“But, oh!  King, I counted not upon the exigencies of thy love.  I thought only of the pleasure ’twould give thee to have subsidies without plea, and I have made two of thy favourites my victims.  How should I know that the Duke and Duchess of Ellswold were to become nestlings in thy cradle of love?” The King’s face darkened, but for a moment only, as the sunshine of full coffers had penetrated the vista of his needs, and a cloud even though it bore the after-rain was not to darken his expectations.  “I beg thine indulgence to allow me to presume upon fancy.  Supposing Sir John Penwick was alive and had committed a crime that made it impossible for him to seek the aid of his beloved King; that the said Sir John has vast possessions in the New World that rightfully belonged to the English crown as hostage for his own life, that had been in the hands of the French; that these matters had been brought to the King’s ear, but his Royal Highness had been troubled with weightier affairs at home, and that one of his very lowly but loyal subjects had undertaken, without aid of Government, to secure these possessions for his King, calling to his aid the generosity of Ellswold, who was willing to give all without knowing why, save ’twas for his King and—­”

“And Penwick has proven guiltless and comes to his King to claim his rightful possession;—­and the subsidies—­”

“Are still thine, and thou shalt have them within a fortnight, if thou wilt grant me one small request, oh!  King.”

“Thou hast it.  Be brief.”

“Of my appointment, a new keeper of the Tower.”  The King started and half turned from the Duke, while through his mind ran hurriedly the names of “Chasel, Howard, Baumais” and “who hath he in mind.”  Then like a flash came the thought of Lady Constance, and he turned about quickly and said with severity,—­

“Thou hast our word,” and with a gesture gave the Duke his conge.

That very night just as the early moon began to whiten the Towers of old London, the key turned in the door of Lady Constance’ cell; but turned so lazily—­either from indolence or an unaccustomed hand—­that her ladyship looked up and saw to her surprise a new gaoler.  He smiled, thereby giving to the heart of its object a great thrill of joy, for it meant kindliness and kindliness is often predicated of selfishness or a desire for things one has not.

“What is thy name, fool?”

“Just plain Fool,” and he gave her due obeisance.

“And why so?”

“Is it not enough to be so christened by so great a lady?”

“Then thou art not a subsidiary but chief factotum?”

“Aye, the other is ill and I have spent the afternoon in learning the—­names.”

“Thou shouldst be well paid for so short a season.—­Is he serious?”

“I hope so, good lady.”

“Oh! if thou wouldst make profit of thy time, begin by bringing hither for my supper good ale and wine, with sugar and spices; and I will brew thee such a horn as thou hast ne’er thought on before.  And thou for each good turn shalt drink a wassail to thy buxom wench and shalt have money for the basset-table.”