‘True,’ said lord Charles; ’it was a very scurvy inn, but we must not forget that the reckoning was cheap.’

While he spoke, one of the household had approached the marquis, who sat on the other side of the carriage, and said something in a low voice.

‘Say’st thou so!’ returned his lordship. ’—­Hear’st thou, my lord Charles?  Thou talkest of a cheap reckoning!  I never paid so dear for a lodging in my life.  Here is master Wharton hath just told me that they have left a thousand pound under a bench in the chamber we broke our fast in.  Truly they are overpaid for what we had!’

‘We have sent back after it, my lord,’ said Mr. Wharton.

‘You will never see the money again,’ said lord Charles.

‘Oh, peace!’ said the marquis.  ’If they will not be known of the money, you shall see it in a brave inn in a short time.’

Nothing more was said on the matter, and the marquis seemed to have forgotten it.  Late at night, at their next halting-place, the messenger rejoined them, having met a drawer, mounted on a sorry horse, riding after them with the bag, but little prospect of overtaking them before they reached London.

‘I thought our hostess seemed an honest woman!’ said lady Anne.

’It is a poor town, indeed, lord Charles, but you see it is an honest one nevertheless!’ said Dr. Bayly.

‘It may be the town never saw so much money before,’ said the marquis, ‘and knew not what to make of it.’

‘Your lordship is severe,’ said the doctor.

‘Only with my tongue, good doctor, only with my tongue,’ said the marquis, laughing.

When they reached London, lord Worcester found himself, to his surprise, in custody of the Black Rod, who, as now for some three years Worcester House in the Strand had been used for a state-paper office, conducted him to a house in Covent Garden, where he lodged him in tolerable comfort and mild imprisonment.  Parliament was still jealous of Glamorgan and his Irish doings—­as indeed well they might be.

But his confinement was by no means so great a trial to him as his indignant friends supposed; for, long willing to depart, he had at length grown a little tired of life, feeling more and more the oppression of growing years, of gout varied with asthma, and, worst of all to the once active man, of his still increasing corpulence, which last indeed, by his own confession, he found it hard to endure with patience.  The journey had been too much for him, and he began to lead the life of an invalid.

There being no sufficient accommodation in the house for his family, they were forced to content themselves with lodging as near him as they could, and in these circumstances Dorothy, notwithstanding lady Glamorgan’s entreaties, would have returned home.  But the marquis was very unwilling she should leave him, and for his sake she concluded to remain.

‘I am not long for this world, Dorothy,’ he said.  ’Stay with me and see the last of the old man.  The wind of death has got inside my tent, and will soon blow it out of sight.’