the pleasure of being so beloved, now that he was assured that the same love, intensified by disappointment and trouble, was still ready for him. When he asked for definite descriptions and for evidence, he was told that four counties were completely prepared to receive him; that the City of London was his own; and that all the counties, from faithful Hampshire to the Wye, and down to the Land’s End, only needed an appeal from himself. Part proof of this should be supplied in the morning; and the rest would await him at Amsterdam.
When the guests were gone, it was plain that the mention of Amsterdam had damped Monmouth’s satisfaction. Mrs. Johnston ventured to suppose his Grace might please himself about going there or anywhere else; but No! it was necessary, if anything was to be done, to meet the Scotch leaders and the English exiles at Amsterdam. Then Mrs. Johnston fell into her lady’s method, and blessed the people of England for their loyalty to their own gallant prince, and longed for the day when she might see and hear the welcome they would give him.
“What shall we call him, Kate?” asked her mistress. “It must not be James. Pity his name is James!”
“It must not be James,” Mrs. Johnston agreed. There would be—at least, there might be—difficulty about whether it should be James the Second or Third. But there would not really be any difficulty. If the people could find themselves a glorious king, they would find some glorious title for him. No doubt they had settled all such matters already.
“It is all very fine,” said the Duke; “but do not be beguiled by a dream. To go to Amsterdam isis impossible to me; and, if it were not, there are a thousand obstacles. The Scots—these Scotch leaders—are insufferable to me; and Argyle is impracticable. Wiser men than I will have nothing to do with these Scottish schemes. Edmund Ludlow—”
“Let us do without the Scots, then,” Henrietta proposed. “It is not for love of the Scots and Argyle that the Whigs in Buckinghamshire and Bedfordshire and Hampshire are praying for the sight of you. Go and be king, and settle terms with the Scots afterwards.”
“Without question of the Scots,” replied Monmouth, “Ludlow has refused to come from Lausanne, and Mr. Locke from Utrecht.”
“And who refuses while a nation is with us!” exclaimed Henrietta; but she did not know whether the Duke heard her. He had opened the shutter, and stepped out on the verandah.
He longed for the coolness of the starry March night—or rather morning, for it was very late. He walked to and fro for a time which he did not measure, distracted as his mind was with opposing passions and affections. When at length he entered Lady Henrietta’s dressing-room, Mrs. Johnston escaped by the other door. There were jewel-cases on the table; and Henrietta had a sheet of paper before her, and a pencil in her hand, as she gazed into the chimney, where a wood-fire burned, in English fashion.
“Surely,” she said, looking up at him, “these funds will suffice till you are master of the exchequer. Now listen.”
And she read to him the calculations she had been making, with Mrs. Johnston’s help, of the amount of the proceeds of her rents as Baroness Wentworth of Nettlestede, her jewels, and the money she could raise by mortgaging some of her estates.
“I trust you have not uttered this notion to Mrs. Johnston,” Monmouth said, hastily.
“Indeed I have,” Henrietta replied. “We have been making this calculation together: and why not? I care not if every friend we have in the world knew what this sheet of paper holds. Everybody is aware that a throne cannot be seized without money to carry us within reach of it; and, as for where the money comes from—”
“Aye!” said Monmouth, his trouble melting fast in the fire of her eyes,—“Do you suppose I would beggar you of your fortune, to play so rashly for a stake which is nearly sure to be ruin? Does your friend Kate suppose it?”
“Certainly she does. If I am your real wife, as you say—”
His radiant face encouraged her to go on.
“Then my fortunes are your fortunes. And when you are King, which of us will remember how you became so?”
He folded her in his arms as he whispered:
“When I am king, my Henrietta—for no one can gainsay me then,—my Henrietta shall be my queen.”
The last words that Henrietta said were:
“You have pledged your faith to me. Let your mood as well as your word hold in the morning.”
“My love! who ever heard of such a scheme being engaged in so suddenly!”
“I mean about going to Amsterdam. The rest will follow: but you must go to Amsterdam.”
“Is it possible that you can seriously desire it?”
“Seriously! I so desire it that if you could refuse, I could never forgive you. How could it be possible to forgive it?”
“Very well, then; I will go to Amsterdam.”
AN AUTUMN BIRTHDAY.
Not beautiful,—but in thine eyes
Such depth of tranquil light there lies,
That when thy gaze is turn’d to mine,
It seems less human than divine.
No longer young;—the soberer years,
And Time, who decks his flowers with tears,
Have taken less than they have given,—
And earth looks pale the nearer Heaven.
Thine is the soft autumnal day
Of russet wood and welkin grey:
The quiet fulness that hath ta’en
The place of summer’s mirth and pain.
What birthday gift is fitly brought,
That Nature yields or Art hath wrought?—
A woven crown of ripening wheat,
And sprays of scentful meadow-sweet.
