I then told him of my cousin’s visit with Nelly to the Old Swan, laying emphasis on Frances’s refusal to recognize Hamilton, but saying nothing of the fight that followed.

“I am glad to learn the truth, if it is the truth,” lisped his Lordship, musingly.

“If you would know the real danger to Frances, you must look higher,” I said, cautiously refraining from being too explicit.  “There is one whom my cousin scorns, but from whom she is in hourly peril.  There is no length to which he would not go, no crime, however dastardly, he would not commit to gain his end.  I watch over her constantly, and although my fear may be groundless, still I believe that her only safety is to marry at once and to leave court with her husband.”

“But you say she despises him?” he asked.

“Yes, she even hates him.  Still she is in great danger; perhaps in danger of her life.  We all know that crimes have been committed by this person—­ crimes so horrible as to be almost past belief.  You remember the parson’s daughter who jumped from a high wall and killed herself to escape him.”

“You are her guardian, baron.  Let me be her watchdog,” said Tyrconnel, leaning eagerly across the table toward me.  “And if I am so fortunate as to win her love by constant devotion, she shall be my wife.”

I offered my hand as a silent compact, and we finished our mutton almost without another word.

Two days after my interview with Tyrconnel, George Hamilton’s News Letter appeared, containing a vicious attack on the king, which angered his Majesty greatly and seemed to arouse anew his suspicion that Hamilton was not in France, some one having told him on a mere suspicion that George was the editor of the News Letter.  His Majesty accused Frances of falsehood in having told him that she had not seen Hamilton and that she believed he was in France, but she becoming indignant, he again apologized.

Frances’s account of the king’s state of mind alarmed me, and I determined to see George as soon as possible and advise him to leave England at once.  I was delayed in going, but on a cold, stormy day at the end of a fortnight I found my opportunity, and took boat for the Old Swan, not minding the snow and sleet, because I was very happy knowing that I should see Betty.  I had of late done all in my power to keep away from her, but the longing had grown upon me, and I was glad to have an honest excuse to visit Gracious Street.

I have spoken heretofore of my engagement to marry Mary Hamilton, and my passion for Betty may indicate that my heart was susceptible, if not fickle.  But aside from Betty’s Hebe-like charms of person and sweetness of disposition, there were other reasons for my falling off respecting Mary.  While she had promised to marry me, still there was a coldness, perhaps I should say a calmness, in her manner toward me, and a cautiousness in holding me aloof which seemed to indicate a desire on her part for a better establishment in life than I could give, if perchance a better offered.  My suit had not prospered, though it had not failed, since she was to be my wife provided she found no more eligible husband within a reasonable time.