“Oh, yes, sir! I think he seeks to put me in a glass case, for he avows that there is but one honest man alive today, and he will not have me serve under any other!”
“Lud! Does he expect you to enroll yourself under the Prince’s banner? Don’t do it, Chris! ’Tis a gloomy youth.”
“Not I, sir!” said Christopher flippantly. “I had sooner tread the path to destruction in your company.”
“So ho!” said Roxhythe to his reflection in the mirror. He was seated before his dressing-table. “Is that the way the wind blows? Be warned, Chris! I am an unscrupulous fellow.”
“I know,” said Christopher, smiling. “He told me so.”
“Well, it’s true enough.”
“Is it, sir?” Christopher’s voice vibrated with indignation. “Do you seek to warn me ’gainst yourself?”
“It would appear so,” said Roxhythe.
Three days later my lord entered their private parlour, and sat down at the table. He dipped a quill in the ink, and drew a sheet of parchment towards him.
“Milward sticks like a leech. I feel it behooves me to write to my little master.” He bent over the parchment.
Christopher assented vaguely.
The quill scratched tranquilly along. Presently Roxhythe sat back, and dusted the sheet. He folded, addressed, and sealed it.
“That will go by special courier. It should interest Mynheer Spy.”
“If it goes by courier, how should Milward see it,” asked Christopher.
“There are ways,” placidly replied his lordship.
“But he would scarce dare to steal a letter from you to His Majesty, sir!”
“No,” agreed Roxhythe. “He would very easily dare to borrow it for some few minutes, however.”
“To read the contents? He hopes to learn the result of your mission—or—or whether you have been on a mission at all—so that Louis might make an outcry?”
“Something like that, no doubt.”
“I see,” said Christopher profoundly. “Yet how dare he break the seal?”
“You do not realize that I have been so considerate as to place the seal on the wafer,” said Roxhythe, pained. “He will not break it.”
“Were you born in intrigue, sir?” asked Christopher.
“I believe I must have been,” said his lordship.
Thus it came to pass that when the not incorruptible courier slept off his doctored potations at Delft, his late host, accredited agent to his Most Christian Majesty, removed a certain document from his wallet, and in the deserted coffee-room, carefully slit open the wafer that sealed it. He was well versed in ciphers but he found a cipher unnecessary. The letter was short, and was written in English.
“Yr. Majesty—Has Yr. Majesty punished His Servant enough, or must Roxhythe Remain a Wanderer? If he might Crave Yr. Pardon againe, he Does so, Still more Humbly and Contritely than Before. Yet more earnestly Does he Implore Yr. Majesty to Allow him to Return, when he will Endeavoure To Showe Yr. Majesty How Great is his Remorse for that Unpardonable Offence which he Committed.
“He is Yr. Majesty’s most Devoted, Humble Servant, Roxhythe.”
His Most Christian Majesty’s accredited agent was annoyed and perplexed. Deftly he re-stuck the wafer, and restored the packet to the courier’s wallet. Then he rode back to the Hague.
The amiable Mr. Milward when apprised of the contents of the letter wrinkled his brow uncertainly.
“It seems we are come on a fruitless errand, Dupont. Roxhythe has not the wit to write such a plausible blind. King Charles is not a fool, and only a fool sends a fool to work his intrigues.”
“You are assured that milor’ is a fool, then?”
“He is a brainless court-darling. Yet. … It was strange that he should fall into such sudden disgrace. I had thought him too perfect a courtier to offend as he did. I confess I am at a loss. He has not had word with the Prince, nor any of his servants, unless it be Mr. Dart who is De Witt’s man. I have dogged his steps, and he suspects naught!” He laughed contemptuously. “I believe we are on a fool’s errand!”
“Maybe, m’sieu’. But I do not think that milor’ is quite the brainless nincompoop he pretends to be. I would I had been at Rotterdam in place of Grant. I am uneasy.”
“He is either a fool or a marvellously astute man. In any case, what more can be done?”
“Naught,” said Dupont sadly. “But I mistrust him.”
In due time came a letter for Roxhythe. It was brought to him as he sat at dinner with Christopher and Mr. Milward.
“From my master,” he said. “You will excuse me?” He tore open the seals and read. Then he gave a relieved laugh, and laid the sheet down in such a way that Mr. Milward might easily read what was written there.
“His Majesty is pleased to forgive me! So it’s boot and saddle for us, Chris, as soon as may be.”
King Charles’ letter ran:
My Little Davy—My Majesty must needs Forgive you, for I cannot Live Without You. I am Surrounded by Dolts and Sycophants; I must have My Roxhythe. Return at once.—Charles R.
Mr. Milward tried to drown his fears.
Before they left the Hague, Roderick had speech with Roxhythe again.
“His Highness desires me to say, sir, that his answer is final.”
“That is his last word?”
Roderick bowed.
“I am sorry,” said Roxhythe.
The brothers parted on quite cordial terms. Roderick, seeing that it was useless, did not again press Christopher to leave my lord’s service.
Mr. Milward bade the travellers a touching farewell. Roxhythe addressed him mournfully.
“I shall miss your pleasant companionship, Mr. Milward. We have seen much of each other of late.”
Mr. Milward watched the little cavalcade depart. He became aware of Dupont at his elbow.
“He laughs at us,” said the Frenchman gloomily. “He slips through our fingers like water. Me, I have had dealings with him before. I suspected, but evidence? Pouf!”
“Nonsense!” said Milward uneasily. “I have scarce left his side since he has been at the Hague!”
“It would not worry him. I tell you, he is a devil. You might be bound to him with chains, and he would give you
