The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 31, 1903, Page 3

THE SUNDAY CALL. on the morning following the first \ Tondon. “Two weeks from to-day,” said the afternoon, and not later ti »ck. 1 shall have need for them. apossible!” said the tradesman. quious, but now smitten with regarding the limits of human t that hour, or not at all,” said John miy. *“At that time 1 shall ¢ my lodgings, 59 Bradwell street, As 1 have said to you. | am not ! could wish. Tt is not a matter our convenience, but of mine own.” But, sir." expostulated the other, “you order of the best. Nothing, 1 am sure save the utmost of good warkmanship ouid please you. 1 should like a month of time upc these garments, in order to them worthy of yourself. More- there are orders of the nobility a! in our hands thbat will occupy us e than past the time you name. Make weeks, sir, and 1 promise— customer only shook his head and ated, heard me well.” he tailor, sore puzzled, not wishing to customer who came so well rec- and yet hesitating at the ex- of that customer, sat with per- written upon his brow exclaimed lLaw. “Sir Artbur Pembroke told me that you were a clever fellc d execute exact any order e you. Now it appears to me like everybody else. You ips and of impossibilitie r n fairly stood out on the man of trade. ir.” said he, “I should be glad only a friend of Sir Arthur but also a gentleman of such srself. 1 hesitate to prom- uviction rree ommended plexity 1 migh you are Srate of ha forehead of . to promise,” =aid John then, 1 do 1 will have apparel at your place on the day vou rame. 'Tis most extraordina- the order shall be executed & I thought,” said Jo Law t 1 must thank besides,” ned the tradesman. “In good truth I say that all the young gentle- who come hither -and 1 may show names of the best nobility of London of some ports bevond the seas—there ver stepped within these doors a figure than elf—nay, not And 1 am a judge of me looked him carelessls shall make me none the easier, rself he easier, by soft speech. “if you have not these garments the time appointed. Send them, shall have back the fifty sove the m with perhaps a =0 in additi if be well of this nobility!” =aid the tai- it ‘smiling with pleasure the This haps, some affair with * he added affair with gentlemen tailor promise! re- =0 Law said he, ready by senger, none pe lady, and also &C said the an enterprise with a know outcome fessional pride ure before him. “You shall when well fitted TLondon shall fur- perer figure of a man, nor when 1 shall have done If it lady. now me- He upon the the for door. f heard him he was g toward the 4 again f s waiting chair. offices of the Bank of E: he directed. And forthwith in jegging through the crowded s where kor he ets of T offices of the Bank of England ung adventurer now so non his ¢ were then such stately edifice as covers the heart of the world, nor did the location of g and struggling institution, in street of the great city, tend to give a concern which still lacked and assuredness. Thither, might have gone almost any your traveier who needed a letter of ecredit d, or a bill changed after the fash- f the passing goldsmiths. Yet it was not as mere transient tomer of a money changer that young now sought the Bank of England, was it as a commercial house that e bank then commanded attention. That ank, young as it was, had already be- come a pillar of the throne of England William, distracted by wars abroad and factions at home. found his demands for funds ever in excess of the supply. More than that, the people of England discov ered themselves in possession of a cur- rency fluctuating, mutilated and unsta- ble, s0 that no man knew w was his actual fortune. The shrewd voung finan- Montague. chancellor of the ex- who elther by wisdom or good _ad sanctioned the founding of ank of England, was at this very ddressing himself to the question of a recoinage of the specie of the realm of England. He needed help, he demand- ed ideas: nor was he too particular whence he obtained either the one or the other John Law was in London on no such blind quest a5 he had himself declared. He was here by the invitation, secret yet none the less obligatory, of Montague, troller of the financial policy of Eng- And he was to meet, here upon morning, none less than my Lord mers, keeper of the seals; none less an Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest mathematician of his time; none less than John Locke, the most learned philosopher of the day. Strong company this, for a young and unknown man, vet in the belief of Montague, himself a young man and a gambler by instinct, not too strong for this young Scotchman who had startied the Parliament of his own land by some of the most remarkabie theories of finance which had ever been pgoposed in any country or o any government. As Law had himself arrogant’y announced, he was indeed a philosopher and a mathematician, young as he was: and these things Montague was himself keen enough to know. promised, then, to be a