Divested of their outer garments and provided with slippers, the two noblemen preceded their host up the stairs. At the door of the turret-room he advanced a few paces. "My dear, his grace the Duke of Marlborough and Lord Godolphin. They are our guests to-night." Mistress Berkeley rose and made a sweeping curtsy, blushing prettily, and throwing a half-startled, half-amused glance at her husband. The children made round eyes of wonder. "Madame, ’tis a charming welcome. We were driving to my lord Pembroke’s at Wilton Park, and were besnowed. ’Tis indeed a delightful transformation." He patted the children’s cheeks playfully. Lord Godolphin, who was evidently ill, had already thrown himself wearily into a chair. "Well, my little man, what is your name?" asked Marlborough of the boy. "Eustace Berkeley, sir." "A pretty name, egad. And what would you like to be when you are a man, eh?" "A soldier, and wear a red coat, and a sword, and fight for the Queen." "A proper answer, indeed. Well, if you grow strong, and do what your father and mother tell you, you may be a soldier one day, and perhaps—who knows?—a great man." "I do not want to be a great man." "Why not, my boy?" "Faver says people are not kind to great men, and the Queen likes somebody else better, and sends them away." "A little philosopher already, Mr. Berkeley," said my lord, smiling at the child. "Well, well, my little fellow, be a good man; not even the Queen could wish you better than that." "’Tis the children’s bed hour, my lord," said Mistress Berkeley. "I pray you excuse me." As mother and children left the room, Sherebiah, who as butler at Winton Hall had settled down as a very comfortable man of peace, entered with a tray on which were silver tankards of mulled wine. The good fellow looked not a day older than when he had led Katrinka to the altar six years before. He placed the tray on a table and silently withdrew. The guests sipped the grateful liquor and sat in tired silence gazing into the fire. Presently Mistress Berkeley returned. "Supper is served, my lords," she said. "A sweet word to famished men." The duke offered her his arm and led the way to the supper room, followed by Lord Godolphin and Harry. At the table he kept up an animated conversation with his hostess, yielding as all men did to the charm of a rarely gracious personality. Lord Godolphin was as little inclined to talk as to eat. When the cloth was removed, and Sherebiah had placed bottles on the table and left the gentlemen to themselves, Marlborough crossed his knees and said: "Egad, Mr. Berkeley, you are a lucky man, with such a wife and such children. We could not have fared more happily—eh, my lord?" "Nay indeed," replied Godolphin, thawing a little. "We could never have reached Wilton to-night. The wind, hark you, is gaining in fury—a sorry night for travellers."