“Were you so mighty proud the other night that you could not come to see a humble ward of the court?” she asked.

“I am only a poor trader now!”

“Ah,” says Hortense, questioning my face again, “I had thought you were only a poor trader before!  Was that the only reason?”

“To be sure, Hortense, the lieutenant would not have welcomed me—­he might have told his fellow to turn me out and made confusion.”

And I related M. Radisson’s morning encounter with Lieutenant Blood, whereat Mistress Hortense uttered such merry peals of laughter I had thought the chapel-bells were chiming.

“Ramsay!” she cried impetuously, “I hate this life—­why did you all send me to it?”

“Hate it!  Why——?”

“Why?” reiterated Hortense.  “Why, when a king, who is too busy to sign death-reprieves, may spend the night hunting a single moth from room to room of the palace?  Why, when ladies of the court dress in men’s clothes to run the streets with the Scowerers?  Why, when a duchess must take me every morning to a milliner’s shop, where she meets her lover, who is a rope-walker?  Why, when our sailors starve unpaid and gold enough lies on the basset-table of a Sunday night to feed the army?  Ah, yes!” says Hortense, “why do I hate this life?  Why must you and Madame Radisson and Lady Kirke all push me here?”

“Hortense,” I broke in, “you were a ward of the crown!  What else was there for us to do?”

“Ah, yes!” says Hortense, “what else?  You kept your promise, and a ward of the crown must marry whom the king names—­”

“Marry?”

“Or—­or go to a nunnery abroad.”

“A nunnery?”

“Ah, yes!” mocks Hortense, “what else is there to do?”

And at that comes Blood crashing through the brush.

“Here, fellow, hands off that bridle!”

“The horse became restless.  This gentleman held him for me till you came.”

“Gad’s life!” cries the lieutenant, dismounting.  “Let’s see?” And he examines the girths with a great show of concern.  “A nasty tumble,” says he, as if Hortense had been rolled on.  “All sound, Mistress Hillary!  Egad!  You must not ride such a wild beast!  I protest, such risks are too desperate!” And he casts up the whites of his eyes at Mistress Hortense, laying his hand on his heart.  “When did you feel him getting away from you?”

“At the wall,” says Hortense.

The lieutenant vaulted to his saddle.

“Here, fellow!”

He had tossed me a gold-piece.  They were off.  I lifted the coin, balanced it on my thumb, and flipped it ringing against the wall.  When I looked up, Hortense was laughing back over her shoulder.

On May 17th we sailed from Gravesend in the Happy Return, two ships accompanying us for Hudson Bay, and a convoy of the Royal Marine coming as far as the north of Scotland to stand off Dutch highwaymen and Spanish pirates.