“Surely, I did not get it out of any book; it is a thought out of my own head. Books are well enough, but I can learn nothing from them—true, I have not much tried,” he added hastily. “But I know that to keep me, a freeborn Briton, subject to imprisonment and infamy, and to take my lands away from me, if I openly practise the religion of our fathers, is wrong. And to forbid me, an English gentleman, to walk in St. James’s Park, whither every Dutch spy can have access, is a gross affront to me,—nay more, an invasion of my liberty. And I also know that to keep those unfortunate poor creatures languishing in gaol at Exeter, because they go to hear a weaver preach in a barn of Sundays, is inhuman. And I would like to see my country be the first, and not the last, to see this great truth of toleration.”
Hugo, who was not fond of these discussions, remarked: “In my ride to-day, I heard that two of the nonconformist ministers in gaol at Exeter are dead of the gaol fever, and that fourteen persons, including the judge that sentenced them, are ill, and several likely to die. There should be precautions taken in bringing prisoners with the infection on them into court.”
“If the judge that sentenced them and the jury that convicted them all died of the fever, it would be the just reward of iniquity,” cried Roger, excitedly. “I need no book-learning for that!”
As he raised his eyes he saw, through the window opposite, a number of armed men who seemed to have sprung from the ground, and who fairly surrounded the house as far as he could see. And at the same moment the great door of the hall was opened, and a long-nosed gentleman, in military dress and a black peruke, entered, followed by three other persons, evidently of the suite of the long-nosed gentleman. They advanced without bowing; one of the party ran ahead, pulled out a chair, and the long-nosed gentleman seated himself at the table without removing his hat.
Roger Egremont watched this silently and without rising. Nor did he move when the long-nosed gentleman, coolly helping himself to a piece of a fowl on the table, said in English with a Dutch accent: “Sir, I am under no disguise. I am the Prince of Orange. My horse lost a shoe at your park gates, and knowing it to be near dinner-time, I claim your hospitality until the blacksmith is through with the horse.”
As soon as he uttered the words “I am the Prince of Orange,” Hugo rose and made obeisance. Roger, quietly picking up his hat, which lay on a chair nearby, put it on his head; he and the Prince of Orange were the only persons covered.
The Prince, without noticing the action, continued to gnaw and tug at his chicken, while Roger continued to observe in silence his four uninvited guests. Two of the Dutchmen helped themselves to mutton from the dish, while the third gulped down wine, and making a wry face after it, spat upon the floor.
Roger Egremont’s black eyes began to blaze. The Prince of Orange, with the drumstick of the chicken sticking out of his mouth, spoke in a tone of explanation rather than apology.
“The wine drunk in England does not suit Dutch palates. Have you no other liquor?”
“I have a variety of liquor,” responded Roger, with the greatest politeness, “but none of it will suit Dutch palates. It was bought by English gentlemen for English gentlemen, of whom I am one, by God!”