Albert Lee walked out to the front of the mansion, to give one turn around the Lodge, in order to discover in what direction any enemies might be approaching, that they might judge of the road which it was safest for the royal fugitive to adopt. Meanwhile the King, who was first in entering the apartment, had heard a part of the angry answer which the old knight made to his daughter, and was at no loss to guess the subject of his resentment. He walked up to him with the dignity which he perfectly knew how to assume when he chose it.
“Sir Henry,” he said, “it is our pleasure, nay our command, that you forbear all exertion of paternal authority in this matter. Mistress Alice, I am sure, must have good and strong reasons for what she wishes; and I should never pardon myself were she placed in an unpleasant situation on my account. I am too well acquainted with woods and wildernesses to fear losing my way among my native oaks of Woodstock.”
“Your Majesty shall not incur the danger,” said Alice, her temporary hesitation entirely removed by the calm, clear, and candid manner in which Charles uttered these last words. “You shall run no risk that I can prevent; and the unhappy chances of the times in which I have lived have from experience made the forest as well known to me by night as by day. So, if you scorn not my company, let us away instantly.”
“If your company is given with good-will, I accept it with gratitude,” replied the monarch.
“Willingly,” she said, “most willingly. Let me be one of the first to show that zeal and that confidence, which I trust all England will one day emulously display in behalf of your Majesty.”
She uttered these words with an alacrity of spirit, and made the trifling change of habit with a speed and dexterity, which showed that all her fears were gone, and that her heart was entirely in the mission on which her father had dispatched her.
“All is safe around,” said Albert Lee, showing himself; “you may take which passage you will—the most private is the best.”
Charles went gracefully up to Sir Henry Lee ere his departure, and took him by the hand.—“I am too proud to make professions,” he said, “which I may be too poor ever to realize. But while Charles Stewart lives, he lives the obliged and indebted debtor of Sir Henry Lee.”
“Say not so, please your Majesty, say not so,” exclaimed the old man, struggling with the hysterical sobs which rose to his throat. “He who might claim all, cannot become indebted by accepting some small part.”
“Farewell, good friend, farewell!” said the King; “think of me as a son, a brother to Albert and to Alice, who are, I see, already impatient. Give me a father’s blessing, and let me be gone.”