Evening Star Newspaper, December 4, 1897, Page 24

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1897-26 PAGE yy ANTHONY HOE *® Written for The Evening Star. Synopsis. born of gentle blood, In an shortly after the upon as e woman | district, aries 1, be antry ecation of Gestinei to has prophesied that he ove what the x Ic know what the king hides and drink of the ki ling in love with Barbara,daughter of the parish maz trate. Lord Quinton, his young « are diverted by the appearance of a m: terious Londen beauty named C secretly Hate returns to port of her fair fame, to resign his commission be- procured it. Barbara is jealous | y a, whose identity she does not Enow. Simon becomes a favorite of the young Duke of Monmouth, and is attached | to his suit A message from Mistress Gwynn arouses his oF love for her. He an interview with her which is inte: ‘__ by the unexpected arrival of the He discovers the true state of af- and formally renounces his love for -s to Dover with the young duke. nterbury he falls in with a French gentleman, with whom he has an alterca- | tion, over the casual conjugation of the French verb Je viens, tu ns, it vient, which brings more th out the fact that something | n a visit from the Queen of Fra is in the Dover gatherin dover all is life and gayety. The queen and her are received with mach pom and ceremony, but the greatest intere: centers in the arrival of a M. de Perren- court, who comes by night from Calais. | Long and secret conferences are held, at Which only the most notable are sent. While w € secretly in an outer hall for one of thi r meetings to break up overhears the duke lavishly complimenting | and flattering Mistress Barbara. This net- | tes him and he wonders how Lord Car- | ford, ker suitor, can be conveniently ab- fent, but of udden a step is heard and the mysterious and imperial M. de Perren- court appears, to whom the young duke bows in most i I—Continued. CHAPTER Monmouth’s strange submission won no Praise. M. de Perrencourt did not necord the speech so much courtesy as lay in an answer. His silent. slight bow was all his : zment. He stood there wait- ing command to be obeyed. Menmouth turned onve toward Barbera, but a yes came back to M. de Perren- cou ‘artord advanced to him and of- fered his * duke laid his hand on iend Fer a moment they stood stil! both bowed low to M. who 2 ered with of ms slight inclinations of the head. ‘They turned and wzlked out of the rImost to st r as though he} As they went } and ras of me, face pale wi «wing of my r breat now of justifying uples ains of I a ispicion | mysteric The bury and a ie previow t was COPYRIGHT ..1891 —~A_<> BY . AMHMAWKINS ~ Then she caught my hand again and whis- pered burriedly and fearfuliy, “I'm afraid, Simon. I—I fear him. What can I do? How can I resist? They can do what they will with me. What can I do? If I weep, they laugh; if I try to laugh, they take it for consent. What can I do?” There is nothing that so binds a man to & woman as to feel her hand seeking his in weakness and appeal. I had thought that >ne day so Barbara's might seek mine, and I should exult in it, nay, might even let her perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamed of wes come, but where was my exultation? There was a choking in my throat, and I swallowed twice before I contrived to answer. “What can we do, Barbara. “Alas, alas! she cried, between tears and laughter, “what can we—even we—do, Simon?” I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old days before my apostasy and great offense. I was glad of it, for if 1 was to be of service to her we must be friends. Suddenly she said: . “You know what it means—I can't tell you. You know “Aye, I know,” said I. “None better. But the duke shan't have his way.” “The duke! If it -were only the duke— ah!” She stopped, a new alarm in her eyes. She searched my face eagerly. Of deliberate purpcse I set it to an immutable stolidit Iready he’s very docile,” said I. “See now M. de Perrencourt turned and twisted him, and sent him off crestfallen.”” She laid her hand on my arm. “Ir I might tell you,” she said, “a thing that few know here; nore but the king and his near kindred and one or two more.” “But how came ycu to know of it?” I in- terrupted. “I—I also came to know it,” she mur- mured. There are many ways of coming to know a thing,” said I. “One is by being told; another, madame, is by finding out. Certainly, it wes amazing how M de Per- rercourt dealt with his grace; aye, and with my Lord Carford, who shrank out of his path as though he had been—a king.” , let my tones give the last word full ef- ect. “Simon,” she whispered -in eagerness, mingled with alarm. “Simon, what are ying! Silence, for your life!” ‘My iife, madame, is rooted too deep for a syllable to tear it up. I aid only ‘as you mean, Mistress though my heart was full of things that I should have taken much pleasure in say- ing concerning his majesty, there were none of them acceptable to the ears of his maj- esty’s envoy. I stood looking at Colbert, and my eyes fell on the star that he wore. I knew that I committed an imprudence, but for the life of me I could not withstand the temptation. I made another bow, and smiling easily, answered M. Colbert. “I was Femarking, sir,” said I, “that the compliment paid to you by the King of Eng- land in bestowing