The duke looked puzzled at the discrepancy between the tone of voice and the disreputable appearance of the youth before him.
"My name is Rochester, my lord, the letter—I entreat your lordship to read it—will tell the rest."
Marlborough signed to the secretary, received the letter from his hand, and read it quickly. It was not long, and the last paragraph read as follows:—
"Perchance, my lord, you may feel that the man's gallantry in the affair at the Comtesse de Vaudrey's may be set against his offence, which though heinous was not unprovoked and is now some years old. If your lordship can reconcile it with the demands of discipline to pardon this unfortunate man, you will I trust find that your clemency is not ill-bestowed."
Marlborough fixed his eyes upon Harry. "I understand from this letter that the man is your servant?"
He spoke in the low pleasant tone that never varied, whether he addressed peer or peasant.
"Yes, my lord, a very true and faithful servant."
"And your name is Rochester? Have I not met you before?"
"Yes, my lord, well-nigh a year ago."
"Where?"