At length in the gap appeared something—a horse was it, or a cow? Certainly there was no man upon its back. But it stopped in the open space. For at least the fiftieth time I raised to my eye the old spy-glass Ned had given so many years ago to his little friend, and with its aid I could now see that it was indeed a horse, with a man that led it by the bridle, and seemed, I thought, to be gazing toward me. I laid down the glass, and in a passionate desire by some means to signify to him the need there was that he should with haste cover the three miles that lay between us of broken country, I seized the cords that held the flag aloft, and, loosing that which passes through the little pulley atop from the pin to which it was fast, I pulled first on the one and then on the other cord in such wise that I made the banner run down and up the mast again and again like a flag gone mad.
And then once more through the glass I saw the man leap upon the back of his horse, wave his hat to my signal, and disappear behind the trees the way he had come.
And I knew then that he would not be long; for he had gone the way to take the shortest track to Drayton, and Philip, though he had no love of horses, could, like all his family, ride when he pleased both fearlessly and well. I left the flag flying, and descended the winding stair with heart much lightened, to meet at its foot my father.
"He is coming, sir," I cried. "Philip is coming! I have seen him."
And then I learned from him all that had happened below; and, hearing that Ned was arrested for his attack on M. de Rondiniacque, was for going forthwith to find him and to give him what comfort I was able. This, however, my father would not permit, but led me to his own chamber, where from the window we watched for Philip's coming. And although he made his return with a quickness truly wonderful, when the nature not only of the country he traversed, but also of the horse that carried him, come to be considered, so that we saw him close at hand before the Prince's half-hour was expired, yet the time seemed long indeed that he was coming, and the space left for conference when he was come appeared all too short. Having seen us waving signals to him as he forced his jaded nag up the grassy hill behind the house, he came at once to my father's chamber, where a few words told him how the matter stood. But when it was now time to descend and meet His Highness in the hall, the half-hour being expired, Sir Michael would by no means consent that his son should accompany him, having perhaps but little hope that his surrender might be avoided, yet keeping it, as it were, a last piece to move in the game. But it was good to stand by and hear these two men, so diverse in purpose, in honor so alike, and to feel in my heart so sweet a glow of pride in my own people. For I, with most at stake, could say no word to urge Philip's sacrificing himself. But they were agreed that no claim nor duty must be counted so great as that of shielding, and even, if it might be done, of restoring the man who had held his own honor second to theirs.
And so Sir Michael went to meet the enemy, telling me, as together we descended the stair, that I was his second line of support, and that Philip, waiting above, was his reserve, in case the struggle should begin to go against him.
In the hall we found awaiting us the Prince and Mr. Bentinck. In His Highness's countenance I thought were signs of a humor more kindly than my father would have had me to expect; for his aspect recalled rather the man that gave me his sword than him that took from me the broken blade. I had but one glance at him, however, for as Sir Michael passed on to address the Prince, there came over me a very hot and comfortless sense of shame, along with a wish—vastly unreasonable—that they should not recognize my features. So I turned aside from my father, and rested my arm upon the mantel, while I gazed blankly upon the glowing logs that filled the hearth. And behind me I heard my father tell, in phrases now judicial, now eloquent, and at times even impassioned, the tale of those accidents and troubles which had brought, as he said, his old friend, young Royston, into this bog of His Highness's disfavor.
But before it was all told a hand touched me upon the shoulder, and a dry and guttural voice with the one word—"Mistress," made me turn and confront Mr. Bentinck. His keen eyes seemed to search my countenance for the answer to some doubt or question in his mind. "Pray tell me," he said at length, "where is the latter part of His Highness's sword?"
"It is here, Mr. Bentinck," I answered, laying my hand where I had concealed that pointed fragment of steel; "here; near the heart it shall surely pierce if Edward Royston come to harm amongst you."
"I did think," he said, "that you were that boy that braved us all. And I believe, moreover, that you had great part in the escape of the priest."
"I had indeed the greatest part of all," I answered, being now resolved to cast myself upon his mercy; "for without my share the man had been still fast in your hands. But oh, Mr. Bentinck," I continued, "why are you his enemy?"
"Enemy! Whose enemy?" cried Mr. Bentinck. "Is it Captain Royston's you mean?"
"Ay, his," I answered. "Oh! he told me that you loved him not, but withal has no ill word for you, declaring you always the most honest of His Highness's servants."
