The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 31, 1903, Page 4

when, after all, duty and seem! bade it all end, as end it must, t Thus had the Lady Catharine re but the hour before John Law her knight dreams—tall, vellow- biue-eyed, bold and tender, and speaking truth if truth dwelt be- neath the stars. Now he would come— now ke had come again. Here was his red, red rose once more. Here, burning in her ears, singing in her heart, were his avowing, pleading words. And this must ena! John Law looked at her calmly, but said nothing. One hand, in a gesture customa- ry with him, flicked lightly at the deep cuff of the other wrist. and this nervous vement was the sole betrayal of his uneasiness “You come to this house time and again,” rvesumed Catharine Knollys, “as though it were an ancient right on vour part, as though you had always been a friend of the famiy. And vet—' “And so 1 have been,” broke in her suitor. “My people were friends of yours before we two were horn. Why, then, should you advise your servant, as you have, fairly to deny me admission at the door™” “I have done ill enough ¥ad 1 dreamed of this last pre on your part 1 should never have your face again.” Tis not presumption,” said the man, his voice low and even, though ring- ing with the feeling to which even he dared not give full expres “1 might call this presumption in another, but with myself ‘tis otherwise." Sir,” said Lady Catharine Knollys, speak as one not of good mind.” “Not of good mind!" broke out John Law. *“Say rather of mind too good to or dally, or temporize. Why, ‘tis the plan of fate! It wa stars that 1 should come his this form. this soul—1 shall see nothing live! Oh, 1 feel myself right to think m day fiected came haired, surely to admit umption seen you oung fon to ¥ heart, else so long as I unworthy; you have no station. Yet some day 1 shall bring to vou all that wealth can buy, all that s! tion can mean. Catharine—dear Lady Kitty—dear Kate—"" I like not so fast suitor of mine,” replied Lady hotly, “'and this shall go no hand restrained him “Then find me would banish me? 1 endure it!"” Lady Catharine looked at him curiously Actually. sir,” said she, *“you cause me to chill 1 co half fear you What is in your hea Surely, this is a strange love-making “And by that,” cried John Law, “know, then. the better of the truth. Listen! I know! And this is what 1 know—that T hall #ucceed and that I shall love you ways ‘Tis what one hears often from men, in one form or another,” said the girl coolly, seating herself as she spoke “Talk not to me of other men—I'll brook it!” cried he. advancing toward her a few rapid paces. “Think you 1 have no heart?” His eyes gleamed and he came on vet a step in his strange wooing Your face is here, here,”” he cried, “deep in my heart! 1 must always look upon it. or T am a lost man'” Tis a face not so fair as that,” the Lady Catharine. demurely Tis the fairest face in England, or in the world!” cried her lover; and now he was at her side. Her hand. she knew not how, rested in his own. Some- thing of the honesty and freedom from oquetry of the young woman's nature showed In her next speech. inconsequen illogical, almost unmaldenly in its swift cerity and candc Tis a face but blemished,” said she. wiy, the color rising to her cheeck. e! Here is the birthmark of the house of Krollys. They tell me—my very good nds tell me, that this is the mark of me, the bar sinister of the hand of istice. ¥ou know the story of our ce this a soothsaying in any Catharine ther.” Her distasteful? You could not learn you to said close house? Somewhat of it,"” sald Law. My brother is not served of the writ when Parliament is called. This you know. Tell me why?" “1 know the so-called reasons.” replied n Law. “'Twas brought out in his case at the King's bench.” ie. "Twas said that my grandfather, past 80. was not the father of those c dren of his second wife. There is talk that—" ‘'Twas three generations ago, this talk of the Knollys’ shortcoming. I am not 8. ‘! am 24, and I love you, Catharine Knol- vs.” “It was three generations ago." said the Lady Catharine, 'slowly and musingly. 2s though she had not heard the speech of her sultor. “Three generations ago. Yet never since then hath there been clean name for the Banbury estate Never yet hath ite peer sat in his rightful place in Parliament. And never yet hath eidest daughter of this house failed to show this mark of shame, this unpurged contempt for that which is ordained Surely it would seem fate holds us in its hands.” “¥ou tell me these things,” said John Law, “because you feel it is right to tell them. And I tell you of my future, as you tell me of your past. Why? Be- cause, Lady Catharine Knollys, it has al- ready come to matter of faith be- iween us.’ The girl leaned back against the wall near which she had seated herself. The young man bent forward, taking both her hands quietly in his own now and gazing steadily into her eyes. There was no triumph in his gaze. Perhaps John Law had prescience of the future “Oh, sir, 1 had far liefer 1 had never seen you,” cried Catharine Knollys. bending a head from whose eyes there dropped sudden tears. “Ah, desr heart, say anything but *“'Tis a hard way a woman must travel 2t best in this worid,” murmured the Lady Catharine, with wisdom all unsuited to her youth. “But I cannot understand. 1 had thought that the coming of a lover was a joyous thing, a time of happiness alone.” “Ah, now, in the hour of mist can you not foresee the time of sunshine? All life is before us. my sweet, all life. There 18 much for us to do, there are so many, many days of love and happiness.” But now the Lady Catharine Knollys veered again, with some sudden change of the inner currents of the feminine soul. “I bave gone far with you, Mr. Law,” aid she, suddenly disengaging her hand Yet 1 did but give you insight of things which any man coming as you have come should have weil within his knowledge. Think not. sir, that 1 am easy to be won. 1 must know you eqgually honest with myself. And if you come to my regard it must be step by step and stair by stair, This is to be remembered.” ~I shall remember.” *Go. then, and leave me for this time, she besought him. But she could not bid him more sternly to depart. Youth— ycuth, and love, and fate were in that rcem, and these would have their way The beseeching gaze of an eve sin- gular in s power vrested on the girl, a gaze filled with ali the strange. balf mandatory pleacding of youth and -She Once more there came a shift currents of the woman’'s heart. The Lady Catharine slowly be- came conscious of a delicious helpless ness, of a sinking and yielding which she could not resist. Her head lost power to be erect. It slipped forward on a shoul- der waliing as by right. Her breath came in soft measure and unconsciously a hand was raised to touch the cheek pressed down to her. John Law kissed her once up the lips. Suddenly, without plan— in spite of all plan—the seal of a strange fate was set forever on her life! For a long moment they stood thus. until at length she raised & face pale and sharp and pushed back against his breast a hand that trembled “*Tis wondrous strange.’” pered. ‘Ask nothing Neither ine Knollys vearning, in the tidal she whis- nothing."” said John Law, ‘‘fear Only believe, as 1 beiieve. John Law nor the Lady Cath- P aw what was passing just without the rcom. They did not see the face which looked down from the stairway. Through the open door Mary Connynge could see the young man as he stepped out of the door. could see the girl now left alone in the drawing-room. saw the Lady Catharine sink down upon the seat, her head drooved in thought, her hand lying languidly out be- fore her. Pale now and distraught, the Lady Catharine Knollys wist liitle of what went on before her. She had full concern with the tumult which waged riot in her soul Mary Connynge back up the stair unseen. She pausad, her vellow eyes gone narrow, her little hand clutched tight upon the rail. set turned and started CHAPTER IX. IN SEARCH OF THE QUARREL. As Law turned away from the door of the Knollys mansion, he walked with head bent forward, not looking upon the one hand or the other. ne raised his eves only when a passing horseman had called thrice to him “What!" cried Sir Arthur Pembroke. “1 little looked to see you here, Mr. Law. I hought it more likely you were engaged in other busines “Meaning by that—?" “What should I mean, except supposed you preparing for your air with Wilson?" My little affair?” “Certainly, with Wilson, as T sa 1 saw our friend Castleton but now, and advised me of your promptness. He a searched for you for days, he being Wilson for his friend—and said he had at last foynd you in your lodgings. 1 have mistook your Kidneys com- Never in London was a duel ought on so swift. ‘Fight? This after- noon'! 1 you. Jove! but the young bloods laughed when they heard of it ‘Bloody Scotland’ is what they have christened you at the Green Lion. ‘He said to me, said Charlie, ‘that he was slow to find a quarrel, but since this quar- re brought home to him, ‘twere meet "twere finished. He thought. for- sooth, that four o’clock of the afternoon were late enough.’! Gad! But you might have given Wilson time at least for more dinner.” “What do you mean?" exclaimed Law, mystified still. “Mean! Why, T mean that I've been scouring London to find you. My faith, man, but thou'rt a sudden actor! Where ght vou this unseemly haste?"” ir Arthur” said the other, slowly, “you do me too much justice. 1 h made no arrangement to meet Mr. Wil nor have 1 any wish to do =o0.” “Pish. man! You must not jest with me in such a case as this. 