Chapter VIII: Part 8

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed the Duke. "How could things have come to such a pass with him? Why had he not sought you out, and told of his adversity? To be sure, many a gentleman born to fortune falls upon evil days, sometimes through no fault of his own. But with my token--well, there was no need for this. I must consider what should be done. Have you seen him since, Lady Geraldine?"

"Nay; and he has not been acting of late. Two strangers, or rather two other actors, have been playing the parts since that night. I did ask of my mother leave to send and seek him out, that we might at least give him thanks for the service rendered me; but she would not believe I had recognized him aright--she said it was but my fantasy; and for the rest, if the man wanted a guerdon, he had but to come and ask for it. Hence, nothing has been done."

"Well, 'tis a strange story; and yet, as I saw that representation at the theatre, I did say within myself that some eye-witness of the battle of Ramillies must have planned and written it. We will think and speak more of it anon. Stranger things have befallen ere this. It would please me well to befriend a gallant and chivalrous youth, too proud or too noble to ask favours for himself. I told him he had something of the poet in him. He may have a career before him yet. Well, sweetheart, I must needs be going now; but I will return ere midnight, and Lady Geraldine will beguile the hours of my absence."

He rose, and kissed his wife with a lover-like devotion which sat gracefully upon him, and which to Geraldine seemed in no wise ridiculous, notwithstanding the fact that this couple had grown-up children, married themselves. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, to see how their love survived, and grew in depth and intensity. She was able to speak of the Duke, when he had gone, in terms which brought smiles of pleasure to the wife's face.

It was a happy evening for Geraldine; for the flame of hope leaped up in her heart, and she felt as though something bright and beautiful had come into her life. The Duke had shown interest in the subject of the young actor, who had saved her from injury on the night of the performance at their house. He did not gibe at her half-formed fancy. On the contrary, he seemed disposed to examine for himself the possible truth of the tale. He would seek out Grey--for Grey, she knew, it was. He would raise him out of obscurity and poverty into the position to which he was born. There seemed no end to the possibilities of good fortune which might come to him with the favour and gratitude of the Duke. The girl passed a happy, dreamy evening, these fancies weaving themselves into a background for her thoughts, whilst she talked with the Duchess of the Duke's magnificent reception, of the palace of Blenheim being erected at the cost of the nation for a residence for him, and of the honours to which he was likely to attain through his genius and the favour of her Majesty.

She was in the same happy frame of mind when she got into her chair shortly before midnight; for the Duchess kept her talking till past the time arranged, and it never occurred to her to be afraid of the darkness of the ill-lighted streets. She had her bearers--her father's liveried servants. And, after all, the distance to traverse was not so very great.

She had not proceeded far, however, before she was aroused from her pleasant reverie by the sounds of shouts, yells, and hurrying steps. She felt her own bearers break into a run, and the chair swayed from side to side in a fashion that was alarming. Something struck sharply against the panels, then a shower of missiles seemed to rattle against its side. Her own men yelled aloud in fear or pain, and next moment the chair seemed to be heavily dropped, and the air was rent with sounds of strife, the fall of weapons, and cries of pain and terror. There was no mistaking what had happened. She was the object of some attack from the street bullies; but whether by a luckless chance or by premeditation and design, the frightened girl could not guess. The thought of Lord Sandford and his unscrupulous ways flashed into her mind, and a shudder ran through her frame. She could see little or nothing of what was going on without. Her breath had dimmed the window-panes; there was scarcely any light in the streets. Never was any creature more helpless than a lady shut into one of the cumbersome chairs of the period. She could by no means get out, or even let down a window from within; and before many minutes had elapsed, the girl was perfectly certain that her bearers had run wildly away to save their own skins, and that she was left to the mercy of one of the lawless bands of street marauders, the terror of the helpless old watchmen, powerless to cope with them, the scandal of the whole town.

For a moment it seemed as though pursuers and pursued had alike left her alone, and she made at that juncture a frantic but useless effort to escape from her prison. Then roars of laughter and the trampling of feet assured her that her foes were coming back, and she closed her eyes and set her teeth, and, clasping her hands, tried to frame a few words of prayer, for she knew not what next would betide her. A hand seemed fumbling with the chair. In another moment it would be thrown open. But ere that moment had arrived a new sound arose. More footsteps came tearing along--a fierce voice--shouts of derision--more blows--more oaths--cries of pain and anger--fierce threats--savage recriminations. What was going on? Had some one flown to the rescue? Oh, when would the horrid scene end? These men were capable of doing to death any single or unarmed man who tried to stand between them and their brutal pastimes.

But what was this? Another sound! The roll of wheels--a commanding voice that she knew ringing through the darkness of the night, dominating all other sounds.

"It is the Duke--the Duke himself!" cried Geraldine, falling back almost fainting on the cushions; but the next minute lights were flashing round her, then the head of the chair was lifted off, and she saw the Duke himself bending towards her, his face full of concern and anxiety.

