"
"It is only the long run that tells the tale," I answered, taking his hot
hand to soothe him. "Heaven always wins, and your reward will come."
"Ah, yes, the long run is all right if one can only hold out," he
answered, gripping my hand and breathing rapidly. He was almost in
delirium. "But I'll take the short run, Baron Ned." Here his voice rose
almost to a scream: "I'll take the short run, Ned, and will kill the
king! Then to hell after him by way of Tyburn Hill!"
He sprang to me, grasped my shoulders fiercely, and spoke as one in a
frenzy: "I was right, Ned. She is all I thought she was at Sundridge.
When I first knew her I doubted my senses. I did not know there was a
pure woman outside of a convent, but when I learned to know her I changed
my mind. Now comes this accursed Charles Stuart! His house has been a
bane to England ever since the spawn of the Scotch courtesan first came
to London. But his reign will be short!"
He was becoming delirious, so I induced him to lie on the bed while I
went downstairs to find Betty. When I found her, I told her that the
fever was mounting to Hamilton's brain, and that I feared he would soon
become violent.
She sent a boy to fetch a physician, then turned to me, saying:--
"I'll go up to him. I believe I can quiet him."
So we went back to George's room and found him out of bed, prowling about
like a caged wild thing, tossing his arms, and shouting his intention to
kill the king.
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