Chance and a zealous night watchman put an abrupt end to Lord Everingham's perplexity; even when he was about to speak, a gruff voice which seemed to come right out of the darkness interrupted him with the well-known call—
"Who goes there?"
Almost immediately afterwards the strong light of a lanthorn was projected on the figure of the Cardinal.
"How now, friend," quoth His Eminence presently, "art seeking for the truth with that lanthorn of thine?"
But already the knave, having recognized the brilliant crimson robes and realized the high quality of their august wearer, had lost himself in a veritable maze of humble apologies.
"I crave Your Eminence's merciful pardon," he stammered. "I did not think . . . I am on duty . . . I . . ."
His thin, shrivelled form was scarce distinguishable in the gloom, only his old face, with large bottle-nose, and his pale, watery eyes appeared grotesque and quaint in the yellowish light of his lanthorn.
"Then fulfil thy duties, friend," rejoined the Cardinal, who made it a point always to speak kindly and urbanely, even to the meanest lout.
The man made a low obeisance and would have kissed His Eminence's hand, but the latter withdrew it gently.
"Are there marauders about, friend watchman?" he condescended to ask, as the man prepared to go. "Thou dost not appear to be very strong, nor yet stoutly armed."