George Cochrane Hazelton

I come, my love; I come.

One lonely candle, or to speak more strictly a bit of one, sputtered in its silver socket in the cosy drawing-room; and a single moonbeam found its way in through the draperies of the window leading to the terrace and to St. James’s Park.

Moll lay upon a couch asleep; but it was a restless sleep.

The voice of a town-crier resounded faintly across the park: “Midnight; and all is well.”

She started up and rubbed her eyes in a bewildered way.

“The midnight crier!” she thought; and there was a troubled expression in her face. “I have been asleep and the candle’s nearly out.”

She jumped to her feet and hastily lighted two or three of its more substantial mates, of which there was an abundance in the rich candelabra about the room.

A cricket in a crevice startled her. She ran to the window and looked anxiously out upon the park, then hastened to the door, with equal anxiety, lest it might be unlocked. Every shadow was to her feverish fancy a spirit of evil or of death.

“I wish Nell would come,” she thought. “The ghosts and skeletons fairly swarm in this old house at midnight; and I am all alone to-night. It’s different when Nell’s about. The goblins are afraid of her merry laugh. Boo! I am cold all over. I am afraid to stand still, and I am afraid to move.”

She ran again to the window and this time pulled it open. The moonlight instantly flooded the room, dimming the candles which she had lighted. She saw her shadow, and started back in horror.

“Some one glided behind the old oak in the park,” she cried aloud, for the company of her voice. “Oh, oh! Nell will be murdered! I begged her not to go to Portsmouth’s ball. She said she just wanted to peep in and pay her respects to the hostess. Moll! You better pray.”

She fell upon her knees and reverently lifted her hands and eyes in prayer.

Something fell in the room with a heavy thud. She shut her eyes tight and prayed harder. The object of her fear was a long gray boot, which had been thrown in at the window and had fallen harmlessly by her side. It was followed in an instant by its mate, equally harmless yet equally dreadful.

A jaunty figure, assisted by a friendly shoulder, then bounded over the balustrade and rested with a sigh of relief just within the window-opening. It was Nell, returning from the wars; she was pale, almost death-like. The evening’s excitement, her daring escapade and more especially its exciting finish had taken hold of her in earnest. Her dainty little self was paying the penalty. She was all of a tremble.

“Safe home at last!” she cried wearily. “Heaven reward you, Strings.”

From below the terrace, without the window, responded the fiddler, in sympathetic, loving tones: “Good night, Mistress Nell; and good sleep.”

“Good night, comrade,” answered Nell, as she almost fell into the room, calling faintly: “Moll! Moll! What are you doing, Moll?”

Moll closed her eyes tighter and prayed still more fervently.

“Praying for Nell,” her trembling lips mechanically replied.

“Humph!” cried Nell, half fainting, throwing herself upon the couch. “There’s no spirit in this flesh worth praying for. Some wine, some wine; and the blessing after.”

The command brought Moll to her senses and she realized that it was really Nell who had entered thus unceremoniously. She rushed to her for safety, like a frightened deer to the lake.

“Nell, dear Nell!” she cried. “You are ill.”

“Wine, wine, I say,” again fell in peremptory tones from the half-reclining Nell.Moll glanced in dismay at her bootless mistress: her garments all awry; her sword ill sheathed; her cloak uncaught from the shoulder and half used, petticoat-like, as a covering for her trembling-limbs; her hair dishevelled; her cheeks pale; her wild eyes, excitement-strained, staring from their sockets.

“You are wounded; you are going to die,” she cried. “Moll will be all alone in the world again.”

Her hands shook more than Nell’s as she filled a glass half full of wine and passed it to her mistress.

“To the brim, girl, to the brim,” commanded Nell, reviving at the prospect of the draught. “There!”

She tossed off the drink in gallant fashion: “I tell you, sweetheart, we men need lots of stimulating.”

“You are all of a tremble,” continued Moll.

“Little wonder!” sighed Nell. “These braveries are a trifle chilly, sweet mouse. Boo!” She laughed hysterically, while Moll closed the window. “You see, I never was a man before, and I had all that lost time to make up–acres of oats to scatter in one little night. Open my throat; I cannot breathe. Take off my sword. The wars are done, I hope.” She startled Moll, who was encasing her mistress’s pretty feet in a pair of dainty shoes, with another wild, hilarious laugh. “Moll,” she continued, “I was the gayest mad-cap there. The sex were wild for me. I knew their weak points of attack, lass. If I had been seeking a mate, I could have made my market of them all and started a harem.”

She seemed to forget all her dangers past in the recollection.

“Wicked girl,” said Moll, pouting reprovingly.

“Oh, I am a jolly roisterer, little one,” laughed Nell, in reply, as with cavalier-strides she crossed the room. She threw herself upon the table and proceeded to boast of her doings for Moll’s benefit, swinging her feet meanwhile. “I ran the gamut. I had all the paces of the truest cavalier. I could tread a measure, swear like one from the wars, crook my elbow, lie, gamble, fight–Fight? Did I say fight?”

