Simon Orts went toward the dead body, looking down into the distorted face. "And I, too, loved him. Yes, such as he was, he was the only friend I had. And I think he liked me," Simon Orts said aloud, with a touch of shy pride. "Yes, and you trusted me, didn't you, Vincent? Wait for me, then, my Lord,--I shall not be long. And now I'll serve you faithfully. I had to play the man's part, you know,--you mustn't grudge old Simon his one hour of manhood. You wouldn't, I think. And in any event, I shall be with you presently, and you can cuff me for it if you like--just as you used to do."
He covered the dead face with his handkerchief, but in the instant he drew it away. "No, not this coarse cambric. You were too much of a fop, Vincent. I will use yours--the finest linen, my Lord. You see old Simon knows your tastes."
"They will come at dawn to kill me; but I have had my hour. God, the man I might have been! And now--well, perhaps He would not be offended if I said a bit of a prayer for Vincent."
So the Vicar of Heriz Magna knelt beside the flesh that had been Lord Rokesle, and there they found him in the morning.
LOVE AT MARTINMAS _As Played at Tunbridge Wells, April 1, 1750_
"_He to love an altar built Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, And all the trophies of his former loves; With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire; Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize._"
MR. ERWYN, a gentleman of the town, ceremonious and a coxcomb, but a man of honor. LADY ALLONBY, a woman of fashion, and widow to Lord Stephen Allonby. MISS ALLONBY, daughter to Lord Stephen by a former marriage, of a considerable fortune in her own hands. FOOTMEN to Lady Allonby; and in the Proem FRANCIS ORTS, commonly know as FRANCIS VANBINGHAM, a dissolute play-actor.
A drawing-room In Lady Allonby's villa at Tunbridge Wells.
_PROEM:--To be Filed for Reference Hereafter_
Lady Allonby followed in all respects the Vicar's instructions; and midnight found her upon the pier of Bishops Onslow, Colonel Denstroude's big and dilapidated country-residence. Frank Orts had assisted her from the rowboat without speaking; indeed, he had uttered scarcely a word, save to issue some necessary direction, since the woman first came to him at the Vicarage with her news of the night's events. Now he composedly stepped back into the boat.