On the morning of the fourth day Armstrong was delighted to learn from De Courcy that the King had recovered and would see him at noon. The foreigner engaged the envoy in a long conversation, the object of which was to discover whether or not the girl had said anything to him of the excited conference of the day before. The unsuspecting Scot, entirely off his guard, thinking he spoke with a friend, was read by the other like an open book, and De Courcy was speedily convinced that Frances Wentworth had kept her own counsel. This gave the spy renewed confidence, and as they walked down the street together De Courcy held his head higher than had been the case when he last turned his back upon “The Crown” inn. His buoyant nature was quick to recover from depression, and his malice, fed anew from his late rebuff, set his alert mind at work to contrive some plan whereby he might salve his wounded pride and avenge himself on the girl and his favoured rival, even at some slight risk to himself. Although the danger of exposure seemed imminent enough when he was with her, he knew that as she grew calmer and reflected upon the situation she would be more and more reluctant to wreck everything in order to bring punishment upon him. He would get them out of Oxford that day if possible, but he would instill a poison in the young lover’s mind that would take all sweetness from the journey.

De Courcy had offered to show Armstrong the way to the King’s rooms, so that there should be no delay when the Scot set out for his appointment at twelve o’clock, and they had now entered the quadrangle of Christ Church, which was deserted save for the guards at the gate. Armstrong thanked him for his guidance, and was turning away, when the other, who seemed about to speak, glanced at the soldiers on duty, then, thinking the spot ill chosen for what he had to say, invited the Scot to his room. They went up a stair together, and entered De Courcy’s apartment, the host setting out wine and asking his guest to seat himself.

“Has the lady who accompanied you quite recovered from her fatigue?” asked De Courcy, indifferently.

“Well, as I told you, I met her yesterday for a few moments only, and I am sorry she was not in the highest spirits, but she will be the better for seeing the green fields again. Like myself, she is of the country, and does not thrive within the walls of a town.”

“Yes, I noticed that when she was in London.”

“In London? Did you know her in London?”

“Oh, hasn’t she told you of our relationship? Perhaps I should not have mentioned it.”

“What do you mean by your relationship? You are French; she is pure English.”

De Courcy threw back his head and laughed, unheeding and indeed unnoticing the angry colour mounting in a face that had grown suddenly stern.

“My dear comrade, there are other relationships between a young man and a handsome woman than the ties of kinship. But those days are long past, and I should never have recalled them had it not been that you two have been travelling about the country together, I make no doubt, with an innocence that recalls the sylvan days of yore.”

Armstrong pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

“Sir, the lady took her brother’s place, he being unexpectedly and grievously wounded. My position has been that of true comrade to her.”

“That is precisely what I have said. I said your journey was one of Arcadian innocence.”

“Those were your words, but your tone bears a meaning I resent.”

“You are quite in error. I will say no more about her.”

“You have already said too much or too little. Tell me in plain words what this relationship was to which you have referred.”

“First answer me a question. Are you betrothed to Frances Wentworth?”

“No. I told you I acted the brother’s part toward her in this journey.”

“Oh, we all say that; but I am not in the least curious. If you intended to marry her, then were my mouth sealed. Very well; since you will have it, and I take your word as a gentleman pledged that you will say nothing to the girl of this until you are clear of Oxford, know that I was once her betrothed. She was to have been my wife, and would have been my wife to-day had her father not fallen.”

“Your wife!”

“Yes. Her father gave me permission to pay my court to her. She could not have been much more than sixteen then, and I was her first lover, a personage that a girl never forgets. At first she was frightened, but that stage did not last long. Her father’s ruin changed my plans, and I refused to marry her. I announced this refusal to her in the seclusion of my own room in Whitehall and——”

“Sir, you lie!”

Armstrong’s sword seemed to spring of its own will from the scabbard, and his hand drew it a-swish through the air with the hiss of a deadly serpent. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, but did not move. The three words of his opponent had been spoken very quietly, despite his impulsive action. De Courcy did not raise his voice as he asked: “Which of my statements do you question?”

“No matter for that. We fight on this phrase in Scotland. No man ever called me liar and lived.”

“’T is a coarse phrase, I admit, and did I not represent my King—were I as free as you—you should have had my response in steel ere this. But I cannot wreck the King in a private quarrel of my own. Whether you killed me, or I you, ’t would be equally disastrous to his Majesty.”

