y Peers." But the trial, which drew thousands to
Westminster, was of short duration. To the demand that "all manner of
persons who will give evidence against the accused should come forth,"
no response was given. Not a solitary witness for the Crown appeared.
One by one the Peers pronounced their verdict, "Not Guilty, upon my
honour"; the Lord Steward broke his white staff; and amid a crowd of
congratulating friends, the Earl walked out a free man.

And what was the fate of Mary King, the cause, however innocent, of all
this tragedy? For her own sake, and for obvious reasons, it was
important that she should disappear for a time until the scandal had
subsided; and with this object she was sent, under an assumed name, to
join the family of a Welsh clergyman, not one of whom knew anything of
her story. Here, secluded from the world, and in a happy environment,
she soon recovered her old health and gaiety. She was young; and youth
is quick to find healing and forgetfulness. In the Welsh parsonage she
made herself beloved by her amiability and admired for her gifts of
mind.

Among the latter was a talent for story-telling, with which she beguiled
many a long, winter evening. On one such evening she told the story of
her late tragic experiences, disguising it only by giving fictitious
names to the characters. And she told the story with such power and
pathos that, at its conclusion, her auditors were reduced to tears for
the maiden and execrations for her betrayer.

Carried away by the excitement of the moment and the effect she had
produced, she exclaimed: "I, myself, am the person for whom you express
such sorrow." Then, horrified by her indiscretion, she added: "And now,
I suppose, you will drive me from your home." But such was not to be
Mary King's fate. The clergyman, who was a widower, had already almost
lost his heart to her charms; and her sufferings made his conquest
complete. A few weeks later the bells rang merrily out when Mary King
became the wife of her kindly host; and for many a long year there was
no one more beloved or happy in all Wales than the parson's wife, who
had thus romantically come through the storm into a haven of peace.

CHAPTER XI

A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY ELOPEMENT

In the latter days of Queen Elizabeth there was no merchant in England
better known or held in higher repute than Sir John Spencer, the
Rothschild or Rockefeller of his day, whose shrewdness and industry had
raised him t