n any wise, it appears thou art doomed. Take my
advice, look to thyself and let the--"

"'Sdeath! finish it not!" and there was that in the young lord's eyes
that curtailed the Duke's words, and he stood frowning at Cedric and
thinking what next to say.

"When thou art acquainted with the circumstances, my lord, thou wilt
see thy peril. One Christopher, whom I once befriended with a bottle
of wine in a certain close passage, came tottering to me, asking for
my patronage, which I accorded him, as he was a sorry spectacle. As a
reward for my seeming kindness, he told me that the knave Cantemir
was arousing the Protestants by speaking of the monastery being a
_rendezvous_ for all good Catholics, naming the lord of Crandlemar as
one of them. The knave is working with both factions. He has gained
some powerful help. These are to come upon the King and demand a
confiscation of thy lands, thou art also to be sent to Tower or
Tyburn-tree for the murder of thy servant--"

"Enough, enough, my heaven! I did kill the bastard Christopher."

"Ah! not so. 'The bastard Christopher' is still on his legs and gives
Cantemir's plans away; for the knave kicked him when he was down. Thou
art to have thy head, but--"

"Nay, my friend, tell me no more. Ah!--is there any limit to this
devil's industry! I have to thank thee to-night, on the morrow--"

"I'm expecting to leave Whitehall early--" Cedric started.

"Will Monmouth bear thee company?"

"Nay, his Majesty seems on a sudden to have an undue fondness for
him."

"God strengthen it."

"'Tis a pity there is such thing, else his Grace would not care to
go."

"And thou and I might not have been brought into this world."

"And Adam have had eyes only for the serpent, not even coveting the
apple."

"_Adieu_, my lord!"

"_Adieu_, your Grace!"

The candles were just a-light within the villa, where the thick
foliage of tree and vine brought a premature gloaming. Outside fell
upon the sward the last rays of the setting sun. In the depths of the
shadowy leaves the glow-worms displayed their phosphorescent beauty;
the lampyrid beetles plied between gloom and obscurity, impatient for
the mirror of night to flaunt therein their illumined finery. In
the distance was heard the lusty song of the blowsy yokels, as they
clumsily carted homeward the day's gathering. The erudite nightingale
threw wide the throttle of his throat and taught some nestling kin the
sweetness of his lore.

From