'Tis querading. Let me tell you. Wilson h a vicious sword, and a temper no less vicious, You have touched him on his very sorest spot. He has gone to meet vou this very hour. His coach will be at Bloomsbury Square this afternoon. and there he will await you. I promise you he is cager as yourself. s too late now to accommodate this matter. even had you not sent back so prempt and bold an an- swer.” *“I have sent cried Law. “I at all.” “Oh, come that I little chosen by soon one m no answer at all!" have not seen Castleton expostulated Sir Arthur, his face showing a flush of annoyance. ir Arthur,” continued Law. as he raised his head, “I am of the misfortune to be but young in London. and I am in need of vour friendship. I find myself pressed for rapid transportation. Pray vou, give me your mount, for I must have speed. 1 shall not need the service of your seconding. Indulge me now by asking no more, and wait until we meet again. Give me the horse, and quickly. “But you must be seconded!" cried the other. *“This is too unusual. Consider!” Yet all the time he was giving a hand at the stirrup of Law, who sprang up and was off before he had time to formu- late his own wonder. “Who and what is he?’ muttered the young nobleman to himself as he gazed after the retreating form. “He rides well, at least, as he does evervthing else well. “Till I return,’ forsooth. ‘till 1 return.’ Gad! 1 haif wish you had never come in the first place, my Bloody Scotland.” As for Law, he rode swiftly, asking at times his way_ losing time here. gaining it again there, creating much hatred among foot folk by his tempestuous speed, but giving little heed to aught save his own purpose. In time he reached Brad- well street and flung himself from his panting horse in front of the dingy door of the lodging-house. He rushed up the stairs at speed and threw open the door of the little room. It was empty. There was no word to show what his brother had done, whither he had gone, when he would return. Around the lodg- ings in Bradwe!l street lay a great and unknown London, with its own secrets, its own hatreds, its own crimes. A strange feeling of oncoming Il seized upon the heart of Law as he stood in the center of the dull little room, now suddenly grown hateful to him. He dashed his hand upon the table, and stood so. scarce knowing which way to turn foot sounded in the hallway, and he went to the door. The ancient landlady confront- ed him. “Where has my brother gone?" he demanded fiercely, as she came Into view along the ill lighted passageway. “Gone_ good sir?” said she, quaveringly. “Why, how should I know where he has gone? More auality has been here this morning than ever 1 saw In Bfad- well street in all my life. First comes a coach this morning. with four horses as fine as the King's, and a man atop would tura vour blood, he was that solemn-like, sir. Then your brother was up here alone. sir, and very still. T swear he was never out of his room. Then. but an hour ago, here comes another coach, as big as the first, and vellower. And out of it steps another fine Lord, and he bows to your brother, and in they got. and off goes the coach. But, God help me. sir! How should I know which way they went. or what should be their errand? Methinke it must be some servant come from the royal palace. Sir, be you two of the nobility? And if you be. why come you here to Bradwell street? Sir. 1 am but a poor woman. If you be not of the nobility, then you must be either coiners or smugglers. Sir, 1 am bethought that you are dangerous guests in my house. I am a poor woman, as you know."” . Law flung a coin at her as sped through the hall and down thé stair. “'Twas to Bloomsbury Square’ he said, as he sprang into saddle and set heel to the flank of the good horse. “To Blooms- bury Square, then, and fast CHAPTER a. THE RUMOR OF THE QUARREL. Meantime, at the Knollys mansion, there were forthcoming other parts of the < ¥. The butler announced Lady Catharine. still sitting dreaming by the window, Sir Arthur Pembroke, now late arrived on foot. Lady Cathasine hesitated. “Show the gentleman to this room,” she said at length. Pembroke came forward eageriy as he entered. “'Such a day of it, Lady Kiuy!" he exclaimed, impulsively. u will pardon me for coming thus, when [ say I have just been robbed of my horse. 'Twas at your very door, and methinks you must know the highwayman. I have come to tell you of the news.” “You don’t mean—"" “Yes, but I do! 'Twas no less than Mr. Law,of Scotland. He hath taken my horse and gone off like a whirlwind, leav- ing me afoot and friendless, save for your good self. 1 am begging a taste of tea and a little biscuit, for I vow I am half famished.” The Lady Catharine Knollys, in sheer reaction from the strain, broke out into al of laughter. Sure, he has strange ways about him, this same Mr. Law.’ said she. ‘‘That voung man would have come here direct and would have. made himself quite at home, methinks, had he had but the first encouragement.” 