“But I shall see him,” said Betty, “and if you will come back to-morrow, I’ll tell you where he can be found if he consents.”

During the last month or two a News Letter had been circulated by thousands throughout London and Westminster, in which the character of the king had been assailed with great bitterness.  At first Charles paid no attention to the new journal, but soon its attacks got under his skin.  I was told that efforts had been made to discover the publisher and his printing shop, but that nothing could be learned save that the sheets were left at taverns and bookstalls by boys who declared they found them in bundles in the churchyards.

It was impossible to find even the boys.  The bookstalls and taverns were ordered not to sell the News Letter, but the people hated the king so bitterly that the circulation increased rather than diminished after the royal interdict, and as the sheets sold for the extravagant price of one shilling, it was impossible to stop the sale, since every one who handled them was making a rich profit.

Judging from many articles appearing in the News Letter, I suspected that Hamilton was a contributor, if not the editor.  If either, he was piling up trouble, should he be discovered.

On leaving the Old Swan, I went back to the palace and met Frances at the Holbein Gate, cloaked and bonneted, ready to go to see her father.

I offered to accompany her, and we took a coach at Charing Cross for Sir Richard’s house.

My conscience had troubled me because I had done nothing to clear Hamilton of her unjust suspicions.  Up to that time I had found no opportunity to speak to her privately after my return from Sheerness, nor had I fully made up my mind to try to convince her that George was not guilty of Roger’s death.  But when she and I entered the coach to go to her father’s house, I broached the subject:—­

“You remember, cousin,” I began, “what I said to you in Hamilton’s presence on the Bourne Path?”

“Every word,” she replied.  “It was all true, and I shall be grateful so long as I live.”

“But what I said at that time did not seem to cause you to hate him?” I continued, wondering what her reply would be.

“No,” she answered, with slight hesitancy.  “It did not.”

“Is the aversion you now feel toward him the result of what I said at that time?” I asked.

“No, no,” she returned quickly.  Then suddenly checking herself, she demanded, “Why do you speak of my aversion to him, and what do you know about it?”

I told her that I knew all the particulars of her meeting with Hamilton at the Old Swan, of her refusal to recognize him and of the fight that ensued.  I told her of my talk with him, at the beginning of his sickness, two weeks before I left for Sheerness, and then without giving her time to guard against surprise, I asked:—­

“Do you believe he was implicated in the Roger Wentworth tragedy?”