on you the star from his majesty’s own breast could not fail to cause much gratification to the King of France.” He looked me hard in the eyes, yet his eyes fell to the ground before mine. I war- rant he took nothing by his searching glance, and did well to give up the conflict. Without a word, and with a stiff little bow, he passed on his way to the hall. The mo- ment he was gone Barbara was by me. Her face was alight with merriment. “Oh, Simon, Simon!” she whispered re- provingly. ‘But I love you for it!” And she was gone up the stairs like a fiiung moonbeam. Upon this, I, having my head full and to spare of many matters, and my heart beat- ing thought my bed the best and safest place for me, and repaired to it without delay. “But I'll have some conversation with M. de Perrencourt tomorrow,” said I, as 1 turned on my pillow and sought to sleep. CHAPTER XIII. The Meed of Curiosity. The next morning my exultation had Gone. I woke a prey to despondency and sickness of soul. Not only did difficulty locm large and failure seem inevitable, but a disgust for all that surrounded me seized on iy mind, displacing the zest of adven- ture and the excitement of enterprise. But let me not set my virtue too high. It is better to be plain. Old maxims of morallty | and a standard of right acknowledged by | all but observed by none have little power over a young man's hot blood. To be stir- red to indignation he must see the wrong threaten one he respects, touch one he loves or menace his own honor and pride. I had supported the scandals of this ccurt, of which I made a humble part, with shrugs, smiles and acid jests. I had felt no “AS I LIVE, T FELLOW though he had been a king!’ Tel! me why M. Colbert ears the King’s star. Was it f listening, “5 + m,} becau: Wa gentleman wear- Ree ee Ae as | king’s star embrace and kiss M. de vain. M. de Perrencourt ure thewil@ht that he arcivea?’ ¥ from iiie salah eed” spex a noe bat as I, madame. Tell me on whose ac- Nor dig | CouRt three messengers went to London a i ds ‘Il vient! fet FS was hanging to my arm now, full of s his tones | She was aad Dut courteous, sect Tete’ | ‘And tell me now what M. de Perren- yet moat deferential. Monmentn imed | COWE Said to you. A plague on him, he sak cia , We de »ke so low that I couldn't hear! Od Uo beseech andiwod A blush swept over her face; her eyes, ‘thous culd refu: osing the fire of excitement, dropped in Bae I could not tell whether her or whether the sof: aui fear alene bound courtly voice bred fascination also. Iv mad that I net hear, and had | hh aco not to resh out, unprovoked, and | the man before waom my on er had almost to the ground, besten and =he implor- | | seeming to he covered | ‘opping her immediaicly, she set her | T saw him s head ght, then, ht, fairest he. He hand and ry low and re own at him as he ty from her, | again: urned toward the st » hall with t ame brisk, con- that had m | but it looked 1 not he doh as t defeat with a Then he was by the wail her hands. I words reach- r 2 Oh, what shall I do I stepped out from the nidin: had shown me such strange | crossing to her, hat in hand, ola. ur neerily. » question. | friends, Mistr “What else ¢ gerly, hand and, flew out to i you | you been her behind t p been there told me t all I've other | forget both his order | things to and his think * she asked in a whis- kK. that the duk aid nothing. I wa race when the t for me. I think. thanks to M. d ard what he said. Lord cbout to in- » Perrencourt.” » who could or rid you of the duke so finely. he appeared to treat you with rtesy.”” he still cried in was and a moment later she covered her fac but seemed | cheek. great agitatio: and I heard her sot ain. “Come, take heart,” said I. “The duke's @ great man, of course, but no harm shall come to you, Mistress Barbara. Your fath- er bade me have my services in readiness for you, and although I didn’t need his spur, I may pray leave to use for thrusting myself on you. I—I'm glad to see you, Simon. { shall I do? Ah, heaven, why cid T ever come to this place?” “That can be mended by leaving it, madame. “But how? How can I leave it?’ she asked, despairingly. “The duchess will grant you leave. “Without the king's consent “But won't the king consent? Madame will ask for you; she’s kind.” “Madame won't ask for me. Nobody will ask for me. without leave, if you speak the word. “Ab, you don’t know,” she said, sadly. c tra | fusion to the ground. e he murmured. id I. “And if you'll trust me, madame-— Simon, you know I trust you.” t you were angry with me.” MM angry—I had no ri, use to be an * said she, very gently. felt the lightest pressure on my hanc touch of two slim fingers, speaking of sym- pathy and comradeship. 