"'He kissed me again and again ... How can I go on?... There was a sound of smothered laughter—the irritating laugh of a woman I hated.... His face was close to mine.... I opened my eyes.... Oh, God! It was the King!
"'In my rage and confusion I flung him from me, and fell, half-fainting, to the floor. Then I heard my Lord Benneville say brokenly, as one crushed by awful trouble, "Your Majesty is right. I pray you forgive my harsh words of yesterday. Fool, fool that I am to have been so tricked! O my Liege, my Liege, death would have been far preferable to this!" And then my dear Lord, sobbing, went out into the gray dawn, and out of my life forever!
"'They took me from the King's chamber, and revived by the sharp air in the street I managed to grope my way to my father's house. To him I told nothing, for he was proud of me, and should I have killed him? Yet he was much perplexed at my determination, for I never showed my face at court again!'
"My relative's voice, growing weaker every moment, flickered and died out in a hissing whisper just as the silver chime over the mantel proclaimed that her time was up. Then I must have awakened.
"It may have been a dream, but so impressed was I by the old lady's story that all the rest of the week I searched for further light upon it. Into old carven chests I dived, opening package after package of mouldy papers. In the attic trunks and boxes were rifled, until at last, about to give up in despair, I found in an old desk a letter. It was in French with the Benneville crest and seal, brown with age, and by no means easy to decipher. The place of writing, and the date, quite beyond human ken, so frayed and stained was the upper margin. Freely translated, the letter read:
"'My Dear Old Bobby:
"'Here we are, safe and sound. And what can I say to you, friend of friends? This last scrape was the worst of all; was it not? Worse by far than the affairs with the little Italian, or the fat Princess, eh, Bobby, my boy? Our heartfelt thanks to his Majesty, God bless him! and to Lady Morley-Frere, and to your dear self—our eternal love! Oh, Bobby, the thought of marrying that sour-visaged cousin of mine makes me ill, even now! And yet—at the time, before I told you—I felt myself slowly drifting into it. The ground seemed to be slipping from under my feet, as it were. I felt wholly lost—trapped, by Jove! She was very determined. We are here with the Ambassador until the affair blows over. My sweetest Mary joins me in love.
"'Ever your affectionate friend,
"'Benneville.'"