“My lord, there is not the need to take the sense of the Council. The Council has given me carte blanche to obtain your consent to a suppression of the Samoval affair. And without hesitation I accept the further condition that you make. Sir Terence may consider himself relieved of his parole in the matter of Lieutenant Butler.” “Then we may look upon the matter as concluded.” “As happily concluded, my lord.” Dom Miguel rose to make his valedictory oration. “It remains for me only to thank your lordship in the name of the Council for the courtesy and consideration with which you have received my proposal and granted our petition. Acquainted as I am with the crystalline course of British justice, knowing as I do how it seeks ever to act in the full light of day, I am profoundly sensible of the cost to your lordship of the concession you make to the feelings of the Samoval family and the Portuguese Government, and I can assure you that they will be accordingly grateful.” “That is very gracefully said, Dom Miguel,” replied his lordship, rising also. The Secretary placed a hand upon his heart, bowing. “It is but the poor expression of what I think and feel.” And so he took his leave of them, escorted by Colonel Grant, who discreetly volunteered for the office. Left alone with Wellington, Sir Terence heaved a great sigh of supreme relief. “In my wife’s name, sir, I should like to thank you. But she shall thank you herself for what you have done for me.” “What I have done for you, O’Moy?” Wellington’s slight figure stiffened perceptibly, his face and glance were cold and haughty. “You mistake, I think, or else you did not hear. What I have done, I have done solely upon grounds of political expediency. I had no choice in the matter, and it was not to favour you, or out of disregard for my duty, as you seem to imagine, that I acted as I did.” O’Moy bowed his head, crushed under that rebuff. He clasped and unclasped his hands a moment in his desperate anguish. “I understand,” he muttered in a broken voice, “I--I beg your pardon, sir.” And then Wellington’s slender, firm fingers took him by the arm. “But I am glad, O’Moy, that I had no choice,” he added more gently. “As a man, I suppose I may be glad that my duty as Commander-in-Chief placed me under the necessity of acting as I have done.” Sir Terence clutched the hand in both his own and wrung it fiercely, obeying an overmastering impulse. “Thank you,” he cried. “Thank you for that!” “Tush!” said Wellington, and then abruptly: “What are you going to do, O’Moy?” he asked. “Do?” said O’Moy, and his blue eyes looked pleadingly down into the sternly handsome face of his chief, “I am in your hands, sir.” “Your resignation is, and there it must remain, O’Moy. You understand?” “Of course, sir. Naturally you could not after this--” He shrugged and broke off. “But must I go home?” he pleaded. “What else? And, by God, sir, you should be thankful, I think.”