1, Vii bring you safe out of it,” 1 M. de Perrencourt; vart on—on what he told mon, I know; a man ! If you were overheard— wouldn't be safe if you were over- ar “What do I are he cried, and adde sh. I care, be it. Again: inst the—' x he Duke of mouth and ag h, be careful. I would not be My eful. My blood loud and be up. 1 as I gave to M. de Ferrencourt the name that was his, ‘Thin Time She Answered. the name by which the frightened lord and the cowed duke knew him, the name that save him entrance to those inmost secret inferences, and yet kept him himself hid- den and half a prisoner in the castle. The secret was no secret to me now. “Against the Duke of Monmouth,” said I, sturdily. “And, also, if need be, against the King of France.’” Barbara caught at my arm in alarm. I laughed, till I saw her finger point warily over my shoulder—with a start I turned and saw a man coming down the steps. In the dim light the bright star gleamed on his breast. He was M. Colbert de Croissy. He stood on the lowest step, peering at us through the gloom. Who speaks of the King of France here?” he said suspiciously. “I, Simon Dale, gentleman-in-waiting to the Duke of Monmouth, at your excellen- cy’s service,” I answered, stepping toward him and making my bow. “What have you to say of my master?” he demanded. For a moment I was at a loss; for al- WENT DDENLY PALE.” dislike for the chief actors and no horror | #t the things they did or attempted. Nay, for one of them who might seem to sum up in her own person the worst of all that was to be urged against king and court, 1 had | cherished a desperate loye that bred even th an obstinate and longing memory. v i change had come over me. I seemed + no longer through my own careless » but with the shamed aiid territied ‘ion of the girl who, cast into this fur- nace, caught at my hand us offering her the sole chance to pass unscathed through the They were using her in their [chante She was to be sacrificed. First she ad been chosen as the lure with which to draw forth Monmouth’'s ambitions from their lair and reveal them to the spying eyes of York and his tool, Carford. If that plan were changed now she would be no better for the change. The king would and could refuse this M. de Perrencourt—1 laughed bitterly as I muttered his nam. nothing, however great. Without a thought he would fling the girl to him, if the all- powerful finger were raised to ask for her. Charles would think himself well paid by his brother king’s complai inc own nation. Douitle rgains of policy aking here in *, and the nature of them I made What was it to throw in a trifie on either side, barter Barbara Quin- ton against the French lady, and conient two princes at a price so iow as the dis. honor of two ladies? That was the game, otherwise whence came M. de Perren- court's court and Monmouth’s deference The king saw eye to eye wiih M. de Perre court, and the king’s son did not venture to thwart him. What matter that men spoke of other loves which the French king had? The gallants of Paris might think us in England rude and ignorant, but at least we learned that a large heart was a pre- rogative of royalty which even the parlla- ment dared not question. With a new loathing I loathed it all, for it seemed now to lay aside {ts trappings of pomp and bril- liancy, of jest und wit, and display itself before me in ugly nakedness, all un: am~ ed. In sudden frenzy I sat up in my bed crying, “Heaven will find a way.” For surely heaven could find one, where devil found so many. Ah, righteous wert thou, Simon Dale, so soon as unrighteousness hurt thee. But Phineas Tate might have preached until the end of time. Earlier than usual by an hour Jonah Wall came up from the town where he was lodged, but he found me up and dressed, er to act, ready for what might chance. I had seen little of the fellow lately, call- ing on him for necessary services only and ridding myself of his somber company as quickly as I could. Yet I looked on him tedaey with mcre consideration; his was a repulsive form cf righteousness, grim and gloomy, but it was righteousness, or seem- ed such to me against the background of iniquity which threw it up in strong relief. I spoke to hin: kindly, but, taking no heed of my ad es, he came straight up to me and said brusquel: The woman who came to your lodging in Lendon is here in Dover. She bids you be silent and come quickly. I can lead you.” I started and stared at him. I had set “Finis” to that apter; was fate minded to overrule me and write more? Strange also that Jonah Wall should play Mercury. “She here in Dover! For what?” I asked, as calmly as I could. “I don’t doubt, for sin,” he answered un- compromisingly. t you can lead me to her house?” said I, with a smile. “I can,” said he, in sour disregard of my hinted banter. “I won't go,” I declared. “The matter concerns you, she said, and might concern another.” It was early; the court would not be moy- ing for two hours yet. I could go and come, and thereby lose no opportunity. Curiosity led me on and with it the at- traction which stiH draws us to those we have loved, though the love be gone and more pain than pleasure walt on our visit- ing. In ten minutes I was following Jonah down the cliff and plunged thence into a narrow street that ran curling and curving toward the sea. Jonah held on quickly and without hesitation until we reached a con- fined alley and came to a halt before a mean house. “She's here,” said Jonah, pointing to the door and twisting his face ss though he were swallowing something nauseous. I could not doubt of her presence, for I heard her voice singing gayly from within. My heart beat quick, and I had above half a mind not to enter. But she had seen us and herself flung the door wide open. She lodged cn the ground floor, and in obedi- ence to ker beckoning finger I entered a small room. Lodging was hard to be had in Dover now and the apartment served her (as the bed, carelessly covered with a cur- tain, showed) for