The Touchstone of Fortune

by Charles Major

  CHAPTER X

  AT THE MAID'S GARTER

  Betty was confined to her room during the greater part of the next month,and Frances visited her frequently. Notwithstanding my vows not to seeBetty, I was compelled to go with Frances as her body-guard. I even wentso far in my feeble effort to keep my resolution as to suggest Churchillas a body-guard, but Frances objected, and the quality of my good intentwas not enduring. So I went with my cousin, and the joy in Betty's eyeswhenever we entered her room was not the sort that would come because shewas glad to see Frances.

  * * * * *

  During the first week of Bettina's illness she was too sick to talk,therefore we did not remain long with her. But as she grew better ourvisits lengthened, and my poor resolutions grew weaker day by day becausemy love for the girl was growing stronger and stronger hour by hour.

  On one occasion while Frances's back was turned, Betty impulsivelysnatched up my hand and kissed it, dropping it instantly, blushingintensely and covering her tracks by humming the refrain of a Frenchlullaby. I longed to return the caress, but did not, and took greatcredit to myself because of my self-denial. Betty understood my sacrificeand appreciated it, feeling sure that she need not thereafter restrainherself for the purpose of restraining me.

  During those times I was making an honest effort to do the right by thisbeautiful child-woman and to save my own honor unsullied from the sin ofmaking her unhappy for life through winning her love beyond her power torecall; and my effort toward the right, like all such efforts, achievedat least a part of the good for which I strove.

  One day after our visit to Betty's room, Frances asked me to take her tosee George. I suspected that she had seen him frequently, but was notsure. I objected, but changed my mind when she said:--

  "Very well. I prefer going alone."

  I shall not try to describe the scene between them. We found Georgealone, and she sprang to him as the iron springs to the magnet.

  I knew then, if never before, that there could be no happiness in thisworld for her away from him. Whether she would find it with him wasimpossible for me to know, but I saw that she was in the grip of a mightypassion, and I could only hope that a way would open to save her.

  Hamilton's fortunes would need to mend a great deal before he couldor would ask her to be his wife, for now he was at the bottom of theladder. He lost no opportunity to impress this disagreeable truth uponher, but his honest efforts to hold himself aloof only increased herrespect and love for him. It not only convinced her that notwithstandinghis past life, he was a man of honor capable of resisting himself and ofprotecting her, but it gave him the quality so irresistible to awoman--unattainability.

  Taking it all in all, my poor beautiful cousin was falling day byday deeper into an abyss of love from which she could in no wayextricate herself. In short, level-headed Frances had got far outof plumb, and, though she struggled desperately, she could not rightherself, nor could any one help her. I fully realized that the smallamount of self-restraint and passivity she still retained would giveway to disastrous activity when the time should come for her to partwith George and lose him forever. But I could see no way to save herunless I could induce George to leave England at once, for good andall.

  At times the fates seem to fly to a man's help, and in this instance theycame to me most graciously that same day in Whitehall, in the person ofmy friend the Count de Grammont.

  Soon after leaving Frances in the maids' apartments, I met that mostinteresting gentleman roue, his Grace de Grammont, coming from the king'scloset. As already stated, he had been banished from the French court byLouis XIV because of a too great friendliness for one of the king'ssweethearts, and was living in exile in London till Louis should forgivehis interference. The French king really liked De Grammont and trustedhim when his Majesty's lady-loves were not concerned, so the count hadbeen sent to England in honorable exile, and was employed in certaincases as a spy and in others as a means of secret communication betweenthe French king and persons connected with the court of Charles II.

  When De Grammont saw me, he came forward, holding out both hands in hiseffusive French manner, apparently overjoyed at finding a long-lostbrother.

  "Come with me, my dear baron," he cried, bending so close to me that Ifeared he was going to kiss me. "Come with me! You are the very man ofall the world I want, I need, I must have!"

  "You have me, my dear count," said I, "but I cannot go with you. I amengaged elsewhere."

  "No, no, let me whisper!" He brought his lips close to my ear andcontinued almost inaudibly: "You may please me. You may help a friend.You may oblige--a king."

