“Did he say aught about the King and me?” asked Nell, in a low voice.
“It was, I swear, a most unhappy contretems, Nell,” said Sir Charles, smiling in a somewhat constrained way. “How could I know that there was one man in England who did n't know how splendid, yet how natural, a conquest the charms of Mistress Eleanor Gwyn have achieved?”
“Then you only spoke the truth, Sir Charles,” said Nell. “God above us!”
Dick staggered back, and grasped the frame of a chair to support himself. There was a long silence.
He took a faltering step or two towards where she stood in the middle of the room.
“I see it all now,” he said, in a low voice. “I see it all. This house—the lacqueys in scarlet—the King's servants—they are the King's servants, and you—you, Nell, are the King's——Oh, God! let me die—let me die! This is what I came home for! You told me to go to the first coffee-house; I did n't need to go so far. Oh, Nelly, if I had come home to stand beside the green hillock of your grave I could have borne it, but this—this!”
He dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. His sobbing was the only sound in the room.
After a long pause he got slowly upon his feet.
“I'm going away,” he said. “My heart is broken, Nell—my heart is broken. Good-bye, Nell.”
“Good-bye, Dick.”