Two days Katherine had been thus alone at the villa, little knowing the idea of bringing her cause to the King’s notice was the most foreign to either Buckingham or Monmouth, the latter wishing to promote his own cause with her until she should become satisfied to remain at his side, without seeking further Court favour.  The former gentleman had among his looted treasures certain papers that made necessary, for his own personal aggrandizement, the strict seclusion of Mistress Penwick.

Lady Constance had been so thwarted—­her mode of battle proving so abortive—­she resolved to fight as things came in her way, without method or forethought.  There was only one settled arrangement; that was the full and complete destruction of this woman that had come between her and Cedric.  She had gone, after a few hours of rest at the villa, to the mercer’s for silks and velvets and furbelows to array herself for conquest and take—­now that she had fair hold on Royalty itself—­some masculine heart; if not the heart, the hand without it; if not Cedric’s, be it whose it might, so it were titled and rich.  She also sought Cantemir and news from Crandlemar.

As she stood at the polished counter in the mercer’s shop, she glanced without and saw—­or thought as much—­Lord Cedric himself, pale, yet stepping in full strength from a chair.  She quitted the counter and hastened to the entrance and looked up and down the busy street with longing eyes.  But there was no sign of my lord’s handsome figure.  After securing her purchase, she repaired at once to Lord Taunton’s—­a kinsman of Cedric’s—­’twas possible he would be stopping there.  But he was not.

She rode from place to place, hoping at every turn to see him; but to her chagrin she found him not, even at a certain inn in Covent Garden, where he had been wont to stay.  She drove in her cream-hued coach to the Mall, but he was not to be found.

Her first act after reaching London had been to dispatch a letter posthaste to the castle, telling of her abduction by the Duke of Monmouth, who, she believed was determined to bring herself and Mistress Penwick to the King’s notice, as he avowed Court was not Court without such faces.  She, being so widely known and so well connected, had been allowed her freedom, on condition that she returned promptly and keep their hiding place a secret.  Then came that she felt would touch Cedric.

“I overheard some converse about your Lordship, a hint that some knave gave thee a slight wound.  Now, if this be true, if thou art hurt at all—­which I cannot allow myself to think—­tell me, tell me, Cedric, and I will fly from Court and all the world to thee, my sweet cousin, my playfellow, my beloved friend, now.”

This letter fortunately did not reach Cedric in time to give him a relapse, as he was on his way to London when the courier arrived at the castle.

He had drawn rein at Tabard Inn, Southwark.  It abutted on the Thames and was opposite the city, and it suited his fancy to stop here, rather than ride into London.  His business was private and not far from his present quarters.  His wound had healed enough to give him no trouble, and action kept his mind easy.  He had seen Constance with as fleeting a glimpse as hers had been of him.  It was quite enough, however, he wishing never to set eyes upon her again.