  The last, of course, was the _ne plus ultra_ of inducement according tothe count's way of thinking, and he supposed the mere suggestion wouldvanquish me. Still I pleaded my engagement. He insisted, however,repeating in my ear:--

  "Oblige a king! A real king! Not a flimsy fool of bourgeois, who makes ofhimself the laughing-stock of his people, but a real king. I cannot namehim now, but you must know."

  We were in a narrow passage leading to the Stone Gallery in Whitehall. Helooked about him a moment, then taking me by the arm, led me to the StoneGallery and thence to the garden. I wanted to stop, but he kept his graspon my arm, repeating now and then the word "Come" in whispers, till wereached a lonely spot in St. James Park. There he halted, and thoughthere was not a living creature in sight, he brought his lips to my earand breathed the name, "'Sieur George Hamilton."

  I tried not to show that I was startled, but the quickwitted, sharp-eyedFrenchman read me as though I were an open book, and grasping my hand,cried out:--

  "Ah, I knew you could tell me. It is to rejoice! I knew it!"

  "Tell you what, count?" I asked.

  "Tell me where your friend and mine is, or if you will not tell me, taketo him a letter. I have been trying to find him this fortnight."

  "I cannot tell you where he is, my dear count--"

  "Of course not! I do not ask," he interrupted.

  "--But I may be able to forward your letter to him. I heard only theother day that he was in France."

  "Of course, of course, he is in France! Not in England at all! Good,good! I see you are to be trusted. But I must have your word of honorthat the letter will be delivered."

  "I shall send it by none but a trusted messenger," I answered, "and shallreturn it to you unopened unless I am convinced beyond a doubt that itwill reach our friend."

  "Good, good! Come to my hotel. I will trust you."

  We went to De Grammont's house, and after taking great precautionsagainst discovery, he gave me a small wooden box wound with yards of tapeand sealed with quantities of wax. I put the box in my pocket, saying:--

  "I accept the trust on my honor, dear count, and though the package bearsno name nor address, I shall deliver it to the person for whom it isintended."

  De Grammont said he knew nothing of the contents of the box except thatit contained a message for a friend, and I believed him.

  When I left his house he came to the door with me, murmuring: "Mygratitude! My gratitude! Also the gratitude of my king, which I hope mayprove of far greater value to your friend than my poor offering ofwords."

  I lost no time in seeking George, except to make sure that I was notfollowed. I trusted De Grammont and felt sure that the box he had givenme contained a personal communication from no less a person than LouisXIV of France, but I wanted to take no risk of betraying Hamilton byleading De Grammont or any one else to his hiding-place.

  Since Frances's providential escape, the king had suspected the rightpersons of her rescue. At least he suspected Hamilton, and was seekinghim more diligently than ever before. His Majesty had not shown me anymark of disfavor, but I feared he suspected me, and was sure he was notconvinced that Frances's alibi had been proved by unsuborned testimony.If he was sure that she was the one who had been kidnapped, hissuspicious nature would connect George with the rescue, and would leadhim to conclude that Hamilton m
ust be in England.

  A maid of Lady Castlemain's told Rochester, who in turn told me, that theking had again set his men to work searching for Hamilton. That being thecase, George was in danger, and should he be found by the king's secretagents, who, I understood, were prowling all over England in the hope ofobtaining a reward, his life would not be worth a week's purchase.

  George knew the risk he ran by remaining in England, but it was a part ofhis reckless courage to take delight in it. Later on this recklessness ofdisposition induced him to take a far greater risk. But of that in itsturn.

  * * * * *

  After supper, I found Hamilton in his bedroom, which was connectedby a hidden stairway with the room of the sinking floor. He wore hisQuaker's disguise, and on the table beside him were the Bible and a fewtheological works dear to the hearts of his sect. I gave him the box,telling him its history. The letter was brief and was written in cipher.

  George translated it thus:--

  "MASTER GEORGE HAMILTON:

  "Monsieur le Grand wishes you to pay him a visit immediately.

  "DE CATANET."

  "You probably know Monsieur le Grand?" I asked.

  "Yes," he answered, "and I shall visit him without delay."

  "In Paris?" I asked, not quite sure that Monsieur le Grand was King Louisof France, and not desiring to know certainly.