Mr. Bentinck here seemed to muse a little. And then—"I thank him," he said. "If he be the same, I were sorry to be his enemy."
"He is honest as the daylight!" I cried. "He has but wronged the seeming of his honor for another—and that other without fault but in appearance—as my father now makes plain to His Highness."
"Indeed, Mistress Drayton," he replied, speaking with a gentleness well-nigh tender, "I do hope he may." And with that he turned from me as if to rejoin His Highness. But I summoned all my daring to make a plea yet more fully feminine, being much emboldened thereto by the softness of his last words.
"Mr. Bentinck, Mr. Bentinck," I whispered eagerly, and he turned again. "Captain Royston and I were to be wed, if—if—" said I, and could say no more.
"Ah," said he, "if what?"
"If you—if His Highness destroy us not utterly," I replied. "Grant us your aid, Mr. Bentinck." And into these words I put, I do suppose, much prayerfulness of face, voice, and gesture. For he looked a moment very kindly on the clasped hands and streaming eyes that begged his help.
"Do not weep, mistress," he said. "You shall have all I may give," and so turned his back upon me.
And here the Prince came a little toward me. "It is truly a tale of romance, Sir Michael," he said. "Here was I vainly seeking the serpent, and, lo! there is none but Eve." And then to me: "Come hither, Mistress Eve," he said. So I went over to him, and made before him a courtesy very deep and humble. "I do like you better thus, child," he went on, "than booted and spurred. Is this a true history that I hear?"
"So please Your Highness," I answered, "'t is true as the Gospel."
"How so?" he asked, smiling. "You have not heard it."
"But it was my father," said I, "that told it."
At which reply the Prince appeared much pleased, for, addressing himself to Mr. Bentinck: "'T is indeed a pious family," he remarked, "and such mutual faith can hardly go with treason. And, on my conscience, William," he went on, "the tale has an appearance." Then, to my father: "If all this be true, Sir Michael, you are much abused."
"How that, Your Highness?" asked the old man.
"By a son," said the Prince, "departing from the faith of his fathers."
"It is between him and his Maker," replied Sir Michael, with a touch of pride.
"And by me," continued His Highness, "departing from the courtesy incumbent upon princes. Does that stand in the same awful arbitrament, Sir Michael?"
"If Your Highness do me right," said my father, "'t is between us two, and shall go no further."
"That is kindly said, sir," answered the Prince. "So, if this be all true—as it must be, if you have not all the art of deceiving the most naturally in the world—I must needs fling pardon broadcast, eh?"
"I do not see what other course is open to Your Highness," said my father.
But here the Prince's face grew vastly stern: "Except to this priest," he said, "who, if he has not aimed at my life, is at least my enemy, however honorable."
"My son?" asked Sir Michael; and my heart was sore to see the pallor of his cheek.
"Ay, sir, your son—I must have your son. Captain Royston's deed may become the man of heart, however ill it fits the office of the soldier. But your son is my open enemy. Must I lose both culprits?"
And so a shadow fell again upon us all, and with it a solemn silence, which endured, I believe, all the time that I was absent from the hall. Certain it is that when I returned in my brother's company not one of the three looked as if he had spoken.
When Philip stood before him, the Prince for a while eyed him with great keenness, which rejoiced me to see; for surely no man had ever words so eloquent to speak in his own defence as was my brother's pure and noble countenance.
"Do you come of your own will to see me?" His Highness at length enquired.
"I do," said my brother.
"And wherefore?" demanded the Prince.
"To take what blame I may from my friends," Philip answered.
"I have heard your story, sir," said the Prince. "If you would escape the fate that comes of ill company, describe to me now him that constrained you in this matter."
"I may not," replied Philip.
"Tell me, then," said His Highness, "what power he held over you."
"I must not," said Philip.
This reply seemed not a little to vex the Prince. "Must not!" he cried.
"Nay, then," said the priest gently, "an Your Highness like it better, I will not."
"'May not, must not, will not,'" said William, bitterly quoting his words; "by the rule of war, Sir Priest, I may hang you to that tree. Deny me not, for may can wax greater in other mouths."
"Hanging," says Philip very coolly, "is little likely to rob me of the power to hold my tongue."
