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“John Enderby wants no reward for being a loyal subject, my lord,” answered Enderby.

Then with another glance at the King, in which he knew that his Majesty was recovered, he took off his hat, bowed, and, mounting his horse, rode away without a word.

At Sutterby the gentlemen received gracious thanks of the King who had been here delivered from the first act of violence made against him in his reign.

Of the part which Enderby had played Lord Rippingdale said no more to the King than this:

“Sir John Enderby was of these gentlemen who saved your Majesty’s life. Might it not seem to your Majesty that–“

“Was he of them?” interrupted the King kindly; then, all at once, out of his hurt vanity and narrow self-will, he added petulantly: “When he hath paid for the accolade of his knighthood, then will we welcome him to us, and make him Baron of Enderby.”

Next day when Enderby entered the great iron gates of the grounds of Enderby House the bell was ringing for noon. The house was long and low, with a fine tower in the centre, and two wings ran back, forming the court-yard, which would have been entirely inclosed had the stables moved up to complete the square.

When Enderby came out into the broad sweep of grass and lawn, flanked on either side by commendable trees, the sun shining brightly, the rooks flying overhead, and the smell of ripe summer in the air, he drew up his horse and sat looking before him.

“To lose it! To lose it!” he said, and a frown gathered upon his forehead.

Even as he looked, the figure of a girl appeared in the great doorway. Catching sight of the horseman, she clapped her hands and waved them delightedly.

Enderby’s face cleared, as the sun breaks through a mass of clouds and lightens all the landscape. The slumberous eyes glowed, the square head came up. In five minutes he had dismounted at the great stone steps and was clasping his daughter in his arms.

“Felicity, my dear daughter!” he said, tenderly and gravely.

She threw back her head with a gaiety which bespoke the bubbling laughter in her heart, and said:

“Booh! to thy solemn voice. Oh, thou great bear, dost thou love me with tears in thine eyes?”

She took his hand and drew him inside the house, where, laying aside his hat and gloves and sword, they passed into the great library.

“Come, now, tell me all the places thou hast visited,” she said, perching herself on his arm-chair.

He told her, and she counted them off one by one upon her fingers.

“That is ninety miles of travel thou hast had. What is the most pleasing thing thou hast seen?”

“It was in Stickford by the fen,” he answered, after a perplexed pause. “There was an old man upon the roadside with his head bowed in his hands. Some lads were making sport of him, for he seemed so woe-begone and old. Two cavaliers of the King came by. One of them stopped and drove the lads away, then going to the old man, he said: ‘Friend, what is thy trouble?’ The old man raised his melancholy face and answered: ‘Aw’m afeared, sir.’ ‘What fear you?’ inquired the young gentleman. ‘I fear ma wife, sir,’ replied the old man. At that the other cavalier sat back in his saddle and guffawed merrily. ‘Well, Dick,’ said he to his friend, ‘that is the worst fear in this world. Ah, Dick, thou hast ne’er been married!’ ‘Why do you fear your wife?’ asked Dick. ‘Aw’ve been robbed of ma horse and saddle and twelve skeins o’ wool. Aw’m lost, aw’m ruined and shall raise ma head nevermore. To ma wife aw shall ne’er return.’ ‘Tut tut, man,’ said Dick, ‘get back to your wife. You are master of your own house; you rule the roost. What is a wife? A wife’s a woman. You are a man. You are bigger and stronger, your bones are harder. Get home and wear a furious face and batter in the door and say: “What, ho, thou huzzy!” Why, man, fear you the wife of your bosom?’ The old man raised his head and said: ‘Tha doost not know ma wife or tha wouldst not speak like that.’ At that Dick laughed and said: ‘Fellow, I do pity thee;’ and taking the old man by the shoulders, he lifted him on his own horse and took him to the village fair. There he bought him twelve skeins of wool and sent him on his way rejoicing, with a horse worth five times his own.”