  "In Paris," he answered, giving me to understand by his manner that hemust tell me nothing more definite of Le Grand's identity.

  "Don't tell me what you know of the business this letter refers to, buttell me whether you know," I said, hoping that George might at least tellme it meant good fortune for him.

  "I cannot even conjecture the business upon which I am wanted," he said,"but I hope that it may give me an opportunity to be of service to thewriter."

  Thus I was relieved of the disagreeable task of trying to induce Georgeto leave England, and was very thankful to escape it.

  After a long silence, during which he read the one-line letter manytimes, he asked:--

  "Are you willing to bring Frances to me early to-morrow morning, if shewill come?"

  "Doubtless I can," I answered. "Her willingness to come has been shownall too plainly of late; but ought I bring her?"

  "Yes. It will be the last time I shall ever see her unless good fortunelies in this letter, and for that I hardly dare hope. You know that whena man's luck has been against him for a long time, it kills the veryroots of hope and brings him almost to doubt certainty. Soon after I haveseen my friend, Le Grand, I shall write to you in cipher, of which Ishall leave you the key. If I see a prospect of fortune worthy ofFrances, I shall ask her to wait a time for me, but if my ill fortunepursues me, I shall never again be heard from by any one in England. Areyou satisfied with the conditions?"

  I gave him my hand for answer, and told him I would bring Frances to himearly the following morning.

  I hastened back to Whitehall, and coming upon Frances unengaged, askedher to go to her parlor with me. When she had closed the door, she turnedto me, asking:--

  "What is it, Baron Ned? Tell me quickly. I know there is something wrongwith George."

  "Will you go with me early to-morrow morning to see Betty--very early?"I asked.

  Her eyes opened in wonder, and she answered, somewhat amused: "You havebeen acting as my guardian for a long time, cousin Ned, and now I think Iowe it to you to return the favor. You should not see so much of Betty. Iknow you mean no wrong to her, but you will cause her great suffering ifyou continue to see her, for you must know that already the girl isalmost mad with love of you. Yet you cannot marry her."

  "Nor can you marry some one else," I retorted, almost angrily, for a mandislikes to be prodded by a painful truth.

  "Ah, well, I suppose we are a pair of fools," she said.

  "You're right, Frances," I answered philosophically, "and the onlyconsolation we can find lies in the fact that we know it."

  "Most fools lack that flattering unction," returned Frances, musingly.

  "Perhaps you will take more interest in this matter when I tell youthat it is not Betty I propose to see," I answered. "I am deliberatelyoffering to take you to see some one else who is about to leave England."

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed my lips for answer, then sank into achair, covering her face with her hands to hide the sudden tears.

  I went to the window and waited till she was calm. I longed to comforther by telling of the faint prospect of good fortune that lay in LeGrand's letter, but I hesitated raising a hope which might never berealized.

  At the end of five minutes I went to her and said: "Let me ask theduchess to excuse you for to-night, and in the morning I'll meet you onBowling Green stairs, at, say, seven o'clock."

  "I'll be there," she answered, smiling through her tears.

  The next morning we took boat, and the tide running out, made good speedto the Bridge, hastened to the Old Swan, and found George in his printingshop awaiting us. I remained in the old tapestried room, leaving Francesand George to say their farewells. In the course of a few minutes hecalled me in. He had donned his Quaker disguise, and on the floor nearhim was a small bundle of linen. Frances was weeping, and George's voicewas choked with emotion.

  "Well, at last, Baron Ned, you are to be rid of me," he said, glancingtoward the bundle at his feet.

  "What are your plans of escape?" I asked.

  "I shall work my way down to Sheerness, where I hope to find a boatfor The Hague or the French coast. Lilly, who seems to know everything,past, present and future, came last night to tell me that the king hasfifty men seeking me in various parts of England, especially theseaports, and has offered a reward of two hundred pounds for me, deador alive, preferably dead, I suppose. If I go direct to Sheerness and tryto take a boat, I am sure to be examined, and I'm not prepared for theordeal. So I intend to preach my way down the river and induce the king'sofficers to send me abroad by force."

  "How are you off for money, George?" I asked.

  "I borrowed ten guineas from Lilly," he answered.

