So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?
—Tennyson.
It was later in the afternoon and Master Legros and his daughter had finished their preparations for the return journey. Strangely enough, papa's heart was not as glad as it should have been, considering that the object of his visit to England had been attained, and that he had reached the pinnacle of his desire much more easily than he had ever dared to contemplate, for he had reached it without the cost of humiliation to his child or rebuff to himself.
 
Nevertheless, the kindly heart was like a dead weight in the good man's breast, even though Rose Marie did her best to seem cheerful, talking ever of the joy of seeing maman again, and at times quite serenely of her own future.
 
"Thy husband looks kind, Rose Marie," said papa tentatively, whilst his eyes, rendered keen through the intensity of his affection, strove to pierce through the mask of impassiveness wherewith his child tried to hide her thoughts.
 
"He also seems greatly to admire thee," he added with an involuntary display of paternal pride.
 
But has any man—has even the most devoted of fathers—ever succeeded in reading a woman's thoughts on the subject of another man.
 
[368]
 
All that Papa Legros thought at this moment was that Rose Marie looked very pale and that a shiver seemed to go through her as if she had the ague. Mayhap she was over-tired, certainly she was unstrung. He himself felt uncommonly as if he would like to cry.
 
In the early part of the afternoon he persuaded Rose Marie to lie awhile on her bed and rest. "Milor"—for so he still persisted in calling Rupert Kestyon in his mind—would be here at six o'clock; his coach would then be ready for the journey to Dover. It was now little more than three.
 
Rose Marie obeyed willingly. She was very tired and she longed to be all alone. Papa declared his intention of going out for a walk and of returning within an hour.
 
A great longing had seized him to see Michael once again. The worthy man cursed himself for his folly and for his weakness but he felt that he could not go away from England without grasping once more that slender, kindly hand, which he once used to look on as that of a dearly-loved son.
 
Papa Legros did not see the reason why—now that all difficulties had been duly planed—he and Michael should not remain friends. He had more than a vague suspicion, too, that "milor's" repentant attitude was due to Michael's persuasion.
 
Asking his way from the passers-by as he went, he soon found himself once again before the house in Soho. But his disappointment was bitter when he heard that my lord was from home, and no one knew when he would return.
 
Sadder of heart then, Master Legros retraced his steps towards the Bell Inn. On the way he had wiped many a tear which had fallen down his cheeks, blaming himself[369] severely the while for this display of weakness. But—strange though it may seem—this failure in seeing Michael and in hearing his cheery voice speak the "God-speed" had weighed the good tailor's spirits down with an oppressive weight which seemed almost like a foreboding.
 
In the yard of the inn, Master Legros encountered quite a crowd of gaffers. Some great excitement seemed to be in the air; they talked volubly to one another, with that stolid absence of gesture, that burying of hands in breeches pockets which always makes an Englishman's excitement seem so unconvincing to the foreign observer. In the centre of the yard, a heavy coach—a note of bright canary yellow in the midst of all the sober greys and drabs around—stood ready, with ostlers at the leaders' heads, the horses champing their bits and impatiently pawing the cobblestones. The driver, with thick coat unbuttoned displaying an expanse of grey woolen shirt, was quenching his thirst inside the vehicle; obviously it was not his intention to join actively in the babel of voices which went on all round him, although the coach itself and the horses seemed special objects of curiosity, since a crowd of gaffers surrounded it as closely as the impatient horses themselves would allow.
 
Master Legros made his way through the crowd, trying to catch a chance phrase or so, which might give him the keynote to all this unwonted bustle. The words "Papist" and "arrest," which he understood, caught his ear repeatedly, also the name "Stowmaries," invariably accompanied with a loud imprecation.
 
Feeling naturally diffident through his want of knowledge of the language, he was somewhat timorous of asking questions, but hurried up to his room, having bidden the[370] barman downstairs take a bottle of wine and two glasses up to his room.
 
He found Rose Marie sitting quietly in the armchair, pensive but otherwise serene. To the father's anxious eyes it seemed as if she had been crying, but she returned his kiss of greeting with clinging fondness, and assured him that she felt quite rested and ready for the journey.
 
"My lord" had arranged that his coach should take them by night journey to Dover, and thence immediately to Calais if the packet-boat was plying; for "my lord" seemed in a vast hurry to get across to France as soon as may be, and Rose Marie herself was conscious of a great longing to put the sea between herself and this land which called forth so many bitter memories.
 
When the serving-man brought the wine, Legros asked his daughter to question him as to the excitement which reigned in the yard.
 
"Oh!" explained the man, who was eager enough to talk, "'tis only the news of the arrest of another of these d—d Papists. They do conspire, you know, to murder the king, and it seems that this time they've arrested another noble lord, no less a person than my lord of Stowmaries."
 
"My lord of Stowmaries!" ejaculated Legros in utter dismay, for he had partly guessed, partly understood, what the man was saying; "surely it cannot be—"
 
"When and where did this occur?" queried Rose Marie peremptorily.
 
"About an hour ago, at his lordship's house in Piccadilly," replied the man. "They do say that the miscreant hath confessed, directly he saw the musketeers. He was scared, no doubt, and blurted out the truth. By the Lord! If the people of England had their way, a man like that should be broken on the wheel and the fires of Smithfield[371] should be revived to rid the country of such pestilential vermin."
 
Fortunately Master Legros did not understand all that the man said, else his wrath had known no bounds. As it was he had only a vague idea that the man was being insolent, and he shouted an angry command of:
 
"Enough of this! Get out, sirrah!" which the man readily obeyed, being over-satisfied that he had annoyed and even frightened these foreign Papists, who, no doubt, had come to England only to brew mischief.
 
Directly the door had closed behind the serving-man, Rose Marie said decisively:
 
"Father dear, we must to my husband's house at once, and find out what has happened."
 
"He seemed to make so light of the danger which threatened him, when he was here just now, that I h............