“Master Roger,” she cried, “thou didst take from me thy last breakfast at Egremont, and now thou shalt take thy first after thy return under my roof.”
“Sure shall I, good dame,” replied Roger, smiling. His eyes were sparkling, his face glowing,—he had grown ten years younger in half an hour.
And then, just as it had been seven years before, he sat and ate of Dame Hodge’s homely fare, in full view of the delighted villagers and tenantry collected from all over the estate; and afterward, coming to the door as he had done on that June morning so long past, he lifted his tankard of ale, and asked the people to drink to the health of King James.
“For I have not come back to you a renegade, my friends, but loyal to my King. I swear to you our King, his Majesty James the Second, would not give one rood of English ground for all of France, and France is a very noble country, although the usurper who sits at Whitehall would have you think otherwise. So, any of you that wish may inform on me,—but here’s to his Majesty, King James; God bless him!”
And as Roger drank solemnly his own toast, taking off his hat as he did it, the people huzzaed. King William was a heavy tax gatherer, and no man likes to pay taxes.
It was then near midday. Roger would have preferred to go alone to Egremont; he wished to dream, to think, to be in ecstasies at every step through that well-known and beloved place; but his humble friends would by no means permit it. A rude procession was formed of villagers, men, women, children, and dogs, and so they marched along, with Roger on Merrylegs at their head, until they reached the hall door. The great house was closed, and looked singularly forlorn; the spring sun glinted against the stone pile, and the brightness without made the silence and quietness within the more apparent. But no white marble palace by moonlight ever appeared half so beautiful to any one as Egremont did to Roger then.
When the motley procession appeared on the great lawn, a prim butler came out from a side door. He had been duly warned by the village people many times that Master Roger, a valorous man, who feared God, but who always took his own part, would come some day, and turn Sir Hugo out. Sir Hugo had been even more effectually disposed of, and here was that terrible Master Roger.
“Open the main door, and do you and every servant about the house come to me,” said Roger.
The butler ran within, and in a minute the great doors were flung wide. The few servants left, caretakers only, were marshalled in the hall, the butler at their head.
“Each one of you is dismissed now and here with a month’s wages,” said Roger to them. “I have no fault to find with you, but no man who served Hugo Stein can serve me. When you are ready to depart, which must be within two days, come to me for your money, and let me not see your faces while you remain. My own good people from Egremont shall serve me until I can get other proper servants.”