“Nay, your Highness, I’m not afraid of lightning,” said the staunch old fellow, and gave his liege lord a quiet look. “I fear God, my judge, when I stand before Him as a miserable sinner, but I do not fear God, my father, for He knows what is good for me, and if He calls me to Himself by a stroke of lightning and without any suffering, then I know that it was an act of mercy, and I thank Him for it.”
There was another awful clap, lightning and thunder falling almost simultaneously, and his Serene Highness screamed aloud.
“Konrektor, I’ll grant ye a favour. What shall it be?”
“I need only God’s favour; I don’t need any man’s favour, for all he may be a prince. Princely favour is the crutch that lame justice leans on, and when princes are gracious they are either trying to make up for past injustice and reap thanks for it, or they are about to commit some new injustice.”
“You’re growing mighty bold. I’ll show you what princely disfavour is!” shouted his Highness in sore ire, for there had been no thunder for some time. “I’ll show you——”
Then Rand put in his head. “Your Highness, the lightning struck a poplar on the embankment, the baker’s wife says, and there’s another storm coming up.”
“Konrektor, do think up something that will help us!”
“How can I think up anything, your Highness. At such times when our Lord God is nearer than at others it is best to examine ourselves closely, and think of all the wrong one has done, and firmly resolve to undo it—that will give us courage and comfort.”
“There is no man I have ever wronged,” exclaimed his Highness hastily; but the storm was drawing nigh, and he covered his face with his handkerchief once more, and cried, “Goodness gracious!”
“Well, your Highness, I imagine it’s much the same with you as it is with the rest of us; or is that no wrong when you imprison your courier Halsband for no fault of his?”