again. You shall have what you please--your Viscounty
or anything else of that sort; and you shall keep your lodgings and
remain here as my friend. What do you say to that?"

For a moment again I hesitated; for it is not to everyone that a King
offers his friendship. If it had been that alone I think I might have
yielded, for I knew that I loved this man in spite of all his wickedness
and his treatment of me--for that, and for my "apostleship" as he called
it, I might have stayed. But at the word _Viscounty_ all turned to
bitterness: I remembered my childish dreams and the sweetness of them,
and the sweetness of my dear love who was to have shared them; and all
turned to bitterness and vanity.

"No, Sir," said I--and I felt my lips tremble. "No, Sir. I will be
ungracious and--and Christian to the end. I am resolved to go; and
nothing in this world shall keep me from it."

The King stood up abruptly; and I rose with him. I did not know whether
he were angry or not; and I did not greatly care. He stepped away from
me, and began to walk up and down. One of his bitch-spaniels whined at
him from her basket, lifting her great liquid eyes that were not unlike
his own; and he stooped and caressed her for a moment. Then the clocks
began to chime, one after the other, for it was eight o'clock, and I
heard them at it, too, in the bed-chamber beyond. There would be thirty
or forty of them, I daresay, in the two chambers. So for a minute or two
he went up and down; and I have but to close my eyes now, to see him
again. He was limping a little from the sore on his heel; but he carried
himself very kingly, his swarthy face looking straight before him, and
his lips pursed. I think that indeed he was a little angry, but that he
was resolved not to shew it.

Suddenly he wheeled on me, and held out his hand.

"Well, Mr. Mallock; there is no more to be said; and I must honour you
for it whatever else I do. I would that all my servants were as
disinterested."

I knelt to kiss his hand. I think I could not have spoken at that
moment. As I stood up, he spoke again.

"When do you leave town?" he said.

"On Tuesday, Sir."

"Well, come and see me again before you go. No, not in private: you need
not fear for that. Come to-morrow night, to the _levee_ after supper."

"I will do so, Sir," said I.

* * * * *

On the following night then, which was Sunday, I presented myself for
the last time, I thought,