2 “Gad! Lady Catharine, but he has a conceit of himself. Think you of what he has done in his short stay here in town! First, as you know, he sat at cards with two or three of us the other evening— Charlie Castleton, Bedu Wilson, myself and one or two besides. And what doth he do but stake a bauble against good gold that he would make sept et la va.” And did it?" And did it saw it coming. Yes, faith, as though he Yet 'twas I who cut and dealt the cards. Nor was that the half of it,” he went on. He let the play run on till ‘twas seize et le va, then vingt-un et le va, then twenty-five And, strike me! Lady Catharine, if he sat not there cool as my Lord Speaker in the Parlia- ment and saw the cards run to trente et le va, as though 'twere no more to him than the eating of an orange!” ‘And showed no anxiety at all?” None, as 1 tell you, and he proved to us plain that he had not two-pence to his name, for that he had been robbed the night before while on his way to town. He staked a diamond, a stone of worth, I must say, his like was never seen at cards.” “He hath strange quality.” “That you may say. Now read me some farther riddles of this same young man. He managed to win from me a little shoe of an American savage, which I had bought at a good price but the day be- fore. It came to idle talk of ladies’ shoes, and wagers—well, no matter; and so Mr. Law brought on a sudden quarrel with Beau V7iison. Then, though he seemed not wanting courage, he half declined to face Wilson on the field. Sudden to change as ever, this very morning he sent word to Wilson by Mr. Castleton that he was ready to meet him 4 this afternoon. d save us! what a haste was there! And now, to cap all, he hath taken my horse from me and ridden off to keep an appointment which he says he never made! Gad! These be odd ways enough, and almost too keen for me to credit. Why, ‘twould not surprise me to hear that he had been here to make love to Lady Catharine Knollys and to of- fer her the proceeds of his luck at faro. And, strike me! if that same luck hoids, he'll have all the money in London in another fortnight! 1 wisn him joy of Wilson.” “He may be hurt!” exclaimed the Lady Catharine, starting up. “Who? Beau Wilson?" Arthur. “Take no fear. good blade.” “8ir Arthur,” said the girl, “is there no way to stop this foolish matter? Is there not yet time?"’ “Why, as to that,” said Sir Arthur, “it all depends upon the speed of my horse. 1 should think myself e'en let off cheaply if he took the horse and rode on out of London, and never turned up again. Yet, 1 bethink me, he has a way of turning up. If so, then we are too late. Let him go. For me, 1'd liefer sit me here with Lady Catharine, who, I perceive, is about now to save my death of hunger, since now I see the tea tray coming. Thank thee prettily. Lady Catharine poured for him with a hand none too steady. “Sir Arthur,” said she, “you know why I have this concern over such a quarrel. You know weil enough what the duello has cost the house of Knollys. Of my uncles, four were killed upon this so-called field of honor. My grandfather met his death in that same way. Another relative, before my time, is reputed to have slain a friend in this same manner. As you know, but three years ago. my brother, the living representative of our family, had the mis- fortune to slay his kinsman in a duel which sprang out of some little jest, I say to you, Sir Arthur, that this quarrel must be stopped, and we must do thus much for our friends forthwith. It must not go on.” “For our friends! Our friends!" cried Sir Artrur. *“Ah, ha! so you mean that the old beau hath hit thee, too, with his ar- dent eye. Or—hang! What—you mean not that this stranger, this Scotchman, is a friend of yours? 1 speak but confusedly.” said the Lady Catharine. *'Tis my prejudice against such fighting, as you know. Can we not make haste, and so prevent this meet- ing?" “Oh, 1 doubt If there be much nced of haste,” said Sir Arthur, balancing his cup in his hand judicially. *“This matter will fall through at most for the day. They assuredly cannot meet until to-morrow. This will be the talk of London, if it goes on in this pell-mell, hurly-burly fashion. As to the stopping of it—well now, the law under William and Mary saith that one who slays another in a duel of premeditation is nothing but a mur- derer, and may be hanged like any felon; hanged by the neck, till he be dead. Alas, what a fate for this pretty Scotchman!" Sir Arthur paused. A look of wonder swept across his face. ““Open the window, Annie,” he cried suddenly to the servant. “Your mistress is {ll.” exclaimed Sir He carries a CHAPTER XI. AS .CHANCE DECREED, Mischance delayed the carriage of Beau Wilson in its journeying to Bloomsbury Square. It had not appeared at that mo- iment, far toward evening, when John Law, riding a trembling and dripping steed, came upon one side of this little open common and gazed anxiously across the space. He saw standing across from him a carriage, toward which he dashed. He flung open the carriage door, crying out even hefore he saw the face withi “Will! Will Law. 1 say. come ou calied he. ““What mad trick is thi: What—"" He saw indeed the face of Will Law in- side the carriage, a facgpale, melancholy, and yet firm. “Get you back into the city!"” eried Will Law. “This is no place for vou, Jack."” Boy! Are vou mad. entirely mad?" cried Law_pushing his way directly into the carriage and reaching out with an arm of authority for the sword which he saw resting beside his brother against the seat. *“No place for me! 