“My dear Colonel,” said the King, with his customary diffidence, “not to-night, I think. I am in no mood to leave my quarters here. I am perfectly snug and content; and as you say, our Boniface hath already given an earnest of his honesty. Besides, we have had more than enough of the night air of late. This evening we propose to give ourselves a holiday. Despite our attire and the walnut juice that discolours our countenance, we have a warm and snug chamber at our disposal upstairs, and the society is most amiable. My poor young Lord Farnham lies there of a bullet wound, a memorial of the melancholy Third, and his adorable Countess is there to nurse him.” “Ah, Sire!” said the Colonel, wagging a playful finger at the King. “Further argument of mine is superfluous, I fear. Mr. Pocock cannot hope to compete with my Lady Farnham. And, after all, Sire, I do not think it matters greatly where you lie this evening. The enemy do not seem to be very active in this neighbourhood. Landlord, you have no reason to fear their appearance to-night, I trow?” “I do not think, sir, that they are at all likely to inconvenience his Majesty to-night,” said the landlord. His voice was prompt, hard and dry. He hoped God would forgive him. But, after all, he was a poor man; he was not a personal friend of the King’s; and he had never pretended to a particular interest in the species. “Very well, Sire, we will leave it at that,” said the Colonel. “I will return here early to-morrow morning, and, if all is well, I will then conduct you to Titcomb Place.” “Excellent, my good Colonel,” said the King, accompanying the most faithful friend of his wanderings, Colonel Francis Wyndham, to the kitchen door. He waved a frank adieu to him as he departed into the night. The King then returned upstairs. The landlord breathed again. Having seen the end of that matter, he looked at the clock. It was now five minutes past seven. Say one hour more, if all went well. One short hour, and the agony of his suspense would be at an end. Nay, not that; rather it would be coming to its heat and violence. The full force of it would be when the men he had sent for were face to face with the persons upstairs. He could hardly endure that thought. The nearer the time approached, the more certain the landlord became that it was going to be a terrible business. On his life he was not a coward, but another evening of this kind and he felt he must inevitably become one. Before God, he was not a coward, but the manner in which his wild heart beat up into his throat was enough to choke him.