“My father was right,” said Lord Glenvarloch, in the bitterness of his spirit; “and his curse justly followed me when I first entered that place. There is contamination in the air, and he whose fortune avoids ruin, shall be blighted in his honour and reputation.”
Sir Mungo, who watched his victim with the delighted yet wary eye of an experienced angler, became now aware, that if he strained the line on him too tightly, there was every risk of his breaking hold. In order to give him room, therefore, to play, he protested that Lord Glenvarloch “should not take his free speech in malam partem. If you were a trifle ower sicker in your amusement, my lord, it canna be denied that it is the safest course to prevent farther endangerment of your somewhat dilapidated fortunes; and if ye play with your inferiors, ye are relieved of the pain of pouching the siller of your friends and equals; forby, that the plebeian knaves have had the advantage, tecum certasse, as Ajax Telamon sayeth, apud Metamorphoseos; and for the like of them to have played with ane Scottish nobleman is an honest and honourable consideration to compensate the loss of their stake, whilk, I dare say, moreover, maist of the churls can weel afford.”
“Be that as it may, Sir Mungo,” said Nigel, “I would fain know – ”
“Ay, ay,” interrupted Sir Mungo; “and, as you say, who cares whether the fat bulls of Bashan can spare it or no? gentlemen are not to limit their sport for the like of them.”
“I wish to know, Sir Mungo,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “in what company you have learned these offensive particulars respecting me?”
“Dootless – dootless, my lord,” said Sir Mungo; “I have ever heard, and have ever reported, that your lordship kept the best of company in a private way. – There is the fine Countess of Blackchester, but I think she stirs not much abroad since her affair with his Grace of Buckingham; and there is the gude auld-fashioned Scottish nobleman, Lord Huntinglen, an undeniable man of quality – it is pity but he could keep caup and can frae his head, whilk now and then doth’minish his reputation. And there is the gay young Lord Dalgarno, that carries the craft of gray hairs under his curled love-locks – a fair race they are, father, daughter, and son, all of the same honourable family. I think we needna speak of George Heriot, honest man, when we have nobility in question. So that is the company I have heard of your keeping, my lord, out-taken those of the ordinary.”
“My company has not, indeed, been much more extended than amongst those you mention,” said Lord Glenvarloch; “but in short – ”
“To Court?” said Sir Mungo, “that was just what I was going to say – Lord Dalgarno says he cannot prevail on ye to come to Court, and that does ye prejudice, my lord – the king hears of you by others, when he should see you in person – I speak in serious friendship, my lord. His Majesty, when you were named in the circle short while since, was heard to say, ‘Jacta est alea!– Glenvarlochides is turned dicer and drinker.’ – My Lord Dalgarno took your part, and he was e’en borne down by the popular voice of the courtiers, who spoke of you as one who had betaken yourself to living a town life, and risking your baron’s coronet amongst the flatcaps of the city.”
“And this was publicly spoken of me,” said Nigel, “and in the king’s presence?”
“Spoken openly?” repeated Sir Mungo Malagrowther; “ay, by my troth was it – that is to say, it was whispered privately – whilk is as open promulgation as the thing permitted; for ye may think the Court is not like a place where men are as sib as Simmie and his brother, and roar out their minds as if they were at an ordinary.”
“A curse on the Court and the ordinary both!” cried Nigel, impatiently.
“With all my heart,” said the knight; “I have got little by a knight’s service in the Court; and the last time I was at the ordinary, I lost four angels.”
“May I pray of you, Sir Mungo, to let me know,” said Nigel, “the names of those who thus make free with the character of one who can be but little known to them, and who never injured any of them?”
“Have I not told you already,” answered Sir Mungo, “that the king said something to that effect – so did the Prince too; – and such being the case, ye may take it on your corporal oath, that every man in the circle who was not silent, sung the same song as they did.”
“You said but now,” replied Glenvarloch, “that Lord Dalgarno interfered in my behalf.”
“In good troth did he,” answered Sir Mungo, with a sneer; “but the young nobleman was soon borne down – by token, he had something of a catarrh, and spoke as hoarse as a roopit raven. Poor gentleman, if he had had his full extent of voice, he would have been as well listened to, dootless, as in a cause of his ain, whilk no man kens better how to plead to purpose. – And let me ask you, by the way,” continued Sir Mungo, “whether Lord Dalgarno has ever introduced your lordship to the Prince, or the Duke of Buckingham, either of whom might soon carry through your suit?”
