he Scottish army at Dunbar?"

"No, your Majesty," said the young lady, scarcely looking up from the
page she held, "Sir Garrett Enderby died in Portugal, where he fled,
having escaped from prison and Cromwell's vengeance."

"What Enderby did this fine thing then? My faith, my martyred father had
staunch men--even in Lincolnshire."

"The father of Sir Garrett Enderby it was, your Majesty."

"How came the son by the knighthood? 'S'death, it seems to me I have a
memory of this thing somewhere, if I could but find it!"

"His gracious Majesty of sacred memory gave him his knighthood."

"Let me hear the whole story. Is it all there, Mistress Falkingham?"
said the King, nodding towards the pages she held.

"It is not all here, your Majesty; but I can tell what so many in
England know, and something of what no one in England knows."

The Queen put out her hand as if to stay the telling, for she saw what
an impression her fair reader had made upon the King. But the young lady
saw no one save Charles--she did not note the entrance of two gentle
men, one of whom looked at her in surprise. This was Sir Richard Mowbray
of Leicester. The other was Lord Rippingdale (now lord chamberlain), who
had brought Sir Richard thither at the request of the King. Sir Richard
had been momentarily expected on his return from a mission to Spain, and
my Lord had orders to bring him to the King on the very instant of his
arrival.

The King waved his hand when Lord Rippingdale would have come forward,
and the young lady continued with the history of John Enderby. She
forgot her surroundings. It seemed as though she were giving vent to
the suppressed feelings, imaginations, sufferings and wrongs of years.
Respectfully, but sadly, when speaking of the dead King; eloquently,
tenderly, when speaking of her father; bitterly, when speaking of Oliver
Cromwell, she told the story with a point, a force and a passionate
intelligence, which brought to the face of Charles a look of serious
admiration. He straightened himself where he sat, and did not let his
eyes wander from the young lady's face. As she spoke of Sir Garrett
Enderby and his acts--his desertion when Lord Rippingdale laid siege
to the house, his quarrel with his father, the trial of the son, the
father's refusal to testify against him, and the second outlawing
by Cromwell--her voice faltered, but she told the tale bravely and
determinedly; for she now saw Lord Rippingdale in the chamber. Wh