"Wear this for me, friend," he requested, graciously, "in memory of old days."
Halfman rose from his knees and drew himself up as if on parade.
"God save the King!" he thundered, and with that loyal music in his ears the King followed Brilliana down the great staircase over which the carven angels kept watch and ward. Halfman, leaning over the rail-way, saw the pair pass through the hall, then he turned and entered the apartment that Charles had left, and stood there, rigid in meditation.
Rufus stepped stealthily out of the dusking garden into the lighted room, and moving noiselessly across the floor, laid his hand on Halfman's shoulder. Halfman did not look round.
"Well, Sir Rufus," he asked, as calmly as if the sudden touch had been some recognized, awaited signal.
"You are not to be taken by surprise, my good friend," Sir Rufus said. Halfman shrugged his shoulders.
"It would need more than the clap of a man's paw on my back to take me by surprise; and, besides, I saw you coming. There is a mirror near, good Sir Rufus, and even in yonder owl-light I could pick you out of the mist. Moreover, I thought you would come."
"Why did you think I would come?" Sir Rufus asked, with a frown.
"Just because I thought it," Halfman answered, indifferently. "And, you see, my thoughts were true thoughts."
Sir Rufus came closer to him, speaking in his ear.
"I hope you hate all Roundheads," he said. "All damned rebels."
Halfman's only answer was to whistle very softly the first few bars of a roaring Cavalier ballad. The grasp on Halfman's shoulder tightened.
"There is one damned Roundhead here who vexes me," Sir Rufus said, fiercely.
"I think his name is called Cloud," said Halfman.
"If wishes were coaches," Halfman observed, sententiously, "beggars would ride."
"He would have been dead ere this if she had not wheedled the King out of his wits. His Majesty is in a forgiving disposition to-day, and forgets his friends at the prayer of a pretty face. I wish this rebel were dead, friend."
"He will die in time," Halfman commented, philosophically. Sir Rufus growled.
"You are as dull as mud. It would be money in your pocket, friend Halfman, ay, money running over your pocket-holes, if this rebel were to be your quarry."