"What! The Lady Geraldine! Then, indeed, I come in good time. Are you hurt, sweet lady? Answer quick! For these villains shall not escape so easily, if you are."

"No, no, I am not hurt; but I fear me some one is who came to my rescue. I heard him shout to them to stop their coward play. They were about to look inside the chair, but they all turned upon him with shouts of derision and fury. I trow he gave them blow for blow, for I heard them yell and swear the fiend was in him. Oh, I fear me they must have been too many for him, and that he has been injured in my defence. Pray, your Grace, let your people see to it. I might have been grossly ill-treated but for his opportune arrival."

"There is a young man lying in the roadway here, your Grace," spoke one of the servants, "his clothes half torn from his back, his head bleeding, and his arm broken. I think he is not of that band we dispersed, for I saw one of them deal him a kick and swear a lusty oath at him as they ran off."

"Oh, it is my preserver--I know it is!" cried Geraldine, with tears in her eyes. "Ah, your Grace will know what to do."

"Why, put him into the coach, and take him home," spoke Marlborough at once, his well-known humanity towards his wounded soldiers extending instantly to this injured citizen, who had risked perhaps life itself on behalf of law and order, and in defence of some unknown victim. "And as for you, Lady Geraldine, you must likewise return with me. I cannot suffer you to be abroad with these bands of ruffians prowling the streets. I will send a message to your father's house, and your dispersed servants will doubtless find their way home in time. Lord Romaine shall know you safe; but you must return with me to-night."

Geraldine was only too thankful to do so. The very presence of the great Duke, calm and fearless, dissipated her fears and gave her confidence. She saw him superintend the lifting of the injured and unconscious man into the coach, heard him give directions to the servants to drive direct to Marlborough House, and then he himself took up his position beside her chair, and walked with it till they entered the hall of his great house, where she was suffered to alight, to be met by the Duchess (to whom a messenger had been hastily dispatched), and embraced by her with a motherly solicitude of which Lady Romaine would have been quite incapable.

"My dearest girl, what a terrible fright has been yours! Oh, how I rejoice that no hurt has come to you! I should never have forgiven myself for detaining you so long. Ah! and what have we here? Poor creature! he surely is not dead! What a ghastly object! Come away, dearest; it is no sight for you. What? He came to your rescue? One against a band? No wonder he has been roughly handled. Oh, he shall be well tended; I warrant you that. Yes, let him be carried into yonder ante-room. He shall have his wounds washed and dressed, and we will hear his story later. Geraldine, my love, what ails you? What do you see that you should look like that?"

For Geraldine's eyes, fixed upon the face of the wounded man being carried into the hall under the personal direction of the humane Duke, had grown fixed and glassy, and every drop of blood had ebbed from her face, leaving it of a marble hue.

As the sense of the Duchess's questions penetrated to her senses, the girl grasped her by the hand and whispered in tones of unrestrainable emotion,--

"It is he! it is he! And he has laid down his life for me!"

"It is who? What mean you, child? Do you know the--the gentleman?" asked the Duchess, perplexed and bewildered in her turn.

Geraldine's grip on her hands was firmer and faster.

"It is he of whom we were speaking but this evening. It is Sir Grey Dumaresq himself."

With an exclamation of amaze, the Duchess stepped forward to get a better view of the white and blood-stained face. She saw now that, despite his torn and muddy garments, his lack of all the fine adjuncts of the man of fashion, even to the falling wig, so essential to the equipment of the "gentleman" of the day, it was no low-born personage who had been carried into their stately house. Something of the refinement of the young man's face and features could be distinguished even in the midst of the disfiguring wounds and bruises and mire stains. She grasped her husband by the arm, and whispered in his ear,--

"Husband, look well at yonder man, for Geraldine declares it to be Sir Grey Dumaresq, of whom we were speaking but a few hours back. What a strange thing, if it be!"

Marlborough bent over the young man, less with the intent of identifying him at the present moment as of ascertaining the extent of his injuries, and whether life yet remained whole in him. Experience on the battlefield had given him considerable powers of discerning these things, and he knew that the bludgeons and rapiers of the young bloods of London streets could do as deadly work as the bullets and sword-thrusts of actual battle.

Opening the young man's vest to ascertain whether the heart still beat, he saw something sparkling lying within, and the next moment had uttered a quick, sharp exclamation of astonishment.

Beckoning to his wife to approach, he held up the token--the amethyst ring which he himself had given to the stranger who had risked so much for him upon the field of Ramillies.

"Then Geraldine is right!" cried the Duchess in great excitement. "It is Grey Dumaresq; he is found at last."

