"Lawrence, it is plain that you are new to the service of kings."
"You have a letter for me," said I.
"To the Duke of Ormond," and he looked at me in surprise. "You mean to start to-night?"
"Yes."
"Very well," and he sat himself down to the table, transformed in a second to a cool man of business. "The letter is in the chevalier's hand"—he drew it from his pocket as he spoke—"and there are many ships in the Channel. You had best charter a boat at Dunkirk, the smaller the better, and set sail at nightfall, so that you may strike the Downs before sunrise." Thereupon he proceeded to instruct me as to the precise details concerning which I was to inform myself in Cumberland—such as the number of troops they could put into the field, and how competent they were to face well-drilled and disciplined squadrons, their weapons, the least assistance from France they would hazard the rising upon, and such-like matters. Then he rose and prepared to accompany me downstairs. I was still holding the medal in my hand, and now and again fingering it, as a man will what he holds most precious. "And, Lawrence," he said, "I would hide the medal, even from yourself, if that be possible. You may find it a very dangerous gift before you have done."
He spoke with so solemn a warning as even then did something to sober my enthusiasm.
"It was a wise word that the Chevalier spoke when he bade you beware how you sided openly with the Jacks."
"Oh!" said I, as the thought struck me. "It was you, then, that prompted that advice—and for my sake."
"Not altogether."
"But in the main, for my sake."