“And I for Patch,” said Simon Quanden. “Latterly he hath seemed to me to have the advantage.”
“It is decided!” cried the king, rising, as one of the combatants was knocked off the table, and fell to the floor with a great noise. “Who is it?”
“Patch,” replied a faint voice. And through the cloud of dust struggled forth the forlorn figure of the cardinal's jester, while Will Sommers leaped triumphantly to the ground.
“Get thee to a wash-tub, knave, and cleanse thyself,” said Henry, laughing. “In consideration of the punishment thou hast undergone, I pardon thee thy treasonable speech.”
So saying, he rose, and walked towards Mabel, who had been quite as much alarmed as amused by the scene which had just taken place.
“I hope you have been as well cared for, damsel,” he said, “since your arrival at the castle, as you cared for the Duke of Suffolk and myself when we visited your cottage?
“I have had everything I require, my liege,” replied Mabel timidly.
“Dame Quanden will take charge of you till to-morrow,” rejoined the king, “when you will enter upon the service of one of our dames.”
“Your majesty is very considerate,” said Mabel, “but I would rather go back at early dawn to my grandsire.”
“That is needless,” rejoined the king sternly. “Your grandsire is in the castle.”