oposal, however, proved rather unfortunate, for Elizabeth was
victorious in the first battle, the second was a drawn game, and Rupert
lost the third, just as he thought he was winning it, from forgetting
to move out the castle's pawn after castling his king. He could not
bear to be conquered, and pushed away the chess-board rather pettishly.

'Good morning to you, Prince Rupert,' said Elizabeth triumphantly; 'do
you wish for any more?'

Rupert made no answer, but pulled the inkstand across the table, opened
the paper-case, and took up a pen.

'Oh!' said Elizabeth, 'I suppose we may expect a treatise on the art of
fortification, salient angles, and covered ways, not forgetting the
surrender of Bristol.'

No reply, but Rupert scratched away very diligently with his pen, the
inkstand preventing Elizabeth from seeing what he was about.

'Anne,' said Elizabeth, leaning back, and turning round, 'I am thinking
of making a collection of the heroes who could not bear to be beaten at
chess, beginning with Charlemagne's Paladins, who regularly beat out
each other's brains with the silver chess-board, then the Black Prince,
and Philippe of Burgundy. Can you help me to any more?'

Anne did not hear, and Rupert remained silent as ever; and Elizabeth,
determining to let him make himself as silly as he pleased, took up her
work and sewed on her braid very composedly. Katherine had come down
again at dinner-time, and was working in silence. She had been
standing by the piano, but finding that no one asked her to play, or
took any notice of her, she had come back to the table.

'Dear me, Prince Rupert,' said she, looking over his shoulder, 'what
strange thing are you doing there?'

'A slight sketch,' said he, 'to be placed in Lizzie's album as a
companion to a certain paragraph which I believe she has studied.'

Rupert threw his pen-and-ink drawing down before Elizabeth. It was
really not badly done, and she saw in a moment, by the help of the
names which he had scribbled below in his worst of all bad writing,
that it represented the Giants, Pope and Pagan, as described in the
Pilgrim's Progress, while, close to Pope, was placed a delineation very
like Don Quixote, purporting to be the superannuated Giant Chivalry,
biting his nails at a dapper little personification of 'Civil and
Religious Liberty.' A figure whose pointed head, lame foot, and stout
walking-stick, shewed him to be intended for Sir Walter Scott, was
throwing