'Tis no place for you. for either of us. Turn back. This foolishness must go no further!" “It must go on now 1o the end.” said Will Law. wearily. “Mr. Wilson's car- riage is long past due.’ “But you—what do you mean? You've had no hand in this. Even had you— why. boy, ¥ou would be spitted in an in- stant by this fellow.” And would not that teach vou tn cease vour mad pranks, and use to better pur- pose the talents God hath given you? Yours is the better ¢hance. Jack.” “Peace!” cried John Law, tears start- ing to his eves. “I'll not argue that. Driver, turn back for hom The coachman at the box turned his hat with a puzzled air. *I beg pardon, sir)" said he, “but I was under orders of the gentleman inside."” “You were sent for Mr. John Law.” For Mr. Law—" “But 1 am John Law, sirrah “You are both Mr. Law? Well, sir. T scarce know which of vou is the proper Mr. Law. But I must say that here comes a coach drove fast enough, and perhaps this is the gentleman I was to wait for, according to the first Mr. Law, sir. “He is coming. then,” cried John Law, angrily. “I'll see into this pretty meet- ing. If the devil's own fool is to have a crossing of steel. I'll fair accommodate him. and we'll look into the reasons for it later. Sit ve down! Be quiet, Will, boy, 1 say Law was a powerful man, over feet in height. The sports of the Highland combined with much fencing and contin- uous play in the tennis court, indeed his ardent love for every hardy exercise, had given his form alike- solid strength and great activity. “Jessamy law,” they called him at home, in compliment of his slender though full and manly form. Cool and skillful in all the games of his youth, as John Law himself had often calm’ stated, in fence he had a knowledge amounting to science, a knowledge based upon the study of first principles. The intricacies of the Italian school were to him an old story. With the single blade he had never vet met his master. In- deed. the thought of successful opposi- tion seemed néver to occur to him at all. Certainly at this moment, angered at the impatient insolence of his adversary, the thought of danger was farthest from his mind. Stronger than his brother, he pushed the latter back with one hand. grasping as he did so the small sword with which the latter was provided. With one leap he sprang from the carriage, leaving Will half dazed and imp within. Even as he left the carriage step he found himself confronted with an adver- sary as eager as himself: for at that in- stant Beau Wilson was hastening from his coach. Vain, weak and pompous in a way, vet lacking not in a certain personai valor, Beau Wilson stopped not for his seconds, tarried not to catch the other's speech, but himself strode madly onward, his point raised slightly, as l).ml_gh he had Jost all care and dignity and desired nmhj ing so much to stab his enemy as swiftly as might be. It w‘m)ld have mattered nothing now to this Highlander, this fighting ‘Arx,\‘ll. what had been the reason animating his opponent. It was enough that he saw a weapon bared. Too late, then, tq reason with John Law, “Beau” Law of Edin- boro’, “*Jessamy’ Law, the best blade and the coolest head in all the schools of arms that taught him fence 3 For agmomenl Law paused and raised his, whether in query or in salute, the onlookers scarce could tell. Sure it was that Wilson was the first to fall into the assault. Scarce pausing in his slr_lde‘ he came on blindly, and, raising his own point, lunged straight for his opponent's breast. Sad enough was the fate which impelled him to do this thing. It was over in an instant. It could not be said that there was an actual encoun- ter. The sidestep of the young High- lander was soft as that of a panther, as quick, and yet as full of sfl\'ager)fi_'l_'he whipping over of his wrist, the gliding twining. clinging of his blade against that of his enemy was so swift that eye could scarce have followed it. The eye of Beau Wilson was too slow to catch it or to guard. He never stopped the riposte, and indeed was too late to attempt any guard. Plerced through the body, Wilson staggered back, clapping his hands against his chest. Over his face there swept a swift series of changes. Anger faded to chagrin, that to surprise, sur- ise to fright. and that to gentleness. e e feoid e, “vyowve hit me fair, and very hard. 1 pray you, some friend, give me an arm.” And so they led him to his carriage and took him home a corpse. Once more the code of the time had found its victim. Law turned away from the coach of his smitien opponent, turned away with a face stern and full of trouble. Many things revolved themselves in his mind as he stepped slowly toward the carriage, in which his brother still sat wringing his