  "I thought you might be in need of money, so I brought fifty guineas fromthe strong box under my bed," I said, offering him the little bag ofgold.

  He hesitated, saying: "If I take the money, you may never again see afarthing of it."

  "In that case, I'll take my pay in abusing you," I replied.

  "Do you believe he would, Frances?" asked George, turning to my cousin.Then continuing thoughtfully:

  "It is strange that I should have found such a friend at the bottom of aquarrel, all because I allowed him to abuse me. Truly forbearance is aprofitable virtue. The 'other cheek' is the better of the two."

  Upon my insistence, he accepted the gold and gave me the ten guineas hehad borrowed from Lilly, asking me to return them.

  Frances was making an entire failure of her effort to hold herself incheck, and George was having difficulty in restraining himself, so, tobring the interview to an end, he gave me his hand, saying:--

  "Thank you, Ned, and good-by. I wish I could hope ever to see you again,but if Le Grand fails me, I shall go to the new world and lose myself inthe Canadian woods."

  "No, no!" cried Frances, imploringly.

  "I hope not," began George, but he could not finish, so he took Francesin his arms for a moment, and when he released her, thrust us both outthe door, saying: "Please leave me at once. If you do not, I fear I shallnever let her go. Take care of her, Ned. Good-by!"

  The door closed on us, and when Frances had put on her vizard, shefollowed me upstairs to see Betty.

  I was not admitted to Betty's room, so I went back to the printing shopfor a moment, and George gave me the key to the cipher, in which we wereto write to each other. His letters were to be sent under cover to Lilly,and mine were to go to an address in Paris which George would send to me.

  Long afterwards George told me of his adventures in making his escape,but I shall give them now in the order of their happening rat
her than inthe order of time in which I learned them.

  Leaving the Old Swan within ten minutes after I had said good-by to him,George crossed London Bridge, attired in his Quaker disguise, and madehis way to Deptford, where he preached in the streets. From Deptfordhe followed the river by easy stages to Sheerness, where he lodged nearlya week, awaiting a boat that would answer his purpose. Had he attemptedto board a vessel, he would have been seized and examined; therefore hisplan was to grow violent in his preaching, and, if possible, provoke theauthorities to place him on board one of the outgoing crafts; that beinga favorite method of the king's men in getting rid of the too blatantfanatics in Sheerness.

  The Dutch sea captains were fanatics almost to a man, and the exiledexhorters found them always willing to help their persecuted brethren ofthe faith.

  And so it happened with George in Sheerness. He was on the dock exhortingvehemently against the evils of the time, laying great stress on thewickedness of the king and denouncing the vileness of the court. Two ofthe king's officers tried to silence him, but failing, ordered him toleave England by a certain Dutch boat then waiting in the harbor with itspennant up. He protested and struggled, but at last was forced aboard,raving against those godless Balaamites, the clergy of the EstablishedChurch, who, with the devil, he declared, were behind his persecution.

  So well did George play his part that a collection was taken up among thepassengers of the Dutch boat to help the good man so vilely put upon.There was a sweet bit of irony in the fact, learned afterwards, that theofficers who forced George aboard the Dutch ship were at Sheerness forthe purpose of winning the two hundred pounds reward offered for hiscapture.

  The goodness of God occasionally takes a whimsical form.

  A month later I received a letter from George, written in cipher, which Ihere give translated:--

  "DEAR FRIEND:

  "I reached Paris three weeks ago and was received by Monsieur Le G.most graciously. Although I cannot give definite news, I hope for greatimprovement in my fortune soon, and perhaps may write you more fullythereof before the week is spent.

  "Good fortune has but one meaning for me, of which you already know. Ibeg you to say to one that a letter from her hand would give me greaterjoy than she can know, and that I would now send one to her if I feltsafe in so doing. Please send all letters in cipher, addressed: 'Monsieurle Blanc, in care of 'Sieur de Catanet, at the sign of the Double Arrowon the Rue St. Antoine, counting nine doors from the street cornernearest the Bastile.'

  "Your friend,

  "LE BLANC."

