“Now we’re nicely!” says the horrid man. “Stand up, young lady, and we’ll proceed with the sacred ceremony. Dearly beloved——”
Diana sprang to her feet.
“Sir, I am a young woman under the protection of the Duchess of Queensbury and the Duke of Bolton. I’m the famous Mrs. Fenton of ‘The Beggar’s Opera.’ And if I come to harm rest assured the doers will be hunted to the gallows. This wicked man and woman have dragged me here——”
“You came of your own free will”—screams Mrs. Bishop, but the girl continued—
“And be assured if I live, I’ll drag my case before the King and have justice though I die for it.”
’Twas gallantly said and she faced them now like her fighting father’s daughter. A moment—and the fallen parson looked doubtfully to Walker.
“You kept this from me, Sir. I did not know the lady had powerful friends. I understood ’twas a poor orphan. If this is the distinguished Mrs. Fenton, the town will be up to protect her. I can’t go further till I have satisfaction.”
Diana, seeing she was on the right track, continued earnestly.
“Sir, if you’ll take me to Queensbury House or to Mr. Rich’s house in Bloomsbury you’ll receive a hundred guineas. I promise it. Less it shan’t be and more it may. This portrait on my neck assures you of what I say—’tis her Grace, the Duchess. Take it as an earnest.”
She tore it off and thrust it in his hand. He looked at it doubtfully and in much fear. A small ducal coronet surmounted it, and all the town riff-raff knew the handsome haughty face beneath the pearls. He clutched a greedy hand on it.