“One’s own flesh-and-blood is poor company, he finds.  By the Lord, Tom, this is no life for a Christian, be he man or boy.  To be lunged round my good mother at the length of her apron-string seemed but dull work, and making love to the Grande Mademoiselle was indifferent pastime.  But, odsfish, I would willingly be back there.  In this God-forgotten corner you cannot see a petticoat on any terms, save the farthingale of Dame Carteret or her ancient housekeeper, as they cross the courtyard to give corn to the pigeons.  James and I went out fishing yesterday, as far as S. Owen’s pond; but no sport had we there but the chance of a broken head from a Puritan farmer.”

“Why, what a plague did they want by laying hands on our anointed pate?”

“Ah! look you,” said Charles, in his languid drawl, “We did but beg a cup of cider from his daughter.  James hath a long face and a dull tongue for a boy of his age; but I warrant I spoke the wench fair for my part; and in French that had passed muster at Versailles.  But ’tis a perverse and stiff-necked generation.  The wench screamed in some language not understandable by us—­Carribee it may be—­but faith there was no difficulty about the farmer’s meaning:  he conjugated his fists, but we declined the encounter; and so we were quit as to grammar.”

The manner of the speaker was in such dry and droll contrast with his matter that Elliot had no difficulty in according the sympathetic smile which is the tribute of the jovial and manly sycophant to a superior he wishes to please.

“And this is then, the escapade for which the gros bonnets down there have determined that you are not to stir out of this charming retreat without a guard, or suffer your sacred person to meet the air of the island without the hedge of an escort.  But I have a plan to defeat them....”

Whatever projects the young men might be disposed to form for the purpose of eluding the prudent precautions of their seniors were for the moment cut short by a knocking at the door, which made them start aside like the disturbed conspirators that they were.

“Quick! vanish,” muttered the King sharply; “behind the bureau there.  If the comer be Nicholas let him not see thee here.  He bears thee no good will.”

As Elliot hurriedly obeyed, the door slowly opened, giving entrance to the Rector of S. Owen.  The worthy clergyman still wore the gown and bands in which he had preached in the forenoon, and carried in his hand the four-cornered but boardless college-cap which formed part of the clerical costume of those days.  Bestowing upon the youthful King a look whose awestruck humility was at curious variance with the respective ages and appearance of the two, and making an awkward obeisance, Mr. La Cloche spoke:—­

“I crave your pardon, Sir.  Receiving no reply to my knock I presumed to enter, deeming mine errand an excuse.”

Charles pointed to a seat and drew himself up with dignity:—­