"Then sit here," he replied, indicating a seat at the end of the table, "and write what I shall tell you."
And before I could marvel at the ease of the transition, I was seated, quietly writing; what I can no longer remember, for it was the first only of many hundred papers, of private and public importance, which I was privileged to write for his signature. My hand shook, and it is unlikely that I exhibited much of the natural capacity for such work which it has been my lot to manifest since; nevertheless, his Grace after glancing over it, was pleased to express his satisfaction. "You learned to do this with Brome?" said he.
"Then how," he continued, seating himself--I had risen respectfully--"Tell me what happened to you yesterday."
I had no choice but to obey, but before I told my story, seeing that he was in a good humour and so favourably inclined to me, I spoke out what was in my mind; and in the most moving terms possible I conjured him to promise me that I should not be forced to be an evidence. I would tell him all, I would be faithful and true to him, and ask nothing better than to be his servant--but be an informer in court I dared not.
"You dare not?" he said, with an odd look at me. "And why not, man?"
But all I could answer was, "I dare not!"
"Are you afraid of these villains?" he continued, impatiently. "I tell you, we have them: it is they who have to fear!"
But I still clung to my point. I would tell, but I would give no evidence; I dared not.
"I am afraid, Mr. Price," he said at that, and with an air of some contempt, "that you are something of a coward!"
I answered, grovelling before him, that it might be--it might be; but----
"But--who of us is not?" he answered, with a sudden gesture between scorn and self-reproof. "Do you mean that, man?" And he fixed his eyes on me. "Well, it is true. Who of us is not?" he repeated, slowly; and turning from me, he began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind him; so that before he had made a single turn it was easy to see that he had forgotten my presence. "Who of us is not afraid--if not of these scoundrels, still of the future, of the return, of Jacobus _iracundus et ingens_, of another 29th of May? To be safe now and to be safe then--who is not thinking of that and living for that, and planning for that?"