“Why, so am I--when the occasion serves. But that does not prevent me from being a reader of the heavens, a writer of verse, a law-giver in the north, a courtier here, and several other things besides. Man in his time plays many parts. Who plays one only may as well play none. To live, my friend, you must sip at many wells of life.” He developed that thesis, discoursing easily, wittily, and with the indefinable charm he could command, a charm which was fastening upon our adventurer now even as it had fastened upon him years ago in that hour of their brief but fateful meeting. “When just now you chanced upon me,” he concluded, “I was playing hero and lover, author and mummer all in one, and playing them all so unsuccessfully that I never found myself in a more vexatious part. On my soul, if there lay no debt between us already, you must have rendered me your debtor now that you can rescue my mind for an hour or so from the tormenting thought of that sweet baggage who keeps me on the rack. You saw, perhaps, how the little wanton used me.” He laughed, and yet through his laughter ran a note of bitterness. “But I contrived the mummery clumsily, as she reproached me. And no doubt I deserved to be laughed off the stage, which is what happened. But she shall pay me, and with interest, one of these fine days, for all the trouble she has given me. She shall.... Oh, but a plague on the creature! It is of yourself, sir, that I would hear. What are you now, that were once a Commonwealth man?” “Nobody’s man at present. I have seen a deal of service since those days, both at home and abroad, yet it has brought me small gear, as you can see for yourself.” “Faith, yes.” Buckingham regarded him more critically. “I should not judge your condition to be prosperous.” “You may judge it to be desperate and never fear to exaggerate.” “So?” The Duke raised his eyebrows. “Is it so bad? I vow I am grieved.” His face settled into lines of courteous regret. “But it is possible I may be of service to you. There is a debt between us. I should welcome the opportunity to discharge it. What is your name, sir? You have not told me.” “Holles--Randal Holles, lately a colonel of horse in the Stadtholder’s service.” The Duke frowned reflectively. The name had touched a chord of memory and set it faintly vibrating in his brain. Awhile the note eluded him. Then he had it. “Randal Holles?” he echoed slowly, questioningly. “That was the name of a regicide who.... But you cannot be he. You are too young by thirty years....” “He was my father,” said the Colonel. “Oh!” The Duke considered him blankly. “I do not wonder that you lack employment here in England. My friend, with the best intentions to repay you the great service that you did me, this makes it very difficult.” The new-risen hope perished again in the Colonel’s face. “It is as I feared....” he was beginning gloomily, when the Duke leaned forward, and set a hand upon his arm.