n, the magic of her art? Is she short, tall, fat, lean, joyous
or sombre? I must know."

"Oh, Nell, what will you do?" cried Moll in fearful accents as she
watched her beautiful mistress standing passion-swayed before her like a
queen in the moonlight, the little toe of her slipper nervously beating
the sward as she general-like marshalled her wits for the battle.

"See her, see her,--from top to toe!" Nell at length exclaimed. "Oh,
there will be sport, sweet mouse. France again against England--the
stake, a King!"

She glanced in the direction of the house and cried joyously as she saw
Strings hobbling toward her.

"Heaven ever gave me a man in waiting," she said, gleefully. "Poor
fellow, he limps from youthful, war-met wounds. Comrade, are you still
strong enough for service?"

"To the death for you, Mistress Nell!" he faithfully replied.

"You know the Duchess of Portsmouth, and where she lives?" artfully
inquired Nell.

"Portsmouth!" he repeated, excitedly. "She was here but now, peeping at
your windows."

Nell stood aghast. Her face grew pale, and her lips trembled.

"Here, here!" she exclaimed, incredulously. "The imported hussy!"

She turned hotly upon Strings, as she had upon poor Moll, with an array
of questions which almost paralyzed the old fiddler's wits. "How looks
she? What colour eyes? Does her lip arch? How many inches span her
waist?"

Strings looked cautiously about, then whispered in Nell's ear. He might
as well have talked to all London; for Nell, in her excitement, repeated
his words at the top of her voice.

"You overheard? Great Heavens! Drug the King and win the rights of
England while he is in his cups? Bouillon--the army--Louis--the Dutch! A
conspiracy!"

"Oh, dear; oh, dear," came from Moll's trembling lips.

Nell's wits were like lightning playing with the clouds. Her plans were
formed at once.

"Fly, fly, comrade," she commanded Strings. "Overtake her chair. Tell
the Duchess that her beloved Charles--she will understand--entreats her
to sup at Ye Blue Boar Inn, within the hour. Nay, she will be glad
enough to come. Say he awaits her alone. Run, run, good Strings, and you
shall have a hospital to nurse these wounds, as big as Noah's ark; and
the King shall build it for the message."

Strings hastened down the path, fired by Nell's inspiration, with almost
the eagerness of a boy.

"Run, run!" cried Nell, in ecstasy, as she looked after him and dwelt
gleefully upon the ou