Now during this strife, while I both trembled and admired, I had yet eyes to remark that Mr. Bentinck's gaze did wander to and fro between a paper he held in his hand and the countenance of this stanch brother of mine. At the time I knew not what it meant, but have since reason to believe it that same description of a priest that had been trodden by the heel of a prince, hid in a maiden's bosom, and feloniously perused by a gentleman of France. Finding in it little likeness to the man before him, he proceeded to the execution of a small but vastly cunning ruse, to discover if the man whose description he held in his hand were indeed the plotter of the late murderous attack upon His Highness.
"Your Highness," said he sourly, "this subtile fellow does well know that this Francis,"—and here Mr. Bentinck glanced with some ostentation at the paper that was in his hand,—"or 'Marston,' as he is here named, with his round body and red periwig, is already in our hands. This aping of constancy is but a means to keep from himself the blame of a complicity that the other confesses."
"Nay, faith!" cried Philip, with an eagerness wholly innocent, "I knew not that he was taken."
At this His Highness laughed loud and right merrily. "Cunning William!" he said, as he patted Mr. Bentinck upon the shoulder, "your politic tricks are better than my threatenings." He then addressed Philip in a voice much softened: "Mr. Drayton," he said, "I ask your pardon for my rough soldier ways. We have taken no such person, but you have most innocently told us what we much desired to know. Wherefore did you scorn our hospitality last evening? Was that also of compulsion?"
"Nay," says Philip, "but to keep my father's name clear of a most foul reproach. From the bottom of my heart I am Your Highness's enemy. I never cease to pray that all your purpose may miscarry. But you will not hang a Drayton and a cutthroat in one noose."
"I vow," cried the Prince, "you are all of one mould, you Draytons."
He seemed here to muse a while, and then begged Mr. Bentinck to give order that Mr. Royston be brought before him. And my heart very miserably sank in my bosom, for I remembered how, but a little while back, he had, in speaking of poor Ned, used the military title, saying "Captain," as if restoration to rank and honor were already in sight.
Mr. Bentinck soon returned, and not long after him came Ned with his guard, which, in obedience to a sign from the Prince, halted at the door, where they stood impassive with drawn swords.
"Come hither, sir," said His Highness; and Ned approaching, I saw that, although the passion was burnt out of him, and his face was worn and haggard, he still met with an eye unsubdued the glance of the man on whom his fate depended.
"Mr. Royston," said the Prince, "I have heard all this midnight mystery. 'T is a brave tale, which, in my thinking, clears all therein involved of wicked design. But no tale, be it never so true, clears you, Mr. Royston, from the great fault of aiding my enemy there to escape. You know what in war-time is the law of military discipline. Have you anything to say, Mr. Royston, before this matter be ended?"
And Ned looked him straight in the eyes, and answered him with a very gentle fearlessness.
"I have little to say, Your Highness," he said; "and nothing of contention. One thing only I ask, if Your Highness mean to push the matter to extremity. Since I have never shown fear, I would die, if it please you, rather by bullet than the—the cord. Then, sire," he went on,—and this was the sole occasion upon which I did hear Captain Royston use to the Prince before his coronation the regal form of address,—"then, sire, shall I take with me no grudging to you."
Here following a little silence, I had much ado, for all my growing belief that the Prince did mean well by us all, to keep back the sobs that rose in my throat and caught at my breathing. And then came my lover's voice again. "I have failed in my duty. I had just drawn on the seeming lad that was the companion of my watch, because he would not let me follow the priest. He crossed swords with me, and I struck him in the neck,"—and here, I thought, His Highness's eyes lighted curiously upon me, and I grew warm with blushing as I thought of the black patch of plaister upon my bosom,—"and then I learned that it was no blood of man that I had drawn, but the drops fell from the soft flesh of a woman. And more I found that fatal night—that the woman was she that I did love well when she was but a little maid no higher than my sword-hilt,"—and here the man's hand went to his side, but found nothing,—"the sword, God's truth! that I must not wear! And then I learned why she would have the popish fellow escape. He was her brother, and she loved him, even as both did love the great old name. And I? I loved the maid, even the more that I had hurt her. And the man swore—not by his order, nor by his heretic bishop of Rome, but on his honorable lineage as a gentleman of England, to do you nor yours further hurt of any kind till his foot was set once more in France. It was hard to see so pretty a maid weep; harder, when the tears fell from eyes that had already forgiven the wound. Moreover, Your Highness, I did put faith in the man. Papist that he was, yet did he bear himself so as none could doubt his worth. I do but ask that, before I bear my punishment, the master I have ever served in a love hedged about with reverence and awe will put faith in my word that I had no will to wrong him, or to fail, as it seems fail I did, in the service that was due."
