at is to be done?" she added, with a look of distraction. "I
suppose you must obey."

"There is no alternative," replied Amabel; "I will obey his majesty's
commands as soon as I can collect myself. Take back that answer, dear
aunt."

"Has Leonard told you that the Earl of Rochester is here?" pursued Mrs.
Buscot.

Amabel replied in the affirmative.

"God grant that good may come of it!" cried Mrs. Buscot, clasping her
hands together, as she quitted the room; "but I am sorely afraid."

A half-suppressed groan from the apprentice told that he shared in her
apprehensions.

"Leave us, Leonard," said Amabel; "I would prepare myself for the
interview."

The apprentice obeyed, and closing the door after him, stationed himself
at the foot of the staircase. Left alone with Nizza, Amabel threw
herself on her knees, and besought the support of Heaven on this trying
occasion. She then arose, and giving her hand to Nizza, they went down
stairs together. Leonard followed them at a little distance, and with a
beating heart. Two gentlemen-ushers were posted, at the door of the
chamber occupied by the king. Not far from them stood Mrs. Buscot, who,
having made known her niece to the officials, they instantly admitted
her, but ordered Nizza to remain outside.

On entering the room, Amabel at once discovered the king. He was habited
in a magnificent riding-dress and was seated on a rich fauteuil, around
which were grouped a dozen gaily-attired courtiers. Amongst these were
the Earl of Rochester and Sir George Etherege. As Amabel advanced,
glances of insolent curiosity were directed towards her, and Rochester,
stepping forward, offered to lead her to the king. She, however,
declined the attention. Greatly mortified, the earl would have seized
her hand; but there was so much dignity in her deportment, so much
coldness in her looks, that in spite of his effrontery, he felt abashed.
Charles smiled at his favourite's rebuff, but, in common with the
others, he could not help being struck by Amabel's extraordinary beauty
and natural dignity, and he observed, in an under-tone, to Etherege, "Is
it possible this can be a grocer's daughter?"

"She passes for such, my liege," replied Etherege, with a smile. "But I
cannot swear to her parentage."

"Since I have seen her, I do not wonder at Rochester's extravagant
passion," rejoined the monarch. "But, odds fish! she seems to care
little for him."

Having approached within a short distance