sleeping and living. I did not notice what became of Jonah, but rat quick with more than one emotion, j down, chair. b “What brings you here?” I blurted out, fixing ry eyes_on her, as she stood oppo- site to me, smiling and swaying to and fro @ little, with her hends on her hips. “Even what Prines you. My business,” she answered. “If you ask more, the king invitation. Does that grieve you, Simon?” lo, madame,” said I. ‘A little, still a little, Simon? Be consoled! The king invited me, but he hasn’t come to see me. There Nes my business. Why hasn’t he come to see me? I hear certain things, but my eyes, though ‘they are counted good, if not large, can’t pierce the walls cf the castle yonder, and my poor feet aren't fit to pass its threshold,”” puzzled ey awkward, in @ crazy “You needn't griéve for that,’ said I, sullenly, “Yet some things’ I know. As that a French lady {s'there. Of what appearance is she, Simon?” “She is very pretty, so far as I’ve looked at her.” “Ah, and you've a discriminating glance, haven't you? Will she stay long?” “They say madame will be here for ten or fourteen days yet.” “And the French lady goes when madame goes?” “I don’t know as to that.” “Why, nor I neither.’ She paused an in- stant. “You don't love Lord Carford? Her question came abruptly and unlooked ‘or. “I don’t know your meaning.” What con- cern had Carford with the French lady? “I think you are in the way to learn it. Love makes men quick, do2sn’t it? Yes, since you ask (your eyes asked), why, I'll confess that I'm a little sorry that you fall in love again. But that by the way, Simon, neither do I love this French lady. Had it not been for that morning's mcod of mine, she would have won on me again, and all my resolutions gone for naught. But she, not knowing the working of my mind, took no pains to hide or to soften what repelled me in her. I nad seen it be- fore, and yet loved; to her it would seem strange that because a man saw ne should not love. I found myself sorry for her with @ new and pitiful grief, but passion did not rise in me. And concerning my pity I held my tongue; she would have only wonder and mockery for it. But I think that she was vexed to see me so unmoved; it irks a woman to lose a man, however little she may have prized him when he was her own. Nor do I mean to say that we are different from their sex in that; it Is, I take it, nav ture in woman and man alike. “At least, we're friends, said with a laugh. Simon,” she “And at least, we're Protestants.” She laughed again. I looked up with a questioning glance. “And at least, we both hate the French she con- tinued. “It's true. I have no love for them. What then? What can we do?” She looked round cautiously, and coming a little nearer to me, whispered: “Late last night I had a visitor, one who does not love me greatly. What does that matter? We row now in the same boat. I speak of the Duke of Buckingham.” “He is reconciled to my Lord Arlington by madame's good offices,” said I. For so the story ran in the castle.” “Why, yes, he is reconciled to Arlington as the dcg to the cat when their master is by. ‘ow, there’s a thing that the duke suspects, and there’s another thing that he knows. He suspects that this treaty touch- es more than war with the Dutch, though that I hate, for war swallows the king’s money like a well.” “Some passes the mouth of the well, if report speaks true,” I observed. “Peace, peace, Simcn; the treaty touches more.” “A man need not be duke nor minister to suspect that,” said I. “Ah, you suspect? The king’s religion?” she whisnered. I nodde The secret was no surprise to me, though L had: not known whether Buckingham were-in it. “And what dees the Duke of Buckingham know?” T asked. “Why, that the king sometimes listens to a woman's counsel,” said she, nodding her a and smiling very wisely. Prodigicus sagaelty,” I cried. “You told bim that, ma “Indved, he hi Master Simon. d learned it before my day, Therefore, should the king turn Catholic, he will he a better Catholic for the society of a Catholic lady. Now, this madam—do you na Mme. de Querouaille ‘Aye, she {is a most devout deed, her devotion to her religi bound In- sno It’s like mine to the king. Don't frown, Simon. Loyalty is a virtw “And plety also by the same rule and in the same unstinted measure?’ I asked Vitterly. “Beyond doubt. sir. But the French king has sent -vord from Calais——” “Oh, from Calais! The duke revealed that to you?” I asked, with a smile T could not’ smother. There was a limit, then, to the duke's confidence in his ally, for the duke had been at Paris and could be no stranger to M. de Perrencourt. “Yes, he told me all. The King of France has sent word from Calais. where he awaits the signing of the treaty, that the loss of this Mme. de Querouaille would rob his court of beauty, and he cannot be so bereft. And madame, the duke ss swears she can't be robbed of her fairest d of honor (‘tis a good name, t » on life) and left desolate. But madame has seen one who imight make up the loss, and the King of France, having studied the lady's picture, thinks the s In fine. Simon, our king feels that he can’t be a good Catholic without the counsels of Mme. de Querouaille, and the French king feels that he mus y all means convert and save so f: yz the name on your tongu is it in your heart, Simon?” “I know whom you mean,” T