Lord Claud led his pupil away through the crowded rooms, out into the cold night air; but neither of them felt the cold.  A keen excitement filled their veins as with molten fire.

“He rose to it!” quoth Lord Claud exultantly; “I saw it ever growing in favour as he turned it over.  I have heard of his methods in the secret service.  He spends more money, and gets greater results than any general has ever yet done.  He says truth when he speaks of employing strange tools.  Well, let him employ this strange tool—­and it shall not play him false!

“My coffers are almost bare, Tom.  And I am sick of crowds and foppery and the follies of the city.  I would fain away on the back of my good steed, and feel what freedom is like once more.  Gold I must have; and the King’s gold is my fancy.  Let me win it this time by my services, which shall be true and faithful; but if not—­well, let them not say the fault is mine!”

“The Queen’s, you mean,” said Tom.  “We serve our Queen now.”

Lord Claud gave a short laugh.

“You speak sooth, honest Tom; we have a Queen now, and I would not do despite to our good Queen Anne!  I was thinking of the last time I had won royal gold—­then it was the King’s money that replenished my empty exchequer!”

He laughed again, and Tom looked at him half uneasily; which perceiving, he changed his tone, and in a short time the youth had forgotten everything save the glorious prospect of adventure and peril, and the handling thereafter of golden treasure; for if the Duke was accounted a lover of money, no man ever accused him of showing meanness in rewarding the services of others.

The next weeks flew by almost like a dream for Tom; and truly he felt he must surely be dreaming when he watched the gorgeous pageant of the third of January, and witnessed from a commanding situation the grand procession of the trophies of war as it wound its way from the Tower to Westminster Hall.

Companies of horse and foot made a brave and gallant show; row after row of pikemen with the captured standards; a goodly number of the nobles of the land; and the great Duke himself, at whose’ appearance the populace shouted till they were hoarse, ladies waved handkerchiefs, and the city seemed to go mad with joy and applause.

Almost grander still was the pageant three days later, when the victor of Blenheim went in state to the Goldsmiths’ Hall, to a banquet given in his honour by the Lord Mayor and Town Council.  He was conveyed there in one of the royal carriages; the greatest men in the kingdom, and some princely guests, accompanied him; and again the whole city turned out to give him welcome.  At Temple Bar the city marshals received him in state, garlands were flung, and trumpets proclaimed the idol of the hour.  The Commons were petitioning the Queen to suggest some fitting tribute for the services of so great a man; and the gift of the royal manor of Woodstock, and the erection by royal bounty of the palace of Blenheim (although after his fall and disgrace Marlborough had to finish the palace at his own cost) were the results of this appeal.