  When George wrote that he hoped for good fortune, I knew he hadsound reason to expect it, for he was one who never permitted a merepossibility to take the form of hope, nor hope, however assuring, totake the aspect of certainty. Knowing this to be true, I found greatjoy in the letter, and when I told Frances, she did not pause even togive me one smile of thanks, but broke into a flood of tears and seemedto take great happiness in her tribulation.

  I told Frances that we should answer the letter at once, and suggestedthat she have hers ready in my hands the following day, if she wished towrite one. I also suggested that we meet in Bettina's parlor, whereFrances's letter could be rewritten in cipher. We trusted Bettina as wetrusted ourselves, and when we told her the good news, she clapped herhands for joy, laughing, yet ready to weep, and was as happy as even shecould be, which was very happy indeed.

  After we had talked, laughed, and cried a reasonable time in Betty'sparlor, Frances handed me her letter, which was a bulky document, welltaped and waxed.

  "It will require a week for me to translate this," I remarked, weighingthe letter in my hand.

  "What do you mean by translating it?" she asked in surprise.

  "I must write it out in cipher. Hamilton directed that all letters shouldbe sent in that form," I answered, amused at her alarm.

  "No, no!" she cried, snatching the letter from me, pressing it to herbreast and blushing to her ears. "You shall not see my letter!"

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because," she answered.

  "That is no reason," I replied. "Of course you have written nothing thatyou would not want me or your father to see?"

  "Well, yes, I have," she returned emphatically. "A great deal. Would you,Betty, want any one to see such a letter written by yourself?"

  "I suppose I could write a letter which I should want but one person inall the world to see," returned Betty, arching her eyebrows.

  "To whom would it be directed, Betty?" I asked, to tease her.

  A faint expression of reproach came to her eyes, but after a moment ofpretty hesitancy, she answered boldly:--

  "Since you are so unwise as to ask, I'll answer in like folly. The lettercould be directed to but one person in the world--you."

  I had received more than I had expected, and though I longed to make asuitable return, I dared not for the sake of my vows, so we all remainedsilent, and somewhat embarrassed, for a minute or two.

  Turning to Frances, I said: "If you don't want me to read your letter,I'll give you the key, and you may make it into cipher." But afterexamining the key, she declared that she could never learn to use it, andI suggested that she write a shorter letter in terms fit for a modest manto read.

  The next day she handed me a shorter letter, saying that she had cut andpruned it till there was nothing left worth sending, but I assured herthat George would think otherwise.

  When I read the letter, my eyes were opened to the fact that there wasmore fire in Frances's heart than I had supposed any woman capable ofholding in subjection. But that is a mistake often made by men.

  This was my cousin's "cut and pruned" letter:--

  "DEAR ONE:

  "Baron Ned says my letter must be short, so I smother what remnant ofmodesty I have, covering nothing with the veil of circumlocution, buttelling you plainly what I know you want to hear. I love only you and amtrue to you in every thought, word, and deed. I long for you, yearn foryou, pray for you, and be your fortune good or ill, I would share it andgive you a part of the bliss of life which you would give to me.

  "So I pray you, do not desert me in case your present hope of goodfortune fails you, but let me know at any time, and I will go to you, andwill go with you wherever you will take me.

  "You will say, I fear, that none but a crazy woman would write such aletter as this, but if that be true, the world doubtless is and alwayshas been populated by maniacs, and I pray God always will be. I pray you,remember, in judging me, that you are you and that I am but a womanby whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love;her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight morein the love she gives than in that which she receives. Remember, also,that in this letter I must condense when I might easily be prolix, andthat after all is written, probably I shall have left unsaid the verything I most wished to say. But these three words will tell it all andbear repeating: I love you.

  "FRANCES."

  And this from my sensible cousin! What would it be if her heart were notbalanced by a wise head?

  Our letters being written, I became alarmed about posting them in London,not knowing when a messenger would start for France, nor who he would be.The next day Frances and I talked it over, and she suggested that as theking and most of the court were about to visit Bath for a season, and asneither she nor I cared to go, we should take the letters to Dover, crossto Calais, and post them in France.

  I sprang at the idea, but immediately sprang back, saying: "But it is notentirely proper for us to travel to Calais together, even though you aremy sister-cousin."

