“Sire,” said Allerton, solemnly, “when our Heavenly King appoints his anointed representative on earth, He gives to that human delegate no power to resign the ambassade and trust. What suicide is to a man, abdication is to a king! How canst thou dispose of thy son’s rights? And what becomes of those rights if thou wilt prefer for him the exile, for thyself the prison, when one effort may restore a throne!”
Henry seemed struck by a tone of argument that suited both his own mind and the reasoning of the age. He gazed a moment on the face of the young man, muttered to himself, and suddenly moving to the table, signed the papers, and restored them to Adam, who mechanically replaced them in their iron hiding-place.
“Now begone, Sir!” whispered Allerton, afraid that Henry’s mind might again change.
“Will not my lord examine the engine?” asked Warner, half-beseechingly.
“Not to-day! See, he has already retired to his oratory, he is in prayer!” and, going to the door, Allerton summoned the attendants in waiting to carry down the model.
“Well, well, patience, patience! thou shalt have thine audience at last,” muttered Adam, as he retired from the room, his eyes fixed upon the neglected infant of his brain.
CHAPTER VI. HOW, ON LEAVING KING LOG, FOOLISH WISDOM RUNS A-MUCK ON KING STORK.
At the outer door of the Tower by which he had entered, the philosopher was accosted by Catesby,—a man who, in imitation of his young patron, exhibited the soft and oily manner which concealed intense ambition and innate ferocity.
“Worshipful my master,” said he, bowing low, but with a half sneer on his lips, “the king and his Highness the Duke of Gloucester have heard much of your strange skill, and command me to lead you to their presence. Follow, sir, and you, my men, convey this quaint contrivance to the king’s apartments.”