* * * * *

It was a little piteous, too, to see with what avidity he seized upon any news of the Duke, and how his natural inclinations and those consonant with his religion strove with his new-found loyalty to a bastard.  A week or two later we had news of the attempt made by my Lord Shaftesbury to injure the Duke of York’s cause by presenting his name as that of a recusant, to the Middlesex grand jury.  It was a mighty bold thing to do, and though the attempt failed so far as that the judges dismissed the jury while they were still deliberating, it shewed how little my Lord feared the Duke or His Majesty and how much resolved he was to establish, if he could, the Protestant succession and the Duke of Monmouth’s pretended claim to it.  A deal of nonsense, too, was talked at this time of how the Duke was truly legitimate, and how Mistress Lucy Walters had been secretly married to the King, before ever poor Queen Catherine had been heard of; and the proofs of all this, it was reported, were in a certain Black Box that no one had ever set eyes on; and the matter became so much a thing of ridicule that once at the play, I think, when one of the actors carried on a black box, there was a roar of laughter and jeering from the pit.

It was wonderful to hear my Cousin Tom hold forth upon the situation.

One evening in September, two months after our adventure of the Duke’s coming, after a long silence, he made a little discourse upon it all.

“I should not be surprised,” said he, “if there was more in the tale than most men think.  It is not likely that the proofs of the marriage would be easy to come by, in such a case; for Mistress Walters, whom I think I once saw at Tunbridge Wells, was not at all of the King’s position even by blood; and it is less likely that His Majesty, who was but a very young man at that time, would have stood out against her when she wished marriage.  Besides there is no doubt that he knew her long before there was any prospect of his coming to the throne.  Then too there has always appeared, to my mind at least, something in the Duke’s bearing and carriage that it would be very hard for a bastard to have.  He has a very princely air.”

To such talk as this I would make no answer; but I would watch my Cousin Dorothy’s face; and think that I read there something that I did not like—­an interest that she should not feel:  and, after a pause my Cousin Tom would proceed in his conjectures.

It was on the day following this particular discourse, which I remember very well, for my jealousy had so much worked up that I was very near breaking my resolution and telling my Cousin Dolly all that was in my heart, that a letter came for me from Mr. Chiffinch, so significant that I will write down some sentences of it.

“His Majesty bids me to write to you to come up to town again for a few days.  He thinks that you may perhaps be of some use with His Royal Highness to urge him to go back to Scotland again, which at present he vows that he will not do.  His Majesty is aware that the Duke scarcely knows you at all; yet he tells me to say this, and that I will explain to you when you come how you can be of service.  There will be a deal of trouble this autumn; the Parliament is to meet in October, and will be in a very ill-humour, it is thought.”