strange and interesting council, this which was to meet to-8ay at the Bank of England, to adjust the value of England's coinage: two philosophers, one pompous trim- mer, and two gamblers: the younger and more daring of whom was now calmly threading the etreets of London on his way to a meeting which might mean much to him. To John Law, adventurer, mathemati- cian, philosopher, gambler, it seemed a natural enough thing that he should be asked to sit at the council table with the ablest minds of the day and pass upon questions the most important. This was not what gave him trouble. This matter of the coinage, these questions of finance— they were easy. But how to win the in- terest of the tall and gracious English girl whom he had met by chance that other morn, who had left no way open for a further meeting; how to gain ac- cess to the presence of that fair one— these were the questions which to John Law seemed of greater importance, and of greater difficuity in the answering. The chair drew up at the somber quar- ters where the meeting had been set. Law knew the place by instinct, even without this ¥ directed ree dignity rortance "o cus- er Law cier chequer, fortu the time seeing the double row of heavy-visaged 1 don constabulary which guarded the entrance. Here and there along the street were carriages and chairs, and multiplied conveyances of persons of consequence. Upon the narrow pavement, and within the little entrance-way that led to the inuner room, there bustled about impor- tant looking men, some with hooked noses, most with florid faces and well- fed jes, but all with a certain dignity and sobriety of expression. Montague himself, young. faced, dark-eyed. of active frame. of mobile and pleasing features, sat at the head of a long table. The high-strung quality of his nervous system was evi- denced ir his restless hands, his atti- tude frequently changed At the left of Montague sat Somers, lord keeper; older, of more steady de- meanor, of fuller figure, of bold face and ful} light eve, a politician, not a pon- derer. At the right of Montague, grave, silent, impassive. now and again turning a contemplative eye about him,'sat that great man, Sir Isaac Newton, known then to every nobleman—now to every school- be of the world. A gem-like mind, keen, clear, hard #nd brilliant, exact in every fact, and forsooth held in the setting of an ircn body. Gentle, unmoved, self-as- sured, Sir lsaac Newton was calm as morn itself as he sat in readiness to give England the benefit of m& wisdom Beyond sat John Locke, abstruse phil- pher, a man thinner and darker than his confrere, with large full orb. with the brow of the student and the man of thought. In dignity he shared with the learned gentleman sitting near him. All those at the board looked with some intentness at the figure of the young man from the north, who came as guest of Montague. With small formal- ity the latter rose and advanced to meet Law with an eager grasp of the hand He made him known to the others pres- ent promptly, but with a half apology “Gentlemen,” said he, “I have made bold to ask the presence with us of a ng man who has much concerncd himself with problems such as those which we have now in hand. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Mr. Law of Edinboro’. Mr. Law, the fame of John Locke I need ay before you, and of my Lord Som- s vou need no advice. Mr. Law, [ shall ask you to be seated. “1 shall but serve as your mouthpiece to the court, gentlemen,” resumed Mon- tague, seating himself and turning at once to the business of the day. “We are all dgreed as to the urgency of the case. The King needs behind him in these times a contented people. You have already seen the imminence of a popular discon- tent which may shake the throne of Eng- land, none too safe in these days of change. That we”must reorganize the coinage is understood and agreed. The question is, How best to do this without further unsettling the times. My Lord Keeper, 1 must beg you for your Sugges- tions. ~Sir.” said Somers, shifting and cough- ing. “it Is as say. The question is of great moment. I should suggest a de- crec that the old coin shall by weight alone and not by its face value Call in ail the coin and have it weighe the Government to make future payment to the owner of the coin of the difference between its nominal and its real value. The coin itself should be restored forth- with to its owner. Hence the trade and the credit of the realm would not suffer. The money of the country would be with- drawn from the use of the country only that short time wherein it was in process of counting. Th t occurs to me, would surely be a practical method, and could work harm to none.” My Lord, Somers sat back, puffing out his chest compla- cently “Sir Isaac.” =aid Montague, “‘and - Mr. Locke, we must beg you to find such fault as vou may with this plan which My Lord Keeper hath suggested.” Sir 1saac made no immediate rep John Locke stirred gently in his cbai “There seemeth much to commend in this