As the road seemed rough and endless, Constance became anxious of her destination and began to inquire, as if in great anger, why she was thus taken and for what purpose.  All questions being answered perfunctorily, she relaxed into silence.  At last she asked broadly,—­

“Where are we to stop for refreshment, man; I am near dead with fatigue?”

“We stop at Hornby’s Inn, my lady, there to meet his Grace.”

Janet sat quiet, nor did she speak again until she stood before Mistress Penwick at the inn, where she sailed in as if nothing in the world had happened, but inwardly she fairly wept with joy to find her nurseling happy and unharmed.

The rain was falling heavily as Lady Constance entered the room where sat Katherine with the two Dukes.  Dawn seemed to have gone back into night, for ’twas so dark candles twinkled brightly and lighted up the maiden’s face as she spun a story of convent ghosts.  Hate flung open gates through her ladyship’s eyes and fell a battery upon Katherine’s face.  ’Twas but a thrust of a glance, but their Graces noted it as they arose to greet her.  Katherine was answering in an undertone Janet’s questions as Monmouth spoke aside to her Ladyship.  Constance was not to be delayed, even by his Grace, and she hastened to the table and greeted Katherine as Lady Cantemir.

“Nay, not so!” said the maid; whereupon Constance gasped, covering her defeat by a great show of wonder and surprise.  She fell to questioning, her inquiries being overthrown by Buckingham, who adroitly turned the conversation upon another matter.

Monmouth was wild with delight over the prize he had captured, and as they sat at meat he was pondering upon where he should hide the beauty, for he feared his father’s predilections, and ’twas sure he would not run the risk of any such mischance and he tossed about in his mind the advisability of taking her to London.  As these thoughts crowded upon him he grew grave and frowned.  Constance, feeling her disappointment most keenly, saw the tangle upon the Duke’s brow.  It arrested the quick pulsing of her own discontent and turned her mind into a channel of evil even more treacherous than any ideas that had assailed her heretofore.  It meant, in case of defeat, her own downfall.  She would barter, if need be, her own soul away.  Of such character were her ladyship’s ambitions.  She was impatient for the final bout that was to settle all things.

Even the haughty Duke of Buckingham was moved by Mistress Penwick’s youth, beauty and innocence.  And yet he thought ’twas pitiful she should go unclaimed by Court.  Her secret must be had at whatever cost, and seeing the maid was neither dismayed nor at loss by being thrown with the king’s son and the famous Buckingham, ’twas certain nothing less than extreme measures would draw from her her secret.  Whether these measures were foul or fair was not of much consequence to him.  If the maid was to favour any, he would withdraw, giving place to Monmouth, providing of course ’twas in his power to do so.  And that ’twould be his power he did not doubt.