"For that I do believe you, sir," said the Prince; "yet can it not undo what is done."
While Ned was speaking, His Highness had seemed to my jealously watching eye not unmoved. He now laid his hand on Mr. Bentinck's arm, and drew that gentleman apart into the window which is nearest the door where Prue had played the eavesdropper. I had no intent to do the like, and it was more His Highness's fault than mine if he did not perceive that I stood so much nearer than the rest of the company that some words of his discourse with Mr. Bentinck were plainly audible to me. And, while their voices rose and fell in that murmured conference, the curtain that hangs before that little door was brushed aside, and M. de Rondiniacque, with his hat in his hand and a smile upon his lips at once merry, mocking, and triumphant, stood beside me.
"This is no plot, William," said the Prince,—"but a matter of one family." And there followed much that escaped my ear, until His Highness's voice rose with the words, "How think you, William? If we had this Francis—" and then dropped into the former murmuring.
"Had we the fat one," says Mr. Bentinck; "for this priest"—and at the word he twisted his head a little toward Philip, who stood by the hearth with Ned and my father—"this priest is too spare to make a meal of."
"Ay," said the Prince, "if we could but find this 'Marston,' and if it were made plain he had no ties here with these good people, we might well treat these late adventures with the largeness that safety can use."
And then much more from Mr. Bentinck that I did not hear, until he said that the good-will of such men as these was of much value, and ended with some words of Captain Royston's difficult dilemma of the past night.
"Look on her but once, Your Highness," said he, "and weigh the temptation." So I knew he had kept faith with me.
But it was not to my ears alone that these last words were audible; for no sooner were they uttered than M. de Rondiniacque stepped forward some paces and, speaking in tones of much levity: "'T is very true, Your Highness," said he, "as Mr. Bentinck has observed: the women of these parts are the very devil for the seducing a man from his duty."
The Prince turned upon him very sharply. "Peace, Lieutenant!" he said harshly; "such levity becomes neither my presence nor the occasion." He then turned his back upon the interrupter, and continued, addressing Mr. Bentinck: "But then—this Francis—we have not taken him. What then?"
Again the dauntless and merry Frenchman interrupted; he well knew, I think, that the import of what he was to say would cover a measure of insolence, and could not resist the inclination to practise his raillery a little upon the ponderous gravity of Mr. Bentinck's statecraft. "Nay, but, Your Highness," he said gaily, "we have taken him. Had not Your Highness so sharply snubbed my ardor for his service, I was even now to remark that these fair ones do also at times render notable aid to his cause. Of late one did save Your Highness's life, and now a rustic Eve has put in my hands a morsel of Adam's flesh much coveted, if I mistake not, of Mr. William Bentinck here."
"What is he?" cried Bentinck.
"Very fat, an it please you, Mr. Bentinck," says De Rondiniacque, laughing. Then, pushing aside the curtain, he opened the door and beckoned with his hand. His signal was answered by the entrance of a company vastly comical to behold. For little Prue's prisoner was very roughly thrust into the hall by Christopher Kidd, whose tall and burly person towered above and behind the little, fat, evil-visaged priest, the yeoman grasping in one of his huge hands both wrists of his captive. They were followed by Prudence, beaming with smiles at the thought of the importance brought upon her by her act of compassion. And there came upon the bearing of Mr. Bentinck, at sight of the prisoner, a wonderful change. For his face flushed and his eye gleamed; he forgot the impertinences of M. de Rondiniacque, he passed over the lack of ceremony evinced by this sudden intrusion, and pounced, as it were, at once upon his prey.
From his own lips I have since heard the cause of Mr. Bentinck's emotion. He had for many months endeavored to instil into his prince and master what he held to be a fitting and wholesome dread of the secret assassin. He had indeed in those days and during many years to come good reason enough for his own fears, yet none could he contrive to arouse in that most fearless of men that is now our most gracious sovereign; who, after some abortive attempt upon his person, or upon the news of some fresh and subtile plot discovered and prevented, would jest lightly of the matter, or turn aside from it with a few sharp words.
