"Yea. Oliver, and no more said. My favourite rate is ten per cent. You've let me off with a paltry two."
"I do not like joking in money matters, sir."
"John Freake joking in money matters?" said he, smiling. "Tell it not when you get to town, Oliver, or you'll be the ruin of a hard-won reputation. I sent you sixty guineas odd."
"Yes, sir."
"Which is, to be precise, slightly less than two per cent of what you saved me when you snatched me out of the dirty grip of Brocton's rascals. I had a good thick slice of his lordship's patrimony in my pocket. Off you go, lad! Sultan is impatient at my trifling. So ho! You beauty! Good-bye!"
"Good-bye, sir!" I cried heartily, swinging my new hat in a grand bow.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, having ridden hard and far without bite or sup, I came out in a little hamlet huddled about the great London road where it ran along the hem of a forest, and drew rein before the "Seven Stars." I was to be in presence with my report at six o'clock, and, as Derby was only fifteen miles off and the road one of the best, there was ample time for Sultan and me to take the rest and refreshment we both stood in need of.
I was, too, in need of quiet and leisure to get my report straightened out in my mind ready for delivery. The largeness and looseness of my commission left everything to my discretion, with the vexatious result that I had discovered nothing. I had, indeed, carried out my orders. I had been so far west of Derby that I had seen the famous spires of Lichfield cutting into the sky like three lance-heads, and had learned on abundant and trustworthy evidence that the Duke's forces there were leaving for the south, under orders to march with all speed to their original camp at Merriden Heath. This squared exactly with Master Freake's news, and was all the stock of positive information I had got together.
Of the kind of news the Prince would best like to hear there was none. Of preparations to join him, none. Of open well-wishers to his cause, none. The time when the Stuart banner could rally a host around it had gone beyond recall. There was no violent feeling the other way. People simply did not care. The old watchwords were powerless. The old quarrel had been revived in a world that had forgotten it, and would not be reminded of it. It was Charles and his Highlanders against George and his regiments, and as the latter were sure to win, nobody bothered. It is the strange but exact truth that the only sign I discovered of the great event in progress, was to come across a group of four respectable men of the middle station in life bargaining with an innkeeper for the hire of a chaise, in which they meant to drive to watch the Highlanders march by. They were very keen to bate him a shilling, and as indifferent as four oysters to the issues at stake.