“Alack, Sir Edward,” interrupted the impatient sailor, “this is that whereto Prynne would lead us.  Bethink you of Will Shakspeare’s saying, ‘If two men ride on a horse one must go behind.’  How much more if there be three of them.  Here, in Jersey, where there is but one organ of Government—­I mean the States—­we may have labour, but we have none of these confusions.  But in England, look you—­”

“If it were as you suppose,” cried Nicholas, “the King must needs ride before and the Parliament behind.  But let me hear more of Mr. Prynne.  Barring his sourness in regard of stage-plays and Bishops—­which seemed strangely coupled in his mind—­he was ever a wise and moderate man.”

“Marry,” replied Carteret, “I will show you what he hath writ.  He would persuade us—­I will be plain with you—­to send Charles packing, and to yield ourselves wholly to the present Government in England.  He argues that might is right, and that it is to that a weak state like ours must needs bow;—­Here be your three organs of Government—­or rather were—­yet one hath ever the last word, the casting vote; and that it is which in very truth governs:  the others are but baubles.  For, put case it were otherwise, then how would it fare with the public weal when one organ says, ’This shall be so, while another saith, ’Nay, but it shall be so;’ and a third perhaps is divided.  It is put to the touch, as hath been lately seen in this nation, where the King came forth on one side with his cavaliers, followed by tapsters, serving-men and clodhoppers; officers and men for the most part broken in fortune, debauched in body and mind.  Against him were ranged the citizens, the gentry, many even of the lords and the sober well-informed part of the yeomen.  Your Royal tapsters are scattered in almost every encounter, your King is taken, dethroned, slain.  Where be then your joint-organs, your paper-balance?  Is it not the merest audit of a bankrupt’s books?’ So far Mr. Prynne, of whose wisdom you perhaps will make short work.”

“I do not say that he is wrong,” answered the Secretary, with a puzzled look.  “I must own that we are beaten for the nonce.  And it may be that if we were uppermost we should equally destroy the balance.  But who will judge a man’s constitution by the symptoms of calenture?  The nation is sick, yet it is not like to die.”

“My faith!” said Sir George, after a brief pause of reflection, “I think thou must be right, Sir Edward.  This present condition of things cannot endure:  but England will not die.  When once men are earnestly disposed upon a way of reconciliation there must be give-and-take on either side until we get to work again.  Mr. Prynne’s own tyranny, that of the Parliament, hath been already encountered by a stronger tyranny, that of the army.  But that is a regimen to which Englishmen will not submit.”

“Then you are for the English, Sir George, rather than for the French.”