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The tragic masterpiece of Beaumont and Fletcher is The Maid's Tragedy, a powerful but repulsive play, which sheds a singular light not only upon its authors' dramatic methods, but also upon the attitude toward royalty favored by the doctrine of the divine right of kings, which grew up under the Stuarts.
While walking along the side of the docks, he met his cousin, Amos Fletcher, who was the captain of a canal boat, and to whom he related his recent experience. Amos offered him the post of driver, and James engaged to go with his cousin to Pittsburg in that capacity.
Harry looked over to Fletcher, who, with a sour expression, was sitting upright, and looking straight before him. "He don't look happy, does he?" whispered Oscar, comically. Harry came near laughing aloud, but luckily for Fletcher's peace of mind, succeeded in restraining himself. "He won't call you up again in a hurry; see if he does," continued Oscar.
In the afternoon information was received that a strong body of Dorset militia had occupied Bridport, and that another regiment, under Sir William Portman, was expected to disperse these forces. In the hopes that a large number would come over to him with their arms, the Duke determined on sending an expedition against the town. It was intended that Fletcher and Lord Grey should command the horse.
"I only made a supposition, Mr. Fletcher." But Fletcher thought otherwise. He was sure that Maud had heard of his mortification at school, and it disturbed him not a little, for, in spite of her assurance, he felt that she believed the story, and it annoyed him so much that he did not venture to make any other reference to Harry.
The last thing Jim said before the train drew up at the same platform at which Cicely had alighted the day before was, "I can't do anything to him." They drove straight to the house in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Fletcher opened the door to them. "Mr. Mackenzie is expecting us, I think," said Dick suavely, and made as if to enter. Mrs.
He patrols the garden for malefactors. In the morning I will see you. Before this disaster my chill is sped. You are of my flesh. Cleave unto me. In our bosoms let this abhorrent sore be buried. Seek Fletcher." The distraught man tottered to his room. George went slowly down the stairs, bathing in the delicious thrills of unfolding the wrappings from about his great idea.
She saw that he had a hard fight before him, for Warden led almost from the beginning, though with all his brilliancy he never drew very far ahead. Fletcher kept a steady pace behind him, and she knew he would not be easily beaten. Once he came and stood beside her after a very creditable break, and she slipped a shy hand into his for a few seconds.
"Ye said so before," quoth Fletcher testily. "We need here men, money, and weapons not divinity." "You are plainly infected with Mr. Wilding's disease," sneered Grey. "Ford," cried the Duke, who saw Wilding's eyes flash fire; "you go too fast. Mr. Wilding, you will not heed his lordship." "I should not be likely to do so, Your Grace," answered Wilding, who had resumed his seat.
It was brought into existence by the enthusiasm of Fletcher of Saltoun, and it was based upon an antiquarian revival which may be compared with the mediæval attempts to revive the Republic of Rome.
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