down, "we thank thee for the
pleasure of this morning.--My Lord Marquis, you rooked me at piquet last
night; for which disloyal deed thou shalt now atone, by giving a couple
of pieces to this honest youth, and five to the girl."

As the nobleman drew out his purse and came forward to perform the
King's generous commission, Julian felt some embarrassment ere he was
able to explain, that he had not title to be benefited by the young
person's performance, and that his Majesty had mistaken his character.

"And who art thou, then, my friend?" said Charles; "but, above all, and
particularly, who is this dancing nymph, whom thou standest waiting on
like an attendant fawn?"

"The young person is a retainer of the Countess-Dowager of Derby, so
please your Majesty," said Peveril, in a low tone of voice; "and I
am----"

"Hold, hold," said the King; "this is a dance to another tune, and not
fit for a place so public. Hark thee, friend; do thou and the young
woman follow Empson where he will conduct thee.--Empson, carry
them--hark in thy ear."

"May it please your Majesty, I ought to say," said Peveril, "that I am
guiltless of any purpose of intrusion----"

"Now a plague on him who can take no hint," said the King, cutting
short his apology. "Oddsfish, man, there are times when civility is the
greatest impertinence in the world. Do thou follow Empson, and amuse
thyself for a half-hour's space with the fairy's company, till we shall
send for you."

Charles spoke this not without casting an anxious eye around, and in a
tone which intimated apprehension of being overheard. Julian could only
bow obedience, and follow Empson, who was the same person that played so
rarely on the flageolet.

When they were out of sight of the King and his party, the musician
wished to enter into conversation with his companions, and addressed
himself first to Fenella with a broad compliment of, "By the mass, ye
dance rarely--ne'er a slut on the boards shows such a shank! I would be
content to play to you till my throat were as dry as my whistle. Come,
be a little free--old Rowley will not quit the Park till nine. I will
carry you to Spring-Garden, and bestow sweet-cakes and a quart of
Rhenish on both of you; and we'll be cameradoes,--What the devil? no
answer?--How's this, brother?--Is this neat wench of yours deaf or
dumb or both? I should laugh at that, and she trip it so well to the
flageolet."

To rid himself of this fellow's discourse, Pe