“I have no claim on the favour of either the Prince or the Duke of Buckingham,” said Lord Glenvarloch. – “As you seem to have made my affairs your study, Sir Mungo, although perhaps something unnecessarily, you may have heard that I have petitioned my Sovereign for payment of a debt due to my family. I cannot doubt the king’s desire to do justice, nor can I in decency employ the solicitation of his Highness the Prince, or his Grace the Duke of Buckingham, to obtain from his Majesty what either should be granted me as a right, or refused altogether.”
Sir Mungo twisted his whimsical features into one of his most grotesque sneers, as he replied —
“It is a vera clear and parspicuous position of the case, my lord; and in relying thereupon, you show an absolute and unimprovable acquaintance with the King, Court, and mankind in general. – But whom have we got here? – Stand up, my lord, and make way – by my word of honour, they are the very men we spoke of – talk of the devil, and – humph!”
It must be here premised, that, during the conversation, Lord Glenvarloch, perhaps in the hope of shaking himself free of Sir Mungo, had directed their walk towards the more frequented part of the Park; while the good knight had stuck to him, being totally indifferent which way they went, provided he could keep his talons clutched upon his companion. They were still, however, at some distance from the livelier part of the scene, when Sir Mungo’s experienced eye noticed the appearances which occasioned the latter part of his speech to Lord Glenvarloch. A low respectful murmur arose among the numerous groups of persons which occupied the lower part of the Park. They first clustered together, with their faces turned towards Whitehall, then fell back on either hand to give place to a splendid party of gallants, who, advancing from the Palace, came onward through the Park; all the other company drawing off the pathway, and standing uncovered as they passed.
Most of these courtly gallants were dressed in the garb which the pencil of Vandyke has made familiar even at the distance of nearly two centuries; and which was just at this period beginning to supersede the more fluttering and frivolous dress which had been adopted from the French Court of Henri Quatre.
The whole train were uncovered excepting the Prince of Wales, afterwards the most unfortunate of British monarchs, who came onward, having his long curled auburn tresses, and his countenance, which, even in early youth, bore a shade of anticipated melancholy, shaded by the Spanish hat and the single ostrich feather which drooped from it. On his right hand was Buckingham, whose commanding, and at the same time graceful, deportment, threw almost into shade the personal demeanour and majesty of the Prince on whom he attended. The eye, movements, and gestures of the great courtier were so composed, so regularly observant of all etiquette belonging to his situation, as to form a marked and strong contrast with the forward gaiety and frivolity by which he recommended himself to the favour of his “dear dad and gossip,” King James. A singular fate attended this accomplished courtier, in being at once the reigning favourite of a father and son so very opposite in manners, that, to ingratiate himself with the youthful Prince, he was obliged to compress within the strictest limits of respectful observance the frolicsome and free humour which captivated his aged father.
It is true, Buckingham well knew the different dispositions both of James and Charles, and had no difficulty in so conducting himself as to maintain the highest post in the favour of both. It has indeed been supposed, as we before hinted, that the duke, when he had completely possessed himself of the affections of Charles, retained his hold in those of the father only by the tyranny of custom; and that James, could he have brought himself to form a vigorous resolution, was, in the latter years of his life especially, not unlikely to have discarded Buckingham from his counsels and favour. But if ever the king indeed meditated such a change, he was too timid, and too much accustomed to the influence which the duke had long exercised over him, to summon up resolution enough for effecting such a purpose; and at all events it is certain, that Buckingham, though surviving the master by whom he was raised, had the rare chance to experience no wane of the most splendid court-favour during two reigns, until it was at once eclipsed in his blood by the dagger of his assassin Felton.
To return from this digression: The Prince, with his train, advanced, and were near the place where Lord Glenvarloch and Sir Mungo had stood aside, according to form, in order to give the Prince passage, and to pay the usual marks of respect. Nigel could now remark that Lord Dalgarno walked close behind the Duke of Buckingham, and, as he thought, whispered something in his ear as they came onward. At any rate, both the Prince’s and Duke of Buckingham’s attention seemed to be directed by such circumstance towards Nigel, for they turned their heads in that direction and looked at him attentively – the Prince with a countenance, the grave, melancholy expression of which was blended with severity; while Buckingham’s looks evinced some degree of scornful triumph. Lord Dalgarno did not seem to observe his friend, perhaps because the sunbeams fell from the side of the walk on which Nigel stood, obliging Malcolm to hold up his hat to screen his eyes.