  "We may take father," she suggested. "Sarah wants to visit Lady St.Albans, and she can go if we take father with us. And, Baron Ned; I haveanother suggestion to offer. Let us take Bettina."

  I sprang at that proposal and did not spring back. So we went first to myuncle, who said he would go with us, and then we went to see Bettina. Shehad recovered from her sprains and bruises, although she was still palean
d not quite strong.

  When Frances asked her to go with us, she answered, "Ay, gladly, iffather consents."

  Pickering, who was sitting with us at the time in Bettina's cozy parlor,turned to me, laughing, and said:--

  "You would suppose, from Betty's remark, that I am master here, but thetruth is my soul is not my own, and now her modest request for permissionis made for effect on the company."

  Betty ran to her father, sat on his knee, twined her arm about his neck,and kissed him as a protest against the unjust insinuation.

  "You see how she does it," said Pickering. "No hammer and tongs forBetty; just oil and honey."

  "And lots and lots of love, father," interrupted Betty.

  * * * * *

  Well, our journey was soon arranged on a grand scale. Pickering lent ushis new coach, just home from the makers in Cow Street. It was cushionedand curtained and had springs in place of thorough-braces. It also hadglass in the windows and doors; a luxury then little known in Englandeven among the nobles. There was a prejudice against its use in coachwindows because of the fact that two or three old ladies had cut theirfaces in trying to thrust their heads through it.

  The new coach was a wonderful vehicle, and Frances and I, as well asBetty, were very proud of our grandeur. Pickering sent along with thecoach and horses two lusty fellows as drivers, and gave us a hamperalmost large enough to feed a company of soldiers. I was to pay allexpenses on the road.

  Almost at the last hour Sir Richard concluded not to go, but insistedthat Frances, Bettina, and I take the journey by ourselves. As Pickeringoffered no objection, Frances shrugged her shoulders in assent, Ishrugged mine, and Betty laughed, whereby we all, in our own way, agreedto the new arrangement, and preparations went forward rapidly.

  By the time we were ready to start, the king, the duke, the duchess, andmany ladies and gentlemen of the court circle had gone to Bath, thusgiving us an opportunity to make our journey without the knowledge of anyone in Whitehall; a consideration of vast importance to us under thecircumstances. Some of our grand friends at court might have laughed atour taking the journey with an innkeeper's daughter, in an innkeeper'scoach, but Frances and I laughed because we were happy.

  There are distinct periods of good and bad luck in every man's life,which may be felt in advance by one sensitive to occult influences,if one will but keep good watch on one's intuitions and leave themuntrammelled by will or reason. At this time "I felt it in my bones,"as Betty would have said, that the day of our good luck was at hand.

  All conditions seemed to combine to our pleasure when, on a certainbright spring morning, Betty, Frances, and I went down to the courtyardof the Old Swan, where we found the coach, the horses, and even thedrivers all glittering in the sunshine.

  There was ample room in the back seat of the coach for the three of us,so Betty took one corner, Frances made herself comfortable in another,and I took what was left, the pleasant place between them.

  After Betty had kissed her father at least a dozen times, and had shed afew tears just to make her happiness complete, the driver cracked hiswhip and away we went, out through the courtyard gate, down Gracious Hilland across London Bridge before a sleepy man could have winked his eyes.

  At first we thought we were in haste, but when we got out of Southwarkand into the country, the dark green grass, the flowering hedges, thewhispering leaves of the half-fledged trees, the violets by the roadside,and the smiling sun in the blue above, all invited us to linger. So wetold the driver to slow his pace, and we lowered every window in thecoach, there being no one in the country whose wonder and envy we caredto arouse by a display of our glass.

  There was not room in Betty's little heart for all the great flood ofhappiness that had poured into it, so presently, to give it vent, shebegan to sing the little French lullaby we had so often heard, whereuponFrances and I ceased listening to the birds, and I was more thoroughlyconvinced than ever before that there were at least distinct periods of_good_ fortune in every man's life.

  Before reaching Gravesend, we halted at a grassy spot near the riverbank, where we ate our dinner. When the horses had rested, we set off forRochester, in which place we expected to spend the night at the Maid'sGarter, a famous old inn kept by a friend of Pickerings.

