Nell, half draped in the arras, had seen the kiss in reality bestowed by Portsmouth but as she thought bestowed by the King. As his Majesty departed through the door at the opposite end of the room, the colour came and went in her cheeks. She could scarce breathe.

Portsmouth sat unconscious of all but her own grand achievement. She had accomplished what shrewd statesmen had failed to bring about; and this would be appreciated, she well knew, by Louis.

“’Sdeath!” muttered Nell to herself, hotly, as, with quite a knightly bearing, she approached the Duchess. “He kisses her before my very eyes! He kisses her! I’ll kill the minx!” She half unsheathed her blade. “Pshaw! No! No! I am too gallant to kill the sex. I’ll do the very manly act and simply break her heart. Aye, that is true bravery in breeches.”

Her manner changed.

“Your grace!” she said suavely.

“Yes,” answered Portsmouth, her eyes still gleaming triumphantly.

“It seems you are partial of your favours?”

“Yes.”

“Such a gift from lips less fair,” continued Nell, all in wooing vein, “would make a beggar royal.”

The hostess was touched with the phrasing of the compliment. She smiled.

“You would be pleased to think me fair?” she coyly asked, with the air of one convinced that it could not well be otherwise.

“Fairer than yon false gallant thinks you,” cried Nell, with an angry toss of the head in the direction of the departed King. “Charles’s kiss upon her lips?” she thought. “’Tis mine, and I will have it.”

In the twinkling of an eye, she threw both arms wildly about the neck of the astonished hostess and kissed her forcefully upon the lips. Then, with a ringing laugh, tinged with triumph, she stepped back, assuming a defiant air.

The Duchess paled with anger. She rose quickly and, turning on the pretty youth, exclaimed: “Sir, what do you mean?”

“Tilly-vally!” replied the naughty Nell, in her most winning way. “A frown upon that alabaster brow, a pout upon those rosy lips; and all for nothing!”

“Parbleu!” exclaimed the indignant Duchess. “Your impudence is outrageous, sir! We will dispense with your company. Good night!”

“Ods-pitikins!” swaggered Nell, feigning umbrage. “Angry because I kissed you! You have no right, madame, to be angry.”

“No right?” asked Portsmouth, her feelings tempered by surprise.

“No right,” repeated Nell, firmly. “It is I who should be outraged at your anger.”

“Explain, sir,” said the Duchess, haughtily.

Nell stepped toward the lady, and, assuming her most tender tone, with wistful, loving eyes, declared:“Because your grace can have no appreciation of what my temptation was to kiss you.”

The Duchess’s countenance glowed with delight, despite herself.

“I’faith, was there a temptation?” she asked, quite mollified.

“An overwhelming passion,” cried Nell, following up her advantage.

“And you were disappointed, sir?” asked Portsmouth suggestively, her vanity falling captive to the sweet cajolery.

“I only got yon courtier’s kiss,” saucily pouted Nell, “so lately bestowed on you.”

“Do you know whose kiss that was?” inquired the Duchess.

“It seemed familiar,” answered Nell, dryly.

“The King’s,” said Portsmouth, proudly.

“The King’s!” cried Nell, opening wide her eyes. “Take back your kiss. I would not have it.”

“Indeed!” said Portsmouth, smiling.

“’Tis too volatile,” charged Nell, decisively. “’Tis here, ’tis there, ’tis everywhere bestowed. Each rosy tavern-wench with a pretty ankle commands it halt. A kiss is the gift of God, the emblem of true love. Take back the King’s kiss; I do not wish it.”

“He does not love the King,” thought Portsmouth, ever on the lookout for advantage. “A possible ally!”

She turned upon the youth, with humorous, mocking lip, and said reprovingly: “A kiss is a kiss the world over, fair sir; and the King’s kisses are sacred to Portsmouth’s lips.”

“Zounds,” replied Nell, with a wicked wink, “not two hours since, he bestowed a kiss on Eleanor Gwyn–”

“Nell Gwyn!” cried the Duchess, interrupting; and she started violently.

“With oaths, mountains high,” continued Nell, with pleasurable harshness, “that his lips were only for her.”

The Duchess stood speechless, quivering from top to toe.

Nell herself swaggered carelessly across the room, muttering mischievously, as she watched the Duchess from the corner of her eye: “Methinks that speech went home.”

“He kissed her in your presence?” gasped Portsmouth, anxiously following her.

“I was not far off, dear Duchess,” was the quizzical reply.

“You saw the kiss?”

“No,” answered Nell, dryly, and she could scarce contain her merriment. “I–I–felt the shock.”

Before she had finished the sentence, the King appeared in the doorway. His troubled spirit had led him to return, to speak further with the Duchess regarding the purport of the treaties. He had the good of his people at heart, and he was not a little anxious in mind lest he had been over-hasty in signing such weighty articles without a more careful reading. He stopped short as he beheld, to his surprise, the Irish spark Adair in earnest converse with his hostess.

“I hate Nell Gwyn,” he overheard the Duchess say.“Is’t possible?” interrogated Nell, with wondering eyes.

The King caught this utterance as well.