As the Prince passed, Lord Glenvarloch and Sir Mungo bowed, as respect required; and the Prince, returning their obeisance with that grave ceremony which paid to every rank its due, but not a tittle beyond it, signed to Sir Mungo to come forward. Commencing an apology for his lameness as he started, which he had just completed as his hobbling gait brought him up to the Prince, Sir Mungo lent an attentive, and, as it seemed, an intelligent ear, to questions, asked in a tone so low, that the knight would certainly have been deaf to them had they been put to him by any one under the rank of Prince of Wales. After about a minute’s conversation, the Prince bestowed on Nigel the embarrassing notice of another fixed look, touched his hat slightly to Sir Mungo, and walked on.
“It is even as I suspected, my lord,” said Sir Mungo, with an air which he designed to be melancholy and sympathetic, but which, in fact, resembled the grin of an ape when he has mouthed a scalding chestnut – “Ye have back-friends, my lord, that is, unfriends – or, to be plain, enemies – about the person of the Prince.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Nigel; “but I would I knew what they accuse me of.”
“Ye shall hear, my lord,” said Sir Mungo, “the Prince’s vera words – ‘Sir Mungo,’ said he, ‘I rejoice to see you, and am glad your rheumatic troubles permit you to come hither for exercise.’ – I bowed, as in duty bound – ye might remark, my lord, that I did so, whilk formed the first branch of our conversation. – His Highness then demanded of me, ‘if he with whom I stood, was the young Lord Glenvarloch.’ I answered, ‘that you were such, for his Highness’s service;’ whilk was the second branch. – Thirdly, his Highness, resuming the argument, said, that ‘truly he had been told so,’ (meaning that he had been told you were that personage,) ‘but that he could not believe, that the heir of that noble and decayed house could be leading an idle, scandalous, and precarious life, in the eating-houses and taverns of London, while the king’s drums were beating, and colours flying in Germany in the cause of the Palatine, his son-in-law.’ – I could, your lordship is aware, do nothing but make an obeisance; and a gracious ‘Give ye good-day, Sir Mungo Malagrowther,’ licensed me to fall back to your lordship. And now, my lord, if your business or pleasure calls you to the ordinary, or anywhere in the direction of the city – why, have with you; for, dootless, ye will think ye have tarried lang enough in the Park, as they will likely turn at the head of the walk, and return this way – and you have a broad hint, I think, not to cross the Prince’s presence in a hurry.”
“You may stay or go as you please, Sir Mungo,” said Nigel, with an expression of calm, but deep resentment; “but, for my own part, my resolution is taken. I will quit this public walk for pleasure of no man – still less will I quit it like one unworthy to be seen in places of public resort. I trust that the Prince and his retinue will return this way as you expect; for I will abide, Sir Mungo, and beard them.”
“Beard them!” exclaimed Sir Mungo, in the extremity of surprise, – “Beard the Prince of Wales – the heir-apparent of the kingdoms! – By my saul, you shall beard him yourself then.”
Accordingly, he was about to leave Nigel very hastily, when some unwonted touch of good-natured interest in his youth and experience, seemed suddenly to soften his habitual cynicism.
“The devil is in me for an auld fule!” said Sir Mungo; “but I must needs concern mysell – I that owe so little either to fortune or my fellow-creatures, must, I say, needs concern mysell – with this springald, whom I will warrant to be as obstinate as a pig possessed with a devil, for it’s the cast of his family; and yet I maun e’en fling away some sound advice on him. – My dainty young Lord Glenvarloch, understand me distinctly, for this is no bairn’s-play. When the Prince said sae much to me as I have repeated to you, it was equivalent to a command not to appear in his presence; wherefore take an auld man’s advice that wishes you weel, and maybe a wee thing better than he has reason to wish ony body. Jouk, and let the jaw gae by, like a canny bairn – gang hame to your lodgings, keep your foot frae taverns, and your fingers frae the dice-box; compound your affairs quietly wi’ some ane that has better favour than yours about Court, and you will get a round spell of money to carry you to Germany, or elsewhere, to push your fortune. It was a fortunate soldier that made your family four or five hundred years syne, and, if you are brave and fortunate, you may find the way to repair it. But, take my word for it, that in this Court you will never thrive.”
