When George had sheathed his sword, he started to leave the room without speaking to Frances or Nelly, but before he reached the door, Frances called out faintly:—­

“Master Hamilton!  Please wait, Master Hamilton!”

For the moment she forgot the cause of her hatred of him, forgot that he had been implicated in Roger’s murder, as she supposed, forgot everything in all the broad world save her love for him, and that he had just been at death’s door in her defence.

Hamilton stopped a little short of the door, and Frances ran to him, calling softly:  “Oh, sir, wait!  Forgive me!  I do know you!  A moment since I did not know you, but now—­Oh, I must have made a terrible mistake!  I have judged you wrongfully.  I do know you!  I do know you!”

Hamilton bowed and smiled grimly through the blood which was trickling down his face, then standing proudly erect, answered:—­

“Mistress Jennings is mistaken.  She does not know me, nor have I the honor of knowing the king’s new favorite.”

Here Betty cut the conversation short by saying:  “I’ll fetch a barber-surgeon, while father takes you to a room.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort for me,” objected Hamilton.  “My wounds are mere scratches.  I’ll go to the pump.  It is the only surgeon I shall need.  Fetch a barber for the men on the floor there.”

George went to the pump in the courtyard, followed by Betty, after whom came Nelly and Frances.  Betty was proceeding to wash George’s wounds, when Nelly offered to take the towel from her hand, but the girl refused with a touch of anger, saying:—­

“Please do not interfere, Mistress Gwynn.  You and the duchess stood by gaping while he was fighting to protect you.  He would have been dead by now if he had waited for help from either of you.  I advise you to leave the Old Swan, but don’t forget to pay your bill to the barboy.”

“Never mind the bill,” said Pickering, who was at the pump handle.  “But please take my daughter’s advice and go.”

“Go where you may find guinea linen.  Persons of your quality make too much trouble at the Old Swan,” interposed Betty, who was not in a good temper.

At first Nelly was inclined to resent Betty’s sharp words, but in a moment she returned softly:—­

“You’re right, girl.  You have earned the privilege to scold.”

“And please forgive us,” said Frances, to which Betty did not reply.

“Where are your wounds?” asked Nelly, addressing George.  “Off with your clothes and let us see.”

“Not here, Nelly, not here,” he answered, bending over the tub in front of the pump.  “My wounds are mere trifles.  Only a scratch or two on the scalp and a pink or two on the arms.  Take Betty’s advice.  Leave at once.  This is no place for your friend.  The society of our virtuous monarch doubtless will be far more congenial.”

Nelly hesitated, and George, seeing that Frances was about to speak, turned upon her, almost angrily:—­