eer who was a turncoat or a
spy," says he proudly.

And so it seemed he had swum out of this danger unharmed; but this was
to reckon without a blunder he had made, and without the pertinacity of
Mr. Henry, who was now to show he had something of his brother's spirit.

"You say the matter is still fresh?" says Mr. Henry.

"It is recent," says the Master, with a fair show of stoutness, and yet
not without a quaver.

"Is it so recent as that?" asks Mr. Henry, like a man a little puzzled,
and spreading his letter forth again.

In all the letter there was no word as to the date; but how was the
Master to know that?

"It seemed to come late enough for me," says he, with a laugh. And at
the sound of that laugh, which rang false, like a cracked bell, my lord
looked at him again across the table, and I saw his old lips draw
together close.

"No," said Mr. Henry, still glancing on his letter, "but I remember your
expression. You said it was very fresh."

And here we had a proof of our victory, and the strongest instance yet
of my lord's incredible indulgence; for what must he do but interfere
to save his favourite from exposure!

"I think, Henry," says he, with a kind of pitiful eagerness, "I think we
need dispute no more. We are all rejoiced at last to find your brother
safe; we are all at one on that; and, as grateful subjects, we can do no
less than drink to the King's health and bounty."

Thus was the Master extricated; but at least he had been put to his
defence, he had come lamely out, and the attraction of his personal
danger was now publicly plucked away from him. My lord, in his heart of
hearts, now knew his favourite to be a Government spy; and Mrs. Henry
(however she explained the tale) was notably cold in her behaviour to
the discredited hero of romance. Thus in the best fabric of duplicity
there is some weak point, if you can strike it, which will loosen all;
and if, by this fortunate stroke, we had not shaken the idol, who can
say how it might have gone with us at the catastrophe?

And yet at the time we seemed to have accomplished nothing. Before a day
or two he had wiped off the ill results of his discomfiture, and, to all
appearance, stood as high as ever. As for my Lord Durrisdeer, he was
sunk in parental partiality; it was not so much love, which should be an
active quality, as an apathy and torpor of his other powers; and
forgiveness (so to misapply a noble word) flowed from him in sheer
weakness