hands in an agony of perturbation. ;‘"Jnck, Jack!” cried Will Law, “Oh, heavens! You have killed him! You have killed a man! What shall we do?” Law raised his head and looked his brother in the face, but seemed scarce to hear him. Half mechanically he was fumbling it the side pocket of his coat. He drew forth from it now a peculiar ob- ject, at which he gazed intently and half in curiosity. It was the little beaded shoe of the Indian woman, the very object over which this ill-fated quarrel had arisen, and which now seemed so curiously to intermingle itself with his affairs. «'Twas a slight shield enough,” he said slowly to himseif, “yet it served. But for this little piece of hide, bethinks there might be two of us going home to-day to take somewhat of rest.” CHAPTER XIIL FOR FELONY. Late in the afternoon of the day follow- ing the encounter in Bloomsbury Square, a little group of excited lojterers filled the entrance and passage way at 59 Bradwell street, the former lodgings of the two young gentlemen from Scotiland. The motley assemblage seemed for the most part to make merry at the expense of a certain messenger boy, who bote a long wicker box, which presently he shifted from his shoulder to a more convenient resting place on the curb. “Do 'ee but look at um,” said one an- cient dame. ‘“He! he! Hath a parcel of fine clothes for the tall gentleman was up in third floor! He! he! Clothes for Mr. Law, indeed!” “Fine clothes, eh?” cried another, a portly dame of certain years. ““Much finc clothes he'll need where he'm gone.” “Yes, indeed, that he will na. Bad luck ‘twas to Mary Cullen as took un into her house. Now she’s no lodging money for her rooms. and her lodgers be both in Newgate; least way, one of ‘un.” X “Ah, now, 'tis a pity for Mary Cullen, ehe do need the money so much—" “Shut ye all your mouths, the lot o vou,” cried Mary Cullen herself, appear- ing at the door. *'Tis not she is needing the littie money, for she has it right here in the corner of her apron. Every stiver Mary Cullen's voung men said they'd pay they paid, like the gentlemen they were. I'll warrant the raggle of ve would do well to make out fine as Mary Cullen hath. “Oh, now, that true, Mary Cullen”’ said a volce. 'Twas said that these two were noble folk come here for the sport of it."” “What else but true? know the look of gentr warrant the young gentieman is back within a fortnight. His brother. the vounger one, said to me hisself but this very morn his brother was hinnocent as a child—that he was obligedeto strike the other man for fear of his own life. Now, what can Judge do but turn un loose? Four soverelgns he gave me this very morn. What else can Judge do but turn un free? Tell me that, now!" “Let's see the fine clothes,” said the first cld lady to the apprentice boy, reach- ing out a tand and pulling at the corner of the box lid. The vouth was nothing loth to show, with professional pride, the quality of his burden, and so raised the lid. “Land save us! 'Tis gentry sure enough they are,” cried the inquisitive one. “Do-a look in there! Such clothes and laces, such a brand new wig. such silken hose! Law o' land! Must have cost all of 40 crowns. Mary Cullen, right ye are: 'twas quality ye had with ye, even if "twas but for little while.” “‘And them gone to prison: him on trial for his life! T saw un ride this very yes. terday, fast as though the devil was be- hind un, and a finer body of a man never did T look at in my life. What pity "tis, what pity ‘tis!"” “Well,” said the apprentice, with a cer- tain superiority of his alr, “I dare walit no longer. My master said the gentleman was to have the clothes this very after- noon. So if to prison he be gone, to pri on m 1 go too.” Upon which he set off doggedly, and so removed one of the main causes for the assemblage at the curb. The apprentice was hungry and weary enough before he reached the som- her portals, yet his insistence won past gatekeeper and turnkey, one after another. till at length he reached the jailer who adjudged himself fit to pass upon the stolid demand that the messenger be admitted with the parcel for John Law, Esquire, late of Bradwell street, marker urgent., and collect fifty sovereigns. The humor of all this ap- pealed to the jailer might “Send him along.” he sald. And the boy came in, much dismayed but still faithful to his trust. “‘Please, sir,” said the vouth. “I would know if ye have John Law, Esquire, in this place: and if sor I would see him. Master said T was not to bring back this parcel till that I had seen John Law. Esquire, and got from him fifty sover- eigns. clothes are of the finest. The jailer smiled grimly. “Mr. Law gets presents passing soon said he. “‘Set down your box. It might be weap- ons or the ‘‘Some clothes, “Some very our best.” “Ha. ha! deed be a pretty j have of fine clothes here. He'll soon take his coat off the rack like the rest, and happen it fits him, very well. Take back i\'mlr box, boy—or stay, let's have a looa n't.” The jailer