His glance had rested for a moment upon the battered headpiece and ancient rusty breastplate with which Master Jeremy Sparrow was bedight.
“It is something antique, truly, something out of fashion,” remarked that worthy,—“almost as out of fashion as courtesy from guests, or respect for dignities from my-face-is-my-fortune minions and lords on carpet considerations.”
The hush of consternation following this audacious speech was broken by a roar of laughter from the favorite himself. “Zounds!” he cried, “your courage is worn on your sleeve, good giant! I'll uphold you to face Spaniards, strappado, rack, galleys, and all!”
The bravado with which he spoke, the insolence of his bold glance and curled lip, the arrogance with which he flaunted that King's favor which should be a brand more infamous than the hangman's, his beauty, the pomp of his dress,—all were alike hateful. I hated him then, scarce knowing why, as I hated him afterward with reason.
He now pulled from the breast of his doublet a packet, which he proffered the Governor. “From the King, sir,” he announced, in the half-fierce, half—mocking tone he had made his own. “You may read it at your leisure. He wishes you to further me in a quest upon which I have come.”
The Governor took the packet with reverence. “His Majesty's will is our law,” he said. “Anything that lies in our power, sir; though if you come for gold”—
The favorite laughed again. “I've come for a thing a deal more precious, Sir Governor,—a thing worth more to me than all the treasure of the Indies with Manoa and El Dorado thrown in,—to wit, the thing upon which I've set my mind. That which I determine to do, I do, sir, and the thing I determine to have, why, sooner or later, by hook or by crook, fair means or foul, I have it! I am not one to be crossed or defied with impunity.”
“I do not take your meaning, my lord,” said the Governor, puzzled, but courteous. “There are none here who would care to thwart, in any honorable enterprise, a nobleman so high in the King's favor. I trust that my Lord Carnal will make my poor house his own during his stay in Virginia—What's the matter, my lord?”
My lord's face was dark red, his black eyes afire, his mustaches working up and down. His white teeth had closed with a click on the loud oath which had interrupted the Governor's speech. Honest Sir George and his circle stared at this unaccountable guest in amazement not unmixed with dismay. As for myself, I knew before he spoke what had caused the oath and the fierce triumph in that handsome face. Master Jeremy Sparrow had moved a little to one side, thus exposing to view that which his great body had before screened from observation,—namely, Mistress Jocelyn Percy.
In a moment the favorite was before her, hat in hand, bowing to the ground.