answered, for her revelation came to no more than what I had scented out for myself. “But vha Buckingham to this?” that the king mustn’t have his > lest he should thereby be confirmed in his popish inélinations. The duke is Protestant, are—and as I am, so ase you. ‘Can he hinder 1t?” ‘Aye, if he can hinder the French king from having his w: And for this purpose his grace has need of certain things.” “Do you carry a message from him to me?” “I did but say that I knew a gentleman who might supply his needs. They are four—a heart, a head, a hand and, per- haps, a sword" “All men have them, then.” “The first true, the second long, third strong and the fourth ready.” “T fear, then, that I haven't all of them.” nd for reward—” 1 kno} with {t.” Il burst out laughing. ‘He didn’t say that, but it may well reckon up to much that figure,” she ad- mitted. “You'll think of ft, Simon?” “Think of it! I! Not Ir ‘ou won't?” ‘Or I mightn’t attempt it!” “Ah! You will attempt it ‘Of a certainty.” “You're very ready. Ts it all honesty?” “Is ever anything all honesty, madame— saving your devotion to the king?” “And the French lady’s to her religion laughed Nell. “Of a truth I think the pic- ture that the King of France saw was a fair one. Have you looked on it, Simon?” ‘On my life I don’t love her.” “On my lifetyou will.” “You seek td! stop me by that prophecy?” “I don’t caré whém you love,” said she. Then her face broke into smiles. “What liars women are!” she cried. “Yes, I do care, not enotgh tO grow wrinkled, but enough to wish I had not grown half a lady and could—’ i “You stop?! “Could—coufd—cotild Simon.” : “It would bé'a light infliction after break- ing a man’s heart,” said I, turning my cheek to her and beckoning with my hand. “You should hay@ @ revenge on my face; not in kind, byt in kindness. I can’t strike a man who won't hit back.” She laughed at me with all her old enticing gayety. I had almost’ sealed the bargain; she was so roguish ant'so pretty. Had we met first then, it is very Hkely she would have made the offer and very certain that I should have taken it. But there had been other cave I sighed. ‘ wi “I loved ys foo well once to kiss you mistress," said I. ae "You're mighty strange at times, Simon,” said she, sighing also and lifting her brows. “Now I'd as lief kiss a man I had loved as any other.” “Or slap his face?” “If I'd never care to kiss, I’d never care for the other either. You rise?” “Why, yes. I have my commission, haven't I?” rn Re ghe you this one algo, and yet you eep it.” “Is that slight not yet forgiven?” “All is forgiven and al! is forgotten—near- ly, Simon.” At this instant—and since man is human, woman persistent and courtesy impera- tive, I did not quarrel with the interruption —a sound came from the room above, strange in a house where Nell lived (if she will pardon sv much cantor), but oddly fa- millar to me. I held up my hand and Hs- tened. Nell’s rippling laugh broke in. ‘Plague-on him!” she cried. “Yes, he's the His life, if he can come off slap your face, here. Of a truth he's resolute to convert me, and the fool arauses me."” “Phineas Tate!” I exclaimed, amazed, for beyond doubt his was the voice. I could tell his intonation of a penitential psalm among a thousand. I had heard it in no other key. “You didn’t know? Yet that other fool, your servant, js always with him. They've been ,closeted together for two hours at a ne. “Psalm singing?” coe and again. They're often quiet, ‘He preaches to you.” “Only a little. When we chance to meet at the door he gives me a curse, and prom- ises a blessing no more.” (it's very little to come to Dover for.” ‘You would have come further for less of my company once, sir. It was true, but it not solve my won- der at the presence of Phineas Tate. What brought the fellow? Had he also, sniffed out something of what was afoot, and come to fight for his religion, even as Louise de Querouaiile fought for hers, though in a most different fashion? I had reached the door of the room and was in the passage. Nell came to the threshold and stood there smiling. I had asked no more questions and made no con- diticns. I knew that Buckingham must not shew himself in the matter, and that all was left to me, heart, head, hand, sword, and also the same reward, if I were so lucky as to come by it. I waited for a moment, half expecting that Phineas, hear- ing my voice, would show himself, but he did not appear. Nell waved her hand to me. I bowed and took my leave, turning my steps back toward the castle. The court would be awake, and whether on my own account or for my new commission's sake, I must be there. I had not mounted far before I heard a puffing and blowing behind. The sound proved to come from Jonah Wall, who was toiling after me, laden with a large basket. I had no eagerness for Jonah’s society, but rejoiced to see the basket; for my private store of food and wine had run low, and if a man is to find out what he wants to know, it is well for him to have a pasty and a boltle ready for those who can heip him. “What have you there?” I called, wait- ing for him to overtake me. He explained that he had been making purchases in the town, and I praised his zeal. Then I asked him sugdenly: ‘And have you visited your friend, Mr. Tate As I live, the fellow went suddenly pale, and the bottles clinked in his basket from the shaking