But Rowland had to summon all his strength to keep from fainting, for the blood had fled again to his heart, and could not reply.
'Thou didst thy duty like a brave knight and true, I doubt not,' said the king, kindly wishful to comfort him; 'and that my word may be a true one,' he added, drawing his sword and laying it across the youth's chest, 'although I cannot tell thee to rise and walk, I tell thee, when thou dost arise, to rise up sir Rowland Scudamore.'
The blood rushed to sir Rowland's face, but fled again as fast.
'I deserve no such honour, sire,' he murmured.
But the marquis struck his hands together with pleasure, and cried,
'There, my boy! There is a king to serve! Sir Rowland Scudamore!
There is for thee! And thy wife will be MY LADY! Think on that!'
Rowland did think on it, but bitterly. He summoned strength to thank his majesty, but failed to find anything courtier-like to add to the bare thanks. When his visitors left him, he sighed sorely and said to himself,
'Honour without desert! But for the roundhead's taunts, I might have run to Rupert and saved the day.'
The next morning the marquis went again to see him.
'How fares sir Rowland?' he said.