“’Then will I be thy lover true,
      And thou my beauteous queene,’

“through these gay festivities.  But mark me!”—­He became serious on the sudden.  The expression of his eye, from its general character of assumed gaiety, was changed into that of tenderness and respect.  “Mark me, lady, I would be spared the horror of a rival.  Will you be my partner in these pageantries—­my mistress unto whom I may render mine homage and my trust?”

“’Tis a brave speech, Sir John,” cried the lady, as though wishful to divert the subject.  “My cousin tells me that you are a knight of great courage and renown, but he sayeth not aught of your disposition to outrival him in heroics.  Good-bye—­a promise made is a promise broken; therefore, I’ll offer none.  I meet you not to-night at the feast, having obtained mine excuse.”

Saying this, she bounded from him ere he was aware, and was speedily out of sight.

He was not a little chagrined at her abrupt departure; yet her very carelessness, and the open simplicity of her manner, only served to fix her the more deeply in his thoughts.  But a problem of greater difficulty was to be resolved than how to fix the chameleon hue of woman’s thought.  He had a king to pacify—­wayward as a child, fickle as a lady’s favour.  Unless he could acquit himself by some witty quibble or device, he might bid adieu to the gaieties over which he presided.  The time was short, and his wit must needs be ambling.  As he passed through the court, revolving many plans for his deliverance, he was aware of a loud dispute between the two household divinities we have before noticed.  Words were nigh being exchanged for blows, but they were stayed out of respect to the intruder.

Leaving Sir John to confer with those doughty disputants, let us follow the king to supper.  Space forbids that we describe the wonders of this feast, and the dainties that were provided—­how the swans were roasted, and the herons eaten cold—­how pies were baked of the red deer, and the wild boar, not a whit too small for the reception of any moderate-sized Christian subject of his Majesty’s.  There were turkeys, quails, poults, and plovers; but of pheasants only two, and one for the king.  The greatest triumph, however, was reserved for the confections; an artificial hen was here served of puff-paste; her wings displayed, sitting upon eggs of the same materials.  In each of these was enclosed a fat lark roasted, and seasoned with pepper and ambergris.

They sat down, but the master of the ceremonies was still absent; whereupon the king, much distempered thereby, called out to Sir George Goring—­

“Our mummer and our dancer being departed—­whilk thing, aforetime, we did maist righteously inhibit—­thinkest thou, he may not henceforth eschew our service?”

“My liege, your Grace’s commands were to seek him a full hour agone, but the scared deer hath taken to covert.  He was, peradventure, afraid of the hunting, and liketh his own neck better than the sport.  He careth not, methinks, to show his face that turns big back on his comrade’s peril.”