"As for assassins, William," he would say, "I hold it wholly beneath me to speak of them, and much more to give them serious thought."
Now, in this case, not only did Mr. Bentinck hope by means of this fat rascal to come at the source and instigation of the attempted crime, but also, through discoveries the captive should be compelled to make, to arouse in His Highness's mind a more sensible conviction of the dangers to which his careless magnanimity so frequently exposed his person. Successful, however, as Mr. Bentinck ultimately was in proving to his own satisfaction the guilt of greater persons than the shaking wretch before him, I have never heard that His Highness was prevailed upon by this or any other means to give one serious thought to perils of this nature.
"Bring him here," cried Mr. Bentinck very sharply to Kidd, who pushed his helpless prisoner forward until the light from the window fell upon his ill-favored countenance. "H'm—-h'm—h'm!" grunted Mr. Bentinck, as his eyes rose and fell between his paper of description and the face of the fellow that trembled and sweated before him. "H'm! But the red periwig is wanting."
Whereupon Prue whips out that tangled wig from beneath her apron, vowing she had found it in the straw where the fellow had slept.
"'T is enough," says Mr. Bentinck: then in a voice very terrible and sudden he cried to the culprit: "Your name is Francis."
"'T is not," stammered the poor wretch, "nor no such name." And his gaze went round the room very despairfully till it lighted upon Philip. "For the love of God, Mr. Philip Drayton," he cried, "tell them how I am called."
Philip regarded him with a disgust that he tried in vain to conceal.
"I have met you once," he said, "as James Marston, of Oxford."
"Did I not tell you?" said Francis, his face lighting with hope.
And Mr. Bentinck laughed. "Truly you did," he replied, "and more than you purposed telling. These trappings," he continued, turning to the Prince, "are the same that were stolen from Your Highness's guard in the affair of the orchard. I think we have proof enough."
His Highness approached at once the window and the prisoner.
"Would Your Holiness hang from that elm?" he asked, pointing to the great tree that stands over against the stable. "If not, a true account of all these matters will save the tree so foul a fruit. I hear it is thought you abuse your masters as much as ourselves, forging written powers beyond their intent. You shall have some hours to make choice between confession and the rope." And he bade the guard that stood at the great door to take him away. "And look to it," said His Highness to the young officer, as he was about following after his men and their prisoner, "that no woman come near him." He then laughed a little at his jest, which by the direction of his glance I took to be aimed at myself, and, turning to M. de Rondiniacque, asked how he came to lay hands upon the fellow.
"I owe him to Mistress Prudence here, Your Highness," replied the Frenchman. Whereupon the Prince would have Prudence to tell him of the matter.
Little Prue, as she did afterwards tell me, was "all of a twitter" betwixt pride and bashfulness, and it was only with much blushing and stammering that she at length found her voice.
"I' fecks, Your High and Great Mightiness, sir," she said at last, "I have been fatting him like a great pullet in the loft of our barn. I did take him for a soldier you would have hanged for thieving."
"How chanced it," said the Prince, "that you knew our need of him?"
Now this was for Prue a very distressful question, and, since she would not tell the truth, nor could readily think upon a fiction of any appearance, she felt herself in sorry plight, which she made no better by showing very plainly in her face the distress that she felt. Her rescue came quickly from a source whence it was little expected. For her piteous glance of appeal was cast in vain on M. de Rondiniacque, who himself was not a little taken aback by the Prince's question, and then in a very helpless fashion she passed it on to me. And I, all in the dark as I was, strove blindly for the means to come to her aid, when Mr. Bentinck, with a little laugh that was very dry and yet vastly humorous, interfered.
"It were best, Your Highness," he said, "to pass that point."
The Prince looked upon him for a moment, and seemed to lay the matter aside in his mind for future enlightening.
"Well, my pretty maid," said he to Prudence, who now regarded Mr. Bentinck as if she would willingly have kissed his feet, "we owe you some return. How shall we render it?"
"What I did, sir," says Prue, "was done for my dear mistress there. If you will but add my debt to her prayers, sir, I shall be overpaid."
