It was possible that when her father's steamer stopped to pay sea-rent, Hogarth might have heard, and seized him. That notion occurred to her.

And at once it threw her into an extraordinary fever, her bosom swelling like elastic in her heavings to catch breath, though she did not realize the wild thought that was working up to birth within her. She rose and paced, furiously fast.

If he was in the hands of Hogarth?

"He is a British subject", she muttered: "Hogarth has not the right...Oh, he has not the right...!"

She was fearfully agitated! something fighting up and up within her, stifling her, working to burst into birth; she flung the cashmire from her shoulders, her bosom rowing like two oarsmen. "Because we are Jews...!" she went.

"If he _dared_ do that--!"

What then? Say! Rebekah!

"I would go to him myself--"

All at once that thought was born, and she stood shockingly naked to her own eyes, her hands rushing to cover a face washed in shame. "But, surely", she whispered, "I could never be so _bold_, good Heavens? Why, Never! Never--!"

However, an hour later, with flaming eyes, she was writing a letter to Frankl's manager.

XLI

THE VISIT

Frankl's Bank was scanning the agents' yacht-lists for her, when Sir Moses Cohen, who was closely a.s.sociated with Frankl, placed his own three-master at her disposal; and she set out from Bristol, with her being three Jewish ladies, Frankl's manager, and a snuffy Portuguese rabbi who resembled a Rembrandt portrait.

It was late at night, and Hogarth, who had lately acquired a pa.s.sion for those Mathematics which touch upon Mysticism, was bent over Quaternions and the quirks of [Proofers note: checkmark symbol] (--i) in an alcove of his _Boodah_ suite hardly fourteen feet square, cosy, rosy, and homely: he sitting at a sofa-head, and, lying on the sofa, Loveday, his head on Hogarth's thigh, escaped from office and frockcoat, in happy shirt-sleeves, between sleeping and waking.

Hogarth was interrupted by a telephone bell.

"Well?" he answered.

"My Lord King", from Quilter-Beckett, "Frankl has handed to his warder something written: will your Lordship's Majesty see it now?"

"Yes!" Then: "John! Frankl has yielded!"

Up Loveday started with "Thank G.o.d!" while Hogarth: "When does my yacht arrive?"

"At midnight"--from Quilter-Beckett.

"She starts back immediately for England with me and Mr. Loveday".

Now an officer entered to present an envelope, and the two looked together over these words:

"Your Lordship's Majesty's sister, Margaret Hogarth, is at No. 11, Market Street, Edgware Road, London. She goes under the name of Rachel Oppenheimer, I don't know why. As G.o.d is my witness, I repent in ashes.

Won't your Lordship's Majesty have mercy on a worm of the earth? I am an old man, getting on, and starved to madness. The ever devoted slave, from this day forth, of my Lord King.

"BARUGH FRANKL".

Hogarth 'phoned up: "Give Frankl food now, and put him where it is not cold...." and to Loveday he said, "Well, you see, she is there: 'No. 11, Market Street'. And under the name of--what? 'Rachel Oppenheimer'...John Loveday, do you fathom the meaning of that?"

"No--don't bother me about meanings, but shout, like her, 'O Happy Day!'

I say, Richard, you remember that singing? how we would hear her from the forge? All day, washing, cooking--melodious soul! There was 'O Happy Day', and there was--By G.o.d, how charmingly holy! how English! And, Richard, you remember--?"

Another telephone bell: Hogarth turned to hear.

"Just arrived in the yacht, _Tyre_, my Lord King", said Quilter-Beckett's voice, "four Jewish ladies, a Jewish gentleman, and a rabbi, who request early audience to-morrow; they lie-to, and have sent a boat--"

"Rubbish! I shall not be here to-morrow, and even if I was--Who are they? By the way, no sign of the yacht?"

"Not yet. They are Miss Frankl--"

"Who?"

"Miss Rebekah Frankl--"

"G.o.d", went Hogarth faintly, stabbed to the heart.

"Miss Agnes Friedrich, Mrs.--"

But the rest fell upon ears deaf as death, the teeth of Hogarth now chattering as with cold, that haggard, gaunt yellow, which was his pallor, overspreading his face. So long was he speechless, that Quilter-Beckett asked: "Are you there, my Lord King?"

"Quilter-Beckett!"

"Yes, my Lord King?"

"Will you go _yourself_--for me--to them? _Make_ them sleep here, will you? This is most urgent, I a.s.sure you. And go quick, will you?"

That night did not the Lord of the Sea sleep: she under his roof...

Nor did he go that night to find Margaret--nor the next day, nor the next, though Loveday chafed: for, gyrating through the giddy air of a galaxy where Margaret was not, he forgot her.

XLII

REBEKAH TELLS

At that time Hogarth, personally, was in close relation with the score of Emba.s.sies that inhabited the belly of the _Boodah_, these intriguing incessantly for half-hours at his ear, and in communication, meanwhile, with their Governments through O'Hara's _Mahomet_: so that Hogarth had to get up early, and his mornings sweated with audience and negotiation.

The German and Russian Emperors, with the Prince of Wales (then virtually Regent), had hurriedly met at Vienna--presumably for the discussion of the Manifesto; and immediately after it, the Prince, who had the reputation of being one of the most tactful of men-of-the-world, took a step which hinted that the Royal House, as often before, meant to come to the rescue of the country which loved it however the politicians might bungle: Hogarth was invited to accept the Garter.

He accepted: and the ceremony in the _Boodah_ was witnessed, as it were, by Europe, King-at-Arms in a new tabard, with his suite, going to invest him, taking the Statute of the Chapter, with the Great Seal of England, and a set of habiliments--white-silk stockings, gold sword Spanish hat, stars, gloves. And the effect was speedy, the other rulers, dumbfounded before, said now: "England will comply with the Manifesto; and, if before us, the taxed sea opens to her....Yield, moreover, we must: let us make haste!"