on," said he.

CHAPTER VIII

MADNESS, MAGIC, AND MOONSHINE

When the curtain had fallen on the little-heeded play and the gay crowd
began to disperse, I, perceiving that no more was to be seen or learnt,
went home to my lodging alone. After our conversation Darrell had left
me abruptly, and I saw him no more. But my own thoughts gave me
occupation enough; for even to a dull mind, and one unversed in Court
intrigues, it seemed plain that more hung on this expedition to Dover
than the meeting of the King's sister with her brother. So far all men
were of the same opinion; beyond, their variance began. I had not
thought to trouble my head about it, but, not having learnt yet that a
small man lives most comfortably with the great by opening his eyes and
ears only when bidden and keeping them tight locked for the rest, I was
inspired with eagerness to know the full meaning of the scene in which I
was now to play a part, however humble. Of one thing at least I was
glad--here I touched on a matter more suitable to my condition--and
this was that since Barbara Quinton was to go to Dover, I was to go
also. But, alas, neither here did perplexity lag far behind! It is easy
to know that you are glad to be with a lady; your very blood tells you;
but to say why is often difficult. I told myself that my sole cause for
pleasure lay in the services I might be able to render to my old
friend's daughter; she would want me to run her errands and do her
bidding; an attentive cavalier, however lowly, seldom comes amiss; these
pleas I muttered to myself, but swelling pride refused them, and for
once reason came as pride's ally, urging that in such company as would
assemble at Dover a girl might well need protection, no less than
compliments. It was true; my new master's bearing to her shewed how
true. And Carford was not, it seemed, a jealous lover. I was no
lover--my life was vowed to another most unhappy love--but I was a
gentleman, and (sweet thought!) the hour might come when the face which
had looked so mockingly at me to-night should turn again in appeal to
the wit and arm of Simon Dale. I grew taller as I thought of that, and,
coming just then to my own door, rapped with my cane as loudly and
defiantly as though I had been the Duke of Monmouth himself, and not a
gentleman in his suite.

Loud as my rapping was, it brought no immediate answer. Again I knocked;
then feet came shuffling along the passage. I had aroused my sleepy