and--for convents have been scaled of late--returned not till the
bird was flown."

"Christian, thou art an old reynard--I see there is no doubling with
thee. It was thou, then, that stole away my pretty prize, but left me
something so much prettier in my mind, that, had it not made itself
wings to fly away with, I would have placed it in a cage of gold. Never
be downcast, man; I forgive thee--I forgive thee."

"Your Grace is of a most merciful disposition, especially considering it
is I who have had the wrong; and sages have said, that he who doth the
injury is less apt to forgive than he who only sustains it."

"True, true, Christian," said the Duke, "which, as you say, is something
quite new, and places my clemency in a striking point of view. Well,
then, thou forgiven man, when shall I see my Mauritanian Princess
again?"

"Wherever I am certain that a quibble, and a carwhichit, for a play or a
sermon, will not banish her from your Grace's memory."

"Not all the wit of South, or of Etherege," said Buckingham hastily, "to
say nothing of my own, shall in future make me oblivious of what I owe
the Morisco Princess."

"Yet, to leave the fair lady out of thought for a little while--a very
little while," said Christian, "since I swear that in due time your
Grace shall see her, and know in her the most extraordinary woman that
the age has produced--to leave her, I say out of sight for a little
while, has your Grace had late notice of your Duchess's health?"

"Health," said the Duke. "Umph--no--nothing particular. She has been
ill--but----"

"She is no longer so," subjoined Christian; "she died in Yorkshire
forty-eight hours since."

"Thou must deal with the devil," said the Duke.

"It would ill become one of my name to do so," replied Christian. "But
in the brief interval, since your Grace hath known of an event which
hath not yet reached the public ear, you have, I believe, made proposals
to the King for the hand of the Lady Anne, second daughter of the Duke
of York, and your Grace's proposals have been rejected."

"Fiends and firebrands, villain!" said the Duke, starting up and seizing
Christian by the collar; "who hath told thee that?"

"Take your hand from my cloak, my Lord Duke, and I may answer you," said
Christian. "I have a scurvy touch of old puritanical humour about me. I
abide not the imposition of hands--take off your grasp from my cloak, or
I will find means to make you unloose it."

The Duke, w