be but charity to let her ladyship know so much, since I question if she will wish, in that case, to retain her in her service. Besides,' he continued, speaking apart, 'this Julian, to whom suspicion attaches in these matters from his obstinate silence, is also of the Countess's household. We will sift this matter to the bottom, and do justice to all.'
The Countess of Derby, hastily summoned, entered the royal closet at one door, just as Christian and Zarah, or Fenella, were ushered in by the other. The old Knight of Martindale, who had ere this returned to the presence, was scarce controlled, even by the signs which she made, so much was he desirous of greeting his old friend; but as Ormond laid a kind restraining hand upon his arm, he was prevailed on to sit still.
The Countess, after a deep reverence to the King, acknowledged the rest of the nobility present by a slighter reverence, smiled to Julian Peveril, and looked with surprise at the unexpected apparition of Fenella. Buckingham bit his lip, for he saw the introduction of Lady Derby was likely to confuse and embroil every preparation which he had arranged for his defence; and he stole a glance at Christian, whose eye, when fixed on the Countess, assumed the deadly sharpness which sparkles in the adder's, while his cheek grew almost black under the influence of strong emotion.
'Is there any one in this presence whom your ladyship recognises,' said the King graciously, 'besides your old friends of Ormond and Arlington?'
'I see, my liege, two worthy friends of my husband's house,' replied the Countess; 'Sir Geoffrey Peveril and his son—the latter a distinguished member of my son's household.'
'Any one else?' continued the King.
'An unfortunate female of my family, who disappeared from the Island of Man at the same time when Julian Peveril left it upon business of importance. She was thought to have fallen from the cliff into the sea.'
'Had your ladyship any reason to suspect—pardon me,' said the King, 'for putting such a question—any improper intimacy between Master Peveril and this same female attendant?'
'My liege,' said the Countess, colouring indignantly, 'my household is of reputation.'
'Nay, my lady, be not angry,' said the King; 'I did but ask—such things will befall in the best regulated families.'
'Not in mine, sire,' said the Countess. 'Besides that, in common pride and in common honesty, Julian Peveril is incapable of intriguing with an unhappy creature, removed by her misfortune almost beyond the limits of humanity.'
Zarah looked at her, and compressed her lips, as if to keep in the words that would fain break from them.
'I know how it is,' said the King—'What your ladyship says may be true in the main, yet men's tastes have strange vagaries. This girl is lost in Man as soon as the youth leaves it, and is found in Saint Jame's Park, bouncing and dancing like a fairy, so soon as he appears in London.'
'Impossible!' said the Countess; 'she cannot dance.'
'I believe,' said the King, 'she can do more feats than your ladyship either suspects or would approve of.'
The Countess drew up, and was indignantly silent.
The King proceeded—'No sooner is Peveril in Newgate, than, by the account of the venerable little gentleman, this merry maiden is even there also for company. Now, without inquiring how she got in, I think charitably that she had better taste than to come there on the dwarf's account.—Ah ha! I think Master Julian is touched in conscience!'
Julian did indeed start as the King spoke, for it reminded him of the midnight visit in his cell.
The King looked fixedly at him, and then proceeded—'Well, gentlemen, Peveril is carried to his trial, and is no sooner at liberty, than we find him in the house where the Duke of Buckingham was arranging what he calls a musical mask.—Egad, I hold it next to certain, that this wench put the change on his Grace, and popt the poor dwarf into the bass-viol, reserving her own more precious hours to be spent with Master Julian Peveril.—Think you not so, Sir Christian, you, the universal referee? Is there any truth in this conjecture?'
Christian stole a glance at Zarah, and read that in her eye which embarrassed him. 'He did not know,' he said; 'he had indeed engaged this unrivalled performer to take the proposed part in the mask; and she was to have come forth in the midst of a shower of lambent fire, very artificially prepared with perfumes, to overcome the smell of the powder; but he knew not why—excepting that she was wilful and capricious, like all great geniuses— she had certainly spoiled the concert by cramming in that more bulky dwarf.'
'I should like,' said the King, 'to see this little maiden stand forth, and bear witness, in such manner as she can express herself, on this mysterious matter. Can any one here understand her mode of communication?'
Christian said, he knew something of it since he had become acquainted with her in London. The Countess spoke not till the King asked her, and then owned dryly, that she had necessarily some habitual means of intercourse with one who had been immediately about her person for so many years.
'I should think,' said Charles, 'that this same Master Peveril has the more direct key to her language, after all we have heard.'
The King looked first at Peveril, who blushed like a maiden at the inference which the King's remark implied, and then suddenly turned his eyes on the supposed mute, on whose cheek a faint colour was dying away. A moment afterwards, at a signal from the Countess, Fenella, or Zarah, stepped forward, and having kissed her lady's hand, stood with her arms folded on her breast, with a humble air, as different from that which she wore in the harem of the Duke of Buckingham, as that of a Magdalene from a Judith. Yet this was the least show of her talent of versatility, for so well did she play the part of the dumb girl, that Buckingham, sharp as his discernment was, remained undecided whether the creature which stood before him could possibly be the same with her, who had, in a different dress, made such an impression on his imagination, or indeed was the imperfect creature she now represented. She had at once all that could mark the imperfection of hearing, and all that could show the wonderful address by which nature so often makes up of the deficiency. There was the lip that trembles not at any sound—the seeming insensibility to the conversation that passed around; while, on the other hand, was the quick and vivid glance; that seemed anxious to devour the meaning of those sounds, which she could gather no otherwise than by the motion of the lips.
Examined after her own fashion, Zarah confirmed the tale of Christian in all its points, and admitted that she had deranged the project laid for a mask, by placing the dwarf in her own stead; the cause of her doing so she declined to assign, and the Countess pressed her no farther.
'Everything tells to exculpate my Lord of Buckingham,' said Charles, 'from so absurd an accusation: the dwarf's testimony is too fantastic, that of the two Peverils does not in the least affect the Duke; that of the dumb damsel completely contradicts the possibility of his guilt. Methinks, my lords, we should acquaint him that he stands acquitted of a complaint, too ridiculous to have been subjected to a more serious scrutiny than we have hastily made upon this occasion.'
Arlington bowed in acquiescence, but Ormond spoke plainly.—'I should suffer, sire, in the opinion of the Duke of Buckingham, brilliant as his talents are known to be, should I say that I am satisfied in my own mind on this occasion. But I subscribe to the spirit of the times; and I agree it would be highly dangerous, on such accusations as we have been able to collect, to impeach the character of a zealous Protestant like his Grace—Had he been a Catholic, under such circumstances of suspicion, the Tower had been too good a prison for him.'
Buckingham bowed to the Duke of Ormond, with a meaning which even his triumph could not disguise. —'
The King then, signing to the other nobles to pass into the public apartments, stopped Buckingham as he was about to follow them; and when they were alone, asked, with a significant tone, which brought all the blood in the Duke's veins into his countenance, 'When was it, George, that your useful friend Colonel Blood became a musician?—You are silent,' he said; 'do not deny the charge, for yonder villain, once seen, is remembered for ever. Down, down on your knees, George, and acknowledge that you have abused my easy temper.—Seek for no apology—none will serve your turn. I saw the man myself, among your Germans as you call them; and you know what I must needs believe from such a circumstance.'
'Believe that I have been guilty—most guilty, my liege and King,' said the Duke, conscience-stricken, and kneeling down;—'believe that I was misguided—that I was mad—Believe anything but that I was capable of