“I care nothing for the King. Draw, you poltroon, or I shall kill you where you sit.”

“My dear Armstrong, I refuse to be murdered under a misapprehension on your part. I have said nothing against the girl. ’T is all your own hot blood. And indeed your brawling is the girl’s greatest danger; she might well tremble if she knew your present occupation. If you run your nimble sword through me, you give the girl to the fate that befel her father.”

At the first word of danger to Frances the point of Armstrongs blade sank to the floor, and he stood hesitating. A gleam of triumph glinted and died in the eye of the Frenchman. He knew he was the victor, although the chance he had run at one stage of the game almost made his heart stop beating.

“How can any action of mine jeopardize Lady Frances Wentworth?”

“If the King knew this girl was within his jurisdiction, she would be instantly arrested, tried, and condemned. She entered Whitehall the day her father was executed, for the sole purpose of murdering Charles. I prevented the carrying out of that purpose, and these scars on my face are the results of my interference with a maddened woman.”

“Again, you lie, yet if she had killed you both she would have accomplished but the justice of God.”

“As to the truth or falsity of my statements, regarding which you make comments of unseemly terseness, you may ask the King when you see him, or you may ask the lady herself when you get her out of Oxford. If you precipitate a turmoil here, you are like to tumble her pretty head in the basket. When this war is done with, I will go far to teach you the correct method of addressing a gentleman.”

Armstrong’s sword dropped into scabbard again, and he drew a breath that was a sigh. The poison was already at work. He remembered the distress of the girl on the road, and her wail, “I am not worthy the love of any honest man.”

“I shall never question her or any other, but will believe her lightest word against the world when she condescends to tell me. Meanwhile I shall get her out of this thieves’ den as soon as may be, and by God when I meet you——”

De Courcy had risen, and now bowed slightly to his perturbed guest.

“Sir, you shall meet me at twelve, and it will be my privilege to conduct you to his Majesty. Good morning.”

He stood by the window overlooking the quadrangle and watched his late visitor cross it, staggering once as if he had partaken freely of the wine which remained untasted on the table. As the Scot disappeared under the archway De Courcy laughed.

“My fine, strutting cockerel,” he muttered, “I’ll lay you by the heels before two days are past. Cromwell’s at Broughton, curse his tattling tongue. How many more has he told of me? Never mind. He’s the coming man. The King’s game is up, and I shake the dust of Oxford from my feet to-night. Saint Denis, if she had only known! Every man in Oxford distrusts me except the King.”

When Armstrong was brought before Charles, a great pity filled him as he gazed for the first time on that gaunt, haggard face, the face of a beaten man with his back to the wall. He found no difficulty in convincing the King that he was a well-accredited envoy, and his Majesty inquired eagerly about the disposition of the Scottish people toward him, the number likely to take the field in his behalf, who their probable leaders were, and how soon they would be ready for the fray. All these questions Armstrong answered as hopefully as he could, in deep commiseration for a defeated man. The King commanded one of his secretaries to write out the required commission, and while this was being done Armstrong related to him the purport of the papers which he had not dared to bring with him. The names of the nobles were inserted in the document from the dictation of the Scot; then the King’s seal was affixed, and Charles signed the parchment. He seemed in feverish haste to get the business done with, as if every moment lost was irreparable. When the ink was dried, and the parchment folded, Armstrong placed it in safe keeping within his vest. While thus engaged the King said a word to the secretary, who handed him a light rapier, then whispered to the messenger the single word “Kneel.” The Scot flushed to think he had been wanting in the etiquette of the court, his kind heart yearning to proffer any deference which should be rendered to a monarch, more especially that he was no longer in a position to enforce homage. He dropped on one knee and bowed his head. Charles, rising, touched the rapier blade lightly upon the shoulder of the kneeling man, saying: “Rise, Sir William Armstrong, and be assured that if you bring this poor signature of mine to Scotland, there is no title in my gift you may not demand of me.”

Armstrong rose, awkward as a school boy, not knowing where to look or what to say until he caught the cynical smile of De Courcy standing at the right hand of the King.