was a man not devoid of wisdom. Fine clothes sometimes went with a long purse, and a long purse might do wonders to help the comfort of any prisoner in London. as well as the comfort of his keeper. Truly his eyes opened wide as he saw the contents of the box. He felt the lapel of the coat, passing it approvingly between his thumb and finger. “Well, e’en set ye down the box, lad.” said he, “and wait till I see where Mr. Law has gone. Hum. hum! What saith the record? Charged that said prisoner did kill—hum, hum! Taken of said John Law six sovereigns, three shillings and sixpence. Item, one snuff box, gilt. Hour of admission, o'clock of the afternoon. We shall see, we shall see.” Do you nayer ? My fakes, 1'll said the apprentice. fine clothes. They are of " roared the jailer. “Here in- Much need he'll "’ salid the jailer, approaching the prisoner and his brother, who both re- mained in the detention room, “a lad hath arrived bearing a parcel for John Law, Esquire. 'Tis not within possibiii- ty that you have these goods, but we would know what disposition we shall make of them.” “By my fafth!" cried Law, tirely forgot my haberdasher. The jailer stood on one foot and gave a cough, unnecessarily loud but suffi- ciently significant. It was enough for the quick wit of Law. “There was fifty sovereigns on charge list,” said the jailer. “Sixty sovereigns, I heard you say dis- tinctly revllef Law. “Will, give me thy purse, man!” Will Law obeyed automatically. “There,” said John Law to the jailer; “I am sure the garments will be very proper. Is it not all very proper?” The turnkey looked calmly into the face of his prisoner and as calmly replied: “It is, sir, as you say, very prope! “It would be much relief,” said John Law, as the turnkey again appeared, bearing the box in his own hands, “if I might don my new garments. I would liefer make a good showing for thy house, friend, and cannot in this garb.” “Sirrah,” said the jailer, *‘there be rules of this place, as you very well know. Your little chamber was to have been in corridor number four, number twelve of the left aisle. But, sir, as perhaps you know, there be rules which are rules. and rules which are not so much—that is to say—rules, as you might put it, sir. The main thing is that I produce your body on the day of the hearing, which cometh soon. Meantime, since you seem a gen- tleman, and are in for no common felony, but charged, as I might say, with a light offense, why, sir, in such a case I might say that a gentleman like yourself, if he cared to wear a bit of good clothes and wear it here in the parlor- like. why, sir, 1 can see no harm in it. And that’s com- petent to prove, as the Judge says. “Very well. then.” said Law. “I'll e'en deck out with the gear I should have had to-night had I been free; though I fear my employment this evening will scarce be pleasing as that which I had planned. ‘Will, had T had but one more night at the Green Lion we'd e'en have needed a special chair to carry home my winnings of their English gold.” Enter then, a few moments later, “Beau” Law, ‘“Jessamy” Law, late of Edinboro’, gentleman and a right gallant figure of a man. Tall he was indeed, and, so clau, making a picture of superb man- hood. Ease and grace he showed in every . 1 had en- the 'Tis for his wedding, sir, and the_ His long fingers closed hght- lacquered cane which he Deep ruffies s wrists and movement Iy at top of & had found within the box. of white hung down from hi: a fail of wide lace dropped from the hosom of his ruffled shirt. His deep curled and well whitened. gave a certain austerity to his mein. At his instep spar- kied new buckles of brilliants. rising above which sprang a graceful ankle. a straight and well rounded leg. The long lapels of his rich coat hung deep. and the rich waistcoat of plum colored satin add- ed slimness to a torse not too buiky fiself. Neat, dainty. fastidious, “Jessamy Law. late of Edinbore’, for some weeks ot London, and now of a London prison searce seemed a man about to be put on trial far his life. 8 He advanced from the door of the side room with ease and dignity. Reaching out a snuffbox which he had found in the silken pocket of his new garment, he ex- tended it to the turnkey with an indif- ferent gesture. s “Kindly have it filled with maccaboy he said. *“See. 'tis quite empty, and as such. 