"That is well said. Even the servants, William," said His Highness, turning to Mr. Bentinck, "in this terrible family are at one with their masters. 'T is a tribe we had best have on our side." And then he went over to the knot of men that stood against the hearth. "Mr. Royston," he said, "this matter shall rest as it stood yesternight, when you left your house. You are free." And then to Philip: "Mr. Drayton, you are an honest foe, from a camp whence I have least reason to expect such. Will you give me a promise to add to that which Mr. Royston holds of you?"
"Most willingly, Your Highness," replied Philip, "if I may with honor."
"Then I ask you," said His Highness, "to abide six months from this day with your good father. After, do what and go where you will. He is worth the time that will be so spent, sir. To ease your conscience on the Roman side, Sir Priest, I give you leave to effect his conversion"—and here His Highness laughed very drily—"if you prove able. Is it agreed?"
"The punishment is not a hard one," answered Philip. "I will observe your conditions. You have my word."
"I shall always regard a Drayton's word," said His Highness, with a very grave and sweet courtesy, "as par excellence the oath of honor. And you, Mistress Drayton," he continued, "must I go fight my enemies with a sword that cannot thrust? I do perceive I did you wrong, and now once more I thank you for that you did yesterday. But my sword does lack its point." And the Prince drew from a scabbard that was never made for it the shortened blade whose other part I guarded so close.
"Ay, it lacks yet its point," I answered, "even as Your Highness's clemency does still lack its crowning grace. The sword's latter half is not yet redeemed."
"What, what! fair enemy?" cried the Prince, in tones of raillery.
"More fair I do hope than enemy, Your Highness," I replied.
"Well, pretty friend," he continued, seeming not ill pleased, "wouldst have me thus armed? 'T is true—in your ear—I purpose using English swords against such good English fellows as come not over to our side. But what of these hordes of Irish kerns, with Tyrconnel and Sarsfield at their head? Surely on these we poor Dutchmen may flesh our blades; and when the time comes, is it with this you would have me fight?"
Now, while the Prince did tease me with the sight of his broken blade, and while I felt for words to clothe the thought in me, I marked that M. de Rondiniacque, as one taking time by the forelock upon a signal long expected, went hurriedly out from the hall, a circumstance that I had speedily forgot but for its sequel. Meantime I had inwardly breathed a little prayer to God for the gift of a prevailing tongue, and now drew from my bosom that seven inches of pointed steel that I purposed selling at so great a price.
"Your Highness," I said, "this kind of iron is sold mighty dear. Ah, will a great Prince have a poor maid that is his true servant wed with a man unhappy all his days? And yet a man so true, did Your Highness know him as I have known him for many, many years? As he and I rode hither in the smallest hours of this very day, it was a broken man at my side—a man whose one half would rejoice for his company, while the other part of him cried out for his Leader, his Prince, his King. And, woman-like, I upbraided you sore, finding in my passion of pity no word too bitter for you, sir. But from him there fell no word of blame, for no hard thought of you did cross his mind. Your Highness, he tried to serve two masters, indeed, but himself was never one of them. If he did ill, it was for me—me that he loved since his arms were my childhood's harbor of refuge, his shoulder my horse that tired not. For that part of your sword that you hold, you gave me his life. For this part that I have kept, where I hope all the days of my life to keep his honor, give me his old rank in your service—and ever, during his desert, his old favor in those eyes that, when they will, can read so deep."
The Prince gazed at me a while, and his face grew somehow to a softness that is seldom, I think, observed upon it. And, as we looked upon each other, there was a little bustle at the door, made, I doubt not, by M. de Rondiniacque's return.
"Give it me, child," said William, and I handed him, without further doubt of his purpose, the remnant of his pledge.
"Why so ready, mistress?" asked His Highness. "I have granted naught."
"Nay," I replied, "but love can read deep, even as the eyes of a prince."
"In this world, my child," he said, speaking still with that gentleness I had marked in his face, "there is no going back. But, if Mr. Bentinck will fill us out a major's brevet for Mr. Edward Royston, will that serve to balance the uneven division of last night, sir, or madam?"
Upon which the joy in my heart was so near to seeking its relief in tears that I had much ado to answer him.
"I do thank Your Highness," I murmured, "beyond all telling." And then, finding a better voice, I continued: "And, if it please Your Highness, I will be always madam."
"Then must you begin soon," he answered; "to which end I shall impose a condition on this settlement." But here the Prince checked himself, turning suddenly upon M. de Rondiniacque, by which action he was able to detect that pleasant gentleman in the act of restoring to Ned the sword taken from him the night before.
