"The Queen has sent away the great man who fought her battles so bravely; he will hang up his sword and perhaps never use it again." "Why did the naughty Queen send the great duke away, Faver?" "Why naughty tween send dute away?" echoed Mary, a golden-haired fairy, the image, as Mevrouw Grootz was wont to declare, of Adèle at the same age. "Because the Queen does not like him as she used to do. She likes somebody else better, and there are unkind people who whisper in her ear stories about him that are very likely not true. He is a great man, Eustace, and there are always little men to say unkind things about the great." "Are you a great man, Faver?" "No, my son; I am a plain English squire, that would rather live here with you all than in any king’s palace." "But your father might have been a great man," said Mistress Berkeley. "A great prince——" "Nay, nay, my dear," interrupted the squire, "leave that story till the children are older. It is bed-time now, my chicks. Hark how the wind roars! Think of the little birds out in the cold; they have no warm cosy cots like yours. In the morning, remember, we are to make a figure of the great duke in the snow.—But what is that?" The deep-toned house-bell had clanged in the hall below. "’Tis late for a visitor, and in this snowstorm too!" He threw open the door, and stood waiting. In a few moments a man appeared. "An’t please ’ee, sir, a coach be snowed up a hunnerd yards or so beyond church, an’ the travellers be come afoot to axe if ’ee’ll give ’em shelter." "Of course! I will come down. Tell Dick to take a couple of horses and haul the coach out of the drift, and ask Sherebiah to prepare some hot cordial." He followed the man downstairs. Just within the doorway stood two white figures muffled up to the ears in long cloaks. They doffed their snow-laden hats as Harry appeared, and the elder came forward. "I crave your pardon, sir," he said in smooth mellow tones that revived old memories and quickened Harry’s pulse—"I crave your pardon for troubling you at such an unseasonable hour, but my coach is blocked in a drift a hundred yards or so beyond the church, and as my friend Lord Godolphin is far from well, I have come to ask your hospitality until we can free the coach and return to the inn. I am the Duke of Marlborough." "Your grace is heartily welcome. But pray do me the honour to accept beds for the night. The inn is near a mile away, and you are cold and wet. Let me remove your things. I have already sent a man to bring your coach to my stables, and there is a good fire above." "I thank you. I cannot resist your invitation. To whom are we indebted for our welcome?" "Henry Berkeley, my lord; this is Winton Hall." "Ah! I remember the name. There was some little romance, if I mistake not, about the inheritance a few years since. Thank you, Mr. Berkeley! this is indeed a haven of refuge to worn-out travellers."