They had walked on a little way as they talked, and were so near Aylesbury House that the lights from within fell on her. He saw her uncovered head and dazzling gown.
“Lady Clancarty,” he said persuasively, “let us go back for your cloak and mask. You can’t go down the river to the Tower thus—in the cold!”
“I care not for it,” she replied; “go back?” she shuddered, “I could not—I cannot breathe the same air with Spencer, it poisons me!”
Without another word young Mackie took off his own cloak and wrapped it around her, and she, in her excitement, took no thought of his exposure to the cold in his thin suit of velvet and satin.
“I must go!” she reiterated, “the very shortest way—I must go to my husband!” and her voice broke pitifully.
“You shall go, dear Lady Clancarty,” he said gently, setting himself to face the task, though a sharp pain rankled in his own bosom, and when he drew her hand through his arm he set his teeth.
He loved her, too, and she took no more thought of him than of a stone—such is the way of women.
The night wind cut their faces as they walked toward the river. She was so used to service from men, to their devotion, that she took his for granted; she did not even try to talk to him, but he heard her weeping softly and the pitiful little sound made him shiver. He longed to comfort her, but he set his teeth harder—he knew she wept for Lord Clancarty.
When they reached the water stairs she was resolute again and alert. She walked unassisted down the steps and urged him to take any boat for the Tower, impatient of the wrangling of the boatmen. She stamped her foot at them, in fact, and took so high a tone that, at last, the blackguards subsided and took them meekly enough, though the order, “the Traitor’s Gate,” caused some murmurs.
Once on the water she sat erect and silent, straining eyes and ears for the king’s boat, which had, of course, preceded hers, with her husband aboard. She hoped to be close enough behind to gain admission with him; she had no other hope, no other prayer but to share his fate, however wretched, to follow him to prison and to death. Her impulsive nature stirred at last to its depths swept her on. She could be as heroic now and as resolute as she had been careless and happy in the summer time of her life. She was imperial woman to her finger tips; she loved and hated with the full, fierce tide of her rich nature. She gave all and kept nothing back.