To my ear he has since declared that he had some inward premonition on his arising that morning that the matter of poor Royston's disgrace was by no means concluded; and this feeling, whether foresight or presentiment, had waxed in him so strong, that he had brought with him that weapon, as well as his own, in spite of his previous intent to leave it privily in its owner's house.
As His Highness turned from me to observe him, De Rondiniacque uttered these words: "Your sword, Major Royston," with so much of kindly triumph in voice and countenance that even the visage turned on him with enquiry so stern broke into a smile very responsive.
"How now, Lieutenant," said His Highness, "what is this?"
"When Mistress Drayton did begin to adjure Your Highness so movingly," said the Frenchman, "holding in her hand that fragment of Your Highness's sword, I made sure she would ask and obtain her price; and so, Your Highness, I went straightway to fetch it. And, knowing Your Highness has need not only of swords, but also of men that wield them as few but Major Royston can, I do trust I have done no wrong."
"'T is well, sir," replied the Prince. "As it seems your nature to take much upon yourself, let it always, as now, be the discharge of my wishes."
At which M. de Rondiniacque appeared not a little disconcerted; but, since he has done His Highness many a notable service in these latter days, it cannot be said that the mildness of the reproof was ill-advised.
"But what was that, sweet child," the Prince now continued, addressing me anew, "of which I was to speak?"
"I think, Your Highness," I replied, "that it was of some condition to be set upon us in regard to—to——"
"Faith, I do remember," said he. "It is that Major Royston do wed you within the week, and thereafter join us at Salisbury. And quarters shall be found for the pair of you," he continued, "for if the steel be near the magnet it will not wander again." And so saying he laid his hand very kindly upon Ned's shoulder. And Ned Royston looked him in the face with that look that an hour agone I had given my life to bring into his face.
"My life is yours, sir," said he, with a blunt heartiness; and, taking my hand very firmly and tenderly in his, he added: "and Your Highness will now have from me two services in one."
And here Simon Emmet, who, upon a word of his master, had been for some minutes mighty full of a kind of bustling greatness, did give into Sir Michael's hands that great silver drinking bowl that no lip for over forty years had touched. And Sir Michael held the bowl high, and gave it then into the hands of the Prince of Orange.
"From this cup," said my father, "the last to drink was Your Highness's grandfather, King Charles the Martyr."
"Then in his name, and in the name of England, I drink first of a loving-cup," cried the Prince; which when he had done he passed the vessel to me, and from me it went the round of every living soul there present, leaving, I suppose, in the bottom of the bowl but a few drops of wine to wet the lips of Prudence, who, as luck would have it, came last of all in the drinking; for, after she had tipped it high to catch the last, she gazed beseechingly around, daintily licking her lips the while, as if she would know whether she might truly say she had drunk that toast. His Highness, marking with the rest her pretty gesture, could not forbear smiling.
"Ah, my pretty maid," he said, "it was you that did bring us that fat rooster in the nick of time. Do you then ask no reward?"
And Prue, as a woman can, asked of me in two movements of her eyes a question. Once most indicatively they went to His Highness's belt and sword, and once, with interrogation as plain, to my face, catching thence the answer before one man in the room, I truly think, had fully gathered the sense of the Prince's question.
"There is a thing, if it please Your Mightiness," she said, "that I would have."
"What is it, then?" said His Highness. "For it seems I must spend this day in giving."
"The fragments, Your Honor," says Prue, "of that same blessed sword."
And he gave her the broken pieces of the sword, which in triumph she straightway brought to me; and I hung them then and there above the hearth, standing upon the table most comfortably thrust into place by many willing hands.
And when it was done, I cried, facing them all in my joy before I descended: "And there it shall stay: and hereafter they shall say whose it was."
"'They,' Mistress Drayton?" cried the Prince. "Who are 'they'? Thy children?"
And I wished heartily then for a more lowly station. But princes will be answered, and, for all the shame I felt, I answered the Prince of Orange.
"Yes, Your Highness," I said. "The children of Royston and Drayton shall say—shall say that it is—
"The sword of the Prince of Orange?" says His Highness, willing to help me in my confusion.
"Not so, I hope and pray to God," I answered. "May He grant that it then be the sword of their King."
And this is the story of the sword that was his that is the King. For my own, it did not end there, nor is it ended yet.