His Majesty's Well-Beloved

"Oh! for the Earth to open!" she cried pitiably, "and bury me and this Shame – "

She was overwrought and weak with Emotion, but in any Event it was a terrible Position for any Lady of Rank to be found in, at this late hour, and alone. Overcome no doubt with the superabundance of harrowing Sensations, she tottered as if about to swoon. Mr. Betterton caught her as she fell.

"My Divinity! My Queen!" he murmured quickly. "No one shall harm you, I swear it! No one shall!" Then he added under his breath: "Heaven above me, help me to protect her!"

Whereupon he lifted her up in his Arms as if she were a Child, and carried her as far as the Embrasure of the Window. Then, with one of those quick movements which were so characteristic of him, he drew the Curtains together, which shut off the Bay from the rest of the Room and screened its fair Occupant completely from view.

He was a different Man now to the Passion-racked Creature of awhile ago; absolutely calm; the Man I had known and loved and respected all these years. Though my whole Being was still convulsed in an Agony of Apprehension, I felt that from him now would come moral Comfort for me and Protection for the unfortunate Lady, whose Burden of Sorrow had at last touched his Heart. And I do verily believe, dear Lady, that in that Instant of supreme Danger for us all, his Passion fell from him like a Curtain from before his Eyes. It had gone through its culminating Anguish when he discovered that she whom he loved had lied to him and cheated him. Now, when she stood here before him, utterly helpless and utterly crushed, his Infatuation appeared to writhe for one Moment in the Crucible of his own Manliness and Chivalry, and then to emerge therefrom hallowed and purified.

6

In the meanwhile, less than a minute had elapsed. My Lord Stour had ascended the Stairs, undeterred by the Protestations of Mr. Betterton's Servant. The next moment he had violently wrenched the Door open and now stood before us, pale, trembling with Rage or Excitement, hatless, his Mantle thrown back from his Shoulders. His right Hand clutched his naked Sword, and in his Left he had a crushed ball of paper, held together by her Ladyship's brooch. His entire Attitude was one of firm and deadly Menace.

"I heard a Voice!" he exclaimed, staring wildly around him. "I saw a Face – a Form… This Paper was flung out from yonder Window … was picked up by a serving Wench… What does it mean?" he queried harshly, and advanced threateningly towards Mr. Betterton, who was standing midway between him and the curtained Bay.

"How can I tell?" riposted the great Actor blandly, with a careless Shrug of his Shoulders. "I was not moon-gazing, as your Lordship appears to have done. A paper, did You say?"

"You are not alone," retorted my Lord roughly. "I heard a voice … just now…"

"We are all apt to hear voices in the moonlight, my Lord," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply. "The Artist hears his Muse, the Lover his Mistress, the Criminal his Conscience."

His unruffled calm seemed to exasperate his Lordship's fury, for he now appeared even more menacing than before.

"And did You perchance hear a Voice to-night, Sir Actor," he queried, his voice hoarse with Passion, "warning You of Death?"

"Nay!" replied Mr. Betterton. "That Voice whispers to Us all, and always, my Lord, even in our Cradles."

"Then hear it for the last time now, and from my Lips, you abominable Mountebank!" my Lord cried, beside himself in truth. "For unless You draw aside that Curtain, I am going to kill You."

"That is as you please," retorted Mr. Betterton simply.

"Stand aside!" commanded his Lordship.

But Mr. Betterton looked him calmly up and down and did not move one inch.

"This is a most unwarrantable Interference," he said quietly, "with the Freedom of His Majesty's well-beloved Servant. Your Lordship seems to forget that every inch of this Floor is mine, and that I stand on it where I please. I pray you, take that Paper – that Message – elsewhere. An it came down from Heaven, read it – but leave me in Peace."

"I'll not go," asserted my Lord harshly, "till you have drawn aside that Curtain."

"Then we'll see whose Legs will weary first, my Lord, yours or mine," was Mr. Betterton's unruffled rejoinder.

"Draw then and defend yourself!" cried my Lord, who before his Enemy's unbroken Calm, had lost what Semblance of Self-Control he still possessed.

"I am unarmed," riposted Mr. Betterton simply.

"Then let Satan have his due," exclaimed the young Hothead, and raised his Sword ready to strike, "for your Soul shall go down to Hell at last!"

