knee and stretched forth her arms suppliantly.

"Adair is in such a tight place, Sire, he can scarcely breathe," she
pleaded, with the zeal of a barrister hard-working for his first fee in
her voice, "much less speak for himself. Mercy!"

"We will have justice; not mercy," replied the court, with a sly wink at
Rochester. "Guilty or not guilty, wench?"

"Not guilty, Sire! Did you ever see the man who was?"

The King laughed despite himself, followed by his ever-aping courtiers.

"I'll plead for the Crown," asserted the grim James, with great
vehemence, "to rid the realm of this dancing-Jack."

"Thou hast cause, brother," laughed the King. "Rochester, thou shalt sit
by us here."

Rochester sprang, with a contented chuckle, into a chair on the opposite
side of the table to that upon which his Majesty was holding his
mock-court and seated himself upon its high back, so poised as not to
fall. From this lofty bench, with a queer gurgle, to say nothing of a
swelling of the chest, and with an approving glance from his Majesty, he
added his mite to the all-inspiring dignity of the revellers' court.

"Judge Rochester!" continued the King, slapping him with his glove,
across the table. "Judge--of good ale. We'll confer with the cups,
imbibe the statutes and drink in the law. Set the rascal before us."

In obedience to the command, a man well muffled with a cloak was forced
into the room, a guard at either arm.

Behind them, taking advantage of the open door to appease their
curiosity, crowded many hangers-on of courtdom, among whom was Strings,
who had met the revellers some distance from the house and had returned
with them.

"Hold off your hands, knaves," commanded the prisoner, who was none
other than Hart, the player, indignant at the detention.

"Silence, rogue!" commanded the King. "Thy name?"

"Sire!" cried Hart, throwing off his mantle and glancing for the first
time at the judge's face. He sank immediately upon one knee, bowing
respectfully.

"Jack Hart!" cried one and all, craning their necks in surprise and
expectation.

"'Slife, a spy upon our merry-making!" exclaimed the displeased monarch.
"What means this prowling, sir?"

"Pardon, pardon, my reply, your Majesty," humbly importuned the player.
"Blinded by passion, I might say that I should regret."

"Your strange behaviour and stranger looks have meaning, sir," cried the
King, impatiently. "Out with it! These are too dangerous times to
withhold y