"Nay, my friend, tell me no more. Ah!--is there any limit to this devil's industry! I have to thank thee to-night, on the morrow--" "I'm expecting to leave Whitehall early--" Cedric started. "Will Monmouth bear thee company?" "Nay, his Majesty seems on a sudden to have an undue fondness for him." "God strengthen it." "'Tis a pity there is such thing, else his Grace would not care to go." "And thou and I might not have been brought into this world." "And Adam have had eyes only for the serpent, not even coveting the apple." "_Adieu_, my lord!" "_Adieu_, your Grace!" The candles were just a-light within the villa, where the thick foliage of tree and vine brought a premature gloaming. Outside fell upon the sward the last rays of the setting sun. In the depths of the shadowy leaves the glow-worms displayed their phosphorescent beauty; the lampyrid beetles plied between gloom and obscurity, impatient for the mirror of night to flaunt therein their illumined finery. In the distance was heard the lusty song of the blowsy yokels, as they clumsily carted homeward the day's gathering. The erudite nightingale threw wide the throttle of his throat and taught some nestling kin the sweetness of his lore. From the villa doorway passed out Mistress Pen wick in fluttering white, with the waxy jasmine upon breast and hair. Down she came, unattended, through aisles bordered by fragrant blossoms, traversing the way from door to postern-gate with quick, light steps. She was not aware Monmouth had left a strong guard and orders to allow no one to enter save those he made provision for. As her hand rested upon the gate, a guard stepped from behind a bower of iris and gently opened it for her. She was somewhat taken aback by his presence. The stalwart guard strode after her; she, noticing it, turned about and said sweetly for him to hold the gate open 'til she returned, that she would only be gone a very few minutes. "My lady is alone upon the highway, and I could not suffer her to be so, begging permission." "Nay, I wish to be alone. Remain at the gate." "It may not be, my lady; 'tis his Grace's order to give thee proper escort outside the gate." "Ah, then--" she turned from him and beckoned to a monk who appeared to be walking aimlessly upon the opposite side of the way, but at her bidding moved with alacrity. When the guard saw her intention, he begged her to consider the Duke's wish that she should communicate with no one. "I was not aware, sir, that I am held as prisoner. I'm quite sure his Grace was only kindly intentioned for my safety;--and as for further vigilance, 'tis beyond his power to use it." The three now stood at the gate. The monk looking intently at the guard, said,-- "Where hath flown thy religion, Eustis?" "'Tis a poor religion that hath not the grace to offer its adherents an honest living."