Of the king’s behaviour in the matter, Dorothy, however, knew nothing yet.

One day towards the end of February, a messenger from the king arrived at Raglan, on his way to Ireland to lord Ormond.  He had found the roads so beset—­for things were by this time, whether from the successes of the parliament only, or from the negligence of disappointment on the part of lord Worcester as well, much altered in Wales and on its borders—­that he had been compelled to leave his despatches in hiding, and had reached the castle only with great difficulty and after many adventures.  His chief object in making his way thither was to beg of lord Charles a convoy to secure his despatches and protect him on his farther journey.  But lord Charles received him by no means cordially, for the whole heart of Raglan was sore.  He brought him, however, to his father, who, although indisposed and confined to his chamber, consented to see him.  When Mr. Boteler was admitted, lady Glamorgan was in the chamber, and there remained.

Probably the respect to the king’s messenger which had influenced the marquis to receive him, would have gone further and modified the expression of his feelings a little when he saw him, but that, like many more men, his lordship, although fairly master of his temper-horses when in health, was apt to let them run away with him upon occasion of even slighter illness than would serve for an excuse.

’Hast thou in thy despatches any letters from his majesty to my son Glamorgan, master Boteler?’ he inquired, frowning unconsciously.

‘Not that I know of, my lord,’ answered Mr. Boteler, ’but there may be such with the lord marquis of Ormond’s.’

He then proceeded to give a friendly message from the king concerning the earl.  But at this the ‘smouldering fire out-brake’ from the bosom of the injured father and subject.

‘It is the grief of my heart,’ cried his lordship, wrath predominating over the regret which was yet plainly enough to be seen in his face and heard in his tone—­’It is the grief of my heart that I am enforced to say that the king is wavering and fickle.  To be the more his friend, it too plainly appeareth, is but to be the more handled as his enemy.’

‘Say not so, my lord,’ returned Mr. Boteler.  ’His gracious majesty looketh not for such unfriendly judgment from your lips.  Have I not brought your lordship a most gracious and comfortable message from him concerning my lord Glamorgan, with his royal thanks for your former loyal expressions?’

’Mr. Boteler, thou knowest nought of the matter.  That thou has brought me a budget of fine words, I go not to deny.  But words may be but schismatics; deeds alone are certainly of the true faith.  Verily the king’s majesty setteth his words in the forefront of the battle, but his deeds lag in the rear, and let his words be taken prisoners.  When his majesty was last here, I lent him a book to read in his chamber, the beginning of which I know he read, but if he had ended, it would have showed him what it was to be a fickle prince.’