y 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 w