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John Enderby
by
“Upon my soul! Upon my soul!” was all Charles said for a moment, and then he added: “Why did you not speak before?”
“My father would not permit me, your Majesty. He is only returned to England these few months.”
“He is here to–?”
“To be near to myself, Sir.”
The King bowed low over her hand.
“Mistress Enderby,” said he, frankly, “we are honoured by your presence in this place. To-morrow morning at eleven your father shall come to us. You are still but a child in face,” he said; “and yet–eh?”
“I am twenty-seven years old,” she answered frankly.
“Quite old enough to be a countess,” he said charmingly, “and young enough to enjoy the honours thereof.” So saying he bowed again, and with a gracious smile dismissed her. She went so quickly that she did not see two gentlemen almost at her elbow as she left the gallery. One of them was Lord Rippingdale.
“Ha,” said my lord, with a wicked smile, “a new violet in the King’s garden!”
His companion turned on him swiftly.
“My lord,” said he, “this is the second time to-day you have slandered this lady.”
The other lifted his eyebrows.
“Is it a slander to say that the King finds a lady charming at any hour o’ the clock?” he rejoined.
Sir Richard slapped him across the cheek with his glove.
“I take a pleasant duty from John Enderby’s shoulders, my lord. I will meet you at your pleasure.”
The next morning at sunrise Lord Rippingdale declared with his last breath that he did not know the lady was John Enderby’s daughter, and he begged Sir Richard to carry to Enderby his regret for all past wrongs.
Sir Richard came in upon the King at the moment that his Majesty was receiving John Enderby–a whiteheaded old man, yet hale and strong, and wearing the uniform of the King’s Guard. The fire of Enderby’s eye was not quenched. The King advanced towards him, and said:
“You are welcome to our Court, Squire Enderby. You have been absent too long. You will honour us by accepting a tardy justice–without a price,” he added, in a low tone.
“Your Majesty,” said Enderby, “for me justice comes too late, but for my child–“
“An earldom can never come too late–eh?” asked the King, smiling gaily.
“For me, your Majesty, all comes too late except–” his voice shook a little–“except the house where I was born.”
Charles looked at him gravely.
“Upon my soul, Enderby,” said he, “you are a man to be envied. We will not rob you of your good revenge on our house or of your independence. But still we must have our way. Your daughter,”–he turned lightly towards Felicity,–“if she will not refuse me, and she cannot upon the ground that you refused my father–she shall be Countess of Enderby in her own right; with estates in keeping.”
Womanlike, Mistress Felicity had no logical argument against an honour so munificently ordained. “And now for your estates–who holds them?” asked the King.
“Lord Rippingdale, your Majesty,” answered Enderby.
“Yes, yes, my lord Haman! We have already sent for him. It is long past the time.” His brow darkened.
Sir Richard Mowbray stepped forward and said: “Your Majesty, Lord Rippingdale is beyond obedience or reparation;” and then he gave the message of the dead man to John Enderby.
A month later Mowbray was permitted to return to Court, and with him came John Enderby and the Countess of Enderby. When Charles was told how matters had gone between the younger two, he gave vent to a mock indignation; and in consequence he made Sir Richard Mowbray an earl also, that, as he said, they might both be at the same nearness to him; for etiquette was tyrannical, and yet he did not know which of them he loved better!
As for the man so long dishonoured, Charles swore that since John Enderby came not to the King at Court, the King would go to him at Enderby. And go he did in good temper and in great friendship for many a year.