e second afternoon following the
meeting of Catesby with Rookwood and Anne Vaux at the hiding place of
the Jesuit Superior, an interesting conversation took place between
the Queen's lady-in-waiting, and one Robert Carr, a Scotchman, and
favorite of the King. After James ascended the throne of England he
meted out ample measure to his countrymen, likening himself to Joseph,
who, being raised to power, forgot not his brethren. That this Robert
was of goodly parts, being fair of feature and elegant of limb,
rendered him the more acceptable to his royal master; forsooth, there
were few of the nobles in the two kingdoms but knew certain tales
concerning the favorites of the King, young gallants of the period
whose presence at Court added nothing to the honor of their sovereign.

Robert Carr, a person of deep perception and gifted with certain
Scottish wit, pandered much to the follies and pride of his
benefactor. He was also a man easily excited by beauty of face and
grace of manner, and had fallen desperately in love with Mistress
Vaux, to his own undoing and the jealousy of the Queen's women. It was
this state of affairs which the Jesuit had reckoned upon, when, in
casting about for an expedient to check the fiery zeal of Sir Robert
Catesby, he had suggested that one dwelt at Court who might learn what
was in the mind of the King concerning certain policies. Being
instructed by Garnet what course to pursue, Anne Vaux, on her return
to Whitehall, made haste to summon into her presence the King's
favorite. Nor did Carr need a second bidding to betake himself to the
lady's chamber.

"Sweet Anne!" cried he, dropping upon his knee before the
maid-in-waiting, "thou hast saved me from despair. Knowest thou 'tis
eight and forty hours since thy gentle presence hath made earth to me
a paradise?"

"Nay, good Robert!" replied she, demurely casting down her eyes, yet
permitting the gallant to retain her hand, "Speak not of despair; thou
who hast so high a place with our royal master. Amid thy pleasures the
absence of Anne Vaux can be but of small moment unto thee."

Carr covered her hand with kisses.

"Whitehall without thee is a barren wilderness," cried he, "for thee
would I barter faith, honor----"

Anne raised her head until her eyes met his.

"Nay, sweet gentleman!" said she, softly, "'tis not faith, nor honor I
would ask of thee; 'tis----"

"Speak!" murmured Carr, overcome by his emotions. "Speak, that I may
serve the