“I fight for the King ordained by God and for a land which cannot flourish under the usurper. My loyalty to throne, Church, and fatherland constrains me.”
Lovel's eye passed to Lord Charles. The Highlander whistled very softly a bar or two of a wild melody with longing and a poignant sorrow in it.
“That,” he said. “I fight for the old ways and the old days that are passing.”
Nick Wogan smiled. “And I for neither—wholly. I have a little of Talbot in me and more of Charles. But I strike my blow for romance—the little against the big, the noble few against the base many. I am for youth against all dull huckstering things.”
Mr. Lovel bowed. “I am answered. I congratulate you, gentlemen, on your good fortune. It is my grief that I do not share it. I have not Mr. Talbot's politics, nor am I a great Scotch lord, nor have I the felicity to be young.... I would beg you not to judge me harshly.”
By this time he had struggled into his coat and boots He stepped to the table and picked up the papers.
“By your leave,” he said, and flung them into the fire.
“You were welcome to them,” said Talbot. “Long ere they got to Marlborough they would be useless.”
“That is scarcely the point,” said Lovel “I am somewhat dissatisfied with my calling and contemplate a change.”
“You may sleep here if you wish,” said Lord Charles.