She hid her curly head in her hands and sobbed spasmodically.

“You have been in danger!” exclaimed Moll, fearfully.

“Danger!” repeated Nell, breaking out afresh. “I taught the King a lesson he will dream about, my sweet, though it near cost me my life. He loves me, d’ye hear; he loves me, pretty one! Dance, Moll, dance–Dance, I say! I could fly for very joy!”

With the tears still wet upon her cheeks, she seized Moll by both hands and whirled the astonished girl wildly about the room, until she herself reeled for want of breath. Then, catching at a great carved oaken chair, she fell into it and cried and laughed alternately.

“Nell, Nell,” gasped Moll, as she too struggled for breath; “one minute you laugh and then you cry. Have you lost your wits?”

“I only know,” exulted Nell, “I made him swear his love for Nell to Portsmouth’s face. I made him draw his sword for Nell.”

“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Moll, aghast. “You did not draw yourself? A sword against the King is treason.”

“Ods-bodikins, I know not!” answered Nell. “I know not what I did or said. I was mad, mad! All I remember is: there was a big noise–a million spears and blunderbusses turned upon poor me! Gad! I made a pretty target, girl.”

“A million spears and blunderbusses!” echoed Moll, her eyes like saucers.

“An army, child, an army!” continued Nell, in half-frantic accents. “I did not stop to count them. Then, next I knew, I was in my coach, with dear old Strings beside me. The horses flew. We alighted at the Chapel, tiptoed about several corners to break the scent; then I took off my shoes and stole up the back way like a good and faithful husband. Oh, I did the whole thing in cavalier-style, sweetheart. But, ’twixt us, Moll,” and she spoke with a mysterious, confidential air,“–I wouldn’t have it go further for worlds–Adair is a coward, a monstrous coward! He ran!”

As if to prove the truth of her words, at a sudden, sharp, shrill sound from the direction of the park, the sad remnant of Adair clutched Moll frantically; and both girls huddled together with startled faces and bated breaths.

“Hark! What is that?” whispered Nell.

“The men, perchance, I told you of,” answered Moll; “they’ve spied about the house for weeks.”

“Nonsense, you little goose,” remonstrated Nell, though none too bravely; “some of your ex-lovers nailing their bleeding hearts to the trees.”

“No, no; listen!” exclaimed Moll, frantically, as the noise grew louder. “They’re in the entry.”

“In the entry!” stammered Nell; and she almost collapsed at the thought of more adventures. “I wish we were in bed, with our heads under the sheet.”

“Here is your sword,” said Moll, as she brought Nell the sharp weapon, held well at arm’s length for fear of it.

“Oh, yes, my sword!” exclaimed Nell, perking up–for an instant only. “I never thought of my sword; and this is one of the bravest swords I ever drew. I am as weak as a woman, Moll.”

“Take heart,” said Moll, encouraging her from the rear, as Nell brandished the glittering blade in the direction of the door. “You know you faced an army to-night.”

“True,” replied Nell, her courage oozing out at her finger-tips, “but then I was a man, and had to seem brave, whether I was or no. Who’s there?” she called faintly. “Who’s there? Support me, Moll. Beau Adair is on his last legs.”

Both stood listening intently and trembling from top to toe.

A score of rich voices, singing harmoniously, broke upon the night.

The startled expression on Nell’s face changed instantly to one of fearless, roguish merriment. She was her old self again. She tossed the sword contemptuously upon the floor, laughing in derision now at her companion’s fear.

“A serenade! A serenade!” she cried. “Moll–Why, Moll, what feared ye, lass? Come!” She ran gaily to the window and peeped out. “Oh, ho, masqueraders from the moon. Some merry crew, I’ll be bound. I am generous. I’ll give thee all but one, sweet mouse. The tall knight in white for me! I know he’s gallant, though his vizor’s down. Marry, he is their captain, I trow; and none but a captain of men shall be captain of my little heart.”

“It is Satan and his imps,” cried Moll, attempting to draw Nell from the window.

“Tush, little one,” laughed Nell, reprovingly. “Satan is my warmest friend. Besides, they cannot cross the moat. The ramparts are ours. The draw-bridge is up.”

In a merry mood, she threw a piece of drapery, mantle-like, about Adair’s shoulders, quite hiding them, and, decapitating a grim old suit of armour, placed the helmet on her head. Thus garbed, she threw the window quickly open and stepped boldly upon the ledge, within full view of the band beneath. As the moonlight gleamed upon her helmet, one might have fancied her a goodly knight of yore; and, indeed, she looked quite formidable.

“Nell, what are you doing?” called Moll, wildly, from a point of safety. “They can see and shoot you.”

