“Let not that trouble you, father,” said Lord Strange. “If such is my destiny, it cannot be avoided. I trust I shall be able to meet death firmly in whatever shape it may come. Be sure I shall never die dishonoured.”
“But why pursue a course that appears certain to lead to this end, my son? Why sacrifice yourself for a king who rewards you with ingratitude? Retire to the Isle of Man, where you can dwell securely till this struggle is over. By taking a prominent part in it, you will gain nothing, and may lose all.”
“I cannot follow your counsel, father,” replied Lord Strange. “Be the consequences what they may, I will not desert the king. I should tarnish my name were I to withdraw from him now.”
“Not so, my son,” rejoined the earl. “The course I point out is the only one left you. The king trusts you not, but listens to your enemies, and will never believe in your professions of loyalty. ‘Tis in vain, therefore, that you attempt to serve him. You have nothing but mortification and disappointment to expect. Why throw away life for one who treats you thus? Fight not against him, but fight not for him.”
“I can make no promise, my lord. His majesty has just sent for me, and what he commands I shall do.”
“Make any excuses rather than go to him,” said the earl. “You will not disobey my dying injunctions!”
“I ought to be with his majesty now, my lord—but I am here,” replied Lord Strange, somewhat evasively.
“Remain here, I charge you, my son—at least for some days after my death,” said the earl, solemnly and authoritatively.
“Ask me not more than I am able to perform, father,” rejoined Lord Strange, evidently a prey to conflicting emotions. “Enjoin aught I can do, and your wishes shall be fulfilled.”
“My wishes have been expressed,” said the earl, somewhat reproachfully; “and since you refuse to comply with them, there is no need of further speech. Oh! that you could see into the future as plainly as I can!”
“If I have offended you, father, I humbly crave your pardon,” said Lord Strange.
“Nay, I have nothing to pardon, my dear son,” said the dying nobleman. “My sole desire is to preserve you from danger. Take my blessing. Say farewell for me to your wife and children. Fain would I have seen them once more—but it may not be! We shall all meet in heaven.”
While he uttered these words, a change came over the earl’s countenance that could not be mistaken. He sank back upon the pillow and immediately expired.
Half an hour had elapsed, when the door was opened, and those outside were invited to enter the chamber of death. With the chaplain and physician were Frank Standish and Warburton, the butler. None were surprised to find that all was over.
“Let me be first to salute your lordship as Earl of Derby,” said Standish, bowing deeply as he came in.
“I do not desire the title in this presence,” rejoined the new earl. “Approach the bed, I pray you, good Master Hargrave, and you will see how calm my father looks. He might be in a placid slumber.”
“He has died the death of the righteous,” said the chaplain. “His life has been a long preparation for the final hour, and it has found him prepared.”
Bending down he took the hand of the departed, and pressed his lips to it. His example was followed by the others, but no one seemed so profoundly affected as Warburton.
The new earl witnessed this touching scene in silence, and then giving some needful orders to the butler, and directing that the household should be admitted to view the body of their deceased lord, he withdrew to an adjoining chamber, where he penned a despatch to the king, acquainting him with the sad event, and adding that he hoped to join his majesty at Nottingham on the morrow.
He then wrote a few lines to his wife, and having sent off messengers with the letters, threw himself upon a couch, quite worn out with anxiety and fatigue.
After a few hours’ slumber, the new Earl of Derby arose, and had an immediate conference with Mr. Hargrave.