When Sir Mungo had completed his exhortation, in which there was more of sincere sympathy with another’s situation, than he had been heretofore known to express in behalf of any one, Lord Glenvarloch replied, “I am obliged to you, Sir Mungo – you have spoken, I think, with sincerity, and I thank you. But in return for your good advice, I heartily entreat you to leave me; I observe the Prince and his train are returning down the walk, and you may prejudice yourself, but cannot help me, by remaining with me.”
“And that is true,” – said Sir Mungo; “yet, were I ten years younger, I would be tempted to stand by you, and gie them the meeting. But at threescore and upward, men’s courage turns cauldrife; and they that canna win a living, must not endanger the small sustenance of their age. I wish you weel through, my lord, but it is an unequal fight.” So saying, he turned and limped away; often looking back, however, as if his natural spirit, even in its present subdued state, aided by his love of contradiction and of debate, rendered him unwilling to adopt the course necessary for his own security.
Thus abandoned by his companion, whose departure he graced with better thoughts of him than those which he bestowed on his appearance, Nigel remained with his arms folded, and reclining against a solitary tree which overhung the path, making up his mind to encounter a moment which he expected to be critical of his fate. But he was mistaken in supposing that the Prince of Wales would either address him, or admit him to expostulation, in such a public place as the Park. He did not remain unnoticed, however, for, when he made a respectful but haughty obeisance, intimating in look and manner that he was possessed of, and undaunted by, the unfavourable opinion which the Prince had so lately expressed, Charles returned his reverence with such a frown, as is only given by those whose frown is authority and decision. The train passed on, the Duke of Buckingham not even appearing to see Lord Glenvarloch; while Lord Dalgarno, though no longer incommoded by the sunbeams, kept his eyes, which had perhaps been dazzled by their former splendour, bent upon the ground.
Lord Glenvarloch had difficulty to restrain an indignation, to which, in the circumstances, it would have been madness to have given vent. He started from his reclining posture, and followed the Prince’s train so as to keep them distinctly in sight; which was very easy, as they walked slowly. Nigel observed them keep their road towards the Palace, where the Prince turned at the gate and bowed to the noblemen in attendance, in token of dismissing them, and entered the Palace, accompanied only by the Duke of Buckingham, and one or two of his equerries. The rest of the train, having returned in all dutiful humility the farewell of the Prince, began to disperse themselves through the Park.
All this was carefully noticed by Lord Glenvarloch, who, as he adjusted his cloak, and drew his sword-belt round so as to bring the hilt closer to his hand, muttered – “Dalgarno shall explain all this to me, for it is evident that he is in the secret!”
CHAPTER XVI
Give way – give way – I must and will have justice.
And tell me not of privilege and place;
Where I am injured, there I’ll sue redress.
Look to it, every one who bars my access;
I have a heart to feel the injury,
A hand to night myself, and, by my honour,
That hand shall grasp what grey-beard Law denies me.
The Chamberlain.
It was not long ere Nigel discovered Lord Dalgarno advancing towards him in the company of another young man of quality of the Prince’s train; and as they directed their course towards the south-eastern corner of the Park, he concluded they were about to go to Lord Huntinglen’s. They stopped, however, and turned up another path leading to the north; and Lord Glenvarloch conceived that this change of direction was owing to their having seen him, and their desire to avoid him.
Nigel followed them without hesitation by a path which, winding around a thicket of shrubs and trees, once more conducted him to the less frequented part of the Park. He observed which side of the thicket was taken by Lord Dalgarno and his companion, and he himself, walking hastily round the other verge, was thus enabled to meet them face to face.
“Good-morrow, my Lord Dalgarno,” said Lord Glenvarloch, sternly.
“Ha! my friend Nigel,” answered Lord Dalgarno, in his usual careless and indifferent tone, “my friend Nigel, with business on his brow? – but you must wait till we meet at Beaujeu’s at noon – Sir Ewes Haldimund and I are at present engaged in the Prince’s service.”
“If you were engaged in the king’s, my lord,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “you must stand and answer me.”
