ings, and I require
no reward whatsoever for that which I have done. I trust and see now
that it will prove effectual, and I am perfectly satisfied. If these
men fall into your hands by other means than mine, and incur the
punishment they have justly deserved, I have not a word to say for
them, but I have only to beseech you, sir, to separate the innocent
from the guilty; to be careful--oh! most careful, in a moment of
excitement and just indignation--not to confound the two, and to make
a just distinction between fair and open enemies of your government,
and base and treacherous assassins."
"I shall strive to do so, sir," answered the King, "and would always
rather lean towards mercy than cruelty. And now, as it grows late, I
would fain know your name, and would gladly see you again."
"My name, sir," replied the other, "must either be kept secret, or
revealed to your Majesty alone. I have long been a nameless man,
having lost all, and spent all, in behalf of that family opposed to
your dynasty."
"Who have, doubtless, shown you no gratitude," said William.
"They have had no means, sir," replied the Jacobite, "and I have made
no demand upon them."
"It is but right, however," said the King, changing the subject,
"that I should know your name. When I inquired who you were when we
last met--the only time, indeed, we have met, till now--they gave me
a name which I now see must have been a mistaken one. Do you object
to give it before this gentleman?"
"To give my real name, sir," replied the other, "I do. But I have no
objection to give it to you yourself in private."
"Leave us, Arnold," said the King; and Lord Albemarle immediately
quitted the presence.

CHAPTER XXII.
The day which we have just seen terminate at Kensington we must now
conduct to a close in another quarter, where events very nearly as
much affecting the peace and safety of this realm, and far more
affecting the peace of various personages mentioned in this history
than the events which took place at the palace, were going on at the
same time. It was a bright, clear, frosty day, with everything
sparkling in the sunshine, the last dry leaves of the preceding year
still lingering in many places on the branches of the trees, and
clothing the form of nature in the russet livery of decay.
Wilton Brown was up long before daylight, and ready to set out by the
first streak of dawn in the east. Not having seen the Duke on the
preceding night--as that nobleman, worn with anxiety and grief, had