herstone perceived that
he was Lord Wilmot.

"How do you, Colonel Lane?" he said. "Mrs Jane, your most obedient! I
pray you be in readiness for the high honour which awaits you. His
Majesty comes himself to meet you, with the Princes his brothers, and
the Queen in her coach, desiring to do you as much honour, and give you
as good a welcome as possible."

"We are vastly beholden to their Majesties," replied Colonel Lane,
looking as pleased as he felt, which was very much: for the honour thus
paid to him was most unusual, and showed that the young King and his
mother considered his service an important one. "Featherstone!" he
called, looking back, "keep you close behind, or we may lose you."

Featherstone tried hard to obey, but found the order difficult of
execution. The crowd was only bent on seeing the meeting, and cared not
a straw whether Featherstone were lost or not. He knew not a word of
French, and was aware that if he did lose his master, he would probably
have no little trouble in finding him again. Moreover, he was very
curious to see the King--partly on Kate Lavender's principle, of
afterwards having it to talk about. Just at that awkward moment his
horse took to curvetting, and he had enough to do to manage him. He was
vaguely conscious that one of the riders, who sat on a fine black horse,
had come forward beyond the rest, and was cordially shaking hands with
Mrs Jane and the Colonel. He heard this gentleman say, "Welcome, my
life, my fair preserver!" and dimly fancied that the voice was familiar.
Then, having reduced his horse to decent behaviour, he lifted up his
eyes and saw--Will Jackson.

Will Jackson, and none other, though now clad in very different garb!
He it was who sat that black barb so royally; the King's plumed hat was
in his left hand, while the right held that of Mrs Jane. It was at
Will Jackson's words of thanks that she was smiling with such delight;
it was he before whom Colonel Lane bent bare-headed to his saddlebow.
The awkward lout who had never been in a gentleman's service, the
ignorant clown, fresh from the plough-tail, the Roundhead, the traitor,
had all vanished as if they had never been, and in their stead was King
Charles the Second, smilingly complimenting the friends to whose care
and caution he owed his safety. If the earth would have opened and
swallowed him up, Featherstone thought he would have been thankful. But
a worse ordeal was before him. As he sat o