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*IN THE HOUSE OF THE DUKE.*

When Grey became next aware of any sensation, it was of a throbbing pain in his head, which gradually asserted itself and dissipated the black cloud of unconsciousness which had blotted out for the moment time and space and memory itself. He had no desire to open his eyes; but in a faint and feeble fashion he began to wonder what it was that had happened, and what was the cause of this pain. Gradually he felt also a strange powerless numbness in one of his arms, which he was unable to move. Also he felt that he was reposing on something very soft, with a scent of lavender in his nostrils, and a warmth and comfort to his body that went far to atone for pain in some of his members.

He heard the fall of coals in the grate; he knew that he was lying between smooth linen sheets; his soothed senses seemed to take in an atmosphere other than that of the attic which had so long been his home. He thought of Hartsbourne; it almost seemed as though he were back there once more. He decided that either this was a dream, or else that all which had gone before was one. Perhaps he was, in truth, a boy, and had been dreaming of manhood's struggles, manhood's crosses. Perhaps when he awoke, it would be to find his mother bending over him, and to hear of some boyish escapade in which he had hurt himself. Such things had been in the past, and might be again; but sleep overtook his drowsy brain ere he had reasoned matters out.

How long he slept he knew not; but suddenly he woke with a mind more clear. The events of the previous evening came back to him sharply defined--the emptiness of their treasury; the urgent need upon him to obtain food and money; the shifts to which he had been reduced in so doing; and last of all, that race towards some lady's chair, attacked by street ruffians; the short, sharp tussle round it, and the rain of blows which had stretched him senseless in the gutter.

Yes, he remembered it all now, and could account for the pain in his head and arm. But what had befallen him since, and where was he now? As these questions asserted themselves, Grey opened his eyes; and what did he see?

He was lying in one of those huge canopied beds in which our ancestors delighted. He lay deep in a nest of down, fair linen sheets and silken coverlets were spread over him, and crimson curtains were drawn round three sides of the bed. He saw lace ruffles upon the night-robe in which he lay, and the air was charged with an aromatic fragrance which might haply proceed from a mixture of drugs and perfumes. But it was not upon these matters that Grey's attention was concentrated, but upon a quiet figure seated at a small table beside a brightly-blazing fire, his eyes bent fixedly upon the pages of a roll of manuscript spread open before him, and illumined by the soft radiance of a cluster of wax tapers set in a rich silver candlestick of many branches. This man was attired in a flowing dressing-gown (as we now call such a garment) of richly-embroidered silk, fastened at the throat with a jewelled clasp, and bound at the waist by a girdle of golden cord. The falling hair from the ponderous wig served in part to veil the face, which was turned slightly away from the bed; but as the reader moved to turn the page, and to trim one of the candles with the silver snuffers, his face was fully revealed to Grey, and the young man uttered an exclamation of astonishment, striving to start up in bed as he did so.

"The Duke himself!"

The words were scarcely articulate, for his tongue was dry and his voice sounded hoarse and strange in his own ears; but at the sound of it the Duke rose quickly from his seat, and came forward towards the bed with a pleasant smile upon his face.

"Ah, my young friend, so you have come to your senses. That is well--that is very well. Nay, nay; seek not to move. You must needs remain quiet awhile, to mend you of your hurts; but I trust they are of no very serious nature, and that you will soon be sound and whole."

"But, your Grace, how come I here? What means it that I find myself in such a place as this? I surely am not dreaming. It can be none other but the great Duke of Marlborough himself!"

"And wherefore not," questioned the Duke, smiling, "since it was hard by my house that you were felled by ruffians, and in defence of a lady who had but lately left my doors? So now the mystery is explained; and we meet again, Grey Dumaresq, not on the field of battle this time, albeit you, who escaped without a scar or scratch at Ramillies, lie wounded here at Marlborough House. And right glad am I to welcome you within my doors; for it was but a few hours earlier that I was speaking of you with my wife, and wishing that I might meet you once more."

"Your Grace does me too much honour," spoke Grey in bewildered accents, "to bring me to your house, to sit up by my side--"

"Tush! That is but the habit of an old campaigner. My couch wooes me not as it does other men. I am used to little sleep and hard days. I live something too soft when I reach this land. Besides, yonder scroll absorbed me. For that you are responsible, my friend. Did I not tell you when first we met that you had the face of a poet? And for me there is stronger attraction in the poetry of prose than in that which expresses itself in rhyme and metre, which has a fashion of halting, like a horse whose legs begin to fail him, and who changes his feet or stumbles ever and anon."

The colour swept over Grey's pale face. He remembered now that the packet containing his romance was buttoned up tightly in the breast pocket of the outer coat which he wore that day. Doubtless, it had fallen out when they took off his clothes, and there it lay spread out upon, the table, more than three parts read by the Duke himself.

