"Who?" I asked.
"Charles Stuart," he said; "but pay no heed to me. After all, the king is king."
"But where is Constance now?" I asked. "I have been told that her father was hanged at Tyburn. Where is she?"
"What is she to you?" asked my father.
"She is everything to me," I replied.
"You fancy you are in love with her?"
I did not reply, for my father spoke, I thought, scornfully.
"I will admit that the maid is a brave maid. It is not often one hears of such daring, such resolution," he said presently.
"Ay," I replied, my heart all aglow. "She took her sister's guilt upon her own shoulders. For months she defied all pursuers, and when at last she stood before the king, she refused to do his bidding, refused to betray her sister's hiding-place. But what happened to her afterwards? Tell me, father, for pity's sake."
"You do not know? You have heard of nought that took place after the night when you behaved like a fool before the king, and were sent hither?"