“Who, had he heard a murmur of disapproval, a shadow cast upon her name, would have sealed in death the presumptuous lips which uttered it.”
“She betrayed his confidence?” asked Portsmouth, breathlessly.
“Betrayed–and worse!” gesticulated Nell, with the visage of a madman. “A woman base, without a spark of kindliness–an adventuress! This is the picture of that Eleanor Gwyn! Where is a champion to take up the gauntlet for such a Nell?”
As quick as light, the King threw back the arras and came between them. The Duchess saw him and cried out in surprise. Nell did not turn–only caught a chair-top to save herself from falling.
“Here, thou defamer!” he called, his voice husky with passion. “Thou base purveyor of lies, answer me–me, for those words! I am Nell’s champion! I’ll force you to own your slander a lie.”
The King was terribly in earnest.
“The guard! The guard!” called Portsmouth, faintly, almost overcome by the scene. In her passion that the King so revealed his love for Nell, she quite forgot that Adair was the bearer of her packet.
“I want no guard,” commanded the King. “An insult to Nell Gwyn is my cause alone.”
Nell was in an elysium of ecstasy. She realized nothing, saw nothing.
“He loves me! He loves me!” her trembling lips breathed only. “He’ll fight for Nell.”