The coach arrived at the Royal Palace upon the stroke of four.  Mistress Penwick was conducted to the King’s ante-chamber.  She was visibly nervous; trying vainly to calm the fast beating of her heart.  When at last she was called, Sir Julian walked beside her to the threshold of his Majesty’s chamber.  The King, ever insouciant, had never thought to ask Monmouth the maid’s name, and when she was presented as “Mistress Wick,” and he beheld her form and attire, he was amazed.  He felt he had been made a dupe; that Monmouth had purposely made him believe this girl was beautiful for some subtle cause, perhaps just to gain an audience for her;—­then, as he saw the spots upon her face, he recoiled and a horrible thought came.  Had she some loathsome disease and been sent to him that he might—­He started, his blood boiling with indignation.  “Treason,” he cried in his heart, and before the maid had arisen from her knees, he called for her dismissal.  She was taken precipitately from the King’s presence before she had time to open her mouth.

The King was greatly wrought upon, giving Monmouth the blame.  The matter must be sifted.  He would write an order for his son’s arrest, and—­yes, the woman must be taken also.

Sir Julian saw it all in Katherine’s disappointed and half-angry face, but without giving her time to relate her grievances, rushed her to the coach, putting her into it with very little ceremony.  They were fairly flying from the Palace, turning from the sight of a young fop as he came at full gallop through the throng that crowded near the Royal House.

The youth made known his desire to see the King, saying the matter was an imperative one.  Even as he spoke, his Majesty came from within and heard the breathless request.

“What now, my pretty rogue; what is thy wish?”

“May I speak with thee apart?” said the lad, as he knelt and kissed the King’s hand. “’Tis something of import—­a trick is about to be played upon thee.”  The King took alarm.

“We are about to start forth, my lad.  Come, thou mayest walk by our side, and if thy speech is as neat and comely as thy body, ’tis possible ere we reach the end of yonder corridor thy tongue will have won for thee the Royal favour.”  The King leant upon Constance as they swaggered along down the passage.

“May I be so bold as to inquire of your Majesty if there has not come to thee a woman with swart marks upon her face and a hump on her back, preferring a petition for thy signature to some lands now held by the Catholics?” The King started and looked now with great interest upon the girlish fop, and speaking slowly as he answered,—­

“Why, yes; she hath come and gone.  What of her?”

“She hath played foully upon her King.  I would give, Sire, half my life to have seen your Majesty compel her to wash the painted spots from her face and take from her shoulder the false hump, and she—­”