“I am glad at your luck, my Lord Duke,” replied Christian; “but I am come here on serious business.”
“Serious?—why, I shall hardly be serious in my life again—ha, ha, ha!—and for luck, it was no such thing—sheer wit, and excellent contrivance; and but that I don’t care to affront Fortune, like the old Greek general, I might tell her to her face—In this thou hadst no share. You have heard, Ned Christian, that Mother Cresswell is dead?”
“Yes, I did hear that the devil hath got his due,” answered Christian.
“Well,” said the Duke, “you are ungrateful; for I know you have been obliged to her, as well as others. Before George, a most benevolent and helpful old lady; and that she might not sleep in an unblest grave, I betted—do you mark me—with Sedley, that I would write her funeral sermon; that it should be every word in praise of her life and conversation, that it should be all true, and yet that the diocesan should be unable to lay his thumb on Quodling, my little chaplain, who should preach it.”
“I perfectly see the difficulty, my lord,” said Christian, who well knew that if he wished to secure attention from this volatile nobleman, he must first suffer, nay, encourage him, to exhaust the topic, whatever it might be, that had got temporary possession of his pineal gland.
“Why,” said the Duke, “I had caused my little Quodling to go through his oration thus—‘That whatever evil reports had passed current during the lifetime of the worthy matron whom they had restored to dust that day, malice herself could not deny that she was born well, married well, lived well, and died well; since she was born in Shadwell, married to Cresswell, lived in Camberwell, and died in Bridewell.’ Here ended the oration, and with it Sedley’s ambitious hopes of overreaching Buckingham—ha, ha, ha!—And now, Master Christian, what are your commands for me to-day?”
“First, to thank your Grace for being so attentive as to send so formidable a person as Colonel Blood, to wait upon your poor friend and servant. Faith, he took such an interest in my leaving town, that he wanted to compel me to do it at point of fox, so I was obliged to spill a little of his malapert blood. Your Grace’s swordsmen have had ill luck of late; and it is hard, since you always choose the best hands, and such scrupleless knaves too.”
“Come now, Christian,” said the Duke, “do not thus exult over me; a great man, if I may so call myself, is never greater than amid miscarriage. I only played this little trick on you, Christian, to impress on you a wholesome idea of the interest I take in your motions. The scoundrel’s having dared to draw upon you, is a thing not to be forgiven.—What! injure my old friend Christian?”
“And why not,” said Christian coolly, “if your old friend was so stubborn as not to go out of town, like a good boy, when your Grace required him to do so, for the civil purpose of entertaining his niece in his absence?”
“How—what!—how do you mean by my entertaining your niece, Master Christian?” said the Duke. “She was a personage far beyond my poor attentions, being destined, if I recollect aright, to something like royal favour.”