"I have sent for you to tell you that Mr. Law's life has a value in my eyes. And now, I say to you, Sir Arthur, that you must aid me in his escape."
A beautiful picture she made, tearful, pleading, a lock of her soft red-brown hair falling unnoticed across her tear-wet cheek. It had been ill task, indeed, to make refusal of any sort to a woman so gloriously feminine, so noble, now so beseeching.
"Lady Catharine," said the young man, turning toward her, "this illness, this anxiety—"
"No, I know perfectly well whereof I speak! Listen, and I'll tell you somewhat of news. Montague, chancellor of the exchequer, is my warrant for what I say to you when I tell you that Mr. Law is to be free. Montague himself has said to me, in this very room, that Mr. Law was like to be half the salvation of England in these uncertain times. I could tell you more, but may not. Only look you, Sir Arthur, John Law does not rest in Newgate more than one week from this time!"
Sir Arthur took snuff, his voice at length regaining that composure for which he had sought.
"'Tis very excellent," he said. "For myself, two centuries have been spent in my family to teach me to love like a gentleman, and to deserve you like a man. What does this young man need? A few days of bluster, of assertion! A few weeks of gaming and of roistering, of self-asserted claims! Gad! Lady Catharine, this is passing bitter! And now you ask me to help him."
"I wish you to help him," said Lady Catharine, slowly, "only in that I ask you to help me."
"And if I did?"
"And if you did, you should dwell in a part of my heart forever! Let it be as you like."
"Then," cried the young man, flushing suddenly and hotly as he strode toward her, "do with me as you like! Let me be fool unspeakable!"