The fearful position in which Leech found himself, terrible to anyone, but to a nervous man especially frightful, extorted from him an apologetic confession, excusable under the circumstances.
"Your Grace," said he, "we—we—that is, nearly everyone—has done something that he—he—regrets having done. I am very sorry I have—— I regret very much that anything I have done should have given you any annoyance."
The Duke's affected fierceness was exchanged for the jovial manner said to be peculiar to him, and the pair rode off pleasantly together.
The castle was reached, and Leech was shown to a dressing-room, where he made himself as presentable as he could under the circumstances, in anticipation of the usual announcement that dinner was served. I can imagine my friend's feelings as he waited in hungry expectation. "As he could not manage to break my neck," thought Leech, as hour after hour passed without a summons to dinner, "he means to starve me."
At last, thinking that perhaps his room was too far off for the sound of the gong to reach him, he rang the bell. A servant appeared.
"I am afraid," said Leech, "that I did not hear the dinner-bell; is dinner ready?"
"Not yet, sir; you will be informed when it is."
Another hour passed. Leech became desperate; starvation seemed to stare him in the face. Again he rang the bell; again the servant answered it, and the reply was again, "Not yet."
The clock had struck ten before the welcome sound of the gong reached the famished man. If Mr. Frederick Tayler is to be believed, the Leech dinner with the Duke was an early one. No explanation was ever given to Tayler of these abnormal dinner-hours, but Leech was told that "his Grace" always took a nap after his rides, and his guests were fed when he awoke.