“Nell, Nell,” gasped Moll, as she too struggled for breath; “one minute you laugh and then you cry. Have you lost your wits?”
“I only know,” exulted Nell, “I made him swear his love for Nell to Portsmouth’s face. I made him draw his sword for Nell.”
“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Moll, aghast. “You did not draw yourself? A sword against the King is treason.”
“Ods-bodikins, I know not!” answered Nell. “I know not what I did or said. I was mad, mad! All I remember is: there was a big noise–a million spears and blunderbusses turned upon poor me! Gad! I made a pretty target, girl.”
“A million spears and blunderbusses!” echoed Moll, her eyes like saucers.
“An army, child, an army!” continued Nell, in half-frantic accents. “I did not stop to count them. Then, next I knew, I was in my coach, with dear old Strings beside me. The horses flew. We alighted at the Chapel, tiptoed about several corners to break the scent; then I took off my shoes and stole up the back way like a good and faithful husband. Oh, I did the whole thing in cavalier-style, sweetheart. But, ’twixt us, Moll,” and she spoke with a mysterious, confidential air,“–I wouldn’t have it go further for worlds–Adair is a coward, a monstrous coward! He ran!”
As if to prove the truth of her words, at a sudden, sharp, shrill sound from the direction of the park, the sad remnant of Adair clutched Moll frantically; and both girls huddled together with startled faces and bated breaths.
“Hark! What is that?” whispered Nell.
“The men, perchance, I told you of,” answered Moll; “they’ve spied about the house for weeks.”
“Nonsense, you little goose,” remonstrated Nell, though none too bravely; “some of your ex-lovers nailing their bleeding hearts to the trees.”