of his hard. Yet I spoke mildly enough. “II have seen him but once or twice, sir, since I learned that he was in the town. I thought you did not wish me to see him.” “Nay, you can see him as much as you like so long as I don't,” I answered, in a careless tone, but keeping an uttentive eye on Jonah. His perturbation seemed strange If Phineas’ business were only the conver- sion of Mistress Gwynn, what reason had Jonah Wall to go white as Dover cliffs over it? We came to the castle and I dismissed him, bidding him stow his load safely in my quarters. Then 1 repaired to the Duke of Monmoith’s apartments, wondering in what mood I should find him after last night's rebuff. Little did he think that I had been a witness of it. I entered his room; he was sitting in his chair. With him was Carford. The duke’s face was as glum and his air as ill-tempered as 1 could wish. Carford’s manner was subdued, m and sympathcti: They were talking y as I entered, but ceased their ion at cnce. I offered my services. re no need of this morning, ,”” answered the duke. “I’m engaged with Lord Carford.” I retired. But of a truth that morning every one in the castle was engaged with some one else. At every turn I came on couples in anxious consultation. The ap- preach of an intruder brought immediate silence, the barest civility delayed him, hi departure was received gladly, and w signal for renewed consultation. Well, the king sets the mode, and the king, I heard, was closeted with madame and the Duke of York. But not with M. de Perrencourt. There was a hundred feet of the wall, with a Bl t one end and a guard at the otifer, and midway between them a solitary figure stood looking down on Dover town and thence out to sea. In an instant I re nized him, and a great desire came over me to speak to him. He was the foremost man alive in that day, and I longed to speak with him. To have known the great is to have tasted the true flavor of your times. But how to pass the sentries. Their presence meant that M. de Perrencourt de- sired privacy. I stepped up to one and of- fered to pass. He barred the way. “But I'm in the service of his grace the Duke of Monmouth.” I expostulated. ‘ “If you were in the service of the devil himself you couldn't pass here without the king's order,”’ retorted the fellow. “Won't his head serve as well as his ca order?” I asked, slipping a crown into his hand. ‘ome, I've a m fe from his grace for the French gentleman. Yes, it’s pri Deuce take it, do fathers always know of their son’s doings? . nor sons all their father’s some- he chuckled. Along with you quick, and run if you hear me whistle; it will mean my officer is coming: I was alone in the sacred space with M. de Perrencourt. I assumed an easy air, and untered along till I was within a few yards of him. Hearing my step then, he looked round with a start and asked per- empto: self, even by quot- he could vanish me. nt and ig- ht indulge ing the king’s order, But if h norance of t my curiosity “Like your own, s ly, “a breath of fres the sea. : He frowned a little, but I gave him no time to speak. “That fellow me to unders yet the king is not h “Then how did you pas: de Perrencourt, ignoring my la: “Why, with a lie, sir,” I said I had a message for you Duke of Monmout d the me. But we gentlemen in at stand by one another. You'll not betr: Your word on it?” low smile broke across kis face. ; I'l not betray you,” said he. spoak French well, sir! “So M. ce Fonielles, whom I met at Can- terbury, told me. Do you chance to know him, sir?” M. de Perrencourt did not start now; I should have bh a disappointed if he had. Very well,” he answered. “If you're his friend you're mine.” He held out his and. “T take it on false pretense: said I, with a laugh, as I shook it. “For we came near to quarreling, M. de Fontelles and I. “And, on what point?” “A nothing, sir.” “Nay, but tell me.” Indeed I will not, if you'll pardon me.” * I replied courteous- air and a sight of though,” IT pursued, “gave “You “Sir, I wish to know. I ins—I hex.” A stare from me had stopped the “insist when it was half way through his lips. On my soul, he flushed. I tell my children sometimes how I made him flush; the thing was not done often. Yet his confusion was but momentary, and suddenly, I snow t how, I in my turn became abashed with the cold stare of his eyes, ani when he asked me my name I answered bold!y, with never a bow and never a flourish, imon Dale.” “I have heard your name,” said he, gravely. Then he turned round and began looking at the sea again. Now, had he been wearing his own clothes (if I may so say) this conduct would have been appropriate enough; it would have been a dismissal, and I should have passed on my way. But a man should be con- sistent in his disguises, and from M. de Perrencourt, gentleman in waiting, the be- havior was mighty uncivil. Yet my re- venge must be indirect. “Ts it true, sir,” I asked, coming close to him, “that the King of France is yonder at Calais? So it’s said.” “I believe it to be true,” answered M. de Perrencourt. “I wish he had come over,” I cried. “I should love to see him, for they say that he’s a very proper man, although he's somewhat short.” M. de Perrencourt did not turn his head, but again I saw his check flush. To speak of his low stature was, I had heard Mon- mouth say, to commit the most dire