er eyes and her vizard was hanging by its chain.

Sympathetic Betty lifted the vizard, saying: "Cover your face till we go
to my room. Poor mistress! It must be all awry with your love, and I have
heard that there is no pain like it."

We climbed the steps, and, as we were going across the yard, Betty twined
her arm about Frances's waist. Wishing to comfort her by changing the
subject, she said:--

"I have neither powder nor rouge in my room, but I have black patches,
though I have never dared to use one, fearing to be accused of aping the
great ladies."

"Betty, there are no great ladies so good and beautiful as you," said
Frances, trying to check her weeping. "If I were a man, you should not go
long without a chance for a husband."

"Oh, I've had chances in plenty," answered Betty, proudly. "But father
says I'm too hard to suit and will die a maid. He says I want a
gentleman, and--" (Here she sighed and glanced involuntarily toward me.)
"He is right. I will have none other."

"Seek lower and fare better," said Frances.

"I don't know how it will all turn out," replied Betty with a sigh.
The topic seemed to be alive with sighs. "A woman may not choose, and
I suppose I shall one day take the man my father chooses, having no part
in the affair myself, though it is the most important one in my life."

"Nonsense, Betty," returned Frances. "You are like the rest of us, and
when the right one comes, you will seek him if need be--in a cellar. Take
my advice, Betty, when the right one comes, help him, and thank me ever
after."

When we entered the house, Frances went with Betty to her room, leaving
me in the tap-room, waiting to take my foolish cousin home.

To say that I was troubled would feebly express my state of mind. All my
dreams of fortune for Frances and glory for her family had vanished. I
did not know at that time that she and Hamilton had agreed never to meet
again, though had I known, I should have put little faith in the compact.

CHAPTER VIII

IN FEAR OF THE KING

When Frances came downstairs, she and I started home, walking first down
Gracious Street, and then through Upper Thames Street toward Temple Bar.
It was no time to scold her, since I was sure that she knew quite as well
as I could tell her the folly and the recklessness of what she had just
done. I also believed there must have been an overpowering motive back of
it all, and that being true, I knew that nothing I could say would