"Odds fish! Yes! I forgot to marry your sister," answered De Grammont, appropriating the king's oath, and apparently astounded at his own forgetfulness. "Thank you, dear count, for reminding me. I'll go back to London and do it at once."

"Your parole?" asked Anthony.

"Yes, the word of a De Grammont," answered the count, whereupon the Hamiltons lifted their hats and galloped home, knowing certainly that De Grammont would follow.

De Grammont reached London soon after sun-up, and, true to his word, married Miss Hamilton, blessed his stars ever afterward for having done so, and gave her no cause for unhappiness save a French one.

Soon after the sale to Wentworth, I received a letter from George telling me that King Louis had not only made him rich, but had appointed him Governor of Dunkirk, with promise of further advancement. George said, also, that the French king, having heard of my part in the Dunkirk transaction and my disgrace with my king, had offered to advance my interest if I would go to France. In a postscript to the letter, which was much longer than the letter itself, Frances told me how she and George had been married immediately on landing in France, and were living very happily in Paris, where they would remain until George should take up the government of Dunkirk.

So it had all fallen out just as one might have expected to find it in a story-book. George had been proved by Fortune's touchstone, and her Ladyship had chosen him for her smile. He had won the long odds.

What remains to be told is simply the denouement of my own affairs.

At the time of my transaction with Wentworth I said nothing to Bettina about the sale of my t.i.tle and estates, but when I heard that our friends were safe and happy in France, I went down to the Old Swan, with more fear than I should have thought possible, to broach a certain matter, which was very near my heart, to Betty and her father.

I knew that in so far as Betty herself was concerned, I should find no trouble, but I also knew that I might find difficulty in persuading her to leave her father, for duty was a tremendous word in Betty's vocabulary.

When I reached the Old Swan, policy and fear each told me that it would be safer to attack Betty and her father separately. The odds of two against one, in this case, I feared would be too great for me to overcome. So I led Betty to her parlor,--rather she led me,--and after a preliminary skirmish, I told her I had come to see her on a most important piece of business.

"I'm glad to see you, whatever brings you, Baron Ned," she answered, smoothing out her skirts in antic.i.p.ation of an interesting budget of news.

"But I'm no longer 'Baron Ned,' Betty," I informed her.

She asked a hundred questions with her eyes and eyebrows, and I hastily answered them by telling of the sale to Wentworth.

"Ah, I'm so sorry," she answered, "and I'm so glad, too, that I could cry. You don't seem so much above me nor so far away."

"That was my chief reason for selling my t.i.tle and estates," I answered, reaching forward and taking her hand, which for the first time she did not withdraw. "I sold them, Betty, for a large price, but my reason for so doing was one that could not be measured by money. I want you for my wife, Betty, and my t.i.tle, at least, stood between us. I should have given it away if I could not have sold it, because I want you, Betty, more than anything else in all the world."

"Ah, please don't, Baron Ned!" she cried, bringing her handkerchief to her eyes. "It can't be. I'm not so selfish as to take you at your word."

I was sitting on the cushioned bench by the wall, and she was in a chair facing me, within easy reach, so I caught her wrists and drew her to me, whispering:--

"Sit here, Bettina, by my side, and tell me why it cannot be, for I pledge you my honor I am not to be denied." She resisted for a moment, but at last sat down beside me, and I put my arm about her, despite her fluttering struggle. "Now, tell me why, Bettina. I need not tell you that you have my love. You know it without the telling."

She nodded her head "Yes," and covered her face with her hands.

"And am I wrong in believing that I possess your love?" I asked.

She shook her head to indicate that I was not wrong, and the little gesture was as good as an oath to me. After her confession, she would not dare to resist me, nor did she, save to say pleadingly:--

"Please, Baron Ned, it cannot be."

Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and I could see that she was in great trouble.

"I do not ask you to come to me now," I said, "but you may take a long time, if you wish--a day, or two, or even three, if you insist. But Betty, I am not to be refused, and you may as well understand now and for all that you are to be my wife. But tell me, Betty, what is your reason for denying me at this time?"

She dried her eyes, sat erect, and answered in a voice full of tears: "Well, you are so far above me that the time might come when you would be ashamed of me."

"Nothing of the sort, Betty. Drop that argument at once. You know you do not mean it. You are not speaking the exact truth. There is no sweetness, no beauty, like yours."

"Do you really mean it, Baron Ned?" she answered, smiling up to me.

"Yes, yes, every word and a thousand more," I answered.

"But I am so unworthy," she said.

"You're pretending, Betty," I answered, and I argued so well that she abandoned her position.

"Now, give me another reason, Betty," I demanded, feeling encouraged by the success of my first bout. To this she answered with great hesitancy, murmuring her words almost inaudibly:--

"I could not leave father."

That was the reason I had feared, and when I drew away from her, showing my great disappointment in my face, she took one of my hands in both of hers, saying:--

"Not that I should not be happy to go with you anywhere, but you see I am all the world to father. He would die without me."

Here, of course, I might expect tears, nor was I disappointed. I, too, found the tears coming to my eyes, for her grief touched me keenly, and her love for her father showed me even more plainly than I had ever before known the unselfish tenderness of the girl I so longed to possess.

It was hard for me to speak against this argument of hers; for it was like finding fault with the best part of her, so for a little time we were silent. After a minute or two, she glanced up to me and, seeing my great trouble, murmured brokenly:--

"If you think I am worth waiting for, and if you will wait till father is gone, I will go with you, and your smallest and greatest wish alike shall be mine. And when you become ashamed of me, I'll--"

"I'll not wait, Betty," I answered, ignoring the latter half of her remark. "I have a far better plan. I am going to France, and you and your father shall go with me."

"Ah, will you take him?" she cried, falling to the floor on her knees, creeping between mine, and clasping her hands about my neck. Her sweet, warm breath came to me like a waft from a field of roses, the fluffy shreds of her hair tingled my cheek, thrilling me to the heart, while the touch of her hand and the clasp of her arm carried me to heaven.

Then she laid her head on my breast, her lips came close to mine, and she murmured with a sigh:--

"Now, Baron Ned, as you will."

I told Betty to call Pickering, and when he came in I related my story.

I told him how Betty and I were of one mind, how George had prospered in France and had invited me to share his good fortune, how I wanted to go to France and to take Bettina with me, and how I wanted him to sell the Old Swan and go with us to the fair land across the Channel, where his wealth would give him station such as he deserved.

Immediately he objected, saying that the scheme was impossible. He said that he could sell the Old Swan for a great sum to Robbins, of the Dog's Head, and that all he possessed, aside from the inn, was in gold, lodged with Backwell, but for all that, my plan could not be considered for a moment.

"My dear Pickering, hear my side of the case," I insisted, determined to win this last bout as I had won the others. "You love your daughter and would be unhappy if she were to leave you alone in the world?"

"Indeed I should be," he answered firmly. "I will not consider your suggestion. I will not. I will not."

"She is more generous than you," I returned, "and refuses to leave you, though she would be very unhappy if you force her to remain."

"I suppose you think so," he replied sullenly.

"I know so," I answered, "and can prove it by Betty." Betty nodded her head "Yes," and I continued: "You will not be unhappy in France with us.

You will be happy. Yet you refuse to be happy save in your own stubborn way, even though you bring grief to the tenderest heart in the world. But come, come, Pickering! This will not do! I tell you, I'm not to be refused!"

Pickering lapsed into stubborn silence, and as there is no arguing with a man who will not argue, I determined to take another course; so I spoke sharply:--