"Tut, tut!" said a man's voice, and a hand came down heavily on Reginald's shoulder.
He turned sharply, put his hand to his hat, exclaiming: "My Lord Craven!"
"I was coming on behind you, and I heard you say that wicked thing, that the glory was gone out of your life," said Lord Craven, "and you but a lad still. You are starting in life, and because you have one disappointment your heart fails you. Is that being a man? Turn in with me, and we will speak together. I am no longer young, and verily the glory has departed out of my life." And his quaint face, neither old nor young, grew very sad.
Lord Craven had been all his life the champion of the Protestant religion throughout Europe, and the acknowledged knight of that beautiful but unfortunate queen, Elizabeth Stuart of Bohemia, aunt of Charles II. The queen had come to London, and had lived a few months at Lord Craven's house in Drury Lane. She had died in the early spring, and so a life-long service had come to an end, and disappointment and ingratitude were to be his reward.
This is the romance of history, savouring of that mediæval worship of a woman which we meet with once and again, the Lauras and Beatrices of life; stories scattered here and there to show us what so few realize, the spiritual side of the life of man and woman; love which is content to live, asking for nothing, looking for nothing that this earth can give, wholly unselfish, content to serve, content to worship.
Both Reginald and Ann knew Lord Craven's story well, they knew his devotion to the queen and to the Protestant faith, also his untiring goodness to the whole Stuart family. They had seen him, as all the world had seen him, follow the coffin of his "queen", as he always called Elizabeth Stuart, holding in his hand his plumed helmet, in which was fastened always a small white glove, his token of service. Many mocked, some smiled at the little Lord Craven, as he was ofttimes called; but in their hearts all good-minded men honoured him.
That the earl should address him thus familiarly was a high honour for Reginald, and he felt it as such.
"My lord," he said, "I thank you, but I have my sister with me, and cannot leave her."
"Mistress Ann," said Lord Craven, and his kindly face smiled down upon the girl, "it seems to me we do not live far apart. Had you not a house about here?"
"Yes, my lord, we lived in yonder house," answered Reginald, and he pointed to their old home. "But my father was arrested and thrown into prison. He is dead, and we have moved to a humbler lodging."