Then the Duke rose from his chair, and went up close to Bathurst, who, half-dreaming, had listened to all that was going on around him, but had scarce heard, for he was looking at Patience and thinking only of her. "Your name, sir?" asked the Duke very kindly, for the look of love akin to worship which illumined Jack Bathurst’s face had made a strong appeal to his own manly heart. "Jack Bathurst," replied the young man, almost mechanically, and rousing himself with an effort in response to the Duke’s kind words, "formerly captain in the White Dragoons." "Bathurst? ... Bathurst?" repeated the Duke, not a little puzzled. "Ah, yes!" he added after a slight pause, "who was condemned and cashiered for striking his superior officer after a quarrel." "The same, your Royal Highness." "’Twas Colonel Otway, who, we found out afterwards, was a scoundrel, a liar, and a cheat," said His Highness with sudden eager enthusiasm, "and fully deserving the punishment you, sir, had been brave enough to give him." "Aye! he deserved all he got," replied Jack, with a wistful sigh and smile, "I’ll take my oath of that." "But ... I remember now," continued the Duke, "a tardy reparation was to have been offered you, sir ... but you were nowhere to be found." "I’d become a scoundrel myself by then, and moneyless, friendless, disgraced, had taken to the road, like many another broken gentleman." "Then take to the field now, man," exclaimed His Highness, gaily. "We want good soldiers and gallant gentlemen such as you, and your country still owes you reparation. You shall come with me, and in the glorious future which I predict for you, England shall forget your past." He extended a kindly hand to Bathurst, who, still dreaming, still not quite realising what had happened, instinctively bent the knee in gratitude. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE JOY OF RE-UNION On the green outside, the crowd of village folk were shouting themselves hoarse,— "Three cheers for the Duke of Cumberland!" Already the news had gone the round that Beau Brocade, the highwayman, had been granted a special pardon by His Royal Highness. John Stich, half crazy with joy, was tossing his cap in the air, and in the fulness of his heart was stealing a few kisses from Mistress Betty’s pretty mouth. The appearance of Sir Humphrey Challoner in the porch of the Royal George, looking as black as thunder and followed by his obsequious familiar, Master Mittachip, was the signal for much merriment and some quickly-suppressed chaff. "Stand aside, you fool!" quoth Sir Humphrey, pushing Jock Miggs roughly out of his way. "Nay, stand aside all of ye!" admonished John Stich, solemnly, "and mind if any of ye’ve got any turnips about ... be gy!..." The Squire of Hartington raised his riding-crop menacingly. "You dare!" he muttered. But Mistress Betty interposed her pretty person ’twixt her lover and his Honour’s wrath.