‘He waved his hand contemptuously, and observed that my word and my oath together were not worth sixpence; but if I had any feeling for my friend, or any remorse for the baseness I had committed, I had better hold my tongue, since, if by my means his secret should be discovered, Erin should never darken his doors again, nor receive from him any of the benefits which it had been his intention to confer upon him. Erin himself did not speak to me at all; he has never spoken to me from that day to this; but hearing by accident of this meeting, I resolved to come here, and do what I could for him by way of reparation. That is all I have got to say.’ This narrative made an immense impression. Mr. Samuel Erin sighed a great sigh of relief, and looked around him with triumphant exultation. He had not needed any confirmation of his son’s story for himself, but he felt how opportune with respect to others was this young man’s testimony—that in him, in fact, he had entertained an angel very much unawares. A murmur of satisfaction ran round the company, and the faces of even the most sceptical relaxed their severity. William Henry alone looked totally unmoved; like one who had all along been conscious that his character would be cleared, one way or another, and was indifferent in what way. Some questions were put to Talbot, but nothing was elicited to shake his evidence; indeed, since he had by his own showing taken his oath that he would not reveal the name of the Templar unknown, there was little more to be extracted from him. The Laureate, in a short but dignified speech, observed that after the very testimony he had stated was the only thing wanting to his conviction had been forthcoming, he could not, in reason, offer any further objection to the authenticity of the play, and that for his part he admitted it. To this the whole company, with hardly a dissentient voice, expressed their agreement, and the committee dispersed, after passing an all but unanimous resolution that the ‘Vortigern and Rowena’ was a genuine play of William Shakespeare’s. CHAPTER XXIV. MANAGERS. THE last two days had been very trying ones for the little household in Norfolk Street, and, though success had crowned their hopes, they bore marks of the struggle that evening. Even young William Henry, who, like the antiquarian Duchess (but with a difference), seemed to have been born before nerves had come into fashion, showed signs of the terrible ordeal through which he had passed; he was tender-footed, after the red-hot ploughshares.