In a moment, of course, I was on him. But he had the vigour of a trained Soldier, enhanced by an overwhelming Passion of Enmity and of Rage; and though I seized him unawares – I doubt if he had realized that I was in the Room – he shook me off in an instant, as a Dog might shake off an importunate Rat. Before I had time to recover my breath from his quick and furious Defence, he had turned on me and dealt me such a vigorous Blow with his Fist between the Eyes, that the whole Room began to gyrate around me and the Atmosphere became peopled with Stars. I staggered and half fell against the Dresser that had sheltered me awhile ago. For the space of half a dozen seconds mine Eyes were closed.

7

When I opened them again, the Scene had indeed changed. Her Ladyship had pushed the Curtains aside and stood there in the window Embrasure, revealed to her irate Lover. And he, though he must have known that she was there all the Time, appeared so staggered by her Apparition that his Arm dropped by his side and his Sword fell with a clatter to the Ground, while he murmured as if in the last Throes of mental Suffering:

"Barbara … my Barbara .. here – alone – at night … with this Man!.."

Her Ladyship, however, appeared perfectly composed. The light of the Candles revealed her exquisite Face, pale but serene, and her small Head crowned with the Aureole of her golden Hair, held up proudly as one who hath naught to fear, naught for which she need be ashamed. She pointed with perfect steadiness to the Paper which my Lord still held tightly clasped in his left Hand.

"That paper!" she said, and only a slight veiling of her Voice betrayed the Emotion which she felt. "I sent it. 'Tis for you, my Lord. It will clear your Honour, and proclaim your Innocence."

But his Lordship did not appear to hear her. He continued to murmur to himself mechanically, and in tones of the deepest Despair:

"Barbara … alone … with him!"

"Read that Paper, my dear Lord," her Ladyship insisted with calm dignity, "ere with another Thought you further dare to wrong me!"

These simple Words, however, so full of conscious Worth and of Innocence, let loose the Floodgates of my Lord's pent-up, insensate jealousy.

"Wrong you!" he cried, and a harsh, almost maniacal laugh broke from his choking Throat. "Wrong you! Nay! I suppose I must be grateful and thank Heaven on my Knees that You, my promised Bride, deigned to purchase mine Honour at the Price of your Kisses!"

At this gross Insult her Ladyship uttered a pitiful Moan; but ere she could give Reply, Mr. Betterton, who hitherto had not interfered between the Twain, now did so, and in no measured Tone.

"Silence, Madman!" he commanded, "ere You blaspheme."

But my Lord had apparently lost his last Shred of Reason. Jealousy was torturing him in a manner that even Hatred had failed to do.

"God!" he exclaimed repeatedly, calling to the Almighty to witness his Soul-Misery. "I saw her at that Window… Who else saw her?.. How many Varlets and jabbering Coxcombs know at the present moment that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode spends the night alone with a Mountebank?" In an excess of ungoverned Rage he tore the Paper to shreds and threw the Scraps almost into her Ladyship's Face. "Take back your Proofs!" he cried. "I'll not take mine Honour from Your hands! Ah!" he added, and now turned once more toward Mr. Betterton, who, I could see, was calmly making up his Mind what next to do. "Whoever you are – Man or Devil – are you satisfied with your Revenge? Was it not enough to cover me with Infamy; what need had You to brand Her with Dishonour?"

Overcome with Emotion, his Soul on the Rack, his Heart wounded and bleeding, he appeared like a lost Spirit crying out from an Abyss of Torment. But these last Ravings of his, these final, abominable Insults, levelled against the Woman who had done so much for him, and whom he should have been the first to protect, lashed Mr. Betterton's ire and contempt into holy Fury.

"Ye gods in Heaven, hear him!" he cried, with an outburst of Rage at least as great as that of the other Man. "He loves her, and talks of Dishonour, whilst I love her and only breathe of Worship! By all the Devils in Hell, my Lord Stour, I tell you that you lie!"

And before any of us there realized what he meant to do, he ran to the Window, threw open all the Casements with such violence that the glass broke and fell clattering down upon the gravelled place below.

"Hallo!" he called in a stentorian Voice. "Hallo, there!"

My Lord Stour, bewildered, un-understanding, tried to bluster.

"What are you doing, man?" he queried roughly. "Silence! Silence, I say!"

But Mr. Betterton only shouted the louder.

"Hallo, there! Friends! Enemies! England! Here!"

I could hear the Tumult outside. People were running hither from several directions, thinking, no doubt, that a Fire had broken out or that Murder was being done. I could hear them assembling beneath the window, which was not many feet from the Ground. "Why! it's Tom Betterton!" some of them said. And others added: "Hath he gone raving mad?"

"Is any one there who knows me?" queried Mr. Betterton loudly.

"Yes! Yes!" was the ready response.