"You need not tell the tale? Well, no, for I can guess it!" the King answered. "The old rogue, I suppose, was for ruining you with me if you hid the news; and for damning you with King James if you informed: which latter he did not think likely, but that instead he would have a hold on you." The Duke in a tone of much surprise acknowledged that he had guessed rightly. "Well, it was a pretty dilemma," said the King with a sort of gusto. "And where is M. FitzJames in hiding?" "At Dr. Lloyd's in Hogsden Gardens," my lord answered. But he could not conceal his gloom. "He must be arrested," said the King. "A warrant must be issued. Will you see to it with the others?" My lord assented; but with such a sigh that it required no wizard to discern both the cloud that hung over him, and also that now he had done what Ferguson had dared him to do, the consequences lay heavy on him. The King, after considering him a moment with a singular expression, between amusement and reproach, broke the silence. "See here, my lord," he said with good nature. "I will tell you what to do. Sit down now, and here, and write a line to Monsieur, bidding him begone; and send it by a private hand, and the warrant by a messenger an hour later." The Duke stared at the King in astonishment. "But he will escape, sir," he faltered. "So much the better," the King answered indifferently. "If we take him what are we to do with him? Besides, to tell you the truth, my lord, he did me a great service eight years ago." "He, sir?" "Yes," said the King smiling. "He induced his father to fly the country, when, if he had stayed--but you know that story. So do you warn him, and the sooner he is beyond La Manche the better." The Duke looked unhappy. "I dare not do it, sir," he said at last, after a pause. "Dare not do it? When I authorise it? Why not?" "No, sir. Because if I were impeached by the Commons----" The King shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, these safeguards!" he muttered. "These town councils, and provincial councils, and States-General! And now these Commons and Lords! Shall I ever be quit of them? Well, there is but one way then. I must do it. If they impeach me, I go back to Loo; and they may stew in their own juice!" He rose with that, and moving stiffly to the table at which Lord Portland had been writing when we entered, he sought for and found a pen. Then sitting in the chair which the Groom of the Stole had left vacant, he tore a slip of paper from a folio before him and, writing some lines on it--about six, as far as I could judge--handed the paper to the Duke, who had remained standing at a formal distance. "Voilà, Monsieur," he said. "Will that suit your lordship?" The Duke took it respectfully and looked at it. "But, sir, it is in my name!" he cried, aghast. "And bears my signature."