Alone Reginald Trevor held high front, retiring with angry reluctance, as a lion driven from its quarry by hunters too numerous to be resisted. But he passed not away without holding speech with his cousin, on both sides bitterly recriminative.
“So you’ve turned your back upon the King!”
It was Reginald who said this, having spurred up alongside the other before parting.
“Rather say the King has turned his back upon the people,” was Eustace’s rejoinder. “After such behaviour as I’ve just been witness to, by his orders and authority, I think I am justified in turning my back upon him.”
“Oh! that’s your way of putting it. Well; it may justify you in the eyes of your new friends here—very warm friends all at once?”—this with a sneer—“but what will your father think? He won’t like it, I’m sure.”
“I daresay he won’t. If not, I can’t help it.”
“And don’t seem to care either! How indifferent you’ve grown to family feeling! and in such a short space of time. You used to pass for the most affectionate of sons—a very paragon of filial duty; and now—”
“And now,” interrupted the ex-courtier, becoming impatient at being thus lectured, “whatever I may be, I’m old enough, and think myself wise enough, to manage my own affairs, without needing counsel from any one—even from my sage cousin, Reginald.”
“As you like, Eust. But you’ll repent what you’re doing, yet.”
“If I should, Rej, it won’t be with any blame to you. You can go your way, as I will mine.”