The words were excellently spoken. They had a dignified grace, and, above all, by some strange trick that the occasion had invoked, the incomparable melancholy that might be expected to proceed from the lips of the unfortunate King. The illusion was perfect. There was no longer any need for the soldiers to look about in uncertainty for the King, now that the man in the bed had spoken. His tones were unmistakable. Charles, however, was no nearer escape than he was before. He was still hemmed in, in the middle of the chamber, by the press of soldiery. Some pretext must be found upon which he would be allowed to go thence. But the least excitement of their suspicions must be avoided, or he would be inevitably detained. And every moment that he loitered now was fraught with the highest danger. Their great fear was the landlord. They had reason to think him faithful, but not too liberally endowed with wit. Should he appear in the chamber entirely ignorant of the deceit that was being practised, he was quite likely to commit some gross blunder by which the King would be discovered. And, too, there was always the fear that some soldier, better informed than his companions, might recognise the King in spite of his disguise and the trick his friends were practising for his benefit. Some means of exit must be provided for him at once, lest one of these untoward things should happen. It was again the woman’s indomitable wit that provided the stratagem. She rose from the couch as if endeavouring to be calm at the express command of the King. The efforts she made to control her emotion were visible to all. “Sire,” she said to the man in the bed, “although you have signified your intention of rising from your couch of sickness, I fear your Majesty will not be able to do so until you have drunk of that cordial the apothecary of Charmouth gave you. It is in your Majesty’s saddlebag, is it not, hanging in the stable?” Lord Farnham saw at once the significance of this. He had the wit to grasp in which direction the ruse was leading. “It is well thought on, madam,” he said. “And, indeed, now you speak of it, I shall be hard put to, to rise without it. It were well if you sent Jackson to procure it for us.” The servitor still stood calm and impassive. “Jackson,” said Lady Farnham, “you remember where we left his Majesty’s cordial. It is lying in one of the saddlebags in the stable.” Jackson bowed gravely in assent, without uttering a word, the model of a well-trained serving-man. “Sir,” said the lady, addressing Captain Culpeper, “will you allow this man to get the cordial for the King? I am afraid his Majesty will find it very needful.” “Yes, indeed, madam,” said the soldier, eagerly. “Sergeant, tell them to make way there for the King’s servitor. Also those on the stairs; and do you see that they do so.” “I thank you, sir,” said the man in the bed, with his courteous smile. [Illustration: CHAPTER XV