"I've no hope of you, sir."

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""Twill be dull for you then, I am fearing." Why, sir, there is your friend. Do you know I think one might quarrel with him.' Mr Healy stiffened. "He is, you see, my

friend."

"But he might be a gentleman, even so." "Did you seek me to tell me that?" said Healy sharply.

Mistress Leigh clapped her hands and laughed. "Bravo! Tis a hot answer at last." Mr Healy put his hand on her shoulder and let her feel the weight. "My dear, if you play with fire," says he, "you will have hot words enough."

"La you sir! And how could I tell the French gentleman was God?"

"Sure, no, you could tell no more than that he was my friend- and that would be no guidance for you at all. You'll pardon me, but I see a dead leaf." For the sake of which Mr Healy then turned his back upon Mistress Leigh, whose cheeks flamed, who stalked off with her little nose held high. She told herself that no man had ever been as rude to her. And they were both utterly detestable. After all, what could one expect of a man that grew gillyflowers in pipkins?

M. de Beaujeu, at least, was not devoted to horticulture. His keen blue eyes were investigating the psychology of a crowd, his ears alert to the same end. Mr Wharton and he made their way down Whitehall through a host of sober citizens all a-whispering. M. de

Beaujeu remarked to himself that it is a perilous hour when crowds whisper.

All the Bishops were to be burnt in Smithfield-all good Protestants were to be roasted with them-every man was to eat frogs and wear wooden shoes-the Pope and the King of France were coming over together-and England would never endure it! So the wise crowd whispered and Mr Wharton grinned largely at M. de Beaujeu.

They came to the Horse Guards and there the crowd was packed incomparable tight before two proclamations on the gate - posts. By patience and stiff elbows the two tall gentlemen won near enough to read over lesser heads. Mr Wharton's rumour had not lied. King James declared in fat black print his gracious will to break laws. He informed his good people that he had already dismissed many of his servants who would not assist him in the good work, and hinted not dubiously that in the army, in the great offices of state, nay, in the Church of England there was room only for Papists. In fact it was not so far a cry from the King's own word to the Smithfield fires of the crowd.

Mr Wharton looked at Beaujeu, who smiled and murmured gently, "When the King is a fool!" But Mr Wharton was entirely serious.

They pushed out of the thick knot of gasping readers, and in a moment beheld what had brought the crowd westward. His Majesty King James was riding forth from the palace to the camp at Hounslow. His Majesty

passed through a gloomy silence. No head was bared for him. His long lean sallow face turned restlessly this way and that, and, as it passed, M. de Beaujeu swept off his hat and made a magnificent bow-to the vast disgust of his sturdy Protestant neighbours.

""Tis in fact his due, Wharton," said he with a laugh as they turned away.

Mr Wharton made no answer. They passed into St James's Park-Mr Wharton vastly serious still. Under the trees Mr Wharton walked Beaujeu swiftly to and fro, and Mr Wharton studied the turf minutely and his ugly mouth twitched. It was a long time before he looked up, and slowly pausing sometimes, "Well, damme, 'tis hell or glory now,' says he. "Bring us your Orange, Beaujeu. But, man, for God's own sake, if you have a God, let us have no Monmouth folly.. I want no Bloody Assize for my lads." Mr Wharton (it is remarkable) appeared moved. "In fact I am little like Monmouth," said Beaujeu, who was not moved at all.

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"You have his disdain for all but your godly self," Wharton snapped. Well, I have done. I am with you.'

Beaujeu nodded recognition. "I shall have another despatch to write for Little Hooknose. Do you know, I think I'll have my cousin Jack take it. I cannot spare Healy now. Also it will be educative for Jack to do some good in the world."

"You are curst used to that yourself," growled Wharton.

Beaujeu laughed and struck an attitude, "Mordieu! am I not the benefactor of all England?

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Mr Wharton stared at him, Mr Wharton's sunken eyes flashed-then he grinned. should find you more comfortable if you were less of a devil," said he.

CHAPTER XXI

MY LORD SUNDERLAND RECEIVES AN EPISTLE

It was later. Mr Jack Dane, very proud of himself, stood on the deck of a schooner dropping down from Blackwall on the first of the tide. Mr Dane bore in his bosom the fortunes of England-Wharton and Beaujeu were agreed upon that and in the politest language M. de Beaujeu had invited him to risk his neck by bearing those pregnant despatches to William of Orange. So behold Mr Dane, quite content with himself, quite other than that hero betrayed of twenty-four full hours ago. Mr Dane had awarded the traitress a contemptuous pardon. Begad, 'twas only boys whom women amused, boys only whom women could hurt. Regard Mr Dane, illuminated by the sunset, a man of the world, of affairs.

At the same hour my Lord Sunderland received a visitor-my Lord Sherborne. Now my Lord Sunderland was writhing upon a dilemma. Unless he would consent to persecute the

L

Church, King James his master proposed to dismiss him. My lord had indeed no sentimental objections to persecuting anything, but he was distraught by a conviction that a persecution of the Church would have a mighty ill end for the persecutors. Consent or refuse, my lord foresaw disaster. Wherefore he was most anxious to lose no friends, and my Lord Sherborne found him very amiable. My Lord Sherborne, who wanted something, was also very amiable, and there was an edifying display of manly affection in my Lord

Sunderland's cabinet. At the end of which (each gentleman conceiving that he had vastly impressed the other) my Lord Sherborne said mysteriously, "But indeed, Sunderland, if I trespass on your time it is with matter of some moment."

"I hope," says Sunderland, his thin lips smiling, "you will give me the occasion to serve you, my dear Sherborne ?"

"I know that I could count upon your readiness. But, in fact, it is to serve the King.

And my Lord Sunderland at once opined that it was something more than common base. But he still smiled and said heartily, "Even so, my dear Sherborne, I am scarce the more ready. But I know your admirable zeal, and have remarked on it to His Majesty. Pray let me hear. I will see that the credit of what may be done shall be entirely yours."

My Lord Sherborne leant forward across the table, and Sunderland observed that his face was redder than usual. "You must know,"