“Verily it promiseth so, indeed. But . . . have you no misgivings as to . . . as to . . .”

The speaker hesitated, and finally stopped.

He evidently felt that he was upon delicate ground. Lord Hertford stopped before him, looked into his face with a clear, frank eye, and said —

“Speak on — there is none to hear but me. Misgivings as to what?”

“I am full loth to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou so near to him in blood, my lord. But craving pardon if I do offend, seemeth it not strange that madness could so change his port and manner? — not but that his port and speech are princely still, but that they differ, in one unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom was aforetime. Seemeth it not strange that madness should filch from his memory his father’s