“I shall remember what you say, sir, should an opportunity occur,” said the King; “and I wish his Majesty had many such subjects—I presume our business is now settled?”
“When you shall have been pleased, sir, to give me a trifling scrap of writing, to serve for my credentials—for such, you know, is the custom—your written cartel hath its written answer.”
“That, sir, will I presently do,” said Charles, “and in good time, here are the materials.”
“And, sir,” continued the envoy—“Ah!—ahem!—if you have interest in the household for a cup of sack—I am a man of few words, and am somewhat hoarse with much speaking—moreover, a serious business of this kind always makes one thirsty.—Besides, sir, to part with dry lips argues malice, which God forbid should exist in such an honourable conjuncture.”
“I do not boast much influence in the house, sir,” said the King; “but if you would have the condescension to accept of this broad piece towards quenching your thirst at the George”—
“Sir,” said the cavalier, (for the times admitted of this strange species of courtesy, nor was Wildrake a man of such peculiar delicacy as keenly to dispute the matter,)—“I am once again beholden to you. But I see not how it consists with my honour to accept of such accommodation, unless you were to accompany and partake?”
“Pardon me, sir,” replied Charles, “my safety recommends that I remain rather private at present.”
“Enough said,” Wildrake observed; “poor cavaliers must not stand on ceremony. I see, sir, you understand cutter’s law—when one tall fellow has coin, another must not be thirsty. I wish you, sir, a continuance of health and happiness until to-morrow, at the King’s Oak, at six o’clock.”
“Farewell, sir,” said the King, and added, as Wildrake went down the stair whistling, “Hey for cavaliers,” to which air his long rapier, jarring against the steps and banisters, bore no unsuitable burden— “Farewell, thou too just emblem of the state, to which war, and defeat, and despair, have reduced many a gallant gentleman.”
During the rest of the day, there occurred nothing peculiarly deserving of notice. Alice sedulously avoided showing towards the disguised Prince any degree of estrangement or shyness, which could be discovered by her father, or by any one else. To all appearance, the two young persons continued on the same footing in every respect. Yet she made the gallant himself sensible, that this apparent intimacy was assumed merely to save appearances, and in no way designed as retracting from the severity with which she had rejected his suit. The sense that this was the case, joined to his injured self-love, and his enmity against a successful rival, induced Charles early to withdraw himself to a solitary walk in the wilderness, where, like Hercules in the Emblem of Cebes, divided betwixt the personifications of Virtue and of Pleasure, he listened alternately to the voice of Wisdom and of passionate Folly.