“Thou art cold and cruel.  I can see well thou dost hold tightly to thy bosom thy billet; thou art afraid ’twill betray thee.  Thou art the maid herself that doth own it?” Constance had a burning curiosity to know why Monmouth was in the neighbourhood of Crandlemar, and though he insinuated he had come purposely to see her, yet she was not blind and wondered what diplomacy she could use to gain from him the desired knowledge.  Could it be possible he had come on behalf of the King, and if so, for what business?  The Catholics surely had not been so indiscreet as to allow their affairs to reach the King’s ears?  And if so, why should he send to them?  It was not at all likely any one knew of the monastery so hidden away in a dense forest.  Could it be that the beauty of Mistress Penwick had become notorious at Whitehall and that the Duke was hunting for her?  These thoughts passed speedily through her brain, while the ogling Monmouth waited for her answer to his accusation.  She spoke with a shy little twist of her head, vainly trying to blush like little innocence.

“How can I hold out against thee, Duke?  Thou dost steal my secret; here, then, read it for thyself.”  With a lightening glance he finished reading what he had begun before.

“I was right, sweet Katherine; ’tis a trysting letter, and thou art to go to him to-night at nine?  Thou shalt not; I’ll have thee for myself.”  Now they had made a great mistake.  Constance thought to convince the Duke she had no lover.  He misunderstood and believed her to be the Katherine he had come after.  She, thinking to gain his secret, allowed him to think so, and quickly took up her new part.

“Thou dost embarrass me, Duke!”

“In very truth,” said he, “we have heard of thy great beauty at Whitehall, and have come hither to claim thee for ourselves.  Thou shalt be my very own, sweet Katherine.  The King was about to send forth to Crandlemar to enquire of his Grace of Ellswold.  We asked for the service, that we might gain sight of thy rare beauty.  We are about to pay our respects to the Duke who lies yonder, and at the King’s order bring him important news.  We have heard, however, his condition is most critical, and we cannot see him until high noon to-morrow, as the midday finds him stronger.  And I must see thee, sweet one, again before the night is over.  I cannot wait for the morrow’s noon.”  He caught her hand and pressed his lips to it, resting himself against the horse, his arm thrown carelessly across Constance’ knee.  She deemed it an honour to be in such close proximity to the royal Duke, and grew red with his amorous glances and soft-spoken words and the familiarity of his arm upon her.

“Indeed, it doth seem to me also like a very long time to wait,” and she sighed heavily.  At this Monmouth drew her down and kissed her upon her thin, arrogant lips.  She, well-nigh beside herself, exclaimed in a thin, high voice,—­

“Ah, ah, Duke, thou dost kill me—­I must hasten away from thee.  I must go.”  She spurred her horse; but the Duke caught the rein and held it fast.