"The point is the Epilogue, my Lady," Mr. Betterton replied blandly.

"And after I have spoken it to-morrow, I shall speak it again and yet again, until its purport is known throughout the length and breadth of the Land. The subject of that Epilogue, Madam, will be the secret History of a certain aborted Conspiracy, and how it was betrayed in exchange for a free Pardon by one of our n.o.blest Gentlemen in England.

Then, I pray your Ladyship to mark what will happen," he continued, and his melodious voice became as hard and trenchant as the clang of metal striking metal. "After that Epilogue has been spoken from the Stage half a dozen times after His Majesty has heard it and shrugged his shoulders, after my Lady Castlemaine has laughed over it and my Lord of Rochester aped it in one of his Pasquinades, there will be a man whose Name will be a by-word for everything that is most infamous and most false-a Name that will be bandied about in Taverns and in drinking Booths, quipped, decried, sneered at, anathematized; a Name that will be the subject of every lampoon and every scurrilous rhyme that finds over-ready purchasers-a Name, in fact, that will for ever be whispered with bated breath or bandied about in a drunken brawl, whene'er there is talk of treachery and of dishonour!"

At this, she-great Lady to her finger tips-threw up her head proudly, still defying him, still striving to hide her Fears and unwilling to acknowledge Defeat.

"It will be your Word against his," she said with a disdainful curl of her perfect lips. "No one would listen to such calumnies."

And he-the world-famed Artist-at least as proud as any high born Gentleman in the Land, retorted, equally haughtily:

"When Tom Betterton speaks upon the Stage, my Lady, England holds her breath and listens spellbound."

I would I could render the n.o.ble Accent of his magnificent Voice as he said this. There was no self-glorification in it, no idle boasting; it was the accent of transcendent Worth conscious of its Power.

And it had its effect upon the Lady Barbara Wychwoode. She lowered her Eyes, but not before I had perceived that they were full of Tears; her Lips were trembling still, but no longer with Disdain, and her hands suddenly dropped to her side with a pathetic gesture of Discouragement and of Anguish.

The next moment, however, she was again looking the great Actor fully in the face. A change had come over her, quite suddenly methought-a great Change, which had softened her Mood and to a certain extent lowered her Pride. Whether this was the result of Mr. Betterton's forceful Eloquence or of her own Will-power, I could not guess; but I myself marvelled at the Tone of Entreaty which had crept into her Voice.

"You will not speak such Falsehoods in Public, Sir," she said with unwonted softness. "You will not thus demean your Art-the Art which you love and hold in respect. Oh, there must be some n.o.bility in You! else you were not so talented. Your Soul must in truth be filled with Sentiments which are neither ign.o.ble nor base."

"Nay!" he exclaimed, and this time did not strive to conceal the intense Bitterness which, as I knew well enough, had eaten into his very Soul; "but your Ladyship is pleased to forget. I am ign.o.ble and base! There cannot be n.o.bility in me. I am only the low-born Lout! Ask my Lord of Stour; ask your Brother! They will tell you that I have no Feelings, no Pride, no Manhood-that I am only a despicable Varlet, whom every Gentleman may mock and insult and whip like a dog. To You and to your Caste alone belong n.o.bility, Pride and Honour. Honour!!!"-and he broke into a prolonged laugh, which would have rent your Heart to hear-"Honour! Your false Fetish! Your counterfeit G.o.d!! Very well, then so be it!! That very Honour which he hath denied me, I will wrench from him. And since he denied me Satisfaction by the Sword, I turn to my own weapon-my Art-and with it I will exact from him to the uttermost fraction, Outrage for Outrage-Infamy for Infamy."

His wonderful Voice shook, broke almost into a sob at last. I felt a choking sensation in my Throat and my Eyes waxed hot with unshed Tears.

As if through a mist, I could see the exquisite Lady Barbara Wychwoode before me, could see that she, too, was moved, her Pride crushed, her Disdain yielding to involuntary Sympathy.

"But he is innocent!" she pleaded, with an accent verging on Despair.

"And so was I!" was his calm retort.

"He--" she entreated, "he loves me--"

"And so do I!" he exclaimed, with a depth of Pa.s.sion which brought the hot Blood to her pale Cheeks. "_I_ would have given my Life for one Smile from your Lips."

Whereupon, womanlike, she shifted her ground, looked him straight between the Eyes, and, oh! I could have blushed to see the Wiles she used in order to weaken his Resolve.

