“He has left undone all which he should not have done in so far as I know,” said Betty, “and has done a great deal of good.  Recently when a plague was raging along the wall from Aldgate to Bishopgate, where a great many poor people live, you know, Master Hamilton went down among them at peril of his life.”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Frances, eagerly.

“He nursed them and carried food and water to them.  You know one stricken with the plague is ready to die of thirst.  He took care of the children, helped to bury the dead, which, you know, in case of very poor people, is done after night, consoled the bereaved, and—­oh, Mistress Jennings, it was an awful sight!” said Betty, tears coming to her eyes.

“And Master Hamilton helped them?” asked Frances, hoping to keep the glorious narrative going.

“Yes, he did the work of half a score of men,” said Betty.  “In the disguise of a Quaker, he solicited money with which to buy medicine and to employ physicians, and did everything in his power to comfort the poor sufferers.  Doctor Lilly, the astrologer, helped us.  People say he is a cheat, but I wish we had more of his kind among us.”

“And you helped him?” asked Frances.

“Yes, a little,” said Betty, modestly.  “But my father helped him a great deal with money and food.”

“Master Hamilton is in danger of his life,” said Frances, “and I would save him.  Will you help me to find him?”

After a long pause, Betty asked:  “But how shall I know that you mean fair by him?  I’ll see him if I can, and when you return, I’ll tell you where to find him if he consents.”

“So you do know where he is?” asked Frances, eagerly.

Betty did not reply, so Frances continued:  “I do mean him fair, Betty.  I am risking everything—­my good name, perhaps even life itself, in seeking him.  I expected to have to prove my good intent, so I brought with me this letter which no one save myself has ever seen, nor any one other than you shall ever see.  Read it, Betty.  It is one Master Hamilton sent to me from France.”

Betty hesitated, but as Frances insisted, she read the letter and returned it, saying:—­

“You are his sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes, Betty, in all that is best and most terrible in the meaning of the word.”

Betty sat thinking for a moment, then went to the window, saying, “If you will look out the window across the courtyard, you will see a flight of stone steps leading to the cellar.”

“Yes, yes, I see,” returned Frances.

“If you go down the steps, you will find a door to which I shall give you the key.  Enter and you will be in an empty room, the walls of which are hung with worn tapestries taken from the inn.  On one side of the room you will see a tapestried panel bearing the image of St. George and the dragon.  Behind the panel is a concealed door, seemingly a part of the wall, but if you will allow the tapestry to hang and will press the eye of the dragon, the door will open and you may find—­your St. George.”