"True, true; and 'mon cousin' is a very pretty fellow, and a right loving kinsman to boot when he does not forget! But to-day he is away a-hunting, and the Duke of York is making sheep's eyes at the fox's clever daughter Nan, so here we sit solitary."
"Do you think his Highness would grant me an audience?" put in Richard, endeavouring to stem the flood of the lively young fellow's gossip.
"Oh, Lord, yes; no doubt of it. Come your ways, come your ways—in faith, you have come in a good hour, for, with one thing and another, my prince is in a desperate bad humour to-day, and who knows but you may make a distraction."
And without more delay the young man bustled the half reluctant Harrison up the stairs, and into a great panelled room that looked out over the shining Thames.
The afternoon sun streamed in through the wide casement, and lit up a curious medley that showed no woman's hand might dare to bring order into his Highness's apartment. A beautiful portrait of the Queen of Bohemia, that could come from no meaner brush than that of Vandyke, hung on the wall, while beneath it a table was heaped with dusty bottles and jars, retorts, and powder-flasks. A casket of chased silver lay overturned on the floor, with a plumed hat tossed beside it, and a gorgeous paraquet clambered up and down a heap of sea-rusted armour tumbled in a corner.
At a table in the midst of this picturesque confusion, sat a man of middle age, whose thoughtful eyes and finely chiseled features still showed the beauty inherited from his mother, the luckless Queen of Hearts. But the face, overshadowed by the heavy curls of a fashionable periwig, was worn and roughened by exposure and hardship, and the weary gloom that darkened the noble forehead and drooped the haughty lips marked the years of disappointment that had changed the fiery paladin of 1642 into the sad and cynical Rupert of the Restoration.
The Prince was writing rapidly when they entered, and did not even raise his head as he exclaimed—
"Go away, Cowth! Did I not bid you leave me in peace till supper-time?"
Mr. Cowth's manner had become suddenly subdued on entering the room, and he crossed over and spoke to the prince in a low tone, with a deferential air that was a curious contrast to the airy swagger with which he had run up the staircase.
The prince flung his pen on the floor, and leaned back in his chair to look at the intruder, who stood by the door inwardly cursing himself for having been such a fool as to force himself into such a position.