He feared the worst, and so was glad upon landing to have by him a kinsman upon whom he could lean for counsel and guidance in this the darkest hour of all his life. Sitting late that night in the library of Sir Christopher Hare’s house, Sir Walter told his cousin in detail the story of his misadventure, and confessed to his misgivings. “My brains are broken,” was his cry. Stukeley combed his beard in thought. He had little comfort to offer. “It was not expected,” said he, “that you would return. “Not expected?” Sir Walter’s bowed white head was suddenly flung back. Indignation blazed in the eyes that age had left undimmed. “What act in all my life justified the belief I should be false to honour? My danger here was made quite plain, and Captain King would have had me steer a course for France, where I had found a welcome and a harbour. But to consent I must have been false to my Lords of Arundel and Pembroke, who were sureties to the King for my return. Life is still sweet to me, despite my three-score years and more, but honour is sweeter still.” And then, because life was sweet, he bluntly asked his cousin: “What is the King’s intent by me?” “Nay, now,” said Stukeley, “who shall know what passes in the King’s mind? From the signs, I judge your case to be none so desperate. You have good friends in plenty, among whom, although the poorest, count myself the first. Anon, when you are rested, we’ll to London by easy stages, baiting at the houses of your friends, and enlisting their good offices on your behalf.” Ralegh took counsel on the matter with Captain King, a bluff, tawny-bearded seaman, who was devoted to him body and soul. “Sir Lewis proposes it, eh?” quoth the hardy seaman. “And Sir Lewis is Vice-Admiral of Devon? He is not by chance bidden to escort you to London?” The Captain, clearly, had escaped the spell of Stukeley’s affability. Sir Walter was indignant. He had never held his kinsman in great esteem, and had never been on the best of terms with him in the past. Nevertheless, he was very far from suspecting him of what King implied. To convince him that he did Sir Lewis an injustice, Ralegh put the blunt question to his kinsman in King’s presence. “Nay,” said Sir Lewis, “I am not yet bidden to escort you. But as Vice-Admiral of Devon I may at any moment be so bidden. It were wiser, I hold, not to await such an order. Though even if it come,” he made haste to add, “you may still count upon my friendship. I am your kinsman first, and Vice-Admiral after.” With a smile that irradiated his handsome, virile countenance, Sir Walter held out his hand to clasp his cousin’s in token of appreciation. Captain King expressed no opinion save what might be conveyed in a grunt and a shrug.