"Go up," said he to the soldier, "to the room above; kindle a good fire upon the hearth; light the candles, and when the fire is well burning, return hither and stand sentry over this door till His Highness come."
And as the man ascended the stair, Captain Royston closed the door behind him, and turned to me, who kept my gaze fast on the fire.
"'T was a heavy sigh you heaved as I entered, young friend," he said, in a most gentle voice.
"Yes, faith," I answered, "it was heavy." And again I sighed.
He then asked me what it was did make me sad, and I replied I did not use to be from home, and was mighty lonesome.
"Nay, lad," he cried cheerily, laying a hand of comfort on my shoulder, "'t is but till the morrow. You have to-day borne yourself like a man; be not now homesick like a very maid. There is company enough. Why didst leave the table?"
"I was near falling with fatigue, sir," I answered; "and—and—and, in truth, I liked not the talk at the table where I sat."
"Poor lad!" said he, gently patting the shoulder where his hand did lie, and thereafter drawing the hand away; "poor lad! Would you grow to be a man? Harden your ears—your ears, mark me, not your heart." And I said nothing to him, but to myself that I feared both would need it ere long.
And then there came to us M. de Rondiniacque in search of Captain Royston, crying jovially: "Aha! have I found you, truant Master Host? His Highness did but now ask for you, and wonders somewhat, I think, at your long absence."
To which Royston replied: "I warrant His Highness knows that a host without hostess or servants is no little put to it to house, feed, and bed so many guests. I will go to him, and make my excuse." He then turned to me, saying: "Prithee, gentle friend, be of better comfort. It is not to His Highness alone that your great service has been rendered, and I would not have you cheerless. Godemar, hold the lad in talk a while. All this is strange to him, and he is overborne with fatigue." He then took some steps toward the door, but again turned to my side, and—"Speak your best English, Godemar," said he, "and your modest jests, if you have them. None of your ribald tales,—'t is a home-bred youth." Upon which, with a kindly nod to me, and a slap on the shoulder of a weight more suited to my garments than my sex, Captain Royston left the room.