"At my lord Godolphin's."
"At my lord Godolphin's?" A slight ruffle marked his broad white brow. He looked keenly at Harry. All at once his expression changed. "I remember. I had clean forgotten it. You are the young fellow who intervened in my lord's roadside adventure? Ah! and now I bethink me, 'twas your man that did the shouting. The same man?"
"Yes, my lord."
"That is enough.—Mr. Cardonnel, make out at once an order pardoning the man—what is his name?—and discharging him from the army.—The man whose lungs saved the Lord Treasurer has decidedly a claim to indulgence. But I fear, Mr. Rochester, you are late. These little matters are usually determined by eight o'clock in the morning. It is near five: 'twill be some little time before I can despatch an orderly, and there are fifty odd miles to ride."
"With your leave, my lord, I will go myself."
"So be it. Mr. Cardonnel will give you the pardon and discharge. It rests with you. I hope you will be in time. Don't spare your horses."
"I thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart."
"There, no more: get to horse. Yet one moment: did I not—I seem to remember it—did I not promise to do something for you?"
"'Twas not a promise, my lord."
Marlborough smiled, and looked at the boy with approval.