesty, "and on a Cremona. From to-day, you lead the royal orchestra."

"Odsbud," cried Strings, gleefully, "I can offer Jack Hart an engagement."

"Just retribution, Strings," laughed Nell, happily. "Can you do as much for Nell, and forgive her, Sire?"

"It is I who should ask your pardon, Nell," exclaimed the King, ecstatically, throwing both arms passionately about her. "You are Charles's queen; you should be England's."

_So the story ends, as all good stories should, in a perfect, unbroken dream of love._