e
stood as though he were a judge, weighing the evidence before him,
calmly, dispassionately.

"Would you do so much as that, Mary Connynge?" asked John Law.

"I, sir?" she replied. "Then why am I here to-night myself? But, God pity
me, what have I said? There is nothing but misfortune in all my life!"

It was one rebellious, unsubdued nature speaking to another, and of the
two each was now having its own sharp suffering. The instant of doubt is
the time of danger. Then comes revulsion, bitterness, despair, folly.
John Law trod a step nearer.

"By God! Madam," cried he, "I would I might believe you. I would I might
believe that you, that any woman, would come to me at such a time! But
tell me--and I bethink me my message was not addressed, was even
unsigned--whom then may I trust? If this woman scorns my call at such a
time, tell me, whom shall I hold faithful? Who would come to me at any
time, in any case, in my trouble? Suppose my message were to you?"

Mary Connynge stirred softly under her deep cloak. Her head was lifted
slightly, the curve of cheek and chin showing in the light that fell
from the little lamp. The masses of her dark hair lay piled about her
face, tumbled by the sweeping of her hood. Her eyes showed tremulously
soft and deep now as he looked into them. Her little hands half twitched
a trifle from her lap and reached forward and upward. Primitive she
might have been, wicked she was, sinfully sweet; and yet she was woman.
It was with the voice of tears that she spoke, if one might claim
vocalization for her speech.

"Have I not come?" whispered she.

"By God! Mary Connynge, yes, you have come!" cried Law. And though there
was heartbreak in his voice, it sounded sweet to the ear of her who
heard it, and who now reached up her arms about his neck.

"Ah, John Law," said Mary Connynge, "when a woman loves--when a woman
loves, she stops at nothing!"

CHAPTER XV

IF THERE WERE NEED

Time wore on in the ancient capital of England. The tramp of troops
echoed in the streets, and the fleets of Britain made ready to carry her
sons over seas for wars and for adventures. The intrigues of party
against party, of church against church, of Parliament against king; the
loves, the hates, the ambitions, the desires of all the city's hurrying
thousands went on as ever. Who, then, should remember a single prisoner,
waiting within the walls of England's jail? The hours wore on slowly
enough for that pr