"Madam," he said, "I will lose my life rather than this gracious gift."
"Hey ho!" the Queen answered. "Tell that to your mistress, Mr. Commendone, if you have one. Still, the book is rare, and when you read of the poet's sorrows at Tomi, think sometimes of the giver who—and do not doubt it—hath many sorrows of her own. It is an ill thing to rule We sometimes think, Mr. Commendone, but God hath put Us in Our place, and We must not falter."
She turned. "Lady Paget," she called, "I have done with this young spark for the nonce; come you, and help me pick red roses, red roses, for my chamber. The King loveth deep red roses, and I am told that they are the favoured flower of all noble gentlemen and ladies in the dominions of Spain."
Bowing deeply once more, and walking backwards to the edge of the bowling green, Johnnie withdrew.
He passed through the flower-bordered ways till he came to the gate of the garden.
Outside the gate this time, on the big gravelled sweep which went in front of the Palace, Cholmondely was walking up and down, the blood dried upon his cheek, but not washed away. He turned in his sentinel's parade as Johnnie came out, and the two young men looked at each other for a moment in silence.
"What's it to be?" Johnnie said, with a smile—"Lincoln's Inn Fields to-morrow morning? Her Grace will never know of it."
"I was waiting for you, Johnnie," the other answered. "No, we'll not fight, unless you wish it. Come you to the Common Room, and the pantler shall boil his kettle and brew us some sack."
Johnnie thrust his arm into the other's and together they passed away from the garden, better friends at that moment than they had ever been before—friends destined to be friends for two hours before they were to part forever, though during these hours one of them was to do the other a service which would help to alter the whole course of his life.
They went into the Common Room, and the pantler was summoned and ordered to brew them a bowl of sack—simply the hot wine and water, with added spices, which our grandmothers of the present time sipped over their cards, and called Negus.