Lord Keeper,” said he, lean ing slightly forward, “but in pondering my Lord Keeper's suggestion for the bringing in of this older coin, 1 must ask vou if this plan can escape that seifish impulse of the human mind which seeketh for personal gain? For, look you, short as would be the time proposed, it taketh but still shorter time to mutilate a coin; and it doth seem to me that, under the plan of my Lord Keeper, we should sce the old currency of England mutilated in a night. Sir, T should opine in the contrary of thi€ plan, and would base my decision upon certain principles which 1 believe to be ever present in the hum soul.” Montague cast down his eye for a mo- ment. “Sir Isaac,” at length he began, “we are relving very much upon you. Is there no suggestion which you can make on this ticklish theme?” The large, full face of the great was turned calmly and slowly upon the speaker. His deep and serene eye ap- parentiy saw not =0 much the man before him as the problem which lay on that man’s mind. “8i said Sir Isaac, “as John Locke hath said, this is after all much a mat- ter of clear reasoning. There comes into this problem two <hief questions: First, who shall pay the expense of the recoin- age? Shall the Government pay the ex- pense, or shall the owner of the coin, who is to obtain good coin for evil? “Again, this matter applieth not to one man, but to many men. Now, if one haif the tradesmen of England rush to us with their coin for reminting, surely the trade of the country will have left not sufficient medium with which to prosper. This T take to be the second part of this problem. ““There be certain persons of the realm who claim that we may keep our present money as it is, but mark from its face a certain amount of value. Look you, now, this were a small thing: vet, in my mind, it clearly seemeth dishone: For, it I owe my neighbor a debt, let us say for an hundred sovereigns, shall 1 not be com- mitting injustice upon my neighbor if I pay him an hundred sovereigns less that deduction which the realm may see fit thus to impose upon the face of my sov- ereign? This, in justice, sirs. I hold it to be not the part of science, nor the part of honesty, neither of statesmanship, to indors “Sir Isaa eried Montague, striking his nervous hands upon the table, “recoin we must. But how, and, as vou say, at whose expense? We are as far now from a plan as when we started. We but multiply difficuities. What we need now fis mnot so much negative meas- ures as positive ones. We must do this thing, and we must do it promptly. The question is still of how it may best be done. Mr. Law, by your leave and by the leave of these gentlemen here present, I shall take the liberty of asking you if there doth occur to your mind any plan by which we may be relieved of certain of these difficulties. 1 am aware, sir, that you are much a student in these matters. A grave silence fell upon' all. John Law, young, confident and arrogant in many ways as he was, none the less pos- sessed sobriety and depth of thought, just as he possessed the external dignity to give it fitting vehicle. He gazed now at the men before him, not with timor- ousness or trepidation. grave, and he returned their smooth- tie you plan of my man calmly as he rose and made the speech which, unknown to himself, was present- lv to prove so important in his life. L " gaid he, “and gentiemen of this council, T am ili-fitted to be pres- ent here, and ill-fitted to add my advice to that which hag been given. It is not for me to o beypnd the purpose of this meeting, or to lay before you certain plans of my own regarding the credit of nations. I may start, as does our learned friend, simply from established prinei- ples of human nature. “Tt is true that the coinage is a crea- ture of the government. Yet I believe it to be true that the government lives purely upon credit; which is to say. the confidence of the people in that govern- ment “Now. we may reason in this matter perhaps from the lesser relations of our daily life. What manner of man do we most trust among those whom we meet? Sutely, the honest man, the plain man, the one whose directness and integrity we do not doubt. Truly vou may Wwit- ness the nature of such a man in the manner of his speech, in his mien, in his conduct. Therefore, my Lords and gen- tlemen, it seems to me plain that we shall best gain confidence for ourselves it we act in the most simple fashion. let us take up this matter directly with Parllament, not seeking to evade the knowledge of Parllament in any fash- jon; for, as we know, the Parliament and the King are not the best bed fellows these days, and the one is ready enough to suspect the other. Let us have a bill framed for Parliament—such bill made upon the decisions of these learned gen- tlemen present. Above all things, let us act with perfect opennes “As to the plan itself, it seems that a few things may be held safe and sure, Since we cannot use the old coin, then surely we must have new coin, milled coin, which Charles, the