"I ask no pardon for my boldness in thus scanning your romance," proceeded the great man kindly, "albeit I did open the packet with intent to discover if it might contain your place of abode, so that I might send word to your friend where you were and what had befallen you. Now wherefore this start and upraising? Did I not tell you it behoved you to lie still? Must I call the physician from his slumbers to repeat his orders himself?"

"I crave your Grace's pardon," answered Grey, sinking back upon his pillows; "but your words did bring back to me the remembrance of a sick old man, dependent upon me for tendance and care. When I left him, I knew that for many hours he had all that he did need beside him. But if I am long detained from his side, he must needs suffer lack and hurt."

"Nay; but I will see that he does neither. Tell me only where he may be found, and I will send a trusty messenger to do all that is needful, and make arrangements for his comfort during the time which may elapse before you can return."

So Grey gave the needful information, and the Duke issued some orders to his servants in the outer room, returning to the bedside with a face expressive of a kindly curiosity and wonder.

Sitting down at the bedside, and entering into friendly talk with the young man, it was not difficult to draw from him a full and detailed account of all that had betided since they first met upon the field of Ramillies, and Grey had gone back to his native land to see what fortune had in store for him there.

The Duke made an excellent and sympathetic listener. He was sincerely interested in this young man. He owed him a personal debt of gratitude. Both he and his wife suspected that Lady Geraldine Adair, her favourite, was more than a little attracted by young Sir Grey Dumaresq, whom she had admitted to have met more than once during his brief career as a gentleman of fashion and the friend of Lord Sandford. They had seen self-betrayal in her face last night when he was carried in senseless, and she knew that he was her unknown preserver, who had diverted the attack of the young street ruffians from her chair, and had thus given time for the Duke's carriage to come up; and it had recalled to their minds and hearts the memory of their own young courting days, when John Churchill was paying his addresses to Sarah Jennings, and they could see and think of nothing but each other and their love. That Grey Dumaresq had fallen upon evil times there could be no manner of doubt, and that his fortunes were at the lowest ebb was manifest; yet the Duke, as he listened to the tale, was revolving many matters in his mind, and only spoke to lead the young man on by some well-timed question to express himself with more freedom and detail.

As for Grey, when once the ice had been broken, he had no desire for reserve. There was a strange sense of comfort and relief in pouring out his tale into sympathetic ears. The only matters he held back were his suspicions of others--firstly, those respecting his kinsman, and any possible hand he might have had in hastening his father's death; and secondly, those concerning Lord Sandford and his possible treachery towards himself. It seemed to him unfair to speak of unproven suspicions of crime or evil plotting to one so high in station as the Duke of Marlborough, whose smile or frown might mean so much to those who merited it. But of all else he spoke with frank freedom and unreserve; and at the last, when his tale was told, he saw the kindly gaze of the Duke bent upon him with shrewd searching inquiry.

"And so, Grey Dumaresq, you came actually to know the lack of food; and yet you bore upon your person all the while the token I had given you, telling you that you had but to show the same to my wife, and she would find means of rewarding you for the service done to her husband."

"I had had my reward in your Grace's favour and kindness," answered Grey with quiet dignity; "I prized that token as a thing most precious. Yet I never desired to use it as a means of gain. I will not say I never thought of it," he added, after a moment's pause, his colour slightly rising as he spoke; "and perchance had matters gone so with my old friend Jonathan Wylde that privation or starvation nearly threatened him, I might e'en have swallowed my pride, and become a suppliant for favour. But I should have fallen in my own esteem had I been forced to such a step. It may be pride--false pride--haughtiness of spirit--I know not; but in the days of my prosperity I would not seek to curry favour by making capital out of something which I desired to retain as a pleasant memory. And when poverty had fallen upon me, and I had dropped my name and my title, and was known only as a poor actor, living in obscurity and poverty, how could I hope to be admitted to the presence of the Duchess? How could I desire to parade my fallen fortunes before the eyes of her train of servants? Your Grace had called me friend--that was my reward."

With a smile the great man slowly shook his head. Although a love for money amounting to greed was his own besetting sin, he could admire disinterestedness and honourable pride in others. He knew that had Grey played his cards well, seeking only personal advancement and place, he might by this time have risen, through the influence of the Duchess, into some position which would have secured him ease and affluence. He knew that in his place he would not have scrupled to do this, nor would nine-tenths of the men of the day. Although he smiled at the romantic folly and chivalrous scruples of the youth of poetical temperament, he could yet admire those highly unpractical qualities which had gone near to bring him to ruin.