"You love me?" she queried softly, and there was now a tone of almost tender Reproach in her Voice. "You love me! yet you would drag the Man who is dearer to me than Life to Dishonour and to Shame. You trap him, like a Fowler does a Bird, then crush him with Falsehoods and Calumnies!

No, no!" she exclaimed-came a step or two nearer to him and clasped her delicate Hands together in a Gesture that was akin to Prayer. "I'll not believe it! You will tell the Truth, Mr. Betterton, publicly, and clear him.... You will.... You will! For my sake-since You say You love me."

But the more eager, the more appealing she grew, the calmer and more calculating did he seem. Now it was his turn to draw away from Her, to measure Her, as it were, with a cold, appraising Look.

"For Your sake?" he said with perfect quietude, almost as if the matter had become outside himself. I cannot quite explain the air of detachment which he a.s.sumed-for it was an a.s.sumption, on that I would have staked my Life at the moment. I, who know him so well, felt that deep down within his n.o.ble Heart there still burned the fierce flames of an ardent Pa.s.sion, but whether of Love or Hate, I could not then have told You.

She had recoiled at the coolness of his Tone; and he went on, still speaking with that strange, abnormal Calm:

"Yes!" he said slowly, "for _Your_ love I would do what You ask ... I would forego that Feast of Satisfaction, the Thought of which hath alone kept me sane these past few months.... Yes! for the Love of Lady Barbara Wychwoode I could bring myself to forgive even his Lordship of Stour for the irreparable wrong which he hath done to Me. I would restore to him his Honour, which now lies, a Forfeit, in my Hands: for I shall then have taken Something from him which he holds well-nigh as dear."

He paused, and met with the same calm relentlessness the look of Horror and of Scorn wherewith she regarded him.

"For my Love?" she exclaimed, and once more the warm Blood rushed up to her face, flooding her wan Cheeks, her pale Forehead, even her delicate Throat with crimson. "You mean that I? ... Oh! ... what Infamy! ... So, Mr. Actor, that was your reckoning!" she went on with supreme Disdain.

"It was not the desire for Vengeance that prompted You to slander the Earl of Stour, but the wish to entrap _me_ into becoming your Wife. You are not content with Your Laurels. You want a Coat of Arms ... and hoped to barter one against Your Calumnies!"

"Nay, your Ladyship!" he rejoined simply, "in effect, I was actually laying a Name famed throughout the cultured world humbly at your feet.

You made an appeal to my Love for You-and I laid a test for your Sincerity. Mine I have placed beyond question, seeing that I am prepared to drag my Genius in the dust before Your Pride and the Arrogance of Your Caste. An Artist is a Slave of his Sensibilities, and I feel that if, in the near Future, I could see a Vision of your perfect hand resting content in mine, if, when You pleaded again for my Lord Stour, You did so as my promised Wife-not his-I would do all that You asked."

She drew herself up to her full height and glanced at him with all the Pride which awhile ago had seemed crushed beyond recall.

"Sir Actor," she said coldly, "shame had gripped me by the throat, or I should not have listened so long to such an Outrage. The Bargain You propose is an Infamy and an Insult."

And she gathered up her Skirts around her, as if their very contact with the Soil on which he trod were a pollution. Then she half turned as if ready to go, cast a rapid glance at the Shrubberies close by, no doubt in search of her Attendant. Why it was that she did not actually go, I could not say, but guessed that, mayhap, she would not vacate the Field of Contention until quite sure that there was not a final Chance to soften the Heart of the Enemy. She had thrown down yet another Challenge when she spoke of his proposed Bargain as an Infamy; but he took up the Gage with the same measured Calm as before.

"As you will," he said. "It was in Your Ladyship's name that the Earl of Stour put upon Me the deadliest Insult which any Man hath ever put on Man before. Since then, every Fibre within Me has clamoured for Satisfaction. My Work hath been irksome to me ... I scarce could think ... My Genius lay writhing in an agony of Shame. But now the hour is mine-for it I have schemed and lied-aye, lied-like the low-born cur You say I am. A thousand Devils of Hate and of Rage are unchained within me. I cannot grapple with them alone. They would only yield-to your kiss."

"Oh!" she cried in uttermost despair, "this is horrible!"

"Then let the Man you love," he rejoined coldly, "look to himself."

"Conscious of his Innocence, my Lord Stour and I defy you!"

"Ah, well!" he said imperturbably, "the Choice is still with Your Ladyship. Remember that I do not speak my Epilogue until to-morrow.

When I do, it will be too late. I have called my Phantasy 'The Comedie of Traitors.'"

