protestation; Cecil put up his hand.

"I have decided; nothing you can say will alter me. We are near a
by-station now; if I find none there to prevent me, I shall get away by
the first train; to hide in these woods is out of the question. You
will return by easy stages to Baden, and take the horses at once to Lord
Rockingham. They are his now. Tell him my last wish was that he should
take you into his service; and he will be a better master to you than I
have ever been. As for the King"--his lips quivered, and his voice shook
a little, despite himself--"he will be safe with him. I shall go into
some foreign service--Austrian, Russian, Mexican, whichever be open
to me. I would not risk such a horse as mine to be sold, ill-treated,
tossed from owner to owner, sent in his old age to a knacker's yard, or
killed in a skirmish by a cannon-shot. Take both him and the mare back,
and go back yourself. Believe me, I thank you from my heart for your
noble offer of fidelity, but accept it I never shall."

A dead pause came after his words; Rake stood mute; a curious
look--half-dogged, half-wounded, but very resolute--had come on his
face. Cecil thought him pained, and spoke with an infinite gentleness:

"My good fellow, do not regret it, or fancy I have no gratitude to you.
I feel your loyalty deeply, and I know all you would willingly suffer
for me; but it must not be. The mere offer of what you would do had been
quite testimony enough of your truth and your worth. It is impossible
for me to tell you what has so suddenly changed my fortunes; it is
sufficient that for the future I shall be, if I live, what you were--a
private soldier in an army that needs a sword. But let my fate be what
it will, I go to it alone. Spare me more speech, and simply obey my last
command."

Quiet as the words were, there was a resolve in them not to be disputed;
an authority not to be rebelled against. Rake stared, and looked at
him blankly; in this man who spoke to him with so subdued but so
irresistible a power of command, he could scarcely recognize the gay,
indolent, indulgent, pococurante Guardsman, whose most serious anxiety
had been the set of a lace tie, the fashion of his hunting dress, or the
choice of the gold arabesques for his smoking-slippers.

Rake was silent a moment; then his hand touched his cap again.

"Very well, sir," and without opposition or entreaty, he turned to
resaddle the mare.

Our natures are oddly inconsistent. C