"Well, my young friend," he said at last, "there must be an end of this masquerading in rags and tatters. I shall make it my business to bring your case before the Queen herself. I trow that you have been scurvily treated by your kinsman, and that that matter requires investigation. In addition to this, no man with that book in his hands," and he pointed to the roll upon the table, "should lack for daily bread. There should be a fortune in it, or in the hands of the man who owns the brain that conceived and the hand that penned it. See here, Sir Grey. The Queen is not exactly a critic of literature or a patron of all genius, but she has a love for what is pure and beautiful and simply true. I warrant that yonder romance will go home to her heart. My wife shall take it and read it to her this very afternoon, when she is to be in attendance upon her Majesty. When that has been done, take my word for it, you will have half the publishers of the town crowding cap in hand to crave the favour of bringing it out for the world to read. Oh, you need not blush, like a young mother when her firstborn babe is praised! I trow I know a good book when I see it; and that is one which will mightily please her Majesty, since it sings the praise of pure love and chivalrous fidelity, and all those virtues which seem well-nigh out of date, but which the Queen would fain see restored as in the bygone days of knights-errant and King Arthur's Round Table."

"I was told that there was no sale nowadays for aught but scurrilous libels and bitter lampoons, or at best for political pamphlets treating of subjects of which I know naught."

"Ay, men love garbage, when they can get it; and the strife of bitter tongues is entertaining to those who would fain believe all that is bad of their fellows. Yet are there enough pure and loving souls left in this great Babylon to appreciate such work as yonder; and when once her Majesty's favour has been shown to it and its writer, you will see how these same publishers will change their tone. Every aspirant to literary fame needs a patron, and your patron shall be the Queen."

It was almost too wonderful for belief. Grey was not sure still that he did not dream. And after he had swallowed the draught which his host mixed and held to his lips, he quickly fell into a sound slumber from which even dreams were banished. But when he woke again the sun must long have been up, and surely he was again dreaming; for here was Dick himself, clad once more in the livery of a well-to-do servant, standing at his bedside with a tray containing a light but savoury breakfast.

"Dicon! Why, will wonders never cease? Man alive, how came you here?"

"Why, if you will but sit up, and let me give you of this broth which has been specially prepared for you, I will gladly tell you all. Master, my dear master, I trow that all our troubles are ended now!"

"If I could be sure I were not dreaming, good Dicon, belike I might say the same; but my head is so bewildered, I know not what to believe. Yet it is good to see your honest face again, even in a dream."

"Faith, I am no dream, master, and my tale can soon be told. I came into the town soon after dawn, to tell you I had discovered Don Carlos in Lord Sandford's stables at St. Albans, where he keeps the beasts he uses for racing and such like. And no sooner had I stepped into a tavern not so far from here for a pot of ale and crust of bread, when I did hear that all the town was ringing with the tale of how young Sir Grey Dumaresq, who had disappeared mysteriously not long since had risked his life not far from Marlborough House in beating off a gang of Mohawks from besetting and perhaps injuring the Lady Geraldine Adair, who was returning homewards after an evening spent with the Duchess. Nay, master, what ails you? You are white as a ghost. Lie down again, and let me fetch the leech."

"Nay, nay, good Dicon; 'tis but a passing qualm. Heed it not. So it was the Lady Geraldine who was in that chair?"

"Yes; and there is no knowing what might have befallen her, but for the timely arrival of Sir Grey. That is what all the town is buzzing about. Well, when I heard that, I thought I would make bold to present myself here, and lay claim to be your servant. And who should come to speak with me but the Duke himself, who even remembered having seen my face that day at Ramillies! I vow he did talk with me for hard upon an hour; and I did tell him--oh, I told him everything that I could think of--things I have not yet dared to speak to you, my master. I have told him what Jock Jarvis and I do think of old Barty at Hartsbourne, and what I think of my Lord Sandford, and how he did first seek to cause you to break your neck, and then robbed you by foul means of your horse--the horse that carried his Grace so bravely through the battle of Ramillies. Oh, I saw how his eyes flashed. I trow he will have a rod in pickle for my Lord Sandford yet! He is a noble and knightly gentleman; and when he had heard all I had to say, he did call me an honest fellow; and he gave me some gold pieces, and sent me out with one of his servants to get me a livery such as it became Sir Grey's servant to wear. And he told me to come back to wait upon you, my master, for that he and her Grace were about to go to Whitehall to attend upon the Queen this afternoon and evening; and I warrant they will tell a tale to her Majesty which will put a spoke in some fine gentleman's wheel."

Grey lay back upon his pillows breathless with wonder and excitement; but it was excitement of that joyful kind which acts rather as a tonic upon the system than as a deterrent to recovery. He sent Dick away to make inquiries about the Old Lion; and as the man went out, the Duke's physician entered and examined the wound upon Grey's head and the condition of the broken arm, which he had skilfully set, and ended by permitting his patient, after other two hours of quiet rest, to leave his bed for a few hours to sit in the adjoining room for a while under the care of his servant.

"Had you been like too many of our young gallants, full-blooded, heated with wine, softened by gluttony and rich living, these injuries might have involved blood-letting and other severe remedies. But your temperate life and meagre living of late tell in your favour now. You need heartening up and strengthening by good food and a little old wine carefully administered, and you will soon cease to feel any ill effects. I congratulate you heartily on the occasion which has brought you once again into the notice of the Duke, who can be a stanch and true friend, as I have reason to know."