“Hey-day!” said Lord Dalgarno, with an air of great astonishment, “what passion is this? Why, Nigel, this is King Cambyses’ vein! – You have frequented the theatres too much lately – Away with this folly, man; go, dine upon soup and salad, drink succory-water to cool your blood, go to bed at sun-down, and defy those foul fiends, Wrath and Misconstruction.”
“I have had misconstruction enough among you,” said Glenvarloch, in the same tone of determined displeasure, “and from you, my Lord Dalgarno, in particular, and all under the mask of friendship.”
“Here is a proper business!” – said Dalgarno, turning as if to appeal to Sir Ewes Haldimund; “do you see this angry ruffler, Sir Ewes? A month since, he dared not have looked one of yonder sheep in the face, and now he is a prince of roisterers, a plucker of pigeons, a controller of players and poets – and in gratitude for my having shown him the way to the eminent character which he holds upon town, he comes hither to quarrel with his best friend, if not his only one of decent station.”
“I renounce such hollow friendship, my lord,” said Lord Glenvarloch; “I disclaim the character which, even to my very face, you labour to fix upon me, and ere we part I will call you to a reckoning for it.”
“My lords both,” interrupted Sir Ewes Haldimund, “let me remind you that the Royal Park is no place to quarrel in.”
“I will make my quarrel good,” said Nigel, who did not know, or in his passion might not have recollected, the privileges of the place, “wherever I find my enemy.”
“You shall find quarelling enough,” replied Lord Dalgarno, calmly, “so soon as you assign a sufficient cause for it. Sir Ewes Haldimund, who knows the Court, will warrant you that I am not backward on such occasions. – But of what is it that you now complain, after having experienced nothing save kindness from me and my family?”
“Of your family I complain not,” replied Lord Glenvarloch; “they have done for me all they could, more, far more, than I could have expected; but you, my lord, have suffered me, while you called me your friend, to be traduced, where a word of your mouth would have placed my character in its true colours – and hence the injurious message which I just now received from the Prince of Wales. To permit the misrepresentation of a friend, my lord, is to share in the slander.”
“You have been misinformed, my Lord Glenvarloch,” said Sir Ewes Haldimund; “I have myself often heard Lord Dalgarno defend your character, and regret that your exclusive attachment to the pleasures of a London life prevented your paying your duty regularly to the King and Prince.”
“While he himself,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “dissuaded me from presenting myself at Court.”
“I will cut this matter short,” said Lord Dalgarno, with haughty coldness. “You seem to have conceived, my lord, that you and I were Pylades and Orestes – a second edition of Damon and Pythias – Theseus and Pirithoiis at the least. You are mistaken, and have given the name of friendship to what, on my part, was mere good-nature and compassion for a raw and ignorant countryman, joined to the cumbersome charge which my father gave me respecting you. Your character, my lord, is of no one’s drawing, but of your own making. I introduced you where, as in all such places, there was good and indifferent company to be met with – your habits, or taste, made you prefer the worse. Your holy horror at the sight of dice and cards degenerated into the cautious resolution to play only at those times, and with such persons, as might ensure your rising a winner – no man can long do so, and continue to be held a gentleman. Such is the reputation you have made for yourself, and you have no right to be angry that I do not contradict in society what yourself know to be true. Let us pass on, my lord; and if you want further explanation, seek some other time and fitter place.”
“No time can be better than the present,” said Lord Glenvarloch, whose resentment was now excited to the uttermost by the cold-blooded and insulting manner, in which Dalgarno vindicated himself, – “no place fitter than the place where we now stand. Those of my house have ever avenged insult, at the moment, and on the spot, where it was offered, were it at the foot of the throne. – Lord Dalgarno, you are a villain! draw and defend yourself.” At the same moment he unsheathed his rapier.
“Are you mad?” said Lord Dalgarno, stepping back; “we are in the precincts of the Court.”
“The better,” answered Lord Glenvarloch; “I will cleanse them from a calumniator and a coward.” He then pressed on Lord Dalgarno, and struck him with the flat of the sword.
The fray had now attracted attention, and the cry went round, “Keep the peace – keep the peace – swords drawn in the Park! – What, ho! guards! – keepers – yeomen – rangers!” and a number of people came rushing to the spot from all sides.
