‘I will pay him a visit,’ said the king.

’Sir, it is what I would have requested, had I not feared to pain your majesty,’ returned the marquis.

‘I will go at once,’ said the king.

When Rowland saw him his face flushed, the tears rose in his eyes, he kissed the hand the king held out to him, and said feebly:—­

’Pardon, sire:  if I had rode better, the battle might have been yours.  I reached not the prince.’

‘It is the will of God,’ said the king, remembering for the first time that he had sent him to Rupert.  ’Thou didst thy best, and man can do no more.’

‘Nay, sire, but an’ I had ridden honestly,’ returned Rowland; ’—­I mean had my mare been honestly come by, then had I done your majesty’s message.’

‘How is that?’ asked the king.

‘Ha!’ said the marquis; ’then it was Heywood met thee, and would have his own again?  Told I not thee so?  Ah, that mare, Rowland! that mare!’

But Rowland had to summon all his strength to keep from fainting, for the blood had fled again to his heart, and could not reply.

‘Thou didst thy duty like a brave knight and true, I doubt not,’ said the king, kindly wishful to comfort him; ’and that my word may be a true one,’ he added, drawing his sword and laying it across the youth’s chest, ’although I cannot tell thee to rise and walk, I tell thee, when thou dost arise, to rise up sir Rowland Scudamore.’

The blood rushed to sir Rowland’s face, but fled again as fast.

‘I deserve no such honour, sire,’ he murmured.

But the marquis struck his hands together with pleasure, and cried,

’There, my boy!  There is a king to serve!  Sir Rowland Scudamore!  There is for thee!  And thy wife will be my lady!  Think on that!’

Rowland did think on it, but bitterly.  He summoned strength to thank his majesty, but failed to find anything courtier-like to add to the bare thanks.  When his visitors left him, he sighed sorely and said to himself,

’Honour without desert!  But for the roundhead’s taunts, I might have run to Rupert and saved the day.’

The next morning the marquis went again to see him.

‘How fares sir Rowland?’ he said.

‘My lord,’ returned Scudamore, in beseeching tone, ’break not my heart with honour unmerited.’

‘How!  Darest thou, boy, set thy judgment against the king’s?’ cried the marquis.  ’Sir Rowland thou art, and sir Rowland will the archangel cry when he calls thee from thy last sleep.’

‘To my endless disgrace,’ added Scudamore.

‘What! hast not done thy duty?’

‘I tried, but I failed, my lord.’

‘The best as often fail as the worst,’ rejoined his lordship.

’I mean not merely that I failed of the end.  That, alas!  I did.  But I mean that it was by my own fault that I failed,’ said Rowland.

Then he told the marquis all the story of his encounter with Richard, ending with the words,