When Dick returned to him he was laden with fine clothing, such as Grey had been wont to wear, and which the man spread out with an air of pride and delight that was good to see.

"See there! The Duke's own clothes--those he wore some few years since, when he was something slimmer than now. He bade his man look them out for you, seeing that your own garments were all torn and mud-bespattered--"

"Ay, and of fustian, in lieu of cloth, and silk, and velvet," added Grey, as he looked smilingly at the rich clothing before him. "Well, well, Dicon, when one comes suddenly into the midst of an enchanted palace, one must take the good the gods provide. But tell me of Mr. Wylde. Have you learned aught concerning him?"

"Why, truly yes. I saw the messenger who had been to him; and at the sight of the Duke's livery the whole house was astir, and not a creature there but will wait hand and foot upon the old man till other arrangements for him can be made. The fellow saw him and gave him news of you, and he was right well content. He said he should lack for nothing; and the man did leave with the host two gold pieces sent by his Grace, and told him that he would have to answer to the Duke if aught went amiss with him. After that you need have no fear."

Grey's last anxiety thus set at rest, he seemed to have nothing left to wish for. He drowsed away another hour in peaceful dreamy fashion, and felt fully equal to the fatigue of being dressed by Dick, and walking with the help of his arm into the adjoining room--a pleasant sunny apartment, on the table of which stood a great bowl of pure white snowdrops, at which Grey gazed with an infinite delight; for the sight of white flowers always brought back to his mind one particular face and form, and the very thought of his nearness to her last night set his heart beating tumultuously within him.

He was lying back luxuriously in a deep armchair, beside the glowing heat of the fire. The sunlight filtered in through the great mullions of the window, and the light seemed to concentrate itself upon the whiteness of the flowers near at hand. Dick had retired into the inner room to set his master's things in order there. Grey was alone--alone with his bewildering thoughts of happiness to come, scarce knowing how much of all he had heard could be true, or what would be the outcome.

Had he slept as he sat there musing? What was that sound somewhere in the room? He lifted his head and looked round. A tall, slender, white-robed figure was standing outlined against the rich tapestry of the wall behind. He had not heard the door open or the arras lifted. But she was there; and somehow he was not astonished. It seemed only natural to see her, the golden shafts of sunlight seeming to cling to her, and to follow her as she came slowly forward with that inimitable grace of movement he knew so well.

For one moment he sat spellbound, and then struggled to his feet, holding out his hands.

In a moment she was beside him, holding them--holding them fast; for he was weaker than he knew, and he swayed a little, a mist before his eyes. Then he was back in his chair, and she was standing over him. She was holding something to his lips. He drank, and his senses cleared.

"Forgive me," she said; "I should not have come yet; but I so longed to thank you myself, and to be assured that you had not suffered too much in my service."

"I could not suffer too much in such service," he answered. "And from my heart I thank you for coming. I have been so hungry for the sight of you, Geraldine."

"And I too," she answered in the lowest whisper, as she just touched his hair lightly with her hand.

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

*"GOOD QUEEN ANNE."*

Sir Grey Dumaresq bent the knee before the little upright figure in the great carved chair, and the courtiers and ladies pressed one upon the other, as far as etiquette permitted, to get a sight of a personage who, for the moment, was all the talk of the town.

In her gentle, rather thin and high-pitched voice the Queen spoke, and a deep hush fell upon the great room.

"Rise, Sir Grey. I have sent for you here, inasmuch as I have heard much of your story from both the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, my very good friends; and I have desired to see you, and to hear somewhat of many matters from your own lips."

"Your Majesty has but to speak, and I will answer."

"I hear that you did first encounter his Grace of Marlborough upon the field of Ramillies, and that you did there render him no small succour in a moment of personal peril."

"It was my good fortune, madam, to possess a horse of great courage, and strength, and mettle; and when the Duke was for the moment surrounded by a party of the enemy, and had to force his own horse to a perilous leap, which caused him to fall and become useless, I was able, being close at hand, to mount him upon my good steed, which carried him through that day, which his own genius and courage has rendered for ever glorious."

"How came it that you did adventure yourself into the heart of the danger, not being a soldier, or having any call to risk your life in the cause?"

"Madam, I am an Englishman, and every true-born Englishman is called to adventure himself wherever he may by happy chance be able to serve his country. That is my excuse for being where perchance I had no right to be, save the right of which I have spoken, and of which I pray that your Majesty will not rob me. To serve his Queen and his country must needs be the desire of every man worthy the name, be he soldier or be he none."

