"I did," answered Frances.

"Are you acquainted with one George Hamilton?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes," answered Frances. And my heart almost leaped out of my mouth in fear that her next word would mean death to an innocent man.

"You may state whether George Hamilton was one of the highwaymen who attacked and killed Roger Wentworth."

Frances paused for perhaps ten seconds, but the time seemed an hour to me, and I remember wondering how the Quaker felt.

"No," she answered, in a voice clear as a bell and without a flutter of hesitancy.

It could easily be seen that her answer surprised the court and the king's counsel, and as the king glanced up to Crofts, who was standing by his side, I noticed a queer expression which seemed to say that the evidence was not what they had expected.

The king's counsel held a brief whispered consultation with the judge, who spoke privately to the king, and suddenly Frances was told that the proceedings were over. Evidently the king had refused to have her questioned further, fearing, no doubt, that she might testify to having recognized the real culprits.

After the court had risen, we were perhaps ten minutes making our way from the courtroom, and when we came to the coaches which were to take us to our barge, I saw the Quaker standing near by. He wore colored spectacles. He was Hamilton. As I pa.s.sed the Quaker, I said to Frances loud enough for him to hear:--

"I shall go to see Betty each Sabbath evening hereafter."

Frances looked up in surprise at my apparently senseless remark, but I did not explain its significance, and she remained in ignorance of the fact that Hamilton had just heard her make what she supposed to be a false oath for his sake. Soon after we reached the palace, my cousin and I walked out to the park, and after a long meditative silence, she asked:--

"Was I guilty of a great sin in making a false oath on the book?"

"No," I answered. "Because you swore to the truth, not only in the spirit, but in the letter. Hamilton was not one of the highwaymen who attacked and killed Roger Wentworth."

"Ah, but I saw him and recognized him," she answered.

"Why, then, did you make oath that you did not?" I asked.

"I have been asking myself the same question over and over," she returned. Then after a long pause. "I deliberately swore falsely. I did recognize him by the light of the lanthorn. I wish I had never seen him, but having known him as I did at one time, I almost wish that I could have remained in ignorance of his guilt. Would that the lanthorn had been dark so that I could not have seen him."

"I do not deny that you saw him, Frances, but I do deny that you saw him attack Roger Wentworth. Hamilton was two hundred yards down the road when Roger was killed. If not, he has lied to me, and, with all his faults, I have always found him truthful."

After a moment she answered musingly: "I believe you are right. Noah had whipped up the horses, and we must have covered at least a hundred yards or more before I saw Master Hamilton's face. I fear I have committed a great sin against him, and this day came near committing a greater. I was on the point of answering 'yes' to the lawyer's question, when some motive prompted me to say 'no,' and to make false oath. I wish I were dead. I have wronged him cruelly, and you are to blame."

The last sentence was purely feminine logic, which is always interesting but usually inaccurate.

She began to weep, and I took her hand to soothe her, as I asked gently: "Tell me, Frances. Tell me all your trouble. Speak it out. Let me be your other self. Perhaps I can help you."

After a long pause she began her pathetic story: "I cannot blind myself to the truth. It is because I cannot stop thinking of him. The creatures that infest this court are but foils to show me that he is a man, even though he be a bad one, while they are mere imitations. I have often heard you say bitingly that women do not hate wickedness in men as they should--"

"I fear it is true," I interrupted dolefully.

"I suppose it is," she continued. "And one might go further and say that no woman ever loved a man only because he was good. Too often goodness is but the lack of courage to do wrong or the absence of temptation. If a man has no qualities save goodness to recommend him, I fear he might go his whole life through not knowing a woman's real love. We are apt to turn from the nauseating innocuousness of the truly good and to thank G.o.d for a modic.u.m of interesting sin."

"I'm sorry to hear this philosophy from you, cousin, for it smacks of bitterness, and I regret to learn that you have not thrown off your love for Hamilton, though I have long suspected the truth."

"Yes, yes, Ned, the truth, the truth! I, too, am sorry. But it can't be helped, and I want to tell you all about it," she said, clasping my arm. "I--I am almost mad about him! The king and the courtiers are harmless. It may be that my love exalts Master Hamilton and debases others by comparison, but it is as I say with me, and I fear it will ever be. He may be bad, but he is strong, brave, and honest. He is a man--all man--and I tell you, Baron Ned, a woman doesn't look much further when she goes to give her love."

My eyes were opening rapidly to qualities in my cousin that I had never suspected, so after a moment I asked in alarm:--

"But surely you would not marry Hamilton?"

"No, I cannot marry him because of father," she answered, shaking her head dolefully. "I must marry a rich man. More than a month ago the Duke of Tyrconnel asked me to be his wife, as you know. He seems to know that he must buy me if he would have me, so he tells me that he has forty thousand pounds a year, and offers to settle ten thousand a year on me if I will marry him. I asked for a fortnight in which to consider his offer, and when the time was up I begged for another, which he granted, kindly saying that he did not want me to answer till I was sure of myself, even though the delay cost him a year's happiness. The time is almost up, and I must ask another extension; but I shall eventually take him, and then G.o.d pity me, for I know I shall die."