earlier King of England, has decreed. Surely, too, as our learned friend has wisely -tated, the loss in any recoinage ought, in full justice and honesty, to fall not upon the people of England, but upon the Government of England. It seems equally plain to me there must be a day set after which the old coin may no longer be used. Set it some months ahead, not, as my Lord Keeper suggests, but' a few day ) that full notice may be given to all. Make vour campaign free and plain, and place it so that it may be known, not only of Parliament, but of all the world. Thus vou establish yourselves in the confidence of Parliament and In the good graces of this people, from whom the taxes must ultimately come.” Montague's hands smote again upon the table with a gesture of conviction. John Locke shifted again in his chair. Sir Isaac and the Lord Keeper gazed stead- fastly at this young man who stood be- fore them, calmly, assuredly, and yet with no assumption in his mien “Moreover,” went on John Law, calm- Iy, “there is this further benefit to be gained, as 1 am sure my countryman, Mr. Paterson, has long ago made plain. It is not a question of the wealth of Eng- Jand, but a question of the confidence of the people in the throne. There, is money in abundance in England. Tt is the prov- ince of my Lord Chancellor to wheedle it out of those coffers where it is con- cealed and place it before the of the King. Gentlemen, it is confidence that we need. There wil' be no trouble to secure loans of money in this rich land, but the taxes must be the pledge to vour bankers. This new Bank of England will furnish you what moneys vou may need. Secure them only by the pledge of such taxes as you feel the people may not re- sent: give the people, free of cost, a coin- age which they can trust; and then, it seems. to.me, my lords and®gentlemen, the problem ~of the reventie mav be thought solved simply and easilv—solved. too. without irritating either fhe people or the Parliament. or endangering the re- lations of Parliament and the throne.” The conviction which fell upon all found its best exvression in the face of Mon- tague. The vouth and nervousness of the man passed away upon the instant. He sat there sober and thoughtful, quiet and resolved jentlemen.” =aid he at last, slowly, “mv course is plain from this instant. T shall draw the bill and it shall go to Parliament. The expense of this recoin- age T am sure we can find maintained by the stockholders of the Bank of Eng- land, and for their payv we shall propose a new tax upon the peaple of England. We shall tax the windows of the houses of England, and hence tax not only the poor but the rich of England. and that proportionately with their wealth. As for the coin of England_it shall be honest coin, made honest and kept honest, at no cost to the people of old Englang. Sirs, my heart is lighter than it has been for many days.” The last trace of formality in the meet- ing having at length vanished, Montague made his wav ranidly te the foot of the table. He caught Law by both his hands. ir,” said he, “you hc'ped us at the last stage of our ascent. A mistake here had been ruinous. not only to myself and friends, but to the safety of the whole Govérnment. You spoke wisely and prac- ticallye Sir, if T can ever in all my life serve you, command me. and at what- ever price you name. 1 am not yet done with you. sir.” resumed Montague, ca fng his arm voyishly about the other's shoulder as they walked out. “We must meet again to discuss certain problems of the currency which, 1 bethink me, you have studied deeply. Keep you here in Loondon, for 1 shall have need of you. Within the month, perhaps within the week, T shall require you. England needs men who can do more than dawdle. Pray vou, keep me advised where you may be found.” There was ill omen in the light reply. “Why, as to that, my lord,” sald Law, “if you should think my poor service use- ful, your servants might get trace of me at tne Green Lion—unl T should be in prison! No man knoweth -what nay come.” 8 Montague laughed lightly. “At the Green Lion, or in Newgate itself,” said he. “Be ready, for 1 have not yet done with you.” CHAPTER VI THE RESOLUTION OF MR. LAW. The problems of England's troubled finances, the questions of the coinage. the gossip of the King's embrollments with the Parliament—these things, it may again be said, occupied Law's mind far less than the auestion of gaining audi- ence with his falr rescuer of the morn at Sadler's Wells, This was the puazle which, revolve it/as he might, not even his audacious wit was able to provide with plausible solution. He pondered the matter in a hundred different pleasing phases as he passed from the Bank of England through the crowded streets of London, and so at length found himself at the shabby little lodgings in Bradwell street, where he and his brother had, for the time, taken up their quarters. “It starteth weil, my boy,” cried he, gayly, to his brother, when at length he had found his way up the narrow