A smile played over the pleasant countenance of the Queen. The pale, handsome face, the graceful bearing, the courtly address of the young man, pleased her well. Simply attired, without any of the extravagances of frippery which distinguished so many courtiers, and with his own curly brown locks floating round his head, his appearance was striking and prepossessing enough. To be sure, the Queen could resent any too great easiness in dress amongst her courtiers; and when one of her ministers, coming in haste, had appeared before her in a small wig, such as gentlemen used at their toilets, rather than in full dress, she had remarked to her ladies that she supposed his lordship would present himself in his night-cap next! But there was nothing slovenly in the rich plainness of Grey's attire; and he looked so much the poet and the dreamer, with the pallor of illness still upon him, and that slimness of figure partly due to privations now past, and partly to his active and temperate life, that the Queen regarded him with increasing favour, and a smile of decided approval was his reward.

"Well and bravely spoken, my young knight. And let me in my own person thank you for the service rendered that day to one who has been, and still will be, I doubt not, his country's most able defender. Had aught befallen the Duke on the field of Ramillies, a glorious victory would have become, I cannot doubt, a fearful defeat. France would have swept the Netherlands with her victorious armies, and there would have been none with genius and power to roll back the tide of battle. Wherefore England herself owes you a debt of gratitude, Sir Grey, which must not be forgotten."

"Madam, I have been richly repaid already for any poor service of mine--first by the gracious favour of the Duke, and now in still fuller measure by these words from your Majesty. Had fortune not so far favoured me that I was close at hand at the moment, I cannot doubt but that a score of others would have done what I was favoured by doing. To serve the man who serves his country so well is its own reward."

"Ah, my young friend, it is easy to see you were never bred up in courts," spoke the Queen, with a smile for Grey, and a quick searching glance round at the knots of courtiers and gentlemen filling the room. At this most of them shrank back, a little abashed at her look and her words. Shameless place-hunting was all the fashion of the day; and for any man to make light of service rendered, and to desire no reward, was a thing almost unheard of.

But after having just launched this shaft, the Queen said no more on that subject. She was by nature timid and gentle, and though not lacking in wit or in a quiet penetration, which was not always appreciated by those about her, was for the most part an indulgent mistress, not disposed to overmuch blame even where she saw weakness.

"And I hear more of you than this, Sir Grey. You are not only a man of prompt action, but you are also a dreamer and a poet. I have read with pleasure your romance of pure chivalry, and I would that we could find in these degenerate days more knights and gentlemen, more spotless maidens and virtuous women, such as those of whom your pen delights to tell, and my ears delight to hear."

The young man bowed low, the crimson flush, which praise of his courage had not evoked, dyeing his cheek now that the child of his brain and hand was praised. The Queen continued graciously,--

"I have heard the whole romance, and its beauty touches my heart, and pleases also those amongst my ladies and gentlemen as are best able to appraise the merits of such poetic work. I desire, Sir Grey, that you will dedicate the tale to me, as one who has read and approved it, and would desire it to be widely known and read in the land. To be a patron of all true and beautiful art is the privilege of rulers, and therefore do I give this charge to you. I desire that such a story as you have conceived and penned should be circulated amongst my faithful subjects. They will learn from it loyalty, love, purity, and singleness of heart, and surely no nation can thrive or excel in which these virtues be absent."

A little buzz of amaze and gratulation went round the room as the Queen spoke thus. The young man's fortune as a writer was assuredly made. A second Philip Sidney had suddenly come to light. All the world would delight to honour the man approved of royalty.

Grey himself was speechless. Such a eulogy was altogether unexpected and bewildering. If Dame Fortune had, in the past, showed an unkind face towards him, surely she was atoning for her frowns by the most gracious of smiles now.

Perhaps the young author's confused and blissful silence pleased the Queen more than any florid words of gratitude such as she was used to hear. She spoke again, still in her most gracious and kindly way.

"Moreover, Sir Grey, I have heard somewhat of your history from his Grace of Marlborough, and it doth appear to me that you have been scurvily treated with respect to your rightful inheritance, the manor of Hartsbourne, which, though your property, you are debarred from enjoying. I have made strict inquiry into this matter, and have sent down special commissioners to seek speech with your kinsman now in possession, and to make some settlement with him for the restitution to you of the estate. It is not fitting that one to whom the country and its Queen owe a debt of gratitude should be ousted from his inheritance either by the cunning craft of a greedy miser, or for lack of means to satisfy a creditor and release his lands from debt. From what hath been told me, I misdoubt that unscrupulous means have been employed to oust you from possession and enjoyment of your house and lands. But whether or not this be so, it is not fitting that things should longer continue as now. Sir Grey Dumaresq of Hartsbourne Manor must live upon his hereditary acres in becoming style. That fiat hath already gone forth. England's Queen and people will have it so. It were shame to both if the preserver of her great General should go unrewarded."