“Tilly-vally, girl,” replied Nell, undaunted now that she could see that there was no danger, “we’ll parley with the enemy in true feudal style. We’ll teach them we have a man about the house. Ho, there, strangers of the night–breakers of the King’s peace and the slumbers of the righteous! Brawlers, knaves; would ye raise honest men from their beds at such an hour? What means this jargon of tipsy voices? What want ye?”

A chorus of throats without demanded, in muffled accents: “Drink!” “Drink!” “Sack!” “Rhenish!”

“Do ye think this a tavern, knaves?” responded Nell, in a husky, mannish voice. “Do ye think this a vintner’s? There are no topers here. Jackanapes, revellers; away with you, or we’ll rouse the citadel and train the guns.”

Her retort was met with boisterous laughter and mocking cries of “Down with the doors!” “Break in the windows!”

This was a move Nell had not anticipated. She jumped from the ledge, or rather tumbled into the room, nervously dropping her disguise upon the floor.

“Heaven preserve us,” she said to Moll, with quite another complexion in her tone, “they are coming in! Oh, Moll, Moll, I did not think they would dare.”

Moll closed the sashes and bolted them, then hugged Nell close.

“Ho, there, within!” came, in a guttural voice, now from without the door.

“Yes?” Nell tried to say; but the word scarce went beyond her lips.

Again in guttural tones came a second summons–“Nell! Nell!”

Nell turned to Moll for support and courage, whispering: “Some arrant knave calls Nell at this hour.” Then, assuming an attitude of bravery, with fluttering heart, she answered, as best she could, in a forced voice: “Nell’s in bed!”

“Yes, Nell’s in bed,” echoed the constant Moll. “Everybody’s in bed. Call to-morrow!”

“No trifling, wench!” commanded the voice without, angrily. “Down with the door!”

“Stand close, Moll,” entreated Nell, as she answered the would-be intruder with the question:

“Who are ye? Who are ye?”

“Old Rowley himself!” replied the guttural voice.

This was followed by hoarse laughter from many throats.

“The King–as I thought!” whispered Nell. “Good lack; what shall I do with Adair? Plague on’t, he’ll be mad if I keep him waiting, and madder if I let him in. Where are your wits, Moll? Run for my gown; fly–fly!”

Moll hastened to do the bidding.

Nell rushed to the entry-door, in frantic agitation.

“The bolt sticks, Sire,” she called, pretending to struggle with the door, hoping so to stay his Majesty until she should have time to dispose of poor Adair. “How can I get out of these braveries?” she then asked herself, tugging awkwardly at one part of the male attire and then at another. “I don’t know which end of me to begin on first.”

Moll re-entered the room with a bundle of pink in her arms, which turned out to be a flowing, silken robe, trimmed with lace.

“Here is the first I found,” she said breathlessly.

Nell motioned to her nervously to put it upon the couch.

“Help me out of this coat,” she pleaded woefully.

Moll took off the coat and then assisted Nell to circumscribe with the gown, from heels to head, her stunning figure, neatly encased in Adair’s habit, which now consisted only of a jaunty shirt of white, gray breeches, shoes and stockings.

“Marry, I would I were a fairy with a magic wand; I could befuddle men’s eyes easier,” Nell lamented.The King knocked again upon the door sharply.

“Patience, my liege,” entreated Nell, drawing her gown close about her and muttering with personal satisfaction: “There, there; that hides a multitude of sins. The girdle, the girdle! Adair will not escape from this–if we can but keep him quiet; the rogue has a woman’s tongue, and it will out, I fear.”

She snatched up a mirror and arranged her hair as best she could in the dim light, with the cries without resounding in her ears and with Moll dancing anxiously about her.

“Down with the door,” threatened the King, impatiently. “The ram; the battering ram.”

“I come, my love; I come,” cried Nell, in agitation, fairly running to the door to open it, but stopping aghast as her eye caught over her shoulder the sad, telltale condition of the room.

“’Sdeath,” she called in a stage-whisper to Moll; “under the couch with Adair’s coat! Patience, Sire,” she besought in turn the King. “Help me, Moll. How this lock has rusted–in the last few minutes. My sword!” she continued breathlessly to Moll. “My boots! My hat! My cloak!”

Moll, in her efforts to make the room presentable, was rushing hither and thither, first throwing Adair’s coat beneath the couch as Nell commanded and firing the other evidences of his guilty presence, one behind one door and another behind another.

It was done.

Nell slipped the bolt and calmly took a stand in the centre of the room, drawing her flowing gown close about Adair’s person. She was quite exhausted from the nervous strain, but her actress’s art taught her the way to hide it. Moll, panting for breath, across the room, feigned composure as best she could.

The door opened and in strode the King and his followers.

“Welcome, royal comrades, welcome all!” said Nell, bowing graciously to her untimely visitors.