“Come; draw and defend yourself,” angrily cried the King.
Portsmouth screamed and fell upon his arm.
It is doubtful what the result would otherwise have been. True, Nell ofttimes had fenced with the King and knew his wrist, but she was no swordswoman now. Though she took up in her delirium the King’s challenge with a wild cry, “Aye, draw and defend yourself!” she realized nothing but his confession of love for Nell.
The scene was like a great blur before her eyes.
She rushed upon the King and by him, she scarce knew how. Their swords harmlessly clashed; that was all.
The cries had been taken up without.
“The guard! The guard!” “Treason!” “Treason!”
The air was alive with voices.
Nell ran up the steps leading to a French window, which opened upon a tiny railed balcony. Below, one story only, lay a soft carpet of greensward, shimmering in the moonlight. With her sword, she struck the frail sash, which instantly yielded.
Meantime, the room had filled with courtiers, guards and gallants, who had rushed in, sword and spear in hand, to guard the King.