As often happens in life, when one suitor departs, another suitor knocks; and so it happened on this glorious night. The belated suitor was none other than Charles, the Stuart King. He seemed in the moonlight the picture of royalty, of romance, of dignity, of carelessness, of indifference–the royal vagabond of wit, of humour and of love. A well-thumbed “Hudibras” bulged from his pocket. He was alone, save for some pretty spaniels that played about him. He heeded them not. His thoughts were of Nell.

“Methought I heard voices tuned to love,” he mused, as he glanced about. “What knave has spied out the secret of her bower? Ho, Rosamond, my Rosamond! Why came I here again to-night? What is there in this girl, this Nell? And yet her eyes, how like the pretty maid’s who passed me the cup that day at the cottage where we rested. Have I lived really to love–I, Solomon’s rival in the entertainment of the fair,–to have my heart-strings torn by this roguish player?”

His reflections were broken in upon by the hunters’ song in the distance. The music was so in harmony with the night that the forest seemed enchanted.

“Hush; music!” he exclaimed, softly, as he lent himself reluctantly to the spell, which pervaded everything as in a fairyland. “Odds, moonlight was once for me as well the light for revels, bacchanals and frolics; yet now I linger another evening by Nell’s terrace, mooning like a lover o’er the memory of her eyes and entranced by the hunters’ song.”

The singers were approaching. The King stepped quickly beneath the trellis, in an angle of the wall, and waited. Their song grew richer, as melodious as the night, but it struck a discord in his soul. He was thinking of a pair of eyes.

“Cease those discordant jangles,” he exclaimed impatiently to himself; “cease, I say! No song except for Nell! Nell! Pour forth your sweetest melody for Nell!”

The hunters stopped as by intuition before the terrace. A goodly company they were, indeed; there were James and Rochester and others of the court returning from the day’s hunt. There was Buckingham too, who had rejoined them as they left the inn. The music died away.

“Whose voice was that?” asked James, as he caught the sound of the King’s impatient exclamation from the corner of the wall.

“Some dreamer of the night,” laughed Buckingham. “Yon love-sick fellow, methinks,” he continued, pointing to a figure, well aloof beneath the trees, who was watching the scene most jealously. It was none other than Hart, who rarely failed to have an eye on Nell’s terrace and who instantly stole away in the darkness.

“This is the home of Eleanor Gwyn we are passing,” said Rochester, superfluously; for all knew full well that it was Nelly’s terrace.

“The love-lorn seer is wise,” cried the Duke of York, quite forgetting his frigid self as he bethought him of Nell, and becoming quite lover-like, as he, sighing, said: “It were well to make peace with Nelly. Sing, hunters, sing!”

The command was quickly obeyed and the voices well attuned; for none were there but worshipped Nelly.

The King heard the serenade to the end, then stepped gaily from his hiding-place.

“Brother James under Nelly’s window!” he said, with a merry laugh.

“The King!” exclaimed James, in startled accents, as he realized the presence of his Majesty and the awkward position in which he and his followers were placed.

“The King!” repeated the courtiers. Hats were off and knees were bent respectfully.

“Brother,” saluted Charles, as he embraced the Duke of York good-naturedly.Buckingham withdrew a few steps. He was the most disturbed at the presence of the King at Nelly’s bower. “As I feared,” he thought. “Devil take his Majesty’s meandering heart.”

“Odsfish,” laughed Charles, “we must guard our Nelly, or James and his saintly followers will rob her bower by moonlight.”

The Duke of York assumed a devout and dignified mien. “Sire,” he attempted to explain, but was interrupted quickly by his Majesty.

“No apologies, pious brother. God never damned a man for a little irregular pleasure.”

There was a tittering among the courtiers as the King’s words fell upon their ears.

James continued to apologize. “In faith, we were simply passing–” he said.

Again he was interrupted by his Majesty, who was in the best of humour and much pleased at the discomfiture of his over-religious brother.

“Lorenzo too was simply passing,” he observed, “but the fair Jessica and some odd ducats stuck to his girdle; and the Jew will still be tearing his hair long after we are dust. Ah, Buckingham, they tell me you too have a taste for roguish Nelly. Have a care!”

The King strode across to Buckingham as he spoke; and while there was humour in his tone, there was injunction also.

Buckingham was too great a courtier not to see and feel it. He bowed respectfully, replying to his Majesty, “Sire, I would not presume to follow the King’s eyes, however much I admire their taste.”

“’Tis well,” replied his Majesty, pointedly, “lest they lead thee abroad on a sleeveless mission.”

Others had travelled upon such missions; Buckingham knew it well.

“But what does your Majesty here to-night, if we dare ask?” questioned James, who had just bethought him how to turn the tables upon the King.

Charles looked at his brother quizzically. “Humph!” he exclaimed, in his peculiar way. “Feeding my ducks in yonder pond.” His staff swept indefinitely toward the park.

“Hunting with us were nobler business, Sire,” suggested James, decisively.

“Not so,” replied the King, quite seriously. “My way–I learn to legislate for ducks.”

“’T'were wiser,” preached York, “to study your subjects’ needs.”

The King’s eyes twinkled. “I go among them,” he said, “and learn their needs, while you are praying, brother.”

At this sally, Rochester became convulsed, though he hid it well; for Rochester was not as pious as brother James.

York, feeling that the sympathy was against him, grew more earnest still. “I wish your Majesty would have more care,” he pleaded. “’Tis a crime against yourself, a crime against the state, a crime against the cavaliers who fought and died for you, to walk these paths alone in such uncertain times. Perchance, ’tis courting lurking murder!”

“No kind of danger, James,” answered the King, with equal seriousness, laying a hand kindly on his brother’s shoulder; “for I am sure no man in England would take away my life to make you King.”

There was general laughter from the assembled party; for all dared laugh, even at the expense of the Duke of York, when the jest was of the King’s making. Indeed, not to laugh at a king’s jest has been in every age, in or out of statutes, the greatest crime. Fortunately, King Charles’s wit warranted its observation.

James himself grew mellow under the influence of the gaiety, and almost affectionately replied, “God grant it be ever so, brother.” He then turned the thought. “We heard but now an ambassador from Morocco’s court is lately landed. He brings your Majesty two lions and thirty ostriches.”

“Odsfish, but he is kind,” replied the King, reflecting on the gift. “I know of nothing more proper to send by way of return than a flock of geese.”

His brow arched quizzically, as he glanced over the circle of inert courtiers ranged about him. “Methinks I can count them out at Whitehall,” he thought.

“He seeks an audience to-night. Will you grant it, Sire?” besought James.

“’Sheart!” replied the King. “Most cheerfully, I’ll lead you from Nelly’s terrace, brother. Hey! Tune up your throats. On to the palace.”