Now it is an easy matter to say a thing will be done, but it is hard, sometimes, to carry out. However, I was so happy, when I felt I had not loved in vain, that I thought it would be but a little quest to find Lucille. She had, ’twas likely, found friends with whom she was stopping, and I only had to search them out. First I must see if she had been to the Governor for a pardon. And, when I called to mind this act of hers, I was ashamed of the thoughts I had had concerning my dear one.

So, having arranged to send Nanette back to Salem, I turned my steps toward the Governor’s, to make inquiries; for His Excellency had, doubtless, seen Lucille.

I was in little fear of arrest, on the charge of treason, for which Sir George held the Royal warrant, as I judged I could prevail on Sir William Phips to let so old a matter rest.

As I walked up the broad steps, having left Kit in the roadway, I was met at the door by a very proud-looking serving man.

193“We want no beggars here,” he said, and I remembered, with a start, my disordered and mud-stained clothes. I was not at all nice in appearance; a veritable beggar on horseback, and wearing a sword at my side; a strange sight, doubtless.

“I am no beggar,” I said, roughly, for I was in no mood for trifling. “Stand aside,” I went on, placing my hand on my sword, “for I must see Sir William.”

“Then you must get wings,” answered the man, smiling, and becoming more respectful, “for the Governor sailed for London yesterday.”

Here was something I had not counted on.

“Is there no one here who knows aught of his affairs?” I asked. “I must make some inquiries concerning a certain person.”

The servant said I might see the Governor’s private clerk, and he ushered me into a room where a middle-aged man sat writing. To him I related how I had come to Boston seeking a maid, Lucille de Guilfort, who was my promised wife, and who, I said, I feared had met with some harm, or was detained, since she had not been heard of in three weeks. She would have called on the Governor on a private matter, I remarked, but I did not say what it was, for even in Boston some folks were witch-crazed.

The Governor’s man listened carefully, and asked me to describe Lucille to him. When I had done so, he said:

“I recall, now, that about three weeks ago, such a maid 194came here, and was closeted with His Excellency for about an hour. I remember, because that day, I had upset the hour glass, and also on that day----”

“Yes, yes,” I interrupted, “tell me of that again, what of the maid?”

“I was coming to her,” he said, reproachfully. “Well, as I have said, she was with the Governor for an hour. There were tear traces on her cheeks when she went in, but a smile on her lips when she came out. I remember because I heard a bird----”

“Never mind the bird,” I hastened to say. “She was smiling----”

“Yes, but why do you break in on me? I was telling of the smile. She was all happiness, and in her hand she had a paper, sealed with the great seal of the Colony, and with the Governor’s own signet. Then, as she was going down the steps, having thrust the document into her bodice, she was met by a man.”

“By a man?” I shouted. “What manner of man?”

“Why, he was a man. I remember he was a man because----”

“Aye, aye, because he was a man,” I cried, all on fire. “Never mind how you recall it, but tell me, quickly, as if you had but another minute to live, what manner of man he was.”

“Why, you are in great haste,” said the clerk, “you leave me no thoughts.”

195“Never mind your thoughts,” I said, “tell me who was the man?”

“Why, none other than Sir George Keith,” he answered, gazing with mild wonder at me. “I remember it was because I knew him well, having often seen him at the Governor’s house.”

“What then?” I asked, trying to be calm, though I stormed within.

“Oh, I looked no further, as I had many papers to prepare,” replied the clerk. “The last I saw was the maid going up the street with Sir George.”

“Did she go willingly?”

“Aye, I thought so. Though now I call to mind that Sir George appeared to talk earnestly to her, pointing this way and that, ere she turned and went with him. Is there any more I can tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I thank you most kindly. I have heard too--too much already. Forgive my hasty words, I pray.”

Then I went out to Kit.

She rubbed her nose against my shoulder as I made ready to leap into the saddle. I wondered if she understood, and if it was the sympathy she could not speak, for it seemed she wanted to tell me she was still true.

Here was more than I had bargained for. Lucille was gone with Sir George, and there could be but one meaning to that. He had met her, having followed her from Salem, and had renewed his advances to her. With light words 196he had been sorry for the past, had won her forgiveness, and had awakened her old love for him.

Surely this was an end to it all now.

Though I had believed her his wife before, I felt I had her love. Now he had both her love and herself, and I had naught save bitter memories--and my love.

I cursed that, and tried to separate it from me--to cast it aside, but I could not. I knew, no matter what she did, no matter where she was, no matter were she now in his arms, with his kisses on her lips, that I loved her. For, when a man loves, he loves not always with wisdom.

I did not think of her as false to me. I believed she had fled with him after trying to elude his temptation. For it would appear she started from Salem loving me, and I hugged that cold comfort to my heart.

Despair, hope, then despair again had been my feelings that day. Now came a new one, revenge. If I could not have Lucille I would have her lover, and I laughed aloud as I thought how pleasant it would be to have him at my sword point.

I saw him shifting back from my attack. I saw the terror in his eyes, I saw his futile effort to parry my fierce thrust, I heard Lucille cry out, and then--and then I felt my keen weapon sheath itself in his heart.

Down he fell at my feet a shapeless mass, his red, warm lips, that she had kissed, growing cold and white.

And I laughed aloud.

197A sorry uncanny mirth it must have been, for it made Kit prick up her ears and break into a trot.

Now I thought I would live but for one end--to kill Sir George. But to do that I must find him. I have ever believed that good wine is, in moderation, a safe friend. Over a glass or two I knew I could better think of what I might do next, for I had resolved to follow Sir George--and Lucille.

I went to the tavern I had left a little while before, and, while sipping my wine, I fell to thinking of a remark Nanette had made while there, of how she had heard that her mistress had taken a boat near the tavern. In the excitement of what she told me after that I had forgotten to ask the servant what she meant by it, and where she had heard the rumor.

While thus musing and grumbling at my stupidity I heard two men talking in the room next to mine. The voices rose in anger now and then, and seemed to be in dispute over the division of some money. At length one of the men cried out:

“The boat was more mine than yours. You were as anxious to sell to Sir George as was I, and I made the better trade. For I knew he must have the craft at any price, as it would not do to let the little lady wet her feet.”

Sir George! A boat! A lady! Had I stumbled on w............