'tis useless.” “Certainly. Captain Law,~ said the turnkey. “I am a man as knows what a gentleman likes, and many one I've had here in my da r. As it chances, I've a bit of the best in my own quar- ters, and I'll see that you have what you “‘f'wm“ said Law to his brother. who had scarce moved during all this, “‘come cheer up! One would think ‘twas thy ’91,5 was to be inmate here, and not another. Will Law burst into tears. “God knows, 'twere better myself, and not thee, Jack,” he said. > “Pish! boy. no more of that! Twas as chance would have it. I'm never meant for staying here. Come, take this letter, as I said, and make haste to carry it. "Twill serve nothing to have you mop- ing here. Fare you well and se that you sleep sound.” Will Law turned. obedient as ever to the commands of the superior mind. He passed out through the heavily mmrfxed door as the turnkey swung it for him: passed out, turned and looked back. He saw his brother standing there\ easy. calm, indifferent, a splendid figure of & man. CHAPTER XIIL THE MESSAGE To Will Law, as he turned away from the prison gate upon the errand assigned to him, the vast and shapeless shadows of the night-covered city took the form of appalling monsters, relentless. remorse- less, savage of purpose. He passed, as one in some hideous dream, along streets that wound and wound until his brain lost dis- tance and direction. It might have been an hour, two hours, and the clock might have registered after midnight, when at last he discovered himself in front of the dark gray mass of stone which the chair- men assured him was his destination. It was with trepidation that he stepped to the half-lighted door and fumbled for the knocker. The door slowly swung open. and he was confronted by the portly ence of a lackey who stood in silence waiting for his word. : “A message for Lady Catharine Kn said Will, with what courage he could summon. Tis of importance, I make no doubt.” For it was to the Lady Catharine that JohnLaw had first turned. His heart craved one more sight of the face so beloved, one more word from the voice which so late had thrilled his soul. Away from these—ah! that was the pris- on for him, these were the bars which to him seemed imperatively needful to be broken. Aid he did not think of asking. Only across London in the night he had sent the cry of his hear “ome to me!"” “The Lady Catharine is not in at this hour,” said the butler, with some asper- i closing the door again in part “But 'tis important. I doubt if "twill Dbear the delay of a night.” Indeed, Will Law had hitherto hardly paused to reflect how unusual was this message, from such a person to such address, and at such an hour. The butler hesitated, and so did the un- bidden guest at the door. Neither heard at first the light rustle of garments at tha head of the stairs nor saw the face bent over the balustrade in the shadows of the hall. “What is from above. ““A message for the Lady Catharine,” replied the servant. “Said to be im- portant. What should I do “Lady Catharine Knollys is awa the soft voice of Mary Connynge, speak- ing from the stair. Her voice came nearer as she now descended and appeared at the first landing. ‘“We may crave your pardon. sir,” said she, “that we receive you so ill, but the hour is very late. Lady Catharine is away, and Sir Charles is forth also, as usual, at this time. I am left proxy for my entertainers, and perhaps I may serve vou in this case. Therefore pray step within.”" Reluctantly the butler swung open the door and admitted the visitor. Will Law stood face to face with Mary Connynge, just from her buodoir, and with time for but half care as to the details of her tol- let; yet none the less Mary Connynge, Eve-like, bewitching, endowed with all the ancient wiles of womankind. Will Law gazed, since this was his fate. Un- consciously the sorcery of the sight en- folded the youth as he stood there un- certainly. He saw the round throat, the heavy masses of the dark hair, the full round form. He noted, though he could not define; felt, though he could not clas- sify. He was young. Utterly helpless might have been even an older man in ths hands of Mary Connynge at a time like this, Mary Connynge deliberately seeking to ensnare. “Pardon this robe, but half concealing,” aid her drooping eye and her half uplift- ed hands which caught the defining folds vet closer to her bosom. ‘“Tis in your chivalry I trust. I would not so with others.” This to the beholder meant that he was the one man on earth to whom so much could be conceded. Therefore, following to his own undoing, as though led by some actual command, while but bidden gently by the softest voice in 2l the kingdom, the young man entered the great drawing-room and wait- ed as the butler lessened the shadows by the aid of candles. He saw the smallest foot in London just peep in and out, sud- denly withdrawn as Mary Connynge sat her down. She held the message now in her hand. In her soul sat burning impatience, in her heart contempt for the callow youth before her. Yet to that youth her atti- tude seemed to speak naught but defer- ence for himself and doubt for this un- usual situation, “Sir, I am in some hesitation,” said Mary Connynge. “There is indeed none in the house except the servant. You say your message is of importance—"" . “It has indeed Importance,” responded ‘Will. “It comes from my brother.” “Your brother, Mr. Law?" “From my brother, John Law. “He is in trouble. I make no doubt the message wil ’;:n all plain.” **'Tis most grievous that - arine returns not till to-merr'c;::’! bR Mary Connynge shifted herself upon her it, James?" asked a voice