"Ah, but it will be," said Mr Kyd. "They can find a hedge-parson any hour of the day to do the job for a guinea and a pot of ale."
"There is a chance, a hope, and, oh sir, I beseech you to pursue it."
"Would you have me mount and ride on the track of the fugitives?" Lord Cornbury asked.
"Yes, my lord, and without delay. Grant me a chair to sleep an hour in, and I am ready for any labour. We can take the road before daybreak. It would facilitate our task if your lordship would lend me a horse better fitted for my weight."
The naiveness of the request made a momentary silence. Then in spite of himself Alastair laughed. This importunate usher was on the same mission as himself, that mission which an hour earlier had conclusively failed. To force their host into activity was the aim of both, but one whom a summons from a Prince had not moved was not likely to yield to an invitation to pursue a brace of green lovers. Yet he respected the man's ardour, though he had set him down from his looks as a boor and an oddity; and regretted his laugh, when a distraught face was turned towards him, solemn and reproachful like a persecuted dog's.
Lord Cornbury's eyes were troubled and his hands fidgeted with a dish of filberts. He seemed divided between irritation at a preposterous demand and his natural kindliness.
"You are a faithful if importunate friend, sir. By the way, I have not your name."
"Johnson, my lord—Samuel Johnson. But my name matters nothing."
"I have heard it before. . . . Nay, I remember. . . . Was it Mr Murray who spoke of it? Tell me, sir, have you not published certain writings?"
"Sir, I have made a living by scribbling."