‘There is something in that,’ said Lord Walwyn, when he had heard it repeated by Cecily.  ’It is, of course, needful that both she and her relations should be aware of Berenger’s life, and I trow nothing but the reply will convince him.’

‘Convince him!’ muttered Berenger.  ’Oh that I could make him understand.  What a wretch I am to have no voice to defend her!’

‘What?’ said the old lord again.

’Only that I could speak, sir; you should know why it is sacrilege to doubt her.’

’Ah! well, we will not wound you, my son, while talk is vain.  You shall have the means of sending your groom, if thus you will set your mind at rest, though I had rather have trusted to Walsingham’s dealing.  I will myself give him a letter to Sir Francis, to forward him on his way; and should the young lady prove willing to hold to her contract and come to you here, I will pray him to do everything to aid her that may be consistent with his duty in his post.’

This was a great and wonderful concession for Lord Walwyn, and Berenger was forced to be contented with it, though it galled him terribly to have Eustacie distrusted, and be unable to make his vindication even heard or understood, as well as to be forced to leave her rescue, and even his own explanation to her, to a mere servant.

This revival of his memory had not at all conduced to his progress in recovery.  His brain was in no state for excitement or agitation, and pain and confusion were the consequence, and were counteracted, after the practice of the time, by profuse bleedings, which prolonged his weakness.  The splintered state of the jaw and roof of the moth likewise produced effects that made him suffer severely, and deprived him at times even of the small power of speech that he usually possessed; and though he had set his heart upon being able to start for Paris so soon as Osbert’s answer should arrive, each little imprudence he committed, in order to convince himself of his progress, threw him back so seriously, that he was barely able to walk down-stairs to the hall, and sit watching—­watching, so that it was piteous to see him—­the gates of the courtyard, but the time that, on a cold March day, a booted and spurred courier (not Osbert) entered by them.

He sprang up, and faster than he had yet attempted to move, met the man in the hall, and demanded the packet.  It was a large one, done up in canvas, and addressed to the Right Honourable and Worshipful Sir William, Baron Walwyn of Hurst Walwyn, and he had further to endure the delay of carrying it to his grandfather’s library, which he entered with far less delay and ceremony than was his wont.  ‘Sit down, Berenger,’ said the old man, while addressing himself to the fastenings; and the permission was needed, for he could hardly have stood another minute.  The covering contained a letter to Lord Walwyn himself, and a packet addressed to the Baron de Ribaumont which his trembling fingers could scarcely succeed in cutting and tearing open.