Gervase left the _Phoenix_ unnoticed in the tumult, and made his way through the deserted streets to his old lodging. The door was lying open, but the house was deserted. Simon and all his family were in all likelihood among the crowd at the quay. Then he lighted his lamp and sat down to enjoy his golden dreams alone. His heart was filled with the thought of what he had done and of the reward he hoped to win. He would call upon Dorothy in the morning--Dorothy, whose sweet face had kept him company through his perils, and the thought of whom had moved him in his dangers. She had told him that she loved him. The darkness was gone and they had come into the sweet sunshine at last. And so he dreamed his dreams till Mistress Sproule returned laden with her spoils, and gave him a joyous welcome as to one who had come back from death. CHAPTER XXI. OF HOW THE VICOMTE MADE HIS GREAT RENUNCIATION. On the following morning Gervase was up betimes. It seemed to him that a new world had opened out before him with boundless possibilities of joy and hope. For weeks he had been dragging himself about like one bent under the infirmities of age; to-day the blood of youth ran quick in his veins. With a pride that was pardonable, he felt that he had done his task manfully and performed his share in a work as memorable as any in his time. He had won honour for himself, and he had found the one woman who realized his boyhood´s ideal. She was waiting for him now--waiting with that glad and joyous look in her steadfast eyes that had thrilled him at times when his grief had weighed upon him. She must know that the work he had undertaken was done for her sake, and that he would be with her presently to claim his reward. * * * * * Simon Sproule came to see him when he was seated at breakfast, a good deal shrunk and wasted, but bearing himself with his brave and confident air for all the troubles he had passed through. The young soldier was one of the linendraper´s heroes, and Simon had come this morning to offer abundant incense at the altar of his worship. “We are both proud of you, Mr. Orme, Elizabeth and myself. I heard the whole story from Andrew Douglas last night, and it was done like an ancient Roman, sir, but in no foreign or pagan spirit. It was a great feat and should be remembered for many a day.” “It will be forgotten in good time,” said Gervase cheerfully, “and was no very wonderful business after all. But I am glad for your sake the fighting is over, for yours and your wife´s and----” “Do not mention them. Oh! I cannot bear it, sir. There were eight of them when you came back with the old captain, eight white-haired youngsters that gathered about the table and made music for me--and now there are but four of them. It was the judgment of God for their father´s cowardice.” “I think you did your best, Simon,” Gervase said gently.