The Line of Love. Dizain des Mariages

give up a quest so laudable?'

'Stephen Allonby, my lord,' said Master Mervale, sadly, 'was not Marquis of Falmouth; as Marquis of Falmouth, you might look to mate with any woman short of the Queen.'

'To tell you a secret,' the marquis whispered, 'I look to mate with one beside whom the Queen—not to speak treason—is but a lean-faced, yellow piece of affectation. I aim higher than royalty, heart's dearest,—aspiring to one beside whom empresses are but common hussies.'

'And Ursula?' asked Master Mervale, gently.

'Holy Gregory!' cried the marquis, 'I had forgot! Poor wench, poor wench! I must withdraw my suit warily,— firmly, of course, yet very kindlily, you understand, so as to grieve her no more than must be. Poor wench!—well, after all,' he hopefully suggested, 'there is yet Pevensey.'

'O Stephen! Stephen!' Master Mervale murmured; 'Why, there was never any other but Pevensey! For Ursula knows all,—knows there was never any more manhood in Master Mervale's disposition than might be gummed on with a play-actor's mustachios! Why, she is my cousin, Stephen,—my cousin and good friend, to whom I came at once on reaching England, to find you, favored by her father, pestering her with your suit, and the poor girl well-nigh at her wits' end because she might not have Pevensey. So,' said Master Mervale, 'we put our heads together, Stephen, as you observe.'

'Indeed,' my lord of Falmouth said, 'it would seem that you two wenches have, between you, concocted a very pleasant comedy.'

'It was not all a comedy,' sighed Master Mervale,—'not all a comedy, Stephen, until to-day when you told Master Mervale the story of Katherine Beaufort. For I did not know—I could not know—' 

'And now?' my lord of Falmouth queried.

'H'm!' cried Master Mervale, and he tossed his head. 'You are very unreasonable in anger! you are a veritable Turk! you struck me!'

The marquis rose, bowing low to his former adversary. 'Master Mervale,' said the marquis, 'I hereby tender you my unreserved apologies for the affront I put upon you. I protest I was vastly mistaken in your disposition and hold you as valorous a gentleman as was ever made by barbers' tricks; and you are at liberty to bestow as many kisses and caresses upon the Lady Ursula as you may elect, reserving, however, a reasonable sufficiency for one that shall be nameless. Are we friends, Master Mervale?'

Master Mervale rested his head upon Lord Falmouth's shoulder, and sighed happily. Master Mervale laughed,—a low and gentle laugh that was vibrant with content. But Master Mervale said nothing, because there seemed to be between these two, who were young in the world's recaptured youth, no longer any need of idle speaking.

* * * * *

JUNE 1, 1593

'She was the admirablest lady that ever lived: therefore, Master Doctor, if you will do us that favor, as to let us see that peerless dame, we should think ourselves much beholding unto you.'

There was a double wedding some two weeks later in the chapel at Longaville: and each marriage appears to have been happy enough.

The tenth Marquis of Falmouth had begotten sixteen children within seventeen years, at the end of which period his wife unluckily died in producing a final pledge of affection. This child, a daughter, survived, and was christened Cynthia: of her you may hear later.

Meanwhile the Earl and the Countess of Pevensey had propagated more moderately; and Pevensey had played a larger part in public life than was allotted to Falmouth, who did not shine at Court. Pevensey, indeed, has his sizable niche in history: his Irish expeditions, in 1575, were once notorious, as well as the circumstances of the earl's death in that year at Triloch Lenoch. His more famous son, then a boy of eight, succeeded to the title, and somewhat later, as the world knows, to the hazardous position of chief favorite to Queen Elizabeth.

'For Pevensey has the vision of a poet,'—thus Langard quotes the lonely old Queen,—'and to balance it, such mathematics as add two and two correctly, where you others smirk and assure me it sums up to whatever the Queen prefers. I have need of Pevensey: in this parched little age all England has need of Pevensey.'

That is as it may have been: at all events, it is with this Lord

Pevensey, at the height of his power, that we have now to do. 

CHAPTER IX The Episode Called Porcelain Cups

1. Of Greatness Intimately Viewed

'Ah, but they are beyond praise,' said Cynthia Allonby, enraptured, 'and certainly you should have presented them to the Queen.'

'Her majesty already possesses a cup of that ware,' replied Lord Pevensey. 'It was one of her New Year's gifts, from Robert Cecil. Hers is, I believe, not quite so fine as either of yours; but then, they tell me, there is not the like of this pair in England, nor indeed on the hither side of Cataia.'

He set the two pieces of Chinese pottery upon the shelves in the south corner of the room. These cups were of that sea-green tint called celadon, with a very wonderful glow and radiance. Such oddities were the last vogue at Court; and Cynthia could not but speculate as to what monstrous sum Lord Pevensey had paid for this his last gift to her.

Now he turned, smiling, a really superb creature in his blue and gold. 

'I had to-day another message from the Queen—' 

'George,' Cynthia said, with fond concern, 'it frightens me to see you thus foolhardy, in tempting alike the Queen's anger and the Plague.'

'Eh, as goes the Plague, it spares nine out of ten,' he answered, lightly. 'The Queen, I grant you, is another pair of sleeves, for an irritated Tudor spares nobody.'

But Cynthia Allonby kept silence, and did not exactly smile, while she appraised her famous young kinsman. She was flattered by, and a little afraid of, the gay self-confidence which led anybody to take such chances. Two weeks ago it was that the terrible painted old Queen had named Lord Pevensey to go straightway into France, where, rumor had it, King Henri was preparing to renounce the Reformed Religion, and making his peace with the Pope: and for two weeks Pevensey had lingered, on one pretence or another, at his house in London, with the Plague creeping about the city like an invisible incalculable flame, and the Queen asking questions at Windsor. Of all the monarchs that had ever reigned in England, Elizabeth Tudor was the least used to having her orders disregarded. Meanwhile Lord Pevensey came every day to the Marquis of Falmouth's lodgings at Deptford: and every day Lord Pevensey pointed out to the marquis' daughter that Pevensey, whose wife had died in childbirth a year back, did not intend to go into France, for nobody could foretell how long a stay, as a widower. Certainly it was all very flattering….

'Yes, and you would be an excellent match,' said Cynthia, aloud, 'if that were all. And yet, what must I reasonably expect in marrying, sir, the famous Earl of Pevensey?'

'A great deal of love and petting, my dear. And if there were anything else to which you had a fancy, I would get it for you.'

Her glance went to those lovely cups and lingered fondly. 'Yes, dear Master Generosity, if it could be purchased or manufactured, you would get it for me—'