“Knave, I command!”
“I saw Adair enter this abode at midnight.” Hart’s head fell, full of shame, upon his breast.
“’Sblood,” muttered the King, scarce mindful that his words might be audible to those about him, “my heart stands still as if’t were knifed. My pretty golden-head, my bonnie Nell!” He turned sharply toward the player. “Your words are false, false, sir! Kind Heaven, they must be.”
“Pardon, Sire,” pleaded Hart; “I know not what I do or say. Only love for Nell led me to this spot.”
“Love!” cried Nell, with the irony of sadness. “Oh, inhuman, to spy out my ways, resort to mean device, involve my honour, and call the motive love!”
“You are cruel, cruel, Nell,” sobbed Hart; and he turned away his eyes. He could not look at her.
“Love!” continued Nell, bitterly. “True love would come alone, filled with gentle admonition. I pity you, friend Hart, that God has made you thus!”
“No more, no more!” Hart quite broke beneath the strain.
“Dost hear, dost hear?” cried Charles, in ecstasy, deeply affected by Nell’s exposition of true love. “Sir, you are the second to-night to belie the dearest name in England. You shall answer well to me.”