“I have had enough; between sack and singing, my head is as mazed as a dizzy sheep. Let me slip out.”
“Not yet, man; remember you are bound for one song more.”
So Cary, against his will, sat and sang another song; and in the meanwhile the party had broken up, and wandered away by twos and threes, among trim gardens and pleasaunces, and clipped yew-walks—
Where west-winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells—”
admiring the beauty of that stately place, long since passed into other hands, and fallen to decay, but then (if old Prince speaks true) one of the noblest mansions of the West.
At last Cary got away and out; sober, but just enough flushed with wine to be ready for any quarrel; and luckily for him, had not gone twenty yards along the great terrace before he met Lady Grenville.
“Has your ladyship seen Don Guzman?”
“Yes—why, where is he? He was with me not ten minutes ago. You know he is going back to Spain.”
“Going! Has his ransom come?”
“Yes, and with it a governorship in the Indies.”