Whereupon he bowed low before her, in the most approved Fashion. But already she was fleeing up the path in the direction of Westminster.

Soon her graceful Figure was lost to our sight behind an intervening clump of Laurels. Here no doubt her Ladyship's Attendant was waiting for her Mistress, for anon I spied two figures hurrying out of the Park.

3

For a long time Mr. Betterton remained standing just where he was, one hand still clutching the k.n.o.b of his Stick, the other thrust in the pocket of his capacious Coat. I could not see his Face, since his Back was turned towards me, and I did not dare move lest I should be interrupting his Meditations. But to Me, even that Back was expressive.

There was a listlessness, hardly a stoop, about it, so unlike my Friend's usual firm and upright Carriage. How could this be otherwise, seeing what he had just gone through-Emotions that would have swept most Men off their mental balance. Yet he kept his, had never once lost control of himself. He had met Disdain with Disdain in the end, had kept sufficient control over his Voice to discuss with absolute calm, that Bargain which the Lady Barbara had termed infamous. There had been a detachment about his final Ultimatum, a "take it or leave it" air, which must have been bitterly galling to the proud Lady who had stooped to entreat. He was holding the winning Hand and did not choose to yield.

And it was from his att.i.tude on that Day that I, dear Mistress, drew an unerring inference. Mr. Betterton had no Love for the Lady Barbara, no genuine, lasting Affection such as, I maintain, he has never ceased to feel for You. Pa.s.sion swayed him, because he has, above all, that unexplainable artistic Temperament which cannot be measured by everyday Standards. Pride, Bitterness, Vengefulness-call it what you will; but there was not a particle of Love in it all. I verily believe that his chief Desire, whilst he stood pondering there at the bridgehead, was to humiliate the Lady Barbara Wychwoode by forcing her into a Marriage which she had affected to despise. He was not waiting for her with open, loving Arms, ready to take her to his Heart, there to teach her to forget the Past in the safe haven of his Love. He was not waiting to lay his Service at her feet, and to render her happy as the cherished Wife and Helpmate of the great Artist whom all England delighted to honour. He was only waiting to make her feel that She had been subjected to his Will and her former Lover brought down to Humiliation, through the Power of the miserable Mountebank whom they had both deemed less than a Man.

Thus meditating, I stood close to my Friend, until Chance or a fleeting Thought brought him back to the realities of Life. He sighed and looked about him, as a Man will who hath just wakened from a Dream. Then he spied me, and gave me his wonted kindly smile and glance.

"Good old John!" he said, with a self-deprecating shrug of the shoulders. "'Twas not an edifying Scene You have witnessed, eh?"

"'Twas a heartrending one," I riposted almost involuntarily.

"Heartrending?" he queried, in a tone of intense bitterness, "to watch a Fool crushing every n.o.ble Instinct within him for the sake of getting even with a Man whom he neither honours nor esteems?"

He sighed again, and beckoned to me to follow him.

"Let us home, good Honeywood," he said. "I am weary of all this wrangle, and pine to find solace among the Poets."

Nor did he mention the name of the Lady Barbara again to me, and I was left to ponder what was going on in his Mind and whether his cruelly vengeful Scheme for the final undoing of my Lord Stour would indeed come to maturity on the following day. I knew that a great and brilliant Representation of the late Mr. William Shakespeare's play, "Twelfth Night," was to be given at the Duke's Theatre, with some of the new Scenery and realistic scenic Effects brought over last Autumn from Paris by Mr. Betterton. His Majesty had definitely promised that he would be present and so had the Countess of Castlemaine, and there would doubtless be a goodly and gorgeous Company present to applaud the great Actor, whose Performance of Sir Toby Belch was one of the Marvels of histrionic Art, proclaiming as it did his wonderful versatility, by contrast with his equally remarkable exposition of the melancholy Hamlett, Prince of Denmark.

That I now awaited that Day with Sorrow in my Heart and with measureless Anxiety, You, dear Mistress, will readily imagine. Until this morning I had no idea of the terrible Thunderbolt which my Friend had in preparation for those who had so shamefully wronged him; and I still marvelled whether in his talk with the Lady Barbara there had not lurked some idle Threats rather than a serious Warning. How could I think of the Man whom I had learned to love and to reverence as one who would nurture such cruel Schemes? And yet, did not the late Mr. Shakespeare warn us that "Pleasure and Revenge have ears more deaf than Adders to the voice of any true decision"? Ah, me! but I was sick at heart.