“If this be real, and not affected indignation, Sir Jocelyn,” said De Gondomar coldly, “it would seem that I have been altogether mistaken in you, and that I have been helping you up the ladder only to be kicked aside when you have gained a secure footing.  But you have not reached the last step yet, and never will, unless I find you more reasonable.  And allow me to ask you, if you are as scrupulous as you profess to be, how you came to bring a token to me from a hired spy—­a token intended to let me know you were willing to undertake any secret service I might choose to confide to you?  Have you changed your mind since then? or rather, do you not fancy yourself out of danger, and able to dispense with my assistance?”

“I have ever been of the same opinion, Count; have ever been influenced by the same feelings of loyalty and devotion to my sovereign, and of detestation of all treasonable practices.  Had I been aware of the import of the ring I showed your Excellency on our first meeting, I would have hacked off my finger rather than have displayed it.  Neither did I know the character of the man who confided it to me; though I ought to have distrusted him.  He has played us both false, and for what end I cannot divine.”

“I will solve the riddle for you, Sir:  he thought to serve you,” said De Gondomar; “and he has done so, and most effectually, though you are now unwilling to admit it.  I have good reason to complain of him—­you have none.”

“I have more reason for complaint than your Excellency,” rejoined Mounchensey.  “He has placed me in a most painful and perplexing position.”

“There you are right, Sir,” said De Gondomar.  “No matter how arrived at, you are in a position from which you cannot extricate yourself with honour.  However disinclined you may be to act in concert with me, you have no other alternative.  If I withdraw my support from you, your fall is inevitable.  Think not I talk lightly.  You are surrounded by enemies, though you discern them not.  Buckingham’s magnanimous conduct at the revel last night was feigned to mask his purposes towards you.  He has not forgiven his defeat, and means to avenge it.  You fancy yourself on the high road to preferment; but you are on the verge of disgrace and ruin.  I alone can save you.  Choose, then, between compliance with my wishes, coupled with present protection and future advancement, and the consequences certain to attend your refusal.  Choose, I say, between my friendship and my enmity.”

“My answer shall be as prompt and decisive as your proposal, Count,” replied Sir Jocelyn.  “I at once reject a friendship fettered with such conditions.  And that I do not resent the affront put upon me in your dishonourable proposal, must be set down to the obligations you have imposed upon me, and which tie up my hands.  But we are now quits; and if any further indignity be offered me, it will not be so lightly borne.”