Simon Dale. Anthony Hope
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hath come and fire hath come," he cried. "Yet wickedness is not put away, and lewdness vaunteth herself, and the long-suffering of God is abused."
All this seeming to me very tedious, I sipped my wine and made no answer. I had enough to think of, and was content to let the sins of the city alone.
"The foul superstition of Papacy raises its head again," he went on, "and godly men are persecuted."
"Those same godly men," said I, "have had their turn before now, sir. To many it seems as if they were only receiving what they gave." For the fellow had roused me to some little temper by his wearisome cursing.
"But the Time of the Lord is at hand," he pursued, "and all men shall see the working of His wrath. Ay, it shall be seen even in palaces."
"If I were you, sir," said I dryly, "I would not talk thus before strangers. There might be danger in it."
He scanned my face closely for a few moments; then, leaning across towards me, he said earnestly:
"You are young, and you look honest. Be warned in time; fight on the Lord's side, and not among His enemies. Verily the time cometh."
I had met many of these mad fellows, for the country was full of them, some being disbanded soldiers of the Commonwealth, some ministers who had lost their benefices; but this fellow seemed more crazy than any I had seen: though, indeed, I must confess there was a full measure of truth, if not of charity, in the description of the King's Court on which he presently launched himself with great vigour of declamation and an intense, although ridiculous, exhibition of piety.
"You may be very right, sir——"
"My name is Phineas Tate."
"You may be very right, friend Phineas," said I, yawning; "but I can't alter all this. Go and preach to the King."
"The King shall be preached to in words that he must hear," he retorted with a frown, "but the time is not yet."
"The time now is to seek our beds," said I, smiling. "Do you lodge here?"
"For this night I lie here. To-morrow I preach to this city."
"Then I fear you are likely to lie in a less comfortable place to-morrow." And bidding him good-night, I turned to go. But he sprang after me, crying, "Remember, the time is short"; and I doubt whether I should have got rid of him had not Darrell at that moment entered the room. To my surprise, the two seemed to know one another, for Darrell broke into a scornful laugh, exclaiming:
"Again, Master Tate! What, haven't you left this accursed city to its fate yet?"
"It awaits its fate," answered the Ranter sternly, "even as those of your superstition wait theirs."
"My superstition must look out for itself," said Darrell, with a shrug; and, seeing that I was puzzled, he added, "Mr. Tate is not pleased with me because I am of the old religion."
"Indeed?" I cried. "I didn't know you were a—of the old church." For I remembered with confusion a careless remark that I had let fall as we journeyed together.
"Yes," said he simply.
"Yes!" cried Tate. "You—and your master also, is he not?"
Darrell's face grew stern and cold.
"I would have you careful, sir, when you touch on my Lord Arlington's name," he said. "You know well that he is not of the Roman faith, but is a convinced adherent of the Church of this country."
"Is he so?" asked Tate, with an undisguised sneer.
"Come, enough!" cried Darrell in sudden anger. "I have much to say to my friend, and shall be glad to be left alone with him."
Tate made no objection to leaving us, and, gathering up his Bible, went out scowling.
"A pestilent fellow," said Darrell. "He'll find himself laid by the heels before long. Well, I have settled your affair with my Lord Carford."
But my affair with Carford was not what I wanted to hear about. I came to him as he sat down at the table, and, laying my hand on his shoulder, asked simply,
"Is it true?"
He looked up at me with great kindness, and answered gently,
"It is true. I guessed it as soon as you spoke of Cydaria. For Cydaria was the part in which she first gained the favour of the town, and that, taken with your description of her, gave me no room for doubt. Yet I hoped that it might not be as I feared, or, at least, that the thing could be hidden. It seems, though, that the saucy wench has made no secret of it. Thus you are landed in this quarrel, and with a good swordsman."
"I care nothing for the quarrel——" I began.
"Nay, but it is worse than you think. For Lord Carford is the gentleman of whom I spoke, when I told you that Mistress Quinton had a noble suitor. And he is high in her favour and higher yet in her father's. A quarrel with him, and on such a cause, will do you no good in Lord Quinton's eyes."
Indeed, it seemed as though all the furies had combined to vex me. Yet still my desire was to learn of Cydaria, for even now I could hardly believe what Darrell told me. Sitting down by him, I listened while he related to me what he knew of her; it was little more than the mentioning of her true name told me—a name familiar, alas, through all the country, sung in ballads, bandied to and fro in talk, dragged even into high disputes that touched the nation's fortunes; for in those strange days, when the world seemed a very devil's comedy, great countries, ay, and Holy Churches, fought behind the mask of an actress's face or chose a fair lady for their champion. I hope, indeed, that the end sanctified the means; they had great need of that final justification. Castlemaine and Nell Gwyn—had we not all read and heard and gossiped of them? Our own Vicar had spoken to me of Nell, and would not speak too harshly, for Nell was Protestant. Yes, Nell, so please you, was Protestant. And other grave divines forgave her half her sins because she flouted most openly and with pert wit the other lady, who was suspected of an inclination towards Rome and an intention to charm the King into the true Church's bosom. I also could have forgiven her much; for, saving my good Darrell's presence, I hated a Papist worse than any man, saving a Ranter. Yes, I would have forgiven her all, and applauded her pretty face and laughed at her pretty ways. I had looked to do as much when I came to town, being, I must confess, as little straightlaced as most young men. But I had not known that the thing was to touch me close. Could I forgive her my angry humiliation and my sore heart, bruised love and burning ridicule? I could forgive her for being all she now was. How could I forgive her for having been once my Cydaria?
"Well, you must fight," said Darrell, "although it is not a good quarrel," and he shook my hand very kindly with a sigh of friendship.
"Yes, I must fight," said I, "and after that—if there be an after—I must go to Whitehall."
"To take up your commission?" he asked.
"To lay it down, Mr. Darrell," said I with a touch of haughtiness. "You don't think that I could bear it, since it comes from such a source?"
He pressed my hand, saying with a smile that seemed tender,
"You're from the country. Not one in ten would quarrel with that here."
"Yes, I'm from the country," said I. "It was in the country that I knew Cydaria."
CHAPTER V
I AM FORBIDDEN TO FORGET
It must be allowed that by no possible union of unlucky chances could I, desiring to appear as a staid, sober gentleman, and not as a ruffler or debauched gallant, have had a worse introduction