d up my assertion with a full account of
her life at court, the king's infatuation, at which she laughed, his
offer of a pension, which at first she refused, the respect in which
every one held her, and the wisdom with which she carried herself through
it all.

"Ned, you're as great a fool about her as I was," he returned, shaking
his head. "Do you suppose Charles Stuart would give her a pension with no
other purpose than kindness or justice? Be sane! Don't be a fool!"

"I say nothing of his purposes; I speak only of her conduct. But I shall
not argue with you. If you find any pleasure in your opinion, keep it," I
answered, knowing that I could not reason with a man who was half crazy.

"I shall," he replied sullenly.

"But there is another matter in which I believe you will agree with me,"
I continued. "I have discovered the cause of my cousin's ill feeling--of
her change respecting yourself."

He rose from his bed, demanding excitedly: "What is it? Tell me, tell
me!"

"You have just told me that you and Churchill were walking at a
considerable distance behind Crofts and the others when Roger Wentworth
was killed."

"Yes, yes," he returned. "Perhaps as much as two hundred yards."

I watched his face closely to study the effect of my next bit of
information, and after a long pause, asked, "Do you know that Frances was
in the coach?"

"No, no! Hell and furies! In the coach when Wentworth was killed? My God,
tell me all about it, man!" he cried, clutching my arm, and glaring at me
with the eyes of a crazy man.

"Yes," I answered. "And she tells me she recognized one of the robbers by
the light of the coach lanthorn, though she refused to describe the man
she saw and will not be induced to talk about him. Possibly you were the
unlucky man. If true, can you wonder that she hates you?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed, musing, then fell back on the pillow
with a great sigh, and muttered as though speaking to himself:--

"I can wonder at nothing save my marvellous ill luck. This tale points a
moral, Baron Ned. If one belongs to the devil, one should stand by one's
master. Hell is swifter in revenge than heaven in reward."

"It is only the long run that tells the tale," I answered, taking his hot
hand to soothe him. "Heaven always wins, and your reward will come."

"Ah, yes, the long run is all right if one can only hold out," he
answered, gripping my hand and breathing rapidly. He was almost in
delirium. "