“In a passion over Nelly?” reflected he. “I’d sooner face Cromwell’s soldiers at Boscobel! All hail the oak!”

His Majesty’s eye saw with a welcome the spreading branches of the monarch of the forest, outlined on the tapestry; and, with a sigh of relief, he glided quickly behind it and, joining a group of maskers, passed into an anteroom, quite out of ear-shot.

“Most strange!” continued Nell, wonderingly. “Nell told me but yesterday that Portsmouth was charming company–but a small eater.”

“’Tis false,” cried the Duchess, and her brow clouded at the unpleasant memory of the meeting at Ye Blue Boar. “I never met the swearing orange-wench.”

“Ods-pitikins!” acquiesced Nell, woefully. “Nell’s oaths are bad enough for men.”

“Masculine creature!” spitefully ejaculated the Duchess.“Verily, quite masculine–of late,” said Nell, demurely, giving a significant tug at her boot-top.

“A vulgar player,” continued the indignant Duchess, “loves every lover who wears gold lace and tosses coins.”

“Nay; ’tis false!” denied Nell, sharply.

The Duchess looked up, surprised.

Nell was all obeisance in an instant.

“Pardon, dear hostess, a thousand pardons,” she prayed; “but I have some reason to know you misjudge Mistress Nell. With all her myriad faults, she never loved but one.”

“You seem solicitous for her good name, dear Beau?” suggested Portsmouth, suspiciously.

“I am solicitous for the name of all good women,” promptly explained Nell, who was rarely caught a-napping, “or I would be unworthy of their sex–I mean their friendship.”

The Duchess seemed satisfied with the explanation.

“Dear Beau, what do the cavaliers see in that horrid creature?” archly asked the Duchess, contemptuous of this liking of the stronger sex.

“Alack-a-day, we men, you know,” replied Nell, boastfully, “well–the best of us make mistakes in women.”

“Are you mistaken?” questioned Portsmouth, coyly.

“What?” laughed Nell, in high amusement. “I love Nelly? Nay, Duchess,” and her voice grew tender, “I adore but one!”

“And she?” asked the hostess, encouraging the youth’s apparently awakening passion.

“How can you ask?” said Nell, with a deep sigh, looking adoringly into Portsmouth’s eyes and almost embracing her.

“Do you not fear?” inquired Portsmouth, well pleased.

“Fear what?” questioned Nell.

“My wrath,” said Portsmouth.

“Nay, more, thy love!” sighed Nell, meaningly, assuming a true lover’s dejected visage.

“My love!” cried Portsmouth, curiously.“Aye,” again sighed Nell, more deeply still; “for it is hopeless.”

“Try,” said the Duchess, almost resting her head upon Nell’s shoulder.

“I am doing my best,” said Nell, her eyes dancing through wistful lashes, as she embraced in earnest the Duchess’s graceful figure and held it close.

“Do you find it hopeless?” asked Portsmouth, returning the embrace.

“Until you trust me,” replied Nell, sadly. She shook her curls, then fondly pleaded: “Give me the secrets of your brain and heart, and then I’ll know you love me.”

The hostess smiled and withdrew from the embrace. Nell stood the picture of forlorn and hopeless love.

“Nay,” laughed Portsmouth, consolingly, “they would sink a ship.”

“One would not,” still pleaded Nell, determined at all odds to have the packet.

“One!” The Duchess’s eyes fell unconsciously upon the papers which she had bewitched from the King and which lay so near her heart. She started first with fear; and then her countenance assumed a thoughtful cast.

There was no time now for delay. The papers must be sent immediately. The King might return and retract. Many a battle, she knew, had been lost after it had been won.

That night, at the Rainbow Tavern, well out of reach of the town, of court spies and gossips, Louis would have a trusted one in waiting. His commission was to receive news from various points and transmit it secretly to France. It was a ride of but a few hours to him.

She had purposed to send the packet by her messenger in waiting; but he had rendered her suspicious by his speech and action in the late afternoon, and she questioned whether she would be wise in trusting him. Nor was she willing to risk her triumph in the hands of Buckingham’s courier. It was too dear to her.

Indeed, she was clever enough to know that state-secrets are often safer in the custody of a disinterested stranger than in the hands of a friend, especially if the stranger be truly a stranger to the court.

She glanced quickly in the direction of Nell, who looked the ideal of daring youth, innocent, honest and true to the death.

“Why not?” she thought quickly, as she reflected again upon Rochet’s words, “to be trusted.” “Of Irish descent, no love for the King, young, brave, no court ties; none will suspect or stay him.”

Her woman’s intuition said “yes.” She turned upon Nell and asked, not without agitation in her voice:

“Can I trust you?”

Nell’s sword was out in an instant, glistening in the light, and so promptly that the Duchess started. Nell saluted, fell upon one knee and said, with all the exuberance of audacious, loving youth:

“My sword and life are yours.”

Portsmouth looked deeply into Nell’s honest eyes. She was convinced.

“This little packet,” said she, in subdued tones, summoning Nell to her side, “a family matter merely, must reach the Rainbow Tavern, on the Canterbury Road, by sunrise, where one is waiting. You’ll find his description on the packet.”

