hrilled his soul. Away from these--ah! that was the prison for
him, these were the bars which to him seemed imperatively needful to be
broken. Aid he did not think of asking. Only, across London, in the
night, he had sent the cry of his heart: "Come to me!"

"The Lady Catharine is not in at this hour," said the butler, with, some
asperity, closing the door again in part.

"But 'tis important. I doubt if 'twill bear the delay of a night."
Indeed, Will Law had hitherto hardly paused to reflect how unusual was
this message, from such a person, to such address, and at such an hour.

The butler hesitated, and so did the unbidden guest at the door. Neither
heard at first the light rustle of garments at the head of the stair,
nor saw the face bent over the balustrade in the shadows of the hall.

"What is it, James?" asked a voice from above.

"A message for the Lady Catharine," replied the servant. "Said to be
important. What should I do?"

"Lady Catharine Knollys is away," said the soft voice of Mary Connynge,
speaking from the stair. Her voice came nearer as she now descended and
appeared at the first landing.

"We may crave your pardon, sir," said she, "that we receive you so ill,
but the hour is very late. Lady Catharine is away, and Sir Charles is
forth also, as usual, at this time. I am left proxy for my entertainers,
and perhaps I may serve you in this case. Therefore pray step within."

Reluctantly the butler swung open the door and admitted the visitor.
Will Law stood face to face with Mary Connynge, just from her boudoir,
and with time for but half care as to the details of her toilet; yet
none the less Mary Connynge, Eve-like, bewitching, endowed with all the
ancient wiles of womankind. Will Law gazed, since this was his fate.
Unconsciously the sorcery of the sight enfolded the youth as he stood
there uncertainly. He saw the round throat, the heavy masses of the dark
hair, the full round form. He noted, though he could not define; felt,
though he could not classify. He was young. Utterly helpless might have
been even an older man in the hands of Mary Connynge at a time like
this, Mary Connynge deliberately seeking to ensnare.

"Pardon this robe, but half concealing," said her drooping eye and her
half uplifted hands which caught the defining folds yet closer to her
bosom. "'Tis in your chivalry I trust. I would not so with others." This
to the beholder meant that he was the one man on earth to whom so much