n
this case I suspect he is trying to shield Hamilton, believing, perhaps,
that the threats meant nothing because they were made in delirium."

"It is horrible to think upon," answered Frances, shivering. "But he has
gone to France, and, thank Heaven, your Majesty is safe. Perhaps he has
gone to kill King Louis."

"How do you know he has gone to France?" asked the king, much interested.

"I had a letter from him. He imagines he is in love with me," answered
Frances, speaking in the letter of truth and with a fine air of calmness.
She had received a letter from George in France, but it was before his
return to England.

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the king. "Your news contradicts your avowal that
you are not in love with him."

"Shall I be in love with all who say they are in love with me?" asked
Frances, glancing up to the king.

"God forbid!" he answered. "I would have you in love with but one--one
who loves your voice, your beauty, your goodness."

"Your Majesty may at least rest easy so far as Hamilton is concerned,"
she returned.

"But I am glad that he is out of the country, and shall see to it that he
doesn't come back," said the king.

His Majesty had talked too long, for Frances had learned that his
suspicions of her love of Hamilton were not allayed, despite his pretense
to the contrary.

"I care not where he be so long as he doesn't trouble me," answered
Frances, sighing.

"But if it is not one it is another," said the king, ruefully. "I hear
that the Duke of Tyrconnel is mad for love of you."

This was a welcome opportunity to Frances, and she quickly used it. "Yes.
At least, he says he is. What does your Majesty advise? Shall I marry him
or not?"

"By all means, not!" returned the king, with strong emphasis. "He would
take you from court. Do you return his love?"

"Well--" answered Frances, drooping her head and pausing to allow the
king to fill the blank.

"But you shall not marry him," insisted the king.

"But you would not have me live a maid? Think of the humiliation of
having graven on my tombstone: 'Mistress Frances Jennings, Age 85.' I'm
going to marry the richest man that asks me."

"Odds fish! that's Tyrconnel!" exclaimed the king.

"I'll find a pretext for sending him to the Tower at once."

"If you do," returned Frances, laughing, "there is Little Jermyn. He will
be rich and an earl when his uncle dies."

"I'll send him along with Tyrconnel," declared the king.

"And there