“I congratulate you, Sir William,” said the Frenchman. The sight of the smile aroused the new hatred against the man which was smoldering in his heart, and he made no reply to the greeting, but said to the King: “Sire, the only thanks I can tender you is haste to the North, and may God make my arm as strong to defend this signature as my heart is true to your Majesty.”

With that he turned his back upon royalty, a grievous breach in the eyes of courtiers, and fled.

“God grant it,” said the King, with a sigh, as he sank once more in the seat from whence he had risen.

“There is no doubt of it,” said De Courcy, softly.

“Doubt of what?” asked the King.

“The oath he took will sit lightly on his conscience. He prayed that his arm’s strength might equal his heart’s fealty. I distrust those who talk glibly of their hearts, and his was a most ambiguous prayer. If his heart be not true, and he made no assertion that it was, his strong arm will avail us little.”

“Surely if ever honesty beamed from a man’s face it was from Armstrong’s. The Scots are trustworthy men.”

“Some of them, your Majesty.”

Uneasy suspicion came into the sunken eyes of the King as he turned them on his Chamberlain.

“What do you fear, De Courcy?”

“I have been studying the man these three days past. I accepted without question his assurances, and threw him off his guard. Cromwell loves an honest-looking envoy, and from what Armstrong said I am sure he saw Cromwell no farther away than Northampton. He was very ready with his account of his own country people, but he told us nothing about the marvellous luck that brought him safely through a hostile land, which we know to our cost is admirably patrolled. There is young Rudby, gone this month and more to Edinburgh, and yet no word of him. And this stranger expects us to believe he came over the same ground unscathed and unquestioned in less than a week.”

“O God! O God! In whom can I place dependence,” cried the tortured King, burying his head in his hands. Then he raised it and said with a trace of anger in his voice: “If you knew this man to be a traitor, or an emissary of that rebel, why did you bring him into our presence?”

“I could not be sure of him, your Majesty, and there was always a chance that he was loyal and might get through.”

“To raise my hopes like this and then dash them to the ground!”

“Not so, your Majesty, if you will pardon me. Do you place importance on this commission?”

“The utmost importance. I know Traquair, and he will raise all Scotland for me if this commission reach him.”

“Then we will mak siccar, as a famous Scot once said.”

“Ah, De Courcy, that was said when a treacherous murder was intended. How will you make sure that Armstrong is honest?”

“I should trouble no more about Armstrong, but if you will issue a duplicate of that commission I will guarantee that it reaches the hand of Traquair. I am a Frenchman, and a subject of the French king. I carry my passport to that effect. Even if I am stopped, I shall resist search on the ground of my nationality, and Cromwell is too greatly in awe of the power of France to risk its might being thrown in the scale against him. Indeed I doubt if I could offer a greater service to your Majesty than to be captured and appeal to Louis.”

The King’s face cleared.

“You would not stop Armstrong then?”

“Assuredly not. If his copy gets into Cromwell’s hands he may slacken his alertness and not be on the outlook for a duplicate. As I said before, there is a chance the Scot plays fair, but two commissions in the hands of Traquair will do no harm, and we mak siccar.”

“You are in the right, and your advice is always of the best. How soon will you be ready to leave?”

“This very moment, your Majesty. There is no time to be lost.”

“True! True! True!” Then to the secretary, “Write another. Do you remember the names?”

“Yes, your Majesty. I have them here on a slip.”

De Courcy bade farewell to the King, who urged him to return as soon as horse could bring him, and went to his room to prepare for his journey, the duplicate commission following him there.

Armstrong strode to the inn, sped up the stair, and knocked at the door by the landing. Frances herself opened it, the determination on her face to refuse admission to any other than he melting into a welcome as she greeted him.

“My girl, are you ready for the North?”

“Yes, yes, ready and eager. Have you seen the King?”

“I have, and his royal signature rests over my heart.”

The joy fled from the girl’s face; she turned and walked with uncertain steps to the table. A hope had arisen that the venomous De Courcy would have prejudiced the King against the young man, and that the hateful task of robbery would not be required. But now this last refuge had failed. She strove not to weep.

“If you would rather not go until to-morrow,” said Armstrong, “I can wait, but, lassie, I’m desperate anxious to leave Oxford as soon as possible. We will not travel farther than Banbury to-night.”

“I am ready,” she replied with forced firmness.