"I thought as much," said the Earl. "Come and tell me all that has befallen you." And with that graciousness which bespoke the man who had lived in courts, he bowed, and, looking at Ann, added:
"You will do me much honour if you will accompany your brother to my house." And he doffed his hat, with the white glove.
Ann curtsied, and the three turned back together until they reached the great portal leading to the earl's house at the corner of Drury Lane and Aldwych. The door was wide open, as was often the custom in those days, and men-servants stood here and there ready to receive and execute their master's orders. Passing through the great hall, the earl conducted his guests to his private library, where he mostly sat himself. It looked out upon gardens, and seemed to all intents and purposes far removed from the busy world. Over the mantelpiece was a lovely portrait of Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, and beneath it was written:
"Your most affectionate and most obedient slave, who loved you and will love you incessantly, infinitely, unto death".
Such was the vow William Craven had made as a young man, and from which, now his hair was grey, death alone had released him.
To Ann and Reginald in their youth, with the glamour of life still before them, this room seemed a sanctuary.
"Sit down, sit down," said the earl, "and tell me what your trouble is, and why the glory has gone out of your young life."
He smiled as he repeated Reginald's words. He recognized in them the impatient cry of youth.
Reginald never knew how it happened, but he poured out his whole soul to the earl. He told him how he had refused to have anything to do with Cromwell and the Commonwealth, how he had vowed allegiance to King Charles and the Stuarts, how his father had been, so to speak, done to death, and how he himself, seeing what the court of Charles II. was, had lost heart.
"You have been serving a man and not a cause," said Lord Craven; "that is why you are in this plight. Forget the man, and think of the cause. You do not know the Stuarts as I know them. They are a wild race--they will not be curbed either for good or evil--daring, brilliant, beautiful!" He paused, his eyes turning involuntarily to the portrait of his queen. Then he continued, "They hold men's hearts in their hands, and they break them without more ado than if they were of common clay. Look back to their past history!" he exclaimed, and his face had in it a strange beauty as he stood before the two young people and spoke to them. "Think of Mary Stuart; she lost her crown, her kingdom, everything, for love, and others lost everything for her. It is in their blood; they cannot help it any more than men can help kneeling before their shrine and worshipping them. We were a score of gentlemen who first vowed ourselves to the service of the Princess Elizabeth when she went forth out of England to wed the Prince Palatine. They are all dead; I am left alone. Do you think I have not suffered? And yet you, because you have high ideals and are disappointed, turn away in disgust, and would go over to the enemy."