“No, sire,” replied Wilton; “although he never expressly stated his name to me, yet from all that was said by every one around, I must admit that I knew perfectly it was the Duke of Berwick.  But, sire, whoever it was, he had saved my life:  he had said not one word disrespectful to your Majesty’s person:  he had reprobated in the most severe and cutting terms those conspirators, some of whom have already bowed the head to the sword of justice; and he had stigmatized the acts they proposed to commit with scorn, contempt, and horror.  All this he had done in my presence to ten or twelve armed men, whose conduct to myself, and schemes against you, showed them capable of any daring villany.  These, sire, may be called my excuses for aiding a person, known to be an enemy of your crown, to escape from your dominions; but, if I may so far presume to say—­it, there was a reason as well as an excuse which suggested itself to my mind at the time, and in which your majesty’s interests were concerned.”

The King had listened attentively:  the frown had gone from his brow; and he had so far given a sign of approbation, as, when Wilton mentioned the conduct of the Duke of Berwick, to make a slight inclination of the head.  When the young gentleman concluded, however, he paused in order to let him go on, always more willing that others should proceed, than say a single word to bid them do so.

“What is your reason?” he said at last, finding that nothing was added.

“It was this, sire,” replied Wilton; “that I knew the Duke of Berwick was connected with your majesty’s own family; that he was one person of high character and reputation amongst a vast number of low and infamous conspirators; that he was perfectly innocent of the dark and horrible crimes of which they were guilty; and yet, that he must be considered by the law of the land as a traitor even for setting his foot upon these shores, and must be concluded by the law and its ministers under the same punishment and condemnation as all those assassins and traitors who are now expiating their evil purposes on the scaffold.  In these circumstances, sire, I judged that it would be much more agreeable to your majesty that he should escape, than that he should be taken; that you would be very much embarrassed, indeed, what to do with him, if any indiscreet person were to stop him in his flight; and that you would not disapprove of that conduct, the first motive of which, I openly confess, was gratitude towards the man who had saved my life.”

“Sir, you did very right,” said William, with scarcely a change of countenance.  “You did very right, and I am much obliged to you.”

At the same time, he held out his hand.  Wilton bent his knee, and kissed it; and as he rose, William added, “I don’t know what I can do for you; but if at any time you want anything, let me know, for I think you have done well—­and judged well.  My Lord of Portland here, on application to him, will procure you audience of me.”