an
approved friend: but I need not remind your Reverence of the prayer of
the Psalmist: 'Let not his precious balms break mine head!'"

The King's manner indicated that the conference was at an end. He wished
to get rid of the Rector, not only because the good man was "boring"
him, as would be said now-a-days, but because he had but little trust in
Tom Elliot's discretion, and thought that at any moment the page might
be led to break forth from what must needs be an irksome confinement.
Moreover, the King knew that, sooner or later, he would have to undergo
a more serious lecture from some of his councillors, and it was an
object with him to make some inquiries in confidential quarters and
devise a course of speech if not of action.

But the worthy Rector was, as he said, unversed in the ways of the
great; and the young King's affable manner had drawn him into
forgetfulness of any little lessons of etiquette that he might have ever
learned. Instead of departing on the King's hint, he let his tongue wag
afresh.

"Alack, Sir! may your Majesty's prayers be heard. And may what I have
done breed myself no harm! For what saith the Wise Man? 'Burden not
thyself above thy power while thou livest, and have no fellowship with
one that is mightier than thyself: for how agree the kettle and earthen
pot together?'"

"It was well said of the Wise Man," observed the King demurely. "And
your Reverence will do well to consider the words that follow, if my
memory do not deceive me;--'If thou be invited of a great man, _withdraw
thyself_!'"

The underlined words, being pronounced with a voice changed to a sharp
and sudden tone from the solemn snuffle into which the King had slid in
first quoting _Ecclesiasticus_, were too much for Elliot, who broke into
an irrepressible giggle behind the bureau. Mr. La Cloche started at the
sound; then, recollecting himself, retired with a bow into which he
threw a look of surprise not unmixed with silent reproach.

Still laughing, the page emerged from his ambush, knocking the dust from
his doublet with his hand, and eyeing the door as it closed after the
retreating Rector.

"I'll wager he thinks thou wert a wench, Tom," cried Charles; "but tell
me, how much of the worthy parson's discourse didst thou hear?"

"As much as you desire, Sir, and no more," was the discreet reply. "But
it is true that one is come from France who knows Lord Jermyn."

"Jermyn," said the King, half soliloquising, "is