Lord Dalgarno, who had half drawn his sword on receiving the blow, returned it to his scabbard when he observed the crowd thicken, and, taking Sir Ewes Haldimund by the arm, walked hastily away, only saying to Lord Glenvarloch as they left him, “You shall dearly abye this insult – we will meet again.”
A decent-looking elderly man, who observed that Lord Glenvarloch remained on the spot, taking compassion on his youthful appearance, said to him, “Are you aware that this is a Star-Chamber business, young gentleman, and that it may cost you your right hand? – Shift for yourself before the keepers or constables come up – Get into Whitefriars or somewhere, for sanctuary and concealment, till you can make friends or quit the city.”
The advice was not to be neglected. Lord Glenvarloch made hastily towards the issue from the Park by Saint James’s Palace, then Saint James’s Hospital. The hubbub increased behind him; and several peace-officers of the Royal Household came up to apprehend the delinquent. Fortunately for Nigel, a popular edition of the cause of the affray had gone abroad. It was said that one of the Duke of Buckingham’s companions had insulted a stranger gentleman from the country, and that the stranger had cudgelled him soundly. A favourite, or the companion of a favourite, is always odious to John Bull, who has, besides, a partiality to those disputants who proceed, as lawyers term it, par wye du fait, and both prejudices were in Nigel’s favour. The officers, therefore, who came to apprehend him, could learn from the spectators no particulars of his appearance, or information concerning the road he had taken; so that, for the moment, he escaped being arrested.
What Lord Glenvarloch heard among the crowd as he passed along, was sufficient to satisfy him, that in his impatient passion he had placed himself in a predicament of considerable danger. He was no stranger to the severe and arbitrary proceedings of the Court of Star-Chamber, especially in cases of breach of privilege, which made it the terror of all men; and it was no farther back than the Queen’s time that the punishment of mutilation had been actually awarded and executed, for some offence of the same kind which he had just committed. He had also the comfortable reflection, that, by his violent quarrel with Lord Dalgarno, he must now forfeit the friendship and good offices of that nobleman’s father and sister, almost the only persons of consideration in whom he could claim any interest; while all the evil reports which had been put in circulation concerning his character, were certain to weigh heavily against him, in a case where much must necessarily depend on the reputation of the accused. To a youthful imagination, the idea of such a punishment as mutilation seems more ghastly than death itself; and every word which he overheard among the groups which he met, mingled with, or overtook and passed, announced this as the penalty of his offence. He dreaded to increase his pace for fear of attracting suspicion, and more than once saw the ranger’s officers so near him, that his wrist tingled as if already under the blade of the dismembering knife. At length he got out of the Park, and had a little more leisure to consider what he was next to do.
Whitefriars, adjacent to the Temple, then well known by the cant name of Alsatia, had at this time, and for nearly a century afterwards, the privilege of a sanctuary, unless against the writ of the Lord Chief Justice, or of the Lords of the Privy-Council. Indeed, as the place abounded with desperadoes of every description, – bankrupt citizens, ruined gamesters, irreclaimable prodigals, desperate duellists, bravoes, homicides, and debauched profligates of every description, all leagued together to maintain the immunities of their asylum, – it was both difficult and unsafe for the officers of the law to execute warrants emanating even from the highest authority, amongst men whose safety was inconsistent with warrants or authority of any kind. This Lord Glenvarloch well knew; and odious as the place of refuge was, it seemed the only one where, for a space at least, he might be concealed and secure from the immediate grasp of the law, until he should have leisure to provide better for his safety, or to get this unpleasant matter in some shape accommodated.
Meanwhile, as Nigel walked hastily forward towards the place of sanctuary, he bitterly blamed himself for suffering Lord Dalgarno to lead him into the haunts of dissipation; and no less accused his intemperate heat of passion, which now had driven him for refuge into the purlieus of profane and avowed vice and debauchery.
“Dalgarno spoke but too truly in that,” were his bitter reflections; “I have made myself an evil reputation by acting on his insidious counsels, and neglecting the wholesome admonitions which ought to have claimed implicit obedience from me, and which recommended abstinence even from the slightest approach of evil. But if I escape from the perilous labyrinth in which folly and inexperience, as well as violent passions, have involved me, I will find some noble way of redeeming the lustre of a name which was never sullied until I bore it.”