Shrewsbury bit his lower lip, and stared blindly into the scarlet heart of the fire.
"My health will not permit me——" he began.
"Ah, tush!" interrupted the King, with a little smile. "Your health is good enough."
Compared to his own, it was indeed. Shrewsbury could not, for very shame, argue that plea.
"I think you have another reason, your Grace," added William, kindly and a little sadly. "And I am an old enough friend for you to confide in me——"
Still the Duke could not speak, but trembled and looked into the fire.
"You are a man of honour," said the King. "I have and do trust you. I shall never forget the services you rendered me, when such services were vital indeed; I believe I do not lack gratitude; I should never—I could never—desert a friend."
He exerted himself to speak with courtesy and animation, and there was real feeling behind his words; gratitude was indeed almost a fault with him. Cold as he appeared to outsiders, nothing could turn him when he had once given his affection; he had often, at the expense of his own interests and popularity, defended and upheld his friends.
Shrewsbury clasped the edge of the chimneypiece and tried to speak, but made only some incoherent sound.
"Let me hear no more of resignation, my lord," said William.