stair into the little room, and discovered Will patiently awaiting bis return. “Already two of my errands are well acquit.” “You have. then, sent the letters to our goldsmith here?” said Will. “Now to say truth, I had not thought of that. But letters of credit—why need we trouble over such matters? These Englisk are but babes. Give me a night or S0 in the week at the Green Lion and we'li need no letters of credit, Will. Look at your purse, boy—since you are the thrifty cashier of our firm!” “I like not this sort of gold,” satd Will Law, setting his lips judicially. ‘Yet it seems to purchase well as any, said the other, indifferentiy. *‘At least. Such is my hope, for I have made debt against our purse of some fifty sovereigns —some little apparel which I have or- dered. For, look you, Will, I must be clothed proper. In these days, as I may tell you, I am to meet such men as Mon- tague, chancellor of the exchequer—my lord Keeper Somers—Sir Isaac Newton— Mr. John Locke—gentry of that sort. It is fitting I should have better garb than this which we have brought with us.” “You are ever free with some mad jest or other, Jack; but what Is this new mad- ness of which you speak?”’ **No madness at all, my dear boy: for in fact 1 have but come from the council chamber, where I have met these very gentlemen whom I have named to you. But.pray you note, my dear brother, there are those who hold Jonhn .Law and his studies not so light as doth his own brother. For myself, the matter fur- nishes no surprise at all. As for you, you had never confidence me, nor in your- self. Gad! Will, hadst but the courage of a flea, what days we two might have to- gether here in this old town “I want none of such days, Jack,” said Will Law, soberly. *‘I care most to see you settled in some decent way of living. What will your mother say, if we but g0 on gaming and roistering, with dangers of some sudden quarrel—as this which has already sprung up—with no given aim in life, with nothing certain for an am- bition—" “Now, Will,” began his brother, yet with no petulance in his tone, *‘pray go not too hard with me at the start. I thought I had done fairly well to sit at the table of the council of colnage on my first day in London. 'Tis not every young man gets o far as that. Come, now, wint” “But after all there must be serious pur- pose.” Know then,” cried the elder man, sud- denly, “that I have found such serious purpose!” The speaker stood looking out of the window, his eye fixed out across the roofs of London. There had . now fallen from his face all trace of levity, and into his eve and mouth there came a reflex of the decision of his speech. Will stirred in his chair and at length the two faced each other, “And pray, what is this sudden resolu- tion, Jack?” said Will Law. “If I must tell you, it is simply this: I am resolved to marry the girl we met at Sadler's Wells.” “How—what—?" -y how—what—?" repeated his broth- er, mockingly. “But I would ask, which?" “There was but one,” said John Law. “The tall one with the brassy-brown, cop- per-red hair, the bright blue eye and the figure of a queen. Her like is not in all the world!” “Methought ‘twas more like to be the other,” replied Will. “Yet you—how dare vou think thus of that lady? Why, Jack, ‘twas the Lady Catherine Knoilys, ter of the Earl of Banbury!” Law did not. at once make any answer. Hle turned to the dressing table and began making such shift as he could to better his appearance. “Will,” said he at length, u are, as ever, a babe and a suckling. 1 quite de- spair of yom.. “Twould serve no purpose lé’exph«lnznmlng to so faint a heart as yours. But you may come with me.” “And whither?” “IWhither? Where. else than to the res- idence of this same lady Look you, I have learned this. She as you say the sister of the karl of Banbury, and i for the time at the town house in Knight- well Terrace. Moreover, if that news be worth while to so white-feathered a swain as yourself, t other damsel, the dark one—that one with the mighty pretty lit- tle foot—lives there for the time as the guest of Lady Catherine. They are rated thick as peas fn a pod. True, we are strange! vet 1 venture we have made a beginning and if we venture more we may better that beginning. Should I falter, when luck gave me the run of trente et la va but yesterday? Nay, ever follow for- tune hard and she waits for you. “Yes sald Will, scornfully. ou get the name of gambler and add to it the name of fortune-hunting, heiress-seeking adventurer.” “Not so,” replied John Law, taking snuft calmly and still keeping the even- ness of his temper. “My own fortune, as 1 admit, 1 keep safe at the Green Lion. For the rest, I seck at the start only re- spectful footing with this maid herself. When first I saw her 1 knew well enough how the end would be. We were made for each other. This whole world was made for us both. Will, boy, I could not live without the Lady Catherine Knol- Oh, cease such talk, Jack! ’Tis ill- mannered, such presumption regarding a lady, even had