"He should be treading the scaffold planks, not the King's garden!" cried the Prince.
Charles looked at his nephew with mingled affection and doubt. His own nature was so totally different from that of the headstrong, violent, reckless, and rudely arrogant Prince, that he could not altogether love and trust his nephew; at the same time the young man's eager loyalty, his warm if imprudent championship of the King's every action, could not but endear him to Charles, as did his history of misfortune and the fact that he was the son of the King's only sister, Elizabeth, who had met with troubles undeserved and bravely borne.
He answered with the bitterness that often now flavoured his speech.
"You will taste trouble in your time, Rupert, if you do not learn that such words must not be used of those who lead the people."
"I shall never be a king or a ruler," answered Rupert, "and so can keep a freer tongue. A third son hath no hopes, but few fears, so tantivy to these crop-eared churls, and may I one day have the hunting of them!"
He cast up his beaver as he spoke and caught it again with a laugh of sheer light-heartedness.
"A free lance at your service, sire," he cried, and stooping near the root of the beech he pulled up a root of violet which bore several pale and small flowers of an exceeding sweetness of perfume.
With quick brown fingers he fastened it into the button-hole of his dark scarlet doublet.
"Here comes the bold rebel," he said, his loud, deep voice but slightly lowered.