The next morning at sunrise Lord Rippingdale declared with his last breath that he did not know the lady was John Enderby’s daughter, and he begged Sir Richard to carry to Enderby his regret for all past wrongs.
Sir Richard came in upon the King at the moment that his Majesty was receiving John Enderby—a whiteheaded old man, yet hale and strong, and wearing the uniform of the King’s Guard. The fire of Enderby’s eye was not quenched. The King advanced towards him, and said:
“You are welcome to our Court, Squire Enderby. You have been absent too long. You will honour us by accepting a tardy justice—without a price,” he added, in a low tone.
“Your Majesty,” said Enderby, “for me justice comes too late, but for my child—”
“An earldom can never come too late—eh?” asked the King, smiling gaily.
“For me, your Majesty, all comes too late except—” his voice shook a little—“except the house where I was born.”
Charles looked at him gravely.
“Upon my soul, Enderby,” said he, “you are a man to be envied. We will not rob you of your good revenge on our house or of your independence. But still we must have our way. Your daughter,”—he turned lightly towards Felicity,—“if she will not refuse me, and she cannot upon the ground that you refused my father—she shall be Countess of Enderby in her own right; with estates in keeping.”
Womanlike, Mistress Felicity had no logical argument against an honour so munificently ordained. “And now for your estates—who holds them?” asked the King.
“Lord Rippingdale, your Majesty,” answered Enderby.