King at table. Only two places were set; and after a
Latin grace had been pronounced by the Court-Chaplain, the dishes were
taken, one by one, to the King and his brother, and whatever meats were
approved were taken to the side-board and carved. The royal youths had
stood with uncovered heads while grace was being said; but they replaced
their hats when they sate down, and wore them throughout dinner. After
they had dined the Page-in-waiting, a tall and handsome youth, richly
attired, brought each of them a ewer and basin of parcel-gilt silver,
with a fringed damask napkin; and after they had washed their hands a
butler served them with Spanish and Gascon wines. Dessert having been
placed upon the table and tasted, the princes withdrew; and then the
hungry courtiers sate down to finish the repast.

Retired to his private sitting-room, Charles lay back on a window-seat,
tooth-pick in hand, and looked out indolently on the sea. The waves
scintillated and broke into white foam, among the brown rocks, which
disappeared gradually under the rising tide; and the wings of glancing
gulls shone out against a rain-cloud which was bearing off the recent
storm. Below the dark pall the sky of the horizon glowed bright and
clear as jade over the deepening line of the distant waters. At the
King's feet sat the page who had served the princes at dinner, a bright
rakish-looking young fellow named Thomas Elliot; apparently absorbed in
the preparation of fishing-tackle, he was heedfully watching the face of
his royal master out of the corner of his dare-devil eyes.

"Where is James, Tom?" asked presently the King.

"Gone to feed the hawks, Sir."

"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 di