of- fense in King Louis’ eyes. ‘Now, how tail is the king, sir?” I asked. “Is he as tall as you, sir?” M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the truth, I began to be a little uncasy; there were cells under the castle and I has need to be at large for the coming few days. Por,” said I, “they tell such Mes con- cerning princes.” Now he turned toward me saying: “There you're right, sir. The King of France is of middle size, about my own height.” For the life of me I could not resist it. I said nothing with my tongue, but for a moment I allowed my eyes to say, ‘‘but, then, you're short, sir.” He understood, and for the third time he flushed. “I thought as much,” said I, and with a bow I began to walk on. But as ill luck would have it, I was not to come clear off from my indiser a, In a moment I should have been out of sight. But as I started I saw a gentleman | pass the guard, who stood at the it @as the king; escape was impos: He walked straight up to me, bowing c lessly in response to M. de Perrencourt’s deferential inclination of his Mow came you here, he asked abru; “The guard tells me that he informed you of my orders, and that you insisted on passing.” M. de Perrencourt felt thet his turn w come; he stcod there smiling. I found | nothing to say. If I repeated my fiction of | a message the French gentleman, justly enraged, would betray me. “M. de Perrencourt seemed lonely, sir,” I answered at last. “A lttle loneliness hurts no man,” said | the king. He took out his tablets €an to write. When he was done he me the message, adding, “Read read, “Mr. Simon Dale wilk remain under est In his Gwn appartments for twent four hours, and will not leave them except by the expre: command of the king.” I made a wry ce. “If the Duke of Monmouth wants me—” I began. “He'll Fave to do without you, Mr. Dale,” interrupted the king. “Come, M. de Per- rencovrt, will you give me your arm?” And off he wect on the French gentleman's arm, leaving me most utterly abashed and cursing the curiosity that had brought me to this trouble. “Se much for the Duke-of Buckingham’s ‘long head’ "said I to myself ruefully, as Imade my Way toward the constable tower in which his grace was lodged, and where i had my smaii quarters, Indeed, I might well feel a fool, for the next twenty-feur hours, during which I Was to be a prisoner, would in all likeli- hooa sce the issue in which T was pledged to bear a pari. Now I could do nothing. Yet at leasi I m send speedy word to tow r to be looked to! I calle jonah Wall. It was but the of lay, yet he was not to n. I wolked to the door and ft , uot Jonah, but a guard on duty. What are you doing here?” g that you stay here, sir,” he an- “a with a grin. 1 the kins was very anxious that I should his orders, and had lost no time in a i my Obedience; he was right to take is measures, for, standing where I did, orders would not have re- strained me, und I was glad that he had et a guard on me in leu of asking my parole. Yct, where was Jonan Wali, and how could I send my me: ? f flung my- self on the bed in de pondency. A moment later the door opened and Robert, Darrell’s servant, entered. My er Legs to know if you will sup h him tonight, sir.” “Thank him kindly, ask that enth an tell you that I must king's desire. I'm under arrest, Robert. “My master will be grieved to hear it, sir, and the more because he hoped that you would bring some wine with you, for he has none, znd ke has guests to sup with him.” “Ah, an interested Invitation! Mr. Darrell know that I had wine?” “Your servant Jonah spoke of it to me, sir, and said that you would be glad to send w suid I, “but if you ide, Robert, he'll ) at heme by th ou How did literal! But I'm glad, and as- Darrell of it. Where is my ras- Mr. sure cal?” I saw him leave the castle about an hour ago; just after he spoke to me about the wine.” ‘Curse him! I wanted him. There are Well, take six bottles that he » is French wine here, sir, and Spanish. May I take either ‘Take the Frerch, in Go name. T don't want that. I have had enough of France Stay, though, I believe Mr. Darrell likes the Spanish better.” sir, but bis guests will like the French.” ‘And who are these gue Robert swelled with pride. “I thought Jonah would have told you, said he. ‘The king is to sup with my aid T, “I'm well excused. For no man knows better than the king why I can’t come.” | tion w uched my room { BIG CHUNKS OF GOLD, From the San Francise) Chronicle. While the nugget found tn the Blue Jay pocket by the Graves brothers ts likely to become famous for its size and value, it 1s not, as has been stated, one ki the largest own in the authentic history of mining. This nugget stands, or rather stood—for it is now being minted—for about $42,000, but saying nothing of an alleged Chilean t weighing 400 pound& troy, the “Wel- igget of Ballarat, weighing 2,217 ounces 16 pennyweights, was sold for over rl £10,500, or ne ther t s: HM. It is ever Ss nugget ray rding to Hittell, a rson Hill, Calaver November, 1854, which weigh troy, and was worth over § two is no great of what there ts appears to favor the specimen. issue values, but lier he first nugget found in this state, the one which Marshall picked up, was worth but fifty cents, and the next on dt vered but $5. A soldier in Stevenson's regiment found the first large specimen, a mass of gold weighing