be discovered if you take
care. Ah! Look there!"

She pointed to the river, and both her companions looked. A barge gayly
painted and gilded, with a light in prow and stern, came gliding up
among less pretentious craft, and stopped at the foot of a flight of
stairs leading to the bridge. It contained four persons--the oarsman,
two cavaliers sitting in the stern, and a lad in the rich livery of a
court-page in the act of springing out. Nothing very wonderful in all
this; and Sir Norman and Ormiston looked at her for an explanation.

"Do you know those two gentlemen?" she asked.

"Certainly," replied Sir Norman, promptly; "one is the Duke of York, the
other the Earl of Rochester."

"And that page, to which of them does he belong?"

"The page!" said Sir Norman, with a stare, as he leaned forward to look;
"pray, madam, what has the page to do with it?"

"Look and see!"

The two peers has ascended the stairs, and were already on the bridge.
The page loitered behind, talking, as it seemed, to the waterman.

"He wears the livery of the Earl of Rochester," said Ormiston, speaking
for the first time, "but I cannot see his face."

"He will follow presently, and be sure you see it then! Possibly you may
not find it entirely new to you."

She drew back into the shadow as she spoke; and the two nobles, as they
advanced, talking earnestly, beheld Sir Norman and Ormiston. Both raised
their hats with a look of recognition, and the salute was courteously
returned by the others.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said Lord Rochester; "a hot evening, is it not?
Have you come here to witness the illumination?"

"Hardly," said Sir Norman; "we have come for a very different purpose,
my lord."

"The fires will have one good effect," said Ormiston laughing; "if they
clear the air and drive away this stifling atmosphere."

"Pray God they drive away the plague!" said the Duke of York, as he and
his companion passed from view.

The page sprang up the stairs after them, humming as he came, one of his
master's love ditties--songs, saith tradition, savoring anything but
the odor of sanctity. With the warning of La Masque fresh in their mind,
both looked at him earnestly. His gay livery was that of Lord Rochester,
and became his graceful figure well, as he marched along with a jaunty
swagger, one hand on his aide, and the other toying with a beautiful
little spaniel, that frisked in open violation of the Lord Mayor's
orders, commanding all