time the heavy London clouds which had been hanging all
the morning over the Park opened a little to show the blue sky, and a
broad ray of sunshine struck in through the anteroom window and lit up
the gloomy, handsome chamber.

Between them--the laugh and the sunshine--they completely transformed
the place, as the lad who laughed threw himself into a chair, and then
jumped up again in a hurry to make sure that he had not snapped in two
the sword he wore in awkward fashion behind him.

The lad's companion, who seemed to be about a couple of years older,
faced round suddenly from the other end of the room, glanced sharply at
one of the doors, and then said hurriedly:

"I say, you mustn't laugh like that here."

"It isn't broken," said he who had helped to make the solemn place look
more cheerful.

"What, your sword? Lucky for you. I told you to take care how you
carried it. Easy enough when you are used to one."

The speaker laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his own, pressed
it down a little, and stood in a stiff, deportment-taught attitude, as
if asking the other to study him as a model.

"But you mustn't burst out into guffaws like that in the Palace."

"Seems as if you mustn't do anything you like here," said the younger
lad. "Wish I was back at Winchester."

"Pooh, schoolboy! I shall have enough to do before I make anything of
you."

"You never will. I'm sick of it already: no games, no runs down by the
river or over the fields; nothing to do but dress up in these things,
and stand like an image all day. I feel just like a pet monkey in a
cage."

"And look it," said the other contemptuously.

"What!" said the boy, flushing up to the temples, as he took a step
toward the speaker, and with flashing eyes looked him up and down.
"Well, if you come to that, so do you, with your broad skirts, salt-box
pockets, lace, and tied-up hair. See what thin legs you've got too!"

"You insolent--No, I didn't mean that;" and an angry look gave place to
a smile. "Lay your feathers down, Master Frank Gowan, and don't draw
Master Frank Gowan, and don't draw your skewer; that's high treason in
the King's Palace. You mustn't laugh here when you're on duty. If
there's any fighting to be done, they call in the guard; and if any one
wants to quarrel, he must go somewhere else."

"I don't want to quarrel," said the boy, rather sulkily. "You did a
moment ago, for all your hackles were sticking up like a gamec