  I had noticed a twinkle in Pickering's eyes when he directed us to go tothis tavern, but did not understand the cause of his merriment until Ilearned that by a curious old custom, a maid seeking entrance for thefirst time must contribute one of her garters before being admitted. Theworst feature of the usage was that the garter must be taken off at thedoor, and then and there presented to the porter, who received it on thepoint of his official staff.

  After entering Rochester, we went to the Maid's Garter and at once droveinto the courtyard, as the custom is with travellers intending to remainall night.

  When we left the coach and started to climb the steps to the great door,we found the landlord and his retinue waiting to receive us. Frances wasin the lead, and when we reached the broad, flat stone in front of thedoor, the head porter stepped before her, bowed, and asked humbly:--

  "Is my lady maid or madam?"

  Frances looked up in surprise, and he repeated his question.

  "What is that to you, fellow?" asked Frances.

  "It is this, my lady," returned the porter. "If my lady be a maid, shemust pay me one of her garters as her admission fee to this inn. If shebe madam, she enters free. It is a privilege conferred on the Maid'sGarter by good St. Augustine when he was Bishop of Canterbury, so longago that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary."

  "What nonsense is this?" asked Frances, turning to me, and Bettina askedthe same question with her eyes. I explained the matter, and Frances,turning to the porter, said:--

  "I'll buy you off with a jacobus or a guinea."

  "Not a hundred guineas would buy me off, my lady," answered the porter,bowing, "though I might say that a shilling usually goes with thegarter."

  "Well, I'll send you both the shilling and the garter from my room," saidFrances, moving toward the inn door.

  "The garter must be paid here, my lady. The shilling may be paid at anytime," returned the porter, with polite insistence.

  Frances was about to protest, but Betty, more in sympathy with theeccentric customs of inns, modestly lifted her skirts, untied her garterand offered it to the porter, telling him very seriously:--

  "I am a maid."

  The porter thanked her gravely, whereupon Frances, turning her back onthe audience in the doorway, brought forth her garter, gave it to theporter, and we were admitted.

  Our supper, beds, and breakfast were all so good that they reconciledFrances and Bettina to the payment of the extraordinary admission fee,and when we left the next morning, curiosity prompted them to pass nearthe garter rack in the tap-room, where garters were hanging which hadbeen taken from maids whose great granddaughters had become greatgrandmothers. The garters that had belonged to Frances and Bettina, beingthe latest contributions, hung at the bottom of the rack, neatly datedand labelled, and, as I left the room, I overheard Bettina whisper toFrances:--

  "I'm glad mine was of silk."

  We made a short drive to Maidstone, where we stopped over night. The nextday a longer journey brought us to Canterbury, where we spent two nightsand a day, visiting the cathedral both by sunlight and moonlight; thecombination of moonlight and Bettina being very trying to me.

  From Canterbury we drove in the rain to Dover, where we lodged at thatgood inn, the Three Anchors, to await a fair wind for Calais.

  During the next three days the wind was fair, but it was blowing half agale, and therefore the passage was not to be attempted. Though I wasenjoying myself, I was anxious to post our letters, as mine gave a fullaccount of several matters at court concerning which I knew George oughtto be informed.

  Among other news, I told him that King Charles had sent a messengerinto France carrying a personal letter to King Louis, asking h
is helpin finding the man Hamilton, who had threatened Charles's life. I alsosuggested in my letter that the king of France was trying to buy thecity of Dunkirk from King Charles, and that because of the friendlynegotiations then pending, Louis might give heed to our king's request.In that case, it might be well, I thought, for Hamilton to leave Franceat once.

  With this urgency in mind, I suggested to Frances and Betty that Icross to Calais alone, regardless of the weather, leaving them at Dovertill my return. But they would not be left behind, so we all set sail ona blustery morning and paid for our temerity with a day of suffering. InCalais we posted our letters, having learned that a messenger would leavethat same day for Paris, and two days later we returned to Dover.

  Our journey home was made in the rain, Bettina sleeping with her head onmy shoulder a great part of the way. And I enjoyed the rain even morethan I had enjoyed the sunshine.

  We reached London nearly a week before the king's return, so that nothingwas known of our journey at court.