Nell sheathed her sword.

“I know the place and road,” she said, earnestly, as she took the papers from the Duchess’s hand and placed them carefully in her doublet.

A rustle of the curtains indicated that some one had returned and was listening by the arras.

“Hush!” cautioned Portsmouth. “Be true, and you will win my love.”

Nell did not reply, save to the glance that accompanied the words. Snatching her hat from a chair on which she had tossed it, she started eagerly in the direction of the great stairs that led to the hallway below, where, an hour since, she had been at first refused admission to the palace. Could she but pass again the guards, all would be well; and surely there was now no cause for her detention. Yet her heart beat tumultuously–faster even than when she presented herself with Rochet’s letter written by herself.

As she was hastening by the arras, her quick eye, however, recognized the King’s long plume behind it; and she halted in her course. She was alert with a thousand maddening thoughts crowding her brain, all in an instant.

“The King returned–an eavesdropper!” she reflected. “Jealous of Portsmouth; his eyes follow her. Where are his vows to Nell? I’ll defame Nell’s name, drag her fair honour in the mire; so, Charles, we’ll test your manliness and love.”

She recrossed the room quickly to Portsmouth.

“Madame,” she exclaimed, in crisp, nervous tones, loud enough for the King’s ear, “I have been deceiving, lying to you. I stood here, praising, honouring Eleanor Gwyn–an apple rotten to the core!”

“How now?” ejaculated Charles, in an undertone.

His carelessness vanished upon the instant. Where he had waited for the single ear of Portsmouth, he became at once an earnest listener.

Nell paused not.“I had a friend who told me he loved Nell. I loved that friend. God knows I loved him.”

“Yes, yes!” urged Portsmouth, with eagerness.

“A man of noble name and princely mien,” continued Nell, so standing that the words went, like arrows, straight to the King’s ear and heart, “a man of honour, who would have died fighting for Nell’s honour–”

“Misled youth,” muttered Portsmouth.

Nell seemed not to hear the words.

“Who, had he heard a murmur of disapproval, a shadow cast upon her name, would have sealed in death the presumptuous lips which uttered it.”

“She betrayed his confidence?” asked Portsmouth, breathlessly.

“Betrayed–and worse!” gesticulated Nell, with the visage of a madman. “A woman base, without a spark of kindliness–an adventuress! This is the picture of that Eleanor Gwyn! Where is a champion to take up the gauntlet for such a Nell?”As quick as light, the King threw back the arras and came between them. The Duchess saw him and cried out in surprise. Nell did not turn–only caught a chair-top to save herself from falling.

“Here, thou defamer!” he called, his voice husky with passion. “Thou base purveyor of lies, answer me–me, for those words! I am Nell’s champion! I’ll force you to own your slander a lie.”

The King was terribly in earnest.

“The guard! The guard!” called Portsmouth, faintly, almost overcome by the scene. In her passion that the King so revealed his love for Nell, she quite forgot that Adair was the bearer of her packet.

“I want no guard,” commanded the King. “An insult to Nell Gwyn is my cause alone.”

Nell was in an elysium of ecstasy. She realized nothing, saw nothing.

“He loves me! He loves me!” her trembling lips breathed only. “He’ll fight for Nell.”

“Come; draw and defend yourself,” angrily cried the King.Portsmouth screamed and fell upon his arm.

It is doubtful what the result would otherwise have been. True, Nell ofttimes had fenced with the King and knew his wrist, but she was no swordswoman now. Though she took up in her delirium the King’s challenge with a wild cry, “Aye, draw and defend yourself!” she realized nothing but his confession of love for Nell.

The scene was like a great blur before her eyes.

She rushed upon the King and by him, she scarce knew how. Their swords harmlessly clashed; that was all.

The cries had been taken up without.

“The guard! The guard!” “Treason!” “Treason!”

The air was alive with voices.

Nell ran up the steps leading to a French window, which opened upon a tiny railed balcony. Below, one story only, lay a soft carpet of greensward, shimmering in the moonlight. With her sword, she struck the frail sash, which instantly yielded.Meantime, the room had filled with courtiers, guards and gallants, who had rushed in, sword and spear in hand, to guard the King.

As the glass shivered and flew wide, under the point of Nell’s blade, all eyes turned toward her and all blades quivered threateningly in the air.

Buckingham was first to ascend the steps in pursuit. He was disarmed–more through the superiority of Nell’s position than through the dexterity of her wrist.

Then for the first time, she realized her danger. Her eyes staring from their sockets, she drew back from her murderous pursuers, and, in startled accents, she knew not why, screamed in supplication, with hands uplifted:

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!”

The storm was stayed. All paused to hear what the stranger-youth would say. Would he apologize or would he surrender?

The suspense was for but a second, though it seemed an eternity to Nell.

The open window was behind.With a parting glance at the trembling blades, she turned quickly and with reckless daring leaped the balcony.

“T’ hell with ye!” was wafted back in a rich brogue defiantly by the night.

Astonishment and consternation filled the room; but the bird had flown. Some said that the wicked farewell-speech had been Adair’s, and some said not.

How it all happened, no one could tell, unless it was a miracle.