He spoke low enough, and there was a babble about, but it seemed as though the name of the King made its way through all the hubbub to the Vicar's ears; for he rose instantly, and, stepping to my side, sat down by me, crying,
"What said he of the King, Simon?"
"Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter comes to me on the King's service, and that I have nothing to pay for it," and I turned it over and over in my hands. But the inscription was plain enough. "To Master Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, by Hatfield."
By this time half the company was round us, and my Lord Clarendon well-nigh forgotten. Small things near are greater than great things afar, and at Hatchstead my affairs were of more moment than the fall of a Chancellor or the King's choice of new Ministers. A cry arose that I should open my packet and disclose what it contained.
"Nay," said the Vicar, with an air of importance, "it may be on a private matter that the King writes."
They would have believed that of my lord at the Manor, they could not of Simon Dale. The Vicar met their laughter bravely.
"But the King and Simon are to have private matters between them one day," he cried, shaking his fist at the mockers, himself half in mockery.
Meanwhile I opened my packet and read. To this day the amazement its contents bred in me is fresh. For the purport was that the King, remembering my father's services to the King's father (and forgetting, as it seemed, those done to General Cromwell), and being informed of my own loyal disposition, courage, and good parts, had been graciously pleased to name me to a commission in His Majesty's Regiment of Life Guards, such commission being post-dated six months from the day of writing, in order that Mr. Dale should have the leisure to inform himself of his duties and fit himself for his post; to which end it was the King's further pleasure that Mr. Dale should present himself, bringing this same letter with him, without delay at Whitehall, and there be instructed in his drill and in all other matters necessary for him to know. Thus the letter ended, with a commendation of me to the care of the Almighty.
I sat, gasping; the gossips gaped round me; the Vicar seemed stunned. At last somebody grumbled,
"I do not love these Guards. What need of guard has the King except in the love of his subjects?"
"So his father found, did he?" cried the Vicar, an aflame in a moment.
"The Life Guards!" I murmured. "It is the first regiment of all in honour."
"Ay, my lad," said the Vicar. "It would have been well enough for you to serve in the ranks of it, but to hold His Majesty's Commission!" Words failed him, and he flew to the landlord's snuff-box, which that good man, moved by subtle sympathy, held out, pat to the occasion.
Suddenly those words of my lord's that had at the time of their utterance caught my attention so strongly flashed into my mind, seeming now to find their explanation. If there were fault to be found in the King, it did not lie with his own servants and officers to find it; I was now of his household; my lord must have known what was on the way to me from London when he addressed me so pointedly; and he could know only because he had himself been the mover in the matter. I sprang up and ran across to the Vicar, crying,
"Why, it is my lord's kindness! He has spoken for me."
"Ay, ay, it is my lord," was grunted and nodded round the circle in the satisfaction of a discovery obvious so soon as made. The Vicar alone dissented; he took another pinch and wagged his head petulantly.
"I don't think it's my lord," said he.
"But why not, sir, and who else?" I urged.
"I don't know, but I do not think it is my lord," he persisted.
Then I laughed at him, and he understood well that I mocked his dislike of a plain-sailing everyday account of anything to which it might be possible by hook or crook to attach a tag of mystery. He had harped back to the prophecy, and would not have my lord come between him and his hobby.
"You may laugh, Simon," said he gravely. "But it will be found to be as I say."
I paid no more heed to him, but caught up my hat from the bench, crying that I must run at once and offer thanks to my lord, for he was to set out for London that day, and would be gone if I did not hasten.
"At least," conceded the Vicar, "you will do no harm by telling him. He will wonder as much as we."
Laughing again, I ran off and left the company crowding to a man round the stubborn Vicar. It was well indeed that I did not linger, for, having come to the Manor at my best speed, I found my lord's coach already at the door and himself in cloak and hat about to step into it. But he waited to hear my breathless story, and, when I came to the pith of it, snatched my letter from my hand and read it eagerly. At first I thought he was playing a part and meant only to deny his kindness or delay the confession of it. His manner soon undeceived me; he was in truth amazed, as the Vicar had predicted, but more than that, he was, if I read his face aright, sorely displeased also; for a heavy frown gathered on his brow, and he walked with me in utter silence the better half of the length of the terrace.
"I have nothing to do with it," he said bitterly. "I and my family have done the King and his too much service to have the giving away of favours. Kings do not love their creditors, no, nor pay them."
"But, my lord, I can think of no other friend who would have such power."
"Can't you?" he asked, stopping and laying his hand on my shoulder. "May be, Simon, you don't understand how power is come by in these days, nor what are the titles to the King's confidence."
His words and manner dashed my new pride, and I suppose my face grew glum, for he went on more gently,
"Nay, lad, since it comes, take it without question. Whatever the source of it, your own conduct may make it an honour."
But I could not be content with that.
"The letter says," I remarked, "that the King is mindful of my father's services."
"I had thought that the age of miracles was past," smiled my lord. "Perhaps it is not, Simon."
"Then if it be not for my father's sake nor for yours, my lord, I am at a loss," and I stuffed the letter into my pocket very peevishly.
"I must be on my way," said my lord, turning towards the coach. "Let me hear from you when you come, Simon; and I suppose you will come soon now. You will find me at my house in Southampton Square, and my lady will be glad of your company."
I thanked him for his civility, but my face was still clouded. He had seemed to suspect and hint at some taint in the fountain of honour that had so unexpectedly flowed forth.
"I can't tell what to make of it," I cried.
He stopped again, as he was about to set his foot on the step of his coach, and turned, facing me squarely.
"There's no other friend at all in London, Simon?" he asked. Again I grew red, as he stood watching me. "Is there not one other?"
I collected myself as well as I could and answered,
"One that would give me a commission in the Life Guards, my lord?" And I laughed in scorn.
My lord shrugged his shoulders and mounted into the coach. I closed the door behind him, and stood waiting his reply. He leant forward and spoke across me to the lackey behind, saying, "Go on, go on."
"What do you mean, my lord?" I cried. He smiled, but did not speak. The coach began to move; I had to walk to keep my place, soon I should have to run.
"My lord," I cried, "how could she——?"
My lord took out his snuff-box, and opened it.
"Nay, I cannot tell how," said he, as he carried his thumb to his nose.
"My lord," I cried, running now, "do you know who Cydaria is?"
My lord looked at me, as I ran panting. Soon I should have to give