"And how, pray?" asked his new master.
"By every sight and sound," replied Ned Dyram. "By that girl's pink coats--by that good man's blue cloak--by the bells ringing--by the people running--by the hurrah we heard just now. I ever put all I hear and see together--for a man who only sees one thing at once, will never know what time he is living in."
"Then we had better turn to the left," said Woodville, not caring to hear more of his homily. "Of course, if this be the coronation day, I shall not get speech of the King till to-morrow; but we may as well see what is going on."
"To the left will lead you right," replied his quibbling companion; "that is to say, to the great gate before the palace court; and then we shall discover whether the King will speak with you or not. Each Prince has his own manners, and ours has changed so boldly in one day, that no one can judge from that which the lad did, what the man will do."
"Has he changed much, then?" asked Woodville, riding on; "it must have been sudden, indeed, if you had time to see it ere you left him."
"Ay, has he!" answered Dyram; "the very day of his father's death he put on, not the robes of royalty, but the heart; and those who were his comrades before, gave place to other men. They who counted much upon his love, found a cold face; and they who looked for hate, met with nought but grace."
"Then, perhaps, my reception may not be very warm," said Woodville, thoughtfully.
"You may judge yourself, better than I can, master mine," replied Ned Dyram. "Did you ever sit with him in the tavern, drinking quarts of wine?"
"No," answered Richard of Woodville, smiling.
"Then you shall be free of his table," said Ned. "Did you ever shoot deer with him, by moonlight?"