you known her long. Be- sides, 'tis but another of your fancies, Jack,” said Will. “Wilt never make an end of such follies?” Yes, my boy,” said his brother grave- ly. “I have made an end. Indeed, 1 made it the other morning at Sadler's Wells.” “Methinks,” said Will, dryly, ‘‘that it might be well first to be sure that you can win past the front door of the house of Knolly: John Law still kept both his temper and his confidence. ¢ “Come with me,” said he biithely, “and 1 will show you how that thing may be “done."” CHAPTER VIL TWO MAIDS A-BROIDERING. “Now a plague take all created things, Lady Kitty!” cried Mary Connynge, pet- ulantly flinging ‘down a silken pattern over which she had pretended to be en- ‘There are devils in the skeins T'll try no more with’'t.” For shame, Mary Connynge,” re- plied Lady Catharine Knollys, reproving- ly. “So far from better temperance of speech, didst ever hear of the virtue of perseverance? Now, for my own part—" “And what, for your own part? Have 1 no eyes to see that thou'rt puttering over the same corner this last half hour? What is it thou art making to-day?” The Lady Catharine paused for a mo- ment and held her embroidery frame away from her at arm’s length, looking at it with brow puckering into a perplexed frown. “I was working a knight,” said she. “A tall one—" “Yes, warrant. “Why, so it was. T was but seeking floss of the right hue, and found It difficult.” “And with blue eyes?” “True; or perhaps gray. I could not state which. I had naught in my box would serve to suit me for the eyes. But how know you this, Mary Connynge?” asked Lady Catharine. ‘Because 1 was making some such tall one, with yellow hair, I knight for myself,” replied the other. “See! He was to have been tall, a good figure, wearing a wide hat and plume withal. But lest I spoil him, my knight—now a plague take me indeed if 1 do not ruin him complete!” So sayins. she drew with vengeful fingers at the intricate woven silks until she had in- deed undone all that had gone before. “Nay, nay! Mary Connynge! Do not &80 eplied Lady Catharine in expostu- lation. “The poor knight, how could he help himself? Why, as for mine, though I find him not all T could wish, I'll e'en be patient as 1 may, and seek it T may not mend him. These knights, you know, are most difficult. 'Tis hard to make them perfec: Mary Connynge sat with her hands in her lap. looking idly out of the window and scarce heeding the spolled fabric which lay on her lap. *“Come, confess, Lady Kitty,” said sne at length, turning toward her friend. “Wert not trying to copy a knight of a hedge-row after all? Did not a certain tall young knight, with eyes of blue, or gray, or the like, give pattern for your sampler while you were broidering to-day?"” “Fie! For shame!" again replied Lady® Catharine, flushing none the less. “Rath- er ask, do not such a thought come over thine own brofdering? But as to the hedge-row, surely the gentleman explain. ed it all proper enough: and I am sure— ves, T am very sure—that my brother Charles had quite approved of my giving the injured young man a lift in the coach—"" “Provided that your broth hau ever heard of such a thing “Well, of that, to be sure, why trouble my brother over such a trifle, when 'twas 860 obviously proper?” argued Lady Cath- arine, bravely. “And certainly, if we come to knights and the like, good chivalry has ever demanded succor for those in distress; and if, forsooth, it was two damsels in a comfortable coach who rescued two knights from underneath a hedgerow, why, such is but the way of these modern davs, when knights go seeking no more for adventures and la- dies fair; as you very well know.” “As T do not know, Lady Catharine,” replied Mary Connynge. “To the con- trary, 'twould not surprise me to learn that he would not shrink from any ad- venture which might offer.” You mean—that is—you mean the tall one, him who said he was Mr. Law of Lauriston?" ¢ “Well, perhaps. Though T must sa replied Mary Connynge, with indirection “that T fancy the other far more, he be- ing not so forward, nor so full of pure conceit. T like not a man so confident.” This with an eve cast down, as much as though there were present in the room some man subject to her coquetry. “Why, I had not found him offering such an ai replied Lady Catharine, jndicially. I had but thought him frank enough, and truly mest courteous.” “Why, truly,” replied Mary Connynge. “But saw you naught in his eye?” “Why, but that it was blue, or gray, replied Lady Catharine. “Oh, ho! then my lady did look a bit, after all! And so this is why the knight Nourisheth so bravely in silks to-day— Fie! but a mere adventurer, Lady Kitty. He says he is Law of Lauriston; but what proof doth he offer? And did he find such proof, it is proof of what? For my part, I did never hear of Lauriston nor its owner.” “Ah, but that I have, to the contrary, said Lady Catharine. *John Law's fath- er was a goldsmith, and it was he who bought the properties of Lauriston and Randleston. And so far from John Law being ill-born, why, his mother was Jean Campbell, kinswoman of the Campbeil, Duke of Argyll; and a mighty important man is the Duke of Argyll these days, I may tell you. as the King's army hath discovered before this. You see, I have not talked with my brother about these things for paught.” “So you make excuse for this Mr. Law of Lauriston,” said Mary Connynge. 