of how he had suffered.  Separation from her was all he feared now, and she could not help that.  She was fast tied to him, and he was satisfied; and now why not torment some of those Satanic whims out of her.  “Aye, ’tis the thing to do!” Even as he thought of her, she had gone with Janet and Lady Bettie to Cantemir’s chamber, for the latter in a lucid moment begged Lady Bettie to bring her to him.  He gave her the letter he bore from her father, requesting her to come to him at once.  She was quite beside herself with joy; yet, such is human nature, she on a sudden was in no hurry to leave Lord Cedric.  Then she thought he might go with her—­but she never would ask him.  So after much thinking and feverish deliberation, she sent the letter to him by Janet.  Cedric compared the handwriting with the letter he still carried of Sir John’s.  There was no doubt that the chirography was the same.  He was again thwarted by the Russian.  He was to gain his wife’s ear by this very news.  But there were other ways, and he said,—­

“I have but a few moments to spend with her ladyship; go to her and tell her so; say that a courier is now upon the highway and—­will soon arrive to conduct me to Tyburn-tree by order of the King—­”

“Good heavens, surely your Lordship is not serious!”

“I have been forewarned, Janet.  Go, tell her the news.  Do not mince the sorry tale.  Let her have the weight of it—­if weight it be for her pent affection.  Indeed, make it strong, blandish it with no ‘ifs’ or ‘mayhaps’ or ‘possible chances of a change of mind with the King.’  Thou must make up quickly a whole catalogue of the horrors enacted at Tyburn.  Go, go, hasten thyself, good nurse.  I will wait for her here.”

Hardly had Janet disappeared when the door again was thrown open and the footman announced a gentleman upon the King’s errand.  ’Twas indeed his Majesty’s guardsman with his order, and Cedric listened with flushed face and beating heart, not to what he said, but for the sound of a silken rustle upon the great hall parquetry; and as he heard it, he raised his voice and said sternly to the courier,—­

“And this means Tyburn-tree—­a farewell forever to my friends—­” There was at these last words a suspicious trembling in his tones that was not wholly natural,—­“an adieu to all this world that begun for me only—­yesterday at the singing of the nightingale—­” the sentence was left unfinished, for Katherine now fell at his feet and embraced his knees and said with blanched lips,—­

“What is this horrible tale, my lord?  Say ’tis not so!” Great unbroken sobs made her voice tremble, and there was such extreme misery in her face and attitude the guardsman was about to utter a protest, for the order had said nothing of Tyburn, and at such unwarranted display of grief at a summons—­why he would put a stop to it; but his lordship put up his hand.  “Say ’tis not so,” she repeated.