"Perchance, my lord, you may feel that the man’s gallantry in the affair at the Comtesse de Vaudrey’s may be set against his offence, which though heinous was not unprovoked and is now some years old. If your lordship can reconcile it with the demands of discipline to pardon this unfortunate man, you will I trust find that your clemency is not ill-bestowed." Marlborough fixed his eyes upon Harry. "I understand from this letter that the man is your servant?" He spoke in the low pleasant tone that never varied, whether he addressed peer or peasant. "Yes, my lord, a very true and faithful servant." "And your name is Rochester? Have I not met you before?" "Yes, my lord, well-nigh a year ago." "Where?" "At my lord Godolphin’s." "At my lord Godolphin’s?" A slight ruffle marked his broad white brow. He looked keenly at Harry. All at once his expression changed. "I remember. I had clean forgotten it. You are the young fellow who intervened in my lord’s roadside adventure? Ah! and now I bethink me, ’twas your man that did the shouting. The same man?" "Yes, my lord." "That is enough.—Mr. Cardonnel, make out at once an order pardoning the man—what is his name?—and discharging him from the army.—The man whose lungs saved the Lord Treasurer has decidedly a claim to indulgence. But I fear, Mr. Rochester, you are late. These little matters are usually determined by eight o’clock in the morning. It is near five: ’twill be some little time before I can despatch an orderly, and there are fifty odd miles to ride." "With your leave, my lord, I will go myself." "So be it. Mr. Cardonnel will give you the pardon and discharge. It rests with you. I hope you will be in time. Don’t spare your horses." "I thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart." "There, no more: get to horse. Yet one moment: did I not—I seem to remember it—did I not promise to do something for you?" "’Twas not a promise, my lord." Marlborough smiled, and looked at the boy with approval. "But I intended it as such. I wrote your name, I recollect; papers have a trick of losing themselves: I should have done something for you but for sheer forgetfulness.—Mr. Cardonnel, will you please make a note? Mr.—your full name, sir!" "Henry Winterborne Rochester." "Mr. Henry Winterborne Rochester for an ensigncy.—I had heard of the ruse at the Comtesse de Vaudrey’s: naturally I did not connect it with you. You are with Grootz the contractor, I believe?" "I was, my lord, but I have just been commissioned cornet in the Anspach dragoons." Marlborough and the group of officers laughed outright. "Begad, my lord, you’re behind the fair," cried Colonel Cadogan, a big burly Irishman of twenty-eight, Marlborough’s quartermaster-general. "Ay, indeed, an angel has stirred the pool. But I am delaying you, Mr. Rochester; you must ride hard. Good-bye!"