"My gracious lord--a pardon for my son!"

"I beseech you, sir!" cried Lord Oldborough, endeavouring to stop him from
kneeling--the commissioner sunk instantly on his knee.

"Never will the unhappy father rise till his son be restored to your
favour, my lord."

"Sir," said Lord Oldborough, "I have no favour for those who have no sense
of honour: rise, Mr. Falconer, and let not the father degrade himself for
the son--_unavailingly_."

The accent and look were decisive--the commissioner rose. Instead of being
gratified, his patron seemed shocked, if not disgusted: far from being
propitiated by this sacrifice of dignity, it rendered him still more
averse; and no consolatory omen appearing, the commissioner withdrew in
silence, repenting that he had abased himself. After this, some days and
nights passed with him in all the horrors of indecision--Could the minister
weather the storm or not?--should Mr. Falconer endeavour to reinstate
himself with Lord Oldborough, or secure in time favour with the Duke of
Greenwich?--Mrs. Falconer, to whom her husband's groans in the middle of
the night at last betrayed the sufferings of his mind, drew from him the
secret of his fears and meditations. She advised strongly the going over,
decidedly, and in time, but secretly, to the Greenwich faction.

The commissioner knew that this could not be done secretly. The attention
of the minister was now awake to all his motions, and the smallest movement
towards his grace of Greenwich must be observed and understood. On the
other hand, to abide by a falling minister was folly, especially when