Part 29 (2/2)
”Danced!” gleefully cried Nell. ”I have followed your bow through a thousand jigs. To the devil with these court-steps. I'm for a jig, jig, jig, jig, jig! Oh, I'm for a jig! Tune up, tune up, comrade; and we'll have a touch of the old days at the King's House.”
”The King's House! Jigs!” exclaimed the fiddler, now beside himself.
”Jigs!” chuckled Nell. ”Jigs are my line of business.”
_Oranges, will you have my oranges?
Sweet as love-lips, dearest mine, Picked by Spanish maids divine,--_
The room had now quite cleared; and, protected by a friendly alcove, Nell punctuated the old song with a few happily turned jig-steps.
Strings looked at her a moment in bewilderment: then his face grew warm with smiles; the mystery was explained.
”Mistress Nell, as I live,” he cried, joyously, ”turned boy!”
”The devil fly away with you, you old idiot! Boy, indeed!” replied Nell, indignantly. ”I'm a full-grown widower!”
She had removed her mask and was dancing about Strings gleefully.
There was the sound of returning voices.
”Oons, you will be discovered,” exclaimed Strings, cautiously.
”Marry, I forgot,” whispered Nell, glancing over her shoulder. ”You may have to help me out o' this sc.r.a.pe, Strings, before the night is done.”
”You can count on me, Mistress Nell, with life,” he replied, earnestly.
”I believe you!” said Nell, in her sympathetic, hearty way. Her mind reverted to the old days when Strings and she were at the King's. ”Oh, for just one jig with no petticoats to hinder.”
Nell, despite herself, had fallen into an old-time jig, with much gusto, for her heart was for a frolic always, when Strings, seized her arm in consternation, pointing through the archway.
”The King!” she exclaimed.
She clapped her mask to her eyes and near tumbled through the nearest arras out of the room in her eagerness to escape, dragging her ever-faithful comrade with her.
CHAPTER XIII
_For the glory of England?_
The King entered the room with his historic stride. His brow was clouded; but it was all humorous pretence, for trifles were not wont to weigh heavily upon his Majesty. With him came Portsmouth.
”Can you forgive me, Sire?” she asked. ”I had promised the dance to Beau Adair. I did not know you, Sire; you masked so cleverly.”
”'Sdeath, fair flatterer!” replied the King. ”I have lived too long to worry o'er the freaks of women.”
”The youth knew not to whom he spoke,” still pleaded Portsmouth. ”His introduction here bespeaks his pardon, Sire.”
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