"My brains are broken," was his cry.
Stukeley combed his beard in thought. He had little comfort to
offer.
"It was not expected," said he, "that you would return.
"Not expected?" Sir Walter's bowed white head was suddenly flung
back. Indignation blazed in the eyes that age had left undimmed.
"What act in all my life justified the belief I should be false
to honour? My danger here was made quite plain, and Captain King
would have had me steer a course for France, where I had found a
welcome and a harbour. But to consent I must have been false to
my Lords of Arundel and Pembroke, who were sureties to the King
for my return. Life is still sweet to me, despite my three-score
years and more, but honour is sweeter still."
And then, because life was sweet, he bluntly asked his cousin:
"What is the King's intent by me?"
"Nay, now," said Stukeley, "who shall know what passes in the
King's mind? From the signs, I judge your case to be none so
desperate. You have good friends in plenty, among whom, although
the poorest, count myself the first. Anon, when you are rested,
we'll to London by easy stages, baiting at the houses of your
friends, and enlisting their good offices on your behalf.
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