The girl rose to her full height and stood before him.

“It may be I am mad,” said she.  “It may be the old Knollys madness.  If so, why should I struggle against it?  It may be that I am mad.  But I venture to say to you that Mr. Law is not born to die in Newgate yards.  My life! sir, if I love him, who should say me nay?  Now, say to yourself, and to your friends—­to all London, if you like, since you have touched me to this point—­that Catharine Knollys is friend to Mr. Law, and believes in him, and declares that he shall be freed from his prison, and that within short space!  Say that, Sir Arthur; tell them that!  And if they argue somewhat from it, why, let them reason it as best they may.”

The young man stood, his lips close together, his head still turned away.  The girl continued with growing energy.

“I have sent for you to tell you that Mr. Law’s life has a value in my eyes.  And now, I say to you, Sir Arthur, that you must aid me in his escape.”

A beautiful picture she made, tearful, pleading, a lock of her soft red-brown hair falling unnoticed across her tear-wet cheek.  It had been ill task, indeed, to make refusal of any sort to a woman so gloriously feminine, so noble, now so beseeching.

“Lady Catharine,” said the young man, turning toward her, “this illness, this anxiety—­”

“No, I know perfectly well whereof I speak!  Listen, and I’ll tell you somewhat of news.  Montague, chancellor of the exchequer, is my warrant for what I say to you when I tell you that Mr. Law is to be free.  Montague himself has said to me, in this very room, that Mr. Law was like to be half the salvation of England in these uncertain times.  I could tell you more, but may not.  Only look you, Sir Arthur, John Law does not rest in Newgate more than one week from this time!”

Sir Arthur took snuff, his voice at length regaining that composure for which he had sought.

“’Tis very excellent,” he said.  “For myself, two centuries have been spent in my family to teach me to love like a gentleman, and to deserve you like a man.  What does this young man need?  A few days of bluster, of assertion!  A few weeks of gaming and of roistering, of self-asserted claims!  Gad!  Lady Catharine, this is passing bitter!  And now you ask me to help him.”

“I wish you to help him,” said Lady Catharine, slowly, “only in that I ask you to help me.”

“And if I did?”

“And if you did, you should dwell in a part of my heart forever!  Let it be as you like.”

“Then,” cried the young man, flushing suddenly and hotly as he strode toward her, “do with me as you like!  Let me be fool unspeakable!”

“And do you promise?” said Lady Catharine, rising and advancing toward him.  Her face was sad and appealing.  Her eyes swam in tears, her lips were trembling.

Sir Arthur held out his hand.  The Lady Catharine extended both her own, and he bent and kissed them, tears springing in his eyes.  For a time the room was silent.  Then the girl turned, her own lashes wet.  She stepped at length to a cabinet and took from an inner drawer a paper.