Tom Moore Part 74

As he spoke he took the paper from his pocket and tore it into fragments. These he carefully deposited on the table and turned to go.

"One moment, Mr. McDermot," said an imperious voice.

The Prince came forward with an air of chilling dignity.

"You have made the greatest mistake of your life, sir," he continued, addressing the astounded publisher. "This I will show you if you listen.

Mr. Moore, you and your fiancee have been little seen of late in the world of fashion. Pray alter this, my dear fellow. Furthermore you may as well abandon all idea of holding office in Bermuda save by deputy.

It is impossible for the Poet Laureate of England to reside at such a distance from Carlton House."

"Sir!" cried Moore, unable to believe his ears. "Poet Laureate?"

"One Thomas Moore, not unknown to the literary world, an Irishman of some wit and fancy. Mr. McDermot, we need detain you no longer."

Crestfallen, the old Scotchman crept from the room as Moore turned to Bessie almost too happy to speak.

"You heard?"

She nodded her head, her eyes filling with happy tears.

There was a clatter in the street and a closed carriage drew up in front of Mrs. Malone's. Following it came a dozen hussars, riding gaily, as though in hope of a skirmish. Sir Percival Lovelace and Mr. d.y.k.e alighted and hurried upstairs, while Sweeny and his adherents contemplated the soldiers from the safety of distance in melancholy grandeur.

"I have been waiting for you, Sir Percival," said the Prince.

"Yet I made all possible haste," said Sir Percival, bowing low to Bessie. "By good luck, Farquar of the Tenth Hussars was dining with me.

A word to him brought me a dozen stout lads, and with them for escort I hurried here."

"Will Farquar keep a still tongue?" inquired Wales, more anxious than he appeared.

"Trust him for that, your Highness," replied Sir Percival, confidently.

"I think I will have to, Lovelace," observed the Prince, dryly. "Mr.

Moore, I have only to thank you for your kindly hospitality. I shall expect you at Carlton House in the morning. Mistress d.y.k.e, Tom is indeed a lucky man. As for you, Mr. d.y.k.e, I only await your promise not to repeat the offence to overlook the error into which you fell some weeks ago. Good night, my friends--Stay! I would not leave your clever lad unrewarded. Give him this and tell him if he ever sees fit to quit your service he will not find Wales ungrateful."

As he spoke, the Prince took the ring which Sir Percival held out to him. Handing it to Moore, he turned and bowed himself out, followed by the baronet.

"Capital," said Lord Brooking, joyfully. "I knew you 'd not languish in disfavor long, Tom. Ask Mistress Bessie to name the day."

Moore stepped to his sweetheart's side.

"When will you become my wife, dearest?" he asked, love sounding in his voice and gleaming in his eyes.

"I will marry you to-morrow," she whispered softly, her arms around his neck.