CHAPTER VII

MR. MANSUR INDULGES IN AN IMPULSE

Musidorus, slain by an arrow that flew out of a dimple in Belinda's left cheek.

-THE SPECTATOR.

THEY had forgotten the parson till they saw him creeping towards the door, his figure bent double, a very ball of deprecation. In another moment he would have gained it, but Yerington intercepted him.

"Aha, the maggot!" he announced.

The parson stood rubbing his hands and shuffling upon his feet. Then he rolled his head towards the others and laughed unctuously, amidst his cowardice, with a coward's instinct to fawn where he could not bully.

"He! he!" he tittered, "your lordship's merry." "Ha! ha!" echoed Yerington, with an affectation of laughter.

"He! he!" fawned the parson; and for a few seconds this farce of mirth was continued.

Then Yerington broke off with an abruptness that left the parson undecided as to his course, and his face convulsed by such conflicting expressions that Yerington almost burst into genuine merriment; but his gorge rose at the sight of the man.

"You're the most arrant knave that I've met this morning, and you are not the first by many. Be off with you after that other rogue, your better, for he affects no virtue, nor robes his villainies in black and a band."

He drew his sword and beat the parson lightly with

the flat of it. The cringing creature gave a cry of fear that he checked next moment in a gurgle of mock laughter.

"Your lordship's merry," he stammered.

'Merry," echoed Yerington, "I never was less merry in my life. Back to the ditch, you reptile! I'll spare you for the lady's sake. Let word of another trick like this come to my ears and you'll pay dearly for it."

He opened the door, and the man rushed past him, wincing as he did so in fear of a blow.

Yerington, Mansur and the girl whom they had just rescued left the house and passed down the still silent alley towards Fleet Street. The sounds of its teeming life floated up the narrow way as they walked beneath the over-hanging houses.

Lord Yerington was a conspicuous figure at any time. Mr. Mansur's black and silver, though elegant, was less noticeable than was Yerington's yellow brocade. The girl, wrapped in her Nithesdale, her face partially concealed by the hood, was still a striking figure. Her walk had a freedom that arrested the eye. Such a carriage gives distinction, even to the shrouded forms of the purdahed women of the Orient. She bore herself lightly, though her heart was sick within her.

Once within Fleet Street they paused, and she spoke to Yerington with a pretty gesture of entreaty.

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'Prithee, sir," she said, earnestly, "call me a chair and let me go hence. Thank you, I never can, though all my life I'll remember you with gratitude and in my prayers."

Yerington gazed down into the upturned eyes and found them singularly good to look upon. His relish for the end of the affair of the morning lessened.

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"Nay, my little maid," he answered gently, we must see you safe to your home. It would be ill courtesy to

trust you now alone in such a neighbourhood, which has but lately attempted such a wrong against you."

She clasped and unclasped her hands as if she found herself trapped in a situation from which, for the moment, she saw no exit. A line of doubt and perplexity appeared in her brow.

Mansur peered past the shadow of her hood.

"Those guardians who have so little treasured so fair a maid as to let her come to such a pass, had best let those who saw her danger, acquaint them with it."

His tone was low and suave, but at his words there came a touch of resentment into her face.

"None are guilty but myself," she answered with spirit, "and I guilty but in too little knowledge of this wicked city. I trust, gentlemen, you will not take advantage of my gratitude to force your services upon me.' Mansur regarded her with a trace of suspicion, but on the instant Lord Yerington bowed.

"Your servant, ma'am," he said, his hat in his hand. "I await but your orders if they do not include the command that I must leave you, before I have seen you where you have, at least, a reasonable hope of safety."

Her face broke up in gratitude and self-accusation. "Forgive me," she entreated, what I have said in return for your goodness; but indeed I am so sore beset I scarce know what I uttered."

Yerington's reply was a grave smile that became him well. For the time he had taken this unprotected girl into his charge, and though every winsome charm of hers, which each passing moment revealed more clearly, tempted to gallantry, he forbore to abate a jot of his brotherly attitude.

"Whither is it your pleasure we shall take you?" he asked.

She reflected for an instant before she replied with evident reluctance.

"I fear it is so distant, methinks if I found Soho from there the way would not be difficult."

"Soho!" echoed Mansur.

This fashionable quarter was not such a one as he had expected her to name.

Your will is our pleasure," replied Lord Yerington; and they turned their steps in that direction.

She was not long to remain in his charge. He was conscious, as he walked on beside her, of increasing curiosity.

Mansur, taking his cue from him, did not speak, though his active mind was busy. A fact that had escaped Yerington was momentarily impressing him more. This girl had neither the manners nor the accent of one born to the condition which her simple attire appeared to indicate. To this fact and the situation he was mentally fitting theory after theory with small satisfaction to himself. His reflections were interrupted when their progress was stayed by a crowd which had gathered across the way.

It was withal a good-natured knot of people that seemed divided between a desire to console and help some one at its core, and to indulge in a running fire of cheap and coarse wit, that blight of most hastily gathered crowds of promiscuous humanity.

Yerington halted, peering ahead of him with a willingness to be amused, characteristically inclined to get a fling of fun from every chance situation.

The girl, as she stood between them, gave a little exclamation. For an instant she listened, then she spoke aloud, forgetful of herself, throwing her voice ahead of her, in an impulse of reassurance to some one she could

not see, who was hidden behind the rampart of backs and unsavoury wigs.

"I'm here, dear," she called, "I'm quite safe. I pray you, gentlemen, let me pass."

She sought to press her way between the people.

In sheer surprise they gave way. This girl's appearance in the companionship of two young beaux caused a pleasant diversion and inferred a possible interpretation of the affair that gave it a turn to their taste. For a moment they stared with stupid curiosity, then came one or two rude comments followed by a laugh.

She soon reached a woman, who turned to her with a glad cry. The woman had been weeping, and her pale blue eyes were pitifully swollen. It was evident that the motley assembly about her had been gathered by her panic-stricken inquiries which at length had ended in helpless distress and collapse. The resourcelessness with which she had faced the situation was accounted for by one glance at her kindly, gentle face. It revealed her to be a woman of amiable nature, of a strong sense of established habit, little imagination and no initiative.

It was only when these two women met that the young bloods understood the great control that the girl, scarcely more than a child, had been exercising over herself. Once she felt the motherly protecting arms about her, the emotion she had been so bravely holding in check overwhelmed her. With clutching fingers she clung to the other, and pressed her head down upon her shoulder, as if she could not gain sufficient comfort from the reassuring contact.

"Hold me tight, hold me tight," she gasped. "Don't let me go."

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Oh, my baby, my baby," cried the elder woman. "Has no harm come to thee?"