between twenty and twenty- five pounds, while stopping to drink In @ sail affluent on the Mokelumne river, Tris nugget was taken east, where its ex- hibition confirmed the stories of California wealth and added naturally to the public excitement there. In 1854 the “Otiver Martin chunk.” which was auriferous ore mixed with white quartz, was picked up near Camp Corona, in Tuolumne count in a hole which Mar- tin had dug to bury a drowned comrade. It yielded ) and became the basis of a great fortune. In 1866 Daniel Hill, a pau- per, found a $14.000 nugget in Phimas county, and, coming to San Francisco, spent the proceeds quickly, $5,009 being squandered in one we rl. With his all gone, he it to Dutch Flats, ada county, and while washing his bands in a stream saw lying on the bot- tom 4 nugget of gold and white quartz sim- ilar in size and shape to a baby’s head. This brought $12,300, and sent Da Hill through a career of debauchery to the poor house, The finds in later years up to the Bluo Jay discovery have been of a notable sort. In the fall of 1889 two tramps, who had been put off a Southern Pacttle freight train, started to walk to Bakerstield and found a battered nugget weighing 216 unces on the way. In 186 a chunk worth $1,400 was picked up In San Diego county, and there have been two or three discov- ered on the Mojave desert. The majority of the finds have been accidental. see They Moved. Journal Wh From the Chicag “I wonder what induced the Paldens to sell their beautiful home and move? ‘They haven't suffered finan 1 reverses, have they?” “Oh, no, indeed; but ye acted as one the jude up in that neighborhood You Can't ou see Mrs. Pald s in a baby show The fellow took his bottles and went off grinning. I, being left, fell a : ing myself for a fool, and in this occupation I passed the hours of the afternoon, (To be continued.) ———— NEWS OF THE OLD Boys. They Hadn't Turned Out Very Well, Barring Inquirer and His Informant. From the Louisville Commerctal. He was a young C! 9° man, returned for a few days’ visit to his native town, where he had long anticipated a pleasant retnion with the old friend his youth. He did not have much luck finding his old ecmpanions at first, but finally he fell in with one whe he feit sure could put him on the trail of all the rest. “Hello, old man,” he sail, cordially, his friend sauntered toward him in the siouchy, swaggering gait so common in small country tewns. “Waere are all the old boys?” The “old man” was slow returned friend, but was see him once he collected membered his name. The other old boys,” “he the question that had been put io him; “well, they're pretty muca scattered. Guess | I'm about the only one of the old crowd left.” “Where did Dutchy Beraheim go?” asked the wanderer, “Dutchy? Well, Dutchy didn’t turn out very well. He went to prison for forgery out in Oregon, and I think he died with the stripes on his back.’ “You don't tell me! Where is Fatty Bow- en, who used to be around with Dutchy so much? “Fatty? Oh, he's out here in the poor house. He was in prison, too, for three or four years, and went blind there, so when he came out he couldn't do better thun live on the county.” It rather set the wander of the bad luck of two of h but he thought that If he 7 questions he would get better rep some of his early friends. was about Dougal Bean. “Dougal Bean was shot and killed gambling house down in Texas,” was the answer he received. But he tricd again. Where is Pickey Milligan?” » “Pickey was here a few months ago,” was the reply. “He had just come out of Jackson prison. Picking pockets is Pickey business. I don't know where he is now “I'm not much surprised at that. But where is Bluff O'Brien?” “I don’t just know what happened to Bluff, but he’s dead. I know that. He died With his boots on somewhere out west, but I don’t know just wher ‘What do you know about Yank Dalton?” “Yank and Harry Benham went west to- gether four or five years ago, and both of them came to grief. Yank was gored by a bull and that was the end of him, and Ben- ham held too many cards in a poker hand. I don't know how many bullets were put into him, but I understand he got a man before they got him.” The young Chicagoan was pretty much discouraged by this time, and somewhat saddened by hearing of the evil end of so wany of his boyhood friends. He didn't seem to want the reunion he had hoped for when he first came back to town. “It doesn't seem to me that our old friends have turned out very well,” he said. “No,” replied the other. “I guess you and I are about the only ones that amount to much.” “And what are you doing?” Ckicagoan. “Me? Oh, I'm keeping a whitewash shop up in Main street and fighting a few chick- ens on the side. to re siad enovgh to his wits and re- id, repeating | back to hear old intimates, in his oris of His next inquiry ina asked the eee Latest from the Intelligence Office.—“Oh, Bridget! I told you to notice when the ap- ples boiled over.” “Shure, I did, mum. It was a quarter past 11."—Brooklyn Life. if you get a package like this, It contains the genuine Gon st WaAsHING PoWDER It cleans everything and cleans it quickly and cheaply. Largest package—greatest economy. THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, Chicago, St. Lou New Yor’ Boston, Philadelphia. 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