After thinking over the situation, I determined to go to my uncle's house. As I had suspected, Frances was not there. After greeting Sir Richard and Sarah, I asked them, as though speaking by the way, when they had seen Frances.

"She hasn't been home for a week or more," answered Sir Richard.

"I wish she would make haste in choosing a husband, or in wheedling one to choose her," remarked Sarah. "I'll beat her in the race if she doesn't. If I should, I might furnish a new saw to the world: 'The suitor is not always to the beautiful, nor the husband to the soft of tongue.' I have a gallant."

"So I have suspected of late," I answered.

"Yes, you're right--John Churchill," answered Sarah.

"He is a fine man," I returned.

"Yes," replied Sarah, apparently very serious, though there was a twinkle in her eye. "But I'm not sure of him yet." Then with a sigh: "I would that I were. If he knows what is for his own good, he'll speak soon, as I intend to make a duke of him before he dies, and the sooner we get at it the better. A sensible conscience, prepense to its own interest, a good courtier, and a shrewd wife have made many a duke of far poorer material than my John."

I laughed, and Sir Richard smiled, but we each seemed to feel that Sarah's words were prophetic, and the future bore us out, as all the world knows.

After waiting in my uncle's parlor an hour or more, hoping that Frances would arrive, I took my leave and walked down to the Old Swan, where I found her. What happened there I learned afterward from her and from others--that is, what I did not see for myself.

After leaving Whitehall, Frances had made her way directly to the Old Swan, where she soon found Betty. At first the girl did not seem inclined to be at all cordial, but when Frances told her that she was in trouble and wanted help, Betty's kind heart responded at once. "Trouble" was the pa.s.sword to Betty's good graces.

"Let us go to a room where we may be by ourselves," suggested Frances. "I want to talk to you freely where we shall not be overheard."

Betty led the way to her own little parlor on the second floor and placed a chair for her guest near a window opening on the court. Frances sat down and asked Betty, who evidently intended to remain standing, to bring a chair and sit beside her.

"I would not think of sitting in your Grace's presence," answered Betty, courtesying respectfully.

"Sit down, Betty, please, and let us be friends," said Frances, coaxingly. "I am not a d.u.c.h.ess. I am only a girl like yourself. My name is Mistress Jennings--Frances. Nelly Gwynn was jesting when she spoke of me as a d.u.c.h.ess, and only wanted to tease you when she objected to the table linen. She is good and kind--no one can be more so."

"Yes," returned Betty. "She came back and said that the linen was beautiful and offered me money for myself, but I refused. You see I am not--well, I am not a servant. But afterward she gave me a hundred jacobusses for the poor, and I thanked her. I am very sorry that I was angry the day of the fight, but you know the great persons who come here from Whitehall are very irritating, and treat us all with contempt."

"I am not a great lady, Betty, though I live at court. I am poor and very far from happy. I am not so good as you, Betty, I'm sure, though I do the best I can not to be bad."

"Oh, you are too beautiful not to be good," returned Betty, warming up to my cousin.

"Whether I am beautiful or not I care little, for I am in great trouble and have come to you for help," said Frances. "My cousin, Baron Clyde, who is as dear to me as a brother, is full of your praises, and only the other day said that there was no woman or girl in England purer or better than you, and that he knew none in the world whom he deemed more beautiful."

The red came to Betty's cheeks, and she answered, smiling and dimpling: "Ah, did he say that of me? I deem him my very good friend indeed. Is he really your cousin?"

"Yes, he is more a brother than a cousin," returned Frances.

Immediately Betty softened and, drawing a chair close to Frances's side, sat down. After a long pause, she murmured: "Then if I may, I, too, would be your friend."

"I knew you would," answered Frances. "Now give me your hand, so that we may feel as well as see and hear each other. Ah, Betty, how soft and warm your hand is. I don't wonder that my cousin praises you. You have won me already, and I hope we may always be good friends."

"I shall be glad," murmured Betty, pressing Frances's hand, a.s.suringly.

"You say you are in trouble. In what way may I help you?"

Frances began, "You know Master Hamilton--Master George Hamilton?"

"Yes," answered Betty.

"And you would be glad to help me save him from great peril?" asked Frances.

"Yes, Mistress Jennings. He, too, is my friend and a good man."

"Yes, yes, tell me, Betty. Good, say you? I had not supposed him good, but--"

"If you supposed otherwise, you were wrong," returned Betty, straightening up in her chair, ready to do battle for her friend.

"Yes, yes, tell me, please, Betty, why you deem him good," pleaded Frances, eager to be convinced. "What has he done or left undone?"

"He has left undone all which he should not have done in so far as I know," said Betty, "and has done a great deal of good. Recently when a plague was raging along the wall from Aldgate to Bishopgate, where a great many poor people live, you know, Master Hamilton went down among them at peril of his life."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Frances, eagerly.

"He nursed them and carried food and water to them. You know one stricken with the plague is ready to die of thirst. He took care of the children, helped to bury the dead, which, you know, in case of very poor people, is done after night, consoled the bereaved, and--oh, Mistress Jennings, it was an awful sight!" said Betty, tears coming to her eyes.

"And Master Hamilton helped them?" asked Frances, hoping to keep the glorious narrative going.

"Yes, he did the work of half a score of men," said Betty. "In the disguise of a Quaker, he solicited money with which to buy medicine and to employ physicians, and did everything in his power to comfort the poor sufferers. Doctor Lilly, the astrologer, helped us. People say he is a cheat, but I wish we had more of his kind among us."

"And you helped him?" asked Frances.

"Yes, a little," said Betty, modestly. "But my father helped him a great deal with money and food."

"Master Hamilton is in danger of his life," said Frances, "and I would save him. Will you help me to find him?"

After a long pause, Betty asked: "But how shall I know that you mean fair by him? I'll see him if I can, and when you return, I'll tell you where to find him if he consents."

"So you do know where he is?" asked Frances, eagerly.

Betty did not reply, so Frances continued: "I do mean him fair, Betty. I am risking everything--my good name, perhaps even life itself, in seeking him. I expected to have to prove my good intent, so I brought with me this letter which no one save myself has ever seen, nor any one other than you shall ever see. Read it, Betty. It is one Master Hamilton sent to me from France."

Betty hesitated, but as Frances insisted, she read the letter and returned it, saying:--

"You are his sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes, Betty, in all that is best and most terrible in the meaning of the word."

Betty sat thinking for a moment, then went to the window, saying, "If you will look out the window across the courtyard, you will see a flight of stone steps leading to the cellar."

"Yes, yes, I see," returned Frances.

"If you go down the steps, you will find a door to which I shall give you the key. Enter and you will be in an empty room, the walls of which are hung with worn tapestries taken from the inn. On one side of the room you will see a tapestried panel bearing the image of St. George and the dragon. Behind the panel is a concealed door, seemingly a part of the wall, but if you will allow the tapestry to hang and will press the eye of the dragon, the door will open and you may find--your St. George."

Frances caught Betty in her arms, crying, "Let me go to him at once, at once!"

Betty and Frances went downstairs, and after waiting a minute or two, Betty said, "Now there is no one in the courtyard, and you may cross unseen."

Frances hastened across the courtyard and down the cellar steps. On reaching the outer door of which Betty had spoken, she halted in fear.