It was not very long, however, before all the alarmed household, pouring in at the furious ringing of their master’s bell, had revived the little Earl, and brought him to his senses none the worse for the momentary eclipse of them.
“Please do not be angry with your man,” murmured Bertie, as he lay on one of the wide leathern couches. “He meant to do his duty; and please—will you let me buy the puppy?”
Of course Sir Henry would not allow the little Earl to wander any farther afield, and of course a horseman was sent over in hot haste to apprise his people, misled by the boat-lad, who, frightened at his own share in the little gentleman’s escape, had sworn till he was hoarse that he had seen Lord Avillion take a boat for Rye.
So Bertie’s liberty was nipped in the bud, and very sorrowfully and wistfully he strayed out on to the rose-terrace of Sir Henry’s house, awaiting the coming of his friends. The puppy had been fetched, and was tumbling and waddling solemnly beside him; yet he was very sad at heart.
“What are you thinking of, my child?” said Sir Henry, who was a gentle and learned man.
Bertie’s mouth quivered.
“I see,” he said, hesitatingly,—“I see I am nothing. It is the title they give me, and the money I have got, that make the people so good to me. When I am only me, you see how it is.”
And the tears rolled down his face, which he had heard called “wizen” and “puny” and likened to tallow.
“My dear little fellow,” said his grown-up companion, tenderly, “there comes a day when even kings are stripped of all their pomp, and lie naked and stark; it is then that which they have done, not that which they have been, that will find them grace and let them rise again.”
“But I am nothing!” said Bertie, piteously. “You see, when the people do not know who I am, they think me nothing at all.”