Grey, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the grace bestowed upon him, could only sink upon his knees before the Queen, murmuring some confused but heartfelt words of gratitude and loyalty. The royal lady gave him her hand to kiss, and looked smilingly upon him.

"Sir Grey," she said gently, "had you come hither to the Court at once on your return, boasting of what you had done, displaying the Duke's token, and seeking fame and fortune for yourself, belike I should have thought but little of the matter. I am for ever hearing the petitions of those seeking great things for themselves--seeking place, preferment, emoluments, with or without desert. Had you come thus, you had been lost in a crowd. I perchance should scarce have heard your name. But you have asked nothing for yourself. You endured hardship, privation, misery; you thought not scorn to win your bread--and the bread of another who had befriended you--by following a humble vocation. With that in your possession which would have at least placed you above want, you faced want itself rather than stultify your noble act by seeking to trade upon it. You rather sought to win the fame you merit by using those great gifts of poetry and art which it hath pleased God to bestow upon you. Therefore are you different from others; therefore hath your story touched the heart of your Queen; therefore is her favour won, in that she can value a man who seeks and asks nothing for himself, but rather desires that the glory of a noble deed shall be its own reward."

Again she tendered her hand, which Grey kissed in deepest reverence and gratitude. Then at a sign from the Duchess, who had all this time been standing behind the Queen's chair, he rose and made a deep inclination.

"I thank your Majesty a thousand times," he said in a very low voice. "I have no words in which to tell my gratitude, but I pray Heaven that in the future I may have the opportunity to show how deep and true that gratitude is."

"Deeds, and not words, will be your motto through life, I take it, Sir Grey; and in such fashion shall you best please your Queen and serve your country."

Then Grey found himself, he scarce knew how, in the outer room, thronged by courtiers and nobles and gentlemen, all eager to make his acquaintance, all agog to hear such parts of his story as were yet unknown to them, and above all eager to read the book of which it had pleased the Queen to speak in such high praise. To these worthies Grey was already a rising star, and they longed to bask in the light of his rays.

Quietly and courteously Grey replied to direct questions and to the advances showered upon him by the Court; but he disengaged himself as quickly as he could, and was glad to find himself in the coach which had brought him, and on his way to Marlborough House, where he was still a guest. For although he had quickly mended from his hurts, his hosts would not hear of his returning to his old quarters; and the Old Lion had been equally insistent on this point when Grey visited him, which he did on the first opportunity, to tell in person his marvellous tale.

"Nay, nay, my boy; you are now Sir Grey Dumaresq, and your life will run in different grooves. I did guess from the first that you were not what you seemed, and ever have I hoped that you would be restored to your rightful position in the world. As for me, I am well content. I have no lack of tendance--thanks to the liberality of the Duke, and to that wonderful personal visit he did pay me, which has raised me to a pinnacle of glory in the eyes of all men here. It contents me well to know that I am not forgotten, that you still have kindly thought to spare for the Old Lion. But for us to dwell beneath the same roof would not now be fitting or seemly. So think of that no more."

"When I have a roof of mine own I shall think of it much," spoke Grey with quick decision; "but for the nonce I am naught but a guest beneath that of the hospitable Duke. Well, let it remain so in the present; but for the future I make no pledge."

It was more than a week now since those words had been spoken, but they recurred to Grey's mind as he was driven homewards through the sunny streets. Hartsbourne! The name seemed to thrill in his ears like a clarion note of joy. Hartsbourne--his own old home--so well-beloved, so fair! Could it be possible that he would be master there again? The thought filled him with a sense akin to intoxication. The blood mounted to his head; he almost laughed aloud in his joy. Hartsbourne and its revenues his own! His romance published, and bringing him gold as well as fame! What might he not accomplish? How often had he dreamed in bygone years of what he would do for the restoration and adornment of the beautiful old house, and how he and his mother would live there in peace and happiness! True, that last part of the dream could not be realized now. His mother lay sleeping beneath the churchyard sod. Her eyes beheld, he doubted not, fairer sights than these. But yet, must his dream be altogether without fulfilment? Was there none other--nearer, dearer, if possible, than a mother--who might be the sharer of his joys? Had he not read something dazzling, wonderful, well-nigh unbelievable, in one pair of sweet eyes whose light seemed shining on him now? His lips had not dared to frame as yet either question or protestation; but did they not understand each other? His heart beat high with rapture. Perfect love had cast out fear. He knew that they belonged to each other for time and for eternity. And now what hindered him from taking her to his heart, and telling her that he had loved her from the first moment of their meeting?

The Duke sat in his private closet, where he transacted his more important business, and Grey stood before him, having been summoned thither from his own apartments. He was received with a pleasant smile, and bidden to be seated.

"Well, my young friend," questioned the Duke, who, having been absent from home for a few days, had not seen his guest in private just recently, "and how has the world been serving you? And how goes the matter of the book?"