The first five-and-twenty miles passed without interruption, and the horses lay well and warmly to their work.  They halted to rest and bait the beasts in a rocky hollow, sheltered from the blasts of the bise, and green with short, sweet grass, sprung up afresh after the summer drought.

“Do you ever think of him, sir?” said Rake softly, with a lingering love in his voice, as he stroked the grays and tethered them.

“Of whom?”

“Of the King, sir.  If he’s alive, he’s getting a rare old horse now.”

“Think of him!  I wish I did not, Rake.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see him agen, sir?”

“What folly to ask!  You know—­”

“Yes, sir, I know,” said Rake slowly.  “And I know—­leastways I picked it out of a old paper—­that your elder brother died, sir, like the old lord, and Mr. Berk’s got the title.”

Rake had longed and pined for an opportunity to dare say this thing which he had learned, and which he could not tell whether or no Cecil knew likewise.  His eyes looked with straining eagerness through the gloom into his master’s; he was uncertain how his words would be taken.  To his bitter disappointment, Cecil’s face showed no change, no wonder.

“I have heard that,” he said calmly—­as calmly as though the news had no bearing on his fortunes, but was some stranger’s history.

“Well, sir, but he ain’t the lord!” pleaded Rake passionately.  “He won’t never be while you’re living, sir!”

“Oh, yes, he is!  I am dead, you know.”

“But he won’t, sir!” reiterated Rake.  “You’re Lord Royallieu if ever there was a Lord Royallieu, and if ever there will be one.”

“You mistake.  An outlaw has no civil rights, and can claim none.”

The man looked very wistfully at him; all these years through he had never learned why his master was thus “dead” in Africa, and he had too loyal a love and faith ever to ask, or ever to doubt but that Cecil was the wronged and not the wrong-doer.

“You ain’t a outlaw, sir,” he muttered.  “You could take the title, if you would.”

“Oh, no!  I left England under a criminal charge.  I should have to disprove that before I could inherit.”

Rake crushed bitter oaths into muttered words as he heard.  “You could disprove it, sir, of course, right and away, if you chose.”

“No; or I should not have come here.  Let us leave the subject.  It was settled long ago.  My brother is Lord Royallieu.  I would not disturb him, if I had the power, and I have not it.  Look, the horses are taking well to their feed.”