But the old man laughed derisively.

"Important business? . . . and prithee with whom, wench?"

"With the Duke of Wess.e.x . . ." she retorted after a slight hesitation, "There! . . . now wilt let me go?"

But the watchman laughed more immoderately than before.

"Oho! . . . ho! ho! ho! that's a likely tale, my wench, there's many a young woman has business with His Grace, I'll warrant. . . . But thou'st best tell that tale to the d.u.c.h.ess of Lincoln first. . . . Business with the Duke of Wess.e.x . . . ha! ha! ha! . . ."

"My friend," here interposed a gentle, very urbane voice, "meseems thy zeal somewhat outruns thy discretion. If this child has indeed business with the Duke of Wess.e.x, His Grace might prefer that thou shouldst keep a quieter tongue in thy head."

The Cardinal, at sound of the Duke's name, had gradually drawn nearer to the group. Lord Everingham, impelled by the same natural curiosity, had followed him.

"You would wish to speak with His Grace, child?" continued His Eminence with that same gentle benevolence which inspired an infinity of confidence in the unwary. "Do you know him?"

The watchman, astonished, abashed, very highly perplexed at this unexpected interference, was rendered absolutely speechless. The girl had turned defiantly on her new interlocutor, whose outline she could but vaguely distinguish in the darkness.

"What's it to you?" she retorted with obvious suspicion and mistrust.

"Not much I own," replied the Cardinal with imperturbable kindliness; "I only thought that being alone and perhaps frightened you would be glad of some help."

"Your Eminence . . ." stammered the watchman, who was trying to recover his speech.

"Silence!" commanded His Eminence. "I wish to speak with this young woman alone."

The worthy watchman had naught to do but to obey. There was no questioning an order given by so great a lord as the Cardinal de Moreno himself. The good man discreetly withdrew, His Eminence quietly waiting until he was out of earshot.

"Now, child, have no fear," said the Cardinal gently. "Tell me . . . you wish to speak with the Duke of Wess.e.x?"

She turned resolutely towards him.

"You'll take me to him?" she asked.

"Perhaps," he replied.

A great struggle must have been raging within her. Even through the gloom His Eminence could see her shoulders and breast working convulsively, whilst her breath came and went in quick, feverish gasps.

"I have been watching in the gardens at night," she murmured at last; "for he is a great lord, and I dared not approach him by day. He saved my life . . . and I can read the stars. . . . I see that a great danger threatens him. . . .

"Oh! I must warn him," she added in a sudden outburst of pa.s.sionate vehemence. "I must go to him . . . I must."

Lord Everingham tried to interpose, but His Eminence restrained him with a quick touch upon his arm. The Cardinal's hands were beautiful, white and caressing as those of a woman, delicately scented and be-ringed. He pa.s.sed them gently over the girl's head, whilst he whispered softly--

"So you shall, child . . . so you shall. . . . Then, tell me . . . His Grace saved your life, you say? and you are very grateful to him, of course . . . more than that, perhaps . . . you love him very dearly, eh?

"What's that to you?" retorted the girl sullenly.

Lord Everingham once more made as if he would interrupt this curious interrogatory. His loyalty to his friend rebelled against this prying into matters which might prove unpleasant for Wess.e.x.

That the girl was no Court lady out on some mad frolic was patent enough, whilst the pa.s.sionate ring of her voice, when she mentioned the Duke's name, proved very clearly that she had seen him, and seeing him had perhaps learnt to love him.

Who knows? Some secret intrigue, not altogether avowable, might lie at the bottom of this strange adventure. Everingham's heart misgave him at the thought that Wess.e.x' most open enemy should perhaps learn a secret hitherto kept from all his friends.

The girl, on the other hand, seemed willing to trust the Cardinal. She repeated doggedly once or twice--

"You'll take me to him? . . . at once? . . ."

"If I can," replied His Eminence, still very protecting, very suave and kind, "but not just now. . . . His Grace is with the Queen . . . you are too sensible and earnest, I feel sure, to wish to intrude upon him.

. . . But will you not trust me a little while? . . . and I promise you that you shall see him."

"Nay! I've nothing to lose by trusting you or any one," she replied. "If you do not take me to him, I'll find my way alone."

"Come, that's brave independence. But, child, if I am to help you with His Grace of Wess.e.x, I must at least know who you are."

"They call me Mirrab."

At sound of the name Everingham started. One or two vague recollections, in connection with the soothsayer of East Molesey Fair, seemed to be chasing one another in his mind, but he could not give them definite shape.

A strange feeling, made up of uneasiness and shame, coupled with excitement and intense curiosity, caused him to go and pick up the watchman's lanthorn, which lay on the ground close by.

When he was near the girl again he held it up, and the light fell full on her face.

Then he remembered.

It was Mirrab, the necromancer, the kitchen wench, used by a vulgar trickster to hoodwink some gullible burgesses and their dames at the village fair, but whom Nature had, in one of her unaccountable freaks, endowed with the same golden hair, the same exquisite features, the same deep and wonderful eyes, as the most beautiful woman at Mary Tudor's court, the Lady Ursula Glynde.

The veil which usually enveloped Mirrab's head had fallen round her shoulders; her dress was of coa.r.s.e woollen stuff, open at the neck and short in the sleeves; the arms and hands, rough and clumsy in shape, betrayed the girl's humble origin, and the likeness to Lady Ursula was confined to the face and hair. But it was there, nevertheless; quite unmistakable, even bewildering to the two men who were gazing, speechless, at this strange spectacle.

Then Everingham put down the lanthorn. He dared not look at the Cardinal, half fearing, perhaps, that the wild thoughts and schemes which had suddenly arisen in his mind at sight of this extraordinary freak of nature should have already found more definite shape in His Eminence's astute and far-seeing brain.

Strangely enough, at this moment, the practised diplomatist, the wily and unscrupulous Spaniard, met the more simple-souled Englishman on common ground, and at once felt sure of his co-operation.

Both had the same end in view: a desire to break up any relationship which may have sprung up between the Duke of Wess.e.x and the beautiful young girl, of whom this otherwise coa.r.s.e wench was the perfect physical counterpart. But the Spaniard was the quicker in thought and in action.

Whilst Everingham still vaguely wondered how the extraordinary resemblance might be utilized to gain that great end which he had in view, the Cardinal had already formed and matured a plan.

He took the veil from Mirrab's shoulders and once more drew it over her head. Then he undid the clumsy knot with which the watchman had pinioned her hands. Mirrab remained perfectly pa.s.sive the while; she seemed under the magic spell of the soft, velvety hands, which had, as it were, taken possession of her person.

The two men had not exchanged one word since the light of the lanthorn had revealed the strange secret to them; they seemed to be acting in perfect accord. There was no longer any need for protestation of outward friendship, or for cementing the compact of temporary alliance.

Everingham once more picked up the lanthorn and went in search of the watchman, in order to dismiss him with a word of command and to ensure his silence with a threat and a few silver coins. The man, of course, knew nothing of the importance of the event which he had unwittingly brought about. He may have vaguely wondered in his mind why His Eminence the Spanish Cardinal should take such a keen interest in a female vagrant, found trespa.s.sing on royal ground. But the few pieces of silver given to him by the n.o.ble lord, soon silenced even this transitory astonishment.

Stolidly he resumed his nightly round, satisfied that he need no longer look for lurking thieves in the park.

When Everingham, having seen the last of the watchman, returned to the spot where he had left His Eminence and Mirrab, he found that both had disappeared.