"Aren't you sick of the same disease? Isn't the same medicine best for you? Come, shall we both go to-morrow to Hatchstead--a pretty village, Mr Darrell--and let the great folk go alone to Dover?" "You know I cannot. I serve my Lord Arlington." "And I the Duke of Monmouth." "But my Lord is the King's servant." "And his Grace the King's son." "Oh, if you're obstinate----" he began, frowning. "As fate, as prophecy, as witch, as Ranter, as devil, or as yourself!" I said, laughing and throwing myself into a chair as he rose and moved towards the door. "No good will come of it to you," he said, passing me on his way. "What loyal servant looks to make a profit of his service?" I asked, smiling. "I wish you could be warned." "I'm warned, but not turned, Darrell. Come, we part friends?" "Why, yes, we are friends," he answered, but with a touch of hesitation. "Saving our duty to the King?" "If need should come for that reservation, yes," said he gravely. "And saving," said I, "the liberties of the Kingdom and the safety of the Reformed Religion--if need should come for these reservations, Mr Darrell," and I laughed to see the frown gather again on his brow. But he made no reply, being unable to trust his self-control or answer my light banter in its own kind. He left me with no more than a shake of his head and a wave of his hand; and although we parted thus in amity and with no feelings save of kindness for one another, I knew that henceforth there must be a difference in our relations; the days of confidence were gone. The recognition of my loss weighed little with me. The diffidence born of inexperience and of strangeness to London and the Court was wearing away; the desire for another's arm to lean on and another's eyes to see with gave way before a young man's pride in his own arm's strength and the keenness of his own vision. There was sport afoot; aye, for me in those days all things were sport, even the high disputes of Churches or of Kingdoms. We look at the world through our own glasses; little as it recks of us, it is to us material and opportunity; there in the dead of night I wove a dream wherein the part of hero was played by Simon Dale, with Kings and Dukes to bow him on and off the stage and Christendom to make an audience. These dream-doings are brave things: I pity the man who performs none of them; for in them you may achieve without labour, enjoy without expense, triumph without cruelty, aye, and sin mightily and grandly with never a reckoning for it. Yet do not be a mean villain even in your dreaming, for that sticks to you when you awake.