'Weil, I like better a knight who comes on his own horse, or in his own chariot, and who rescues me when I am in trouble, rather than asks me to give him aid. But, as to that, what matter? We set those highway travelers down, and there was an end of it. We shall never see either of them again.” “Of course not,” said Lady Catharina. *“It were impossible.” “Oh, quite impossible!" Both the young women sighed, and both looked out of the window. “Because,” said Mary Connynge, “they are but strangers. ‘That talk of having letters may be but deceit. They them- selves may be coiners. 1 have heard i1t said that coiners are monstrous bold.” “To be sure, he mentioned Sir Arthur Pembroke,” ventured Lady Catharine. “Oh! And be sure Sir Arthur Pembroke will take pains enough that no tall young man, who offers roses to ladies on first acquaintance, shall ever have opportunity to present himself to Lady Catharine Knollys. Nay, nay! There will be no in- troduction from that source, of that be sure. Sir Arthur is jealous as a wolf of thee already, Lady Kitty. See! He hath followed thee about like a dog for three years. And after all, why not reward him, Lady Kitty? Indeed, but the other day thou wert upon the very point of giving him his answer, for thou saidst to me that he sure had the prettiest eves of any man in London. Pray, are Sir Arthur's eyes blue or gray—or what? And can you match his eyes among the color of yvour flosses?” “ft might be,” said Lady Catharine, musingly, “that he would some day find means to send us word.” “Who? Sir Arthur?"” “No. The young man, Mr. Law of Lauriston.” “Yes: or he might come himsel plied Mary Connynge. “Fie! He dare not!" “Oh, but be not too sure. Now suppose he did come—'twill do no harm for us to suppose so much as that. Suppose he stood there at your very door, Lady Kitty. Then what would you‘do?" “Dol Why. tell James that we were not in, and never should be, and request the young man to leave at once.” “And’ never let him pass the door again.” “Certainly not! 'Twould be presump- tion.. But then—this with a gentle sigh— “we need not trouble Gurselves with this. I doubt not he hath forget us long ago, just ‘as indeed we have forgotten him— though T would say—. But I have believe he hit thee, girl, with his boldness and his bow, and his fearlessness withal.” “Who, 1? Why, heavens! Lady Kitty! The idea never came to my mind. In- deed no, not for an instant. Of course, as you say, 'twas but a passing occur-- rence, and ‘twas all forgot. But, by the way, Lady Kitty. go we to Sadler’s Wells to-morrow morn?”’ “I see no reason for not going,” replied Lady Catharine. “And we mav drive about, the same way we took the other morn. 1 will show you the same spot where he stood and bowed so handsomely, and made so little of the fight with the robbers the night before, as though ‘twere trifling enough; and made so liitle of his poverty, as though he were owner of the King's coin. “But we shall never see him more,” said Mary Connynge. Charles “To be sure not. But just to show you —see! He stood thus, his hat off, his exe laughing, I pledge you, as though for some good jest he had. And ‘twas ‘your pardon, ladies!" he said, as though he were indeed, nobleman himself. See! thus.™ What pantomime might have followed did not appear, for at that moment the butler appeared at the door with an ad- monitory cough. “If- you please, your Ladyship,” sald he, “there are two per- sons waiting. They—that is to say, he— one of them, asks for admission to your Ladyship.” “What name does he offer, James?” “Mr. John Law of Lauriston, your Ladyship, is the name he sends. He says. if your Ladyship please, that he has brought with him something which your Ladyship left behind, if your Ladyship please,” Lady Catharine and Mary Connynge had both arisen and drawn together, and they now turned each a swift glance upon the other. ““Are these gentlemen waiting without the street door?” asked Lady Catharine. “No, your Ladyship. That is to say, before I thought, 1 allowed the tall one to come within.” “‘Oh, well then, you see, Mary Con- nynge,” replied Lady Catharine, with the pink flush rising in her cheek, “it were rude to turn them now from our door, since thgy have already been admitted.” “Yes, we will send to the library for your brother,” said Mary Connynge, dim- pling at the corners of her mouth. “No, I think it not needful to do that.” replied Lady Catharine, “but we should perhaps learn what this young man brings and then we'll see to it that we chide him so that he’ll no more presume upon ofir kindness. My brother need not know and we ourselves will end this for- wardness at once, Mary