“Do you persist in this, my dear Farnham?” asked the King. He was astonished at the boldness of the young man, but his thoughts were veiled by his gracious air. “I do, Sire,” said the husband, “as far as a subject may persist with his sovereign.” “I have no choice other than to grant it then,” said the King. “Sire, you overwhelm me,” said the husband, fervently. “Madam, I must ask you to assist me from my couch. My wretched limbs are as paper.” “As implacable a foe as thou art a friend,” said the King. “It is, however, the only reparation we can make you.” The unfortunate woman showed a veritable reluctance to do the behests of her lord. She looked at the King and she looked at the man in the bed with a terrified bewilderment. On the face of the one was the eternal frank smile of audacious indifference. The countenance of the other was entirely merged in his eyes. They blazed. The woman faltered; she trembled; she hung back. “Madam,” said the man in the bed, imperiously, “do you not hear me?” “Madam,” said Charles, laughing a little, “we must ask you to do the bidding of my lord. Prop up the dear fellow somehow, and give him his choice of weapons. We have injured him unwittingly; but it shall never be said of Charles Stuart that he denied a reparation to friend or enemy.” The woman, however, was far from acceding to the behests of her husband or her King. The cold terror that possessed her was dispelled by the necessity for action. In some vague way she felt it was her right to come between them. She felt dimly that she was the source of this quarrel. “Sire,” she said, “may I crave a boon of you also?” “We pray you to do so,” said Charles. “Let me beseech you to leave this chamber, Sire, now--instantly.” “To do that,” said the King, “we must break our promise to my lord. And is not a promise of such a nature the most sacred compact that can be made? But, madam, let us crave a similar boon of you. We would have you quit this chamber, too.” “I cannot quit it, Sire,” she said, firmly. “Not until thou hast got me from my bed and set me on my legs,” her husband said, weakly. “Then, Patsy woman, thou must do as the King bids thee. Come, now, I am about to rise. Give me your shoulder.” The wife stirred not a finger, although the man in the bed, gasping for breath and the purple veins swelling in his forehead, contrived to raise himself on his two hands. But he could get no further; he fell back in distress upon his pillows. “You are much too weak to quit your couch, my dear Farnham,” said Charles. “Even if you could be got upon your legs, you would never be able to keep them. But I think we can contrive it otherwise. We must support you in your present place. Madam will lend her aid, I trust.”