"No, no, Frances," I returned, trying to conceal my delight. "You will be happy with d.i.c.k Talbot if you will thrust the other man out of your heart."

"Thrust the other man out of my heart!" she exclaimed. "It was never done by a woman. She may be cured, I suppose, by time and conditions, but she can't cure herself. A woman's heart is like a telescope. It magnifies the man of her choice, but reverses and becomes a diminishing gla.s.s for all others. But I shall accept Tyrconnel just as soon as I grow used to the thought of living with him. Soon you will have accomplished your purpose in bringing me to court."

"My purpose?" I asked in surprise. "Was it not also your purpose?"

"I suppose it was, but I hate myself for having conceived it. I'm learning to hate every one, the king more than any man, unless I except that little wretch, Jermyn, the court lady-killer. What a despicable thing your lady-killer is! Doubtless G.o.d created him to show by comparison the great worth of worms, snakes, and other reptiles."

"What has Little Jermyn been doing?" I asked, amused at her vindictiveness.

"He has crushed so many hearts that he deems himself irresistible, and of late has been annoying me. If by any chance he finds me alone, he importunes me to make a tryst with him and save him from death because of a broken heart. I usually answer by walking away from him and try to show him that he is beneath even my contempt, but his vanity is so great that he imagines my manner to be the outgrowth of pique or a desire to lead him on. Therefore when others are present, he gazes on me with down-bent head and eyes upturned from beneath his bulging forehead, as though he would put a spell upon me."

"Well, let him gaze. It can't harm you," I suggested.

"No, but it makes me ill," she answered. "Three nights ago I was standing with the king and several ladies and gentlemen, waiting for the country dance to begin, for which the king was to call the changes. This Little Jermyn came up to the group, and, without speaking a word to any one, fixed his upturned eyes on me."

"That was a sin," I said, laughing, but she ignored my interruption.

"For a time I paid no heed, but soon his gaze so nauseated me that I could not restrain my anger, and said, loud enough for him and the others to hear, 'What ails the little man, that he should stand there staring at me like a sick calf trying to cast a spell upon the moon?' The king laughed and Jermyn bowed, as he replied, 'The moon pretends to disdain veal, doubtless in the hope of having royal beef.' The king laughed and told Jermyn to gaze elsewhere, if the moon refused to be spellbound, and the little creature left us to carry out the king's suggestion. But I shall marry Tyrconnel and make an end of it all just as soon as possible.'"

We returned to the palace, and I did not see my cousin during the next week. Meantime the king was growing more importunate, and one day affairs reached a terrifying climax when he intimated to Frances that if she would promise to become his wife, he would try to divorce the queen. It has been said, doubtless with truth, that the same offer was made to Mistress Stuart, now the d.u.c.h.ess of Richmond.

When Frances refused his Majesty's offer, which, probably, was made only for the purpose of inducing her to trust him, he asked with ill-concealed anger:--

"Do you refuse my offer because you are still thinking of Hamilton?"

"I would refuse it, your Majesty, were there no other man in the world,"

answered Frances, bowing and asking leave to withdraw.

When Frances told me of this extraordinary offer, I was convinced that the king had no intention of fulfilling it, but it served to open my eyes to the extent of his pa.s.sion, and to a.s.sure me that he would use any means in his power, however desperate, to gain his end. Frances was in danger.

I also knew that if the king held Hamilton responsible for Frances's obduracy, means would be found of putting him out of the way, if his Majesty could but get hands on him. With this belief strong upon me, I was not surprised when Frances came to me in great tribulation, within a day or two, and said:--

"Cousin Ned, it is reported that Master Hamilton is still in London and that he has avowed his intention to kill the king. The surgeon who dressed his wounds is said to be responsible for the accusation. If he is found, he certainly will die, for the proof will be at hand, false or true. The king told me as much, and offered to pardon Master Hamilton if I would ask it in the proper spirit. But I refused, saying that I did not care a farthing what he did respecting Hamilton. You must find him, Baron Ned! Find him at once and give him warning!"

"I feel sure that Betty knows where he is," I answered. "I'll go to her to-morrow."

"Yes, she may know, and I would save him if I could," answered Frances, trying hard to hold back the tears. "I wronged him cruelly, and now I fear it is too late to make amends. I can only moan and weep, and long to ask him to forgive me and to tell him that I am not the creature he thinks I am. I would speak plainly to him for once of what I am and of what I feel for him, and then I am ready to part from him forever and to marry Tyrconnel or any one else who will give me wealth."

The following day Frances asked and received permission from the d.u.c.h.ess to spend the day with Sir Richard. I offered to accompany her, but she refused so emphatically that I suspected there was a purpose in her mind over and above a mere visit to her father's house.

I remember well the day. It was near the hour of ten when I saw her leave the palace by the garden door. She wore a long dark cloak, a small bonnet, and a full vizard which covered her entire face. I had never known her to wear so large a vizard, as she detested even small ones, and wore them only out of respect for the prevailing fashion. She hastened toward the King Street Gate, and I, following at a short distance, saw her take boat at the Charing Cross stairs.