Connynge, you and 1. James, you may bring the gentle- men in."” Enter, therefore, John Law and his brother Will, the former seeming thus with ease to have made good his promise to win past the door of the Earl of Ban- bury. i John Law, as on the morning of the roadside meeting, appropached in advance of his more timid brother, though both bowed deeply as they entered. e bowed again respectfully, his eyes not wander- ing hither and yon upon the splendors of this great room in an ancestral home of England. His gaze was fixed rather upon the beauty of the tall girl before him, whose eyes, now round and startled, were not quite able to be cold nor yet to be quite cast down; whose white throat throbbed a bit under its golden chain: whose bosom rose and fell lperc"plibly beneath its falls of snowy ace: Lady Catharine Knoll said Johno Law, his voice deep and even, and show- ing no false note of embarrassment, “‘we come, as you may see, to make our re- spects to yourself and your friend, and to thank you for your kindness to two strangers. ‘To two strangers, Mr. Law Catharine, pointedly “Yes"—and the answering smile was hard to be denied—“to two strangers who are still strangers. I did but bethink me it was sweet to have such kindne: We were advised that London was cruel cold, and that all folk of this city hated their fellowmen. So, since ‘twas welcome to be thus kindly entreated, I believed it but the act of courtesy to express our thanks more seeming than we might as that we were two beggars by the wayside. There- fore, 1 pay the fi flower of my per- petual tribute.” He bowed and extended, as he spoke, a deep red rose. His e though still direct, was as much implor- ing as it was bold. Instinctively Mary Connynge and Lady Catharine had drawn together, retreating somewhat from this intrusion. They were now standing, like any school girls, looi- ing timidly over their shoulders, as he advanced. Lady Catharine hesitated, and yet she moved forward a half pace, as though bidden by some unheard voice. “'Twas nothing, what we did for you and your brother,” said she. She ex- tended her hand as she spoke. *““As for the flower, I think—I think a rose 1s a sweet-pretty thing.” She bent her cheek above the blossom, and whether the cheek or the petal were the redder, who should say? If there were any ill at ease in that room, it was not Law of Lauriston. He stood calm as though there by right. It was an esca- pade, an adventure, without doubt, as both these young women saw plainly enough. And now, what to do with this adventure since it had arrived? “Sir,” sald Lady Catharine at length, “I am sure you must be wearied with the heavy heats of the town. Your brother must still be weak from his hurt. Pray you, be seated.” She placed the rose upon the tabouret as she passed, and present- ly pulled at the bell cord. “Jame: said she, standing very erect and full of dignity, “go to the library and sce if Sir Charles be within."” When the butler's solemn cough again gave warning, it was to bring informa- tion which may or may not have been news to Lady Catharine. “Your Lady- ship,”” said he, “Sir Charles is said to have taken carridge an hour ago, and left no word.” “Send me Cecile, James,” said Lady Catharine, and again the butler vanished. e~ said she, as the maid ap- you may serve us with tea.” said Lady CHAPTER VIIL CATHARINE KNOLLYS. “You mistake, sir!. I am no light o' love, John Law!" ' Thus spoke Catherine Knollys. She stood near the door of the great drawing- room of the Knollys mansion, her figure becoming well its framing of deep hang- ings and rich tapestries. Her eyes were wide and flashigg, her cheeks deeply pink, the sweet bow of her lips half a-quiver in her vehemence. Her surpassing per- sonal beauty, rich, ripe, enticing, gave more than sufficient challenge for the fiery blood of the young man before her. It was less than two weeks since these two had met. Surely the flood of time had run swiftly in those few days. Not a day had passed that Law had not met Cath- arine Knollys, nor had yet one meeting been such as the girl in her own con- science dared call better than clandestine, even though they met, as now, under her roof. Yet reason as she liked, struggle as she could, Catharine Knollys had not yet been quite able to end this swift voy- aging on the flood of fate. It was so strange, so new, so sweet withal, this coming of her suitor, as from the dark- ness of some unknown star, so bold, so strong, so confident, and yet so humble! All the old song of the ages thrilled with- in her soul, and each day its compelling melody had accession. That this deliri- ous softening of all her senses meant danger, the Lady Catharine could not de- ny. Yet could aught of earth be wrong when it spelled such happiness, such sweetness—when the sound of a footfall sent her blood going faster, when the sight of a tall form, the ring of a vibrant tone, caused her limbs to weaken, her throat to choke? But ah! whence and why this spell, this why this sweetness filling all her