"I have been dining," answered the clergyman, "in company with the Honourable Sir Edward Nicholas, Knight, Secretary of State to your Majesty. Certain of your Majesty's affectionate servants and well-wishers were of the party, as also the Lieutenant-Governor, who was the host. The discourse was grave; and albeit without permission of the gentlemen—yet, in virtue of mine office, I hope I but anticipate their humble duty to your Majesty, if I take upon myself to lay their thoughts before you."

"And for your own part, Sir, as a Jerseyman having, both by religion and as a Member of the States, the means of knowing what the people think, you would fain join your own private word to those who are refusing an asylum to Charles Stuart in the dominions of his fathers. You had better let them speak for themselves."

The clergyman shuffled in his uneasy seat. The perspicacity of the young man—it is a part of a Prince's stock-in-trade—had taken him by surprise.

"I am an old man," he faltered, "unversed in affairs of State. If it be true, however, that the Lord Jermyn...."

"Our mother's trusted councillor, Mr. Rector! What of my Lord Jermyn? Thou hast not said enough—or, by God! thou hast said too much."

The Chaplain's island temper hardened under menace, even from the Lord's Anointed. What he felt he did not indeed care to lay bare: yet the upshot he would tell. The King's recent exploit in the parish of which he was Rector had come to his ears, garnished and exaggerated, perhaps; and he was determined to get rid of such visitors if he could. The news from France was an occasion, and he gladly used it. Lord Jermyn, it seemed, had been talking openly—and not for the first time—of selling the Channel Islands to France; and his connection with the Queen made men suspect that he had not entertained such a design without high sanction. On the other hand the Rector knew that Carteret would sooner cede the Island over which he was set to Cromwell than see it occupied by the French. The King would be in obvious danger, and he had determined, under that excuse, to endeavour to dispose the King's mind towards a removal which he himself, on other grounds, considered highly desirable. Charles listened to all the clergyman had to say, with impatience thinly veiled by good breeding. When the speaker came to a pause, the King said, with a kinder manner, "Thou hast done well, and hast given no just cause of offence to anyone. Mr. Secretary is an approved friend: but I need not remind your Reverence of the prayer of the Psalmist: 'Let not his precious balms break mine head!'"

The King's manner indicated that the conference was at an end. He wished to get rid of the Rector, not only because the good man was "boring" him, as would be said now-a-days, but because he had but little trust in Tom Elliot's discretion, and thought that at any moment the page might be led to break forth from what must needs be an irksome confinement. Moreover, the King knew that, sooner or later, he would have to undergo a more serious lecture from some of his councillors, and it was an object with him to make some inquiries in confidential quarters and devise a course of speech if not of action.

But the worthy Rector was, as he said, unversed in the ways of the great; and the young King's affable manner had drawn him into forgetfulness of any little lessons of etiquette that he might have ever learned. Instead of departing on the King's hint, he let his tongue wag afresh.

"Alack, Sir! may your Majesty's prayers be heard. And may what I have done breed myself no harm! For what saith the Wise Man? 'Burden not thyself above thy power while thou livest, and have no fellowship with one that is mightier than thyself: for how agree the kettle and earthen pot together?'"

"It was well said of the Wise Man," observed the King demurely. "And your Reverence will do well to consider the words that follow, if my memory do not deceive me;—'If thou be invited of a great man, withdraw thyself!'"

The underlined words, being pronounced with a voice changed to a sharp and sudden tone from the solemn snuffle into which the King had slid in first quoting Ecclesiasticus, were too much for Elliot, who broke into an irrepressible giggle behind the bureau. Mr. La Cloche started at the sound; then, recollecting himself, retired with a bow into which he threw a look of surprise not unmixed with silent reproach.

Still laughing, the page emerged from his ambush, knocking the dust from his doublet with his hand, and eyeing the door as it closed after the retreating Rector.

"I'll wager he thinks thou wert a wench, Tom," cried Charles; "but tell me, how much of the worthy parson's discourse didst thou hear?"

"As much as you desire, Sir, and no more," was the discreet reply. "But it is true that one is come from France who knows Lord Jermyn."

"Jermyn," said the King, half soliloquising, "is a son of a——; and I would as lief run him through the body as I would open an oyster. But that is neither here nor there; such pleasures are not for Kings." He sate thinking for a few minutes, and then, looking up, added, "Go, Tom, and tell Nicholas and the rest that I would see them here."

The page departed, presently returning to introduce four gentlemen, after which, he again left the room and shut the door, which it would be his office to keep against all instrusion while the conference lasted.

One of the visitors appeared to take precedence; a tall, high-featured man, with a stoop and a receding chin. This was Lord Hopton, one of the most respectable of Charles's followers; an honourable, stupid, middle-aged nobleman, who could never marshal his own thoughts and who, necessarily, spoke without persuading others. The other Englishmen were Nicholas, the Secretary of State, and the old Lord Cottington. The fourth gentleman was Sir George Carteret, the Lieutenant-Governor, a bluff sea-faring man, little used to obey, yet anxious, in that presence, to be deferential; with an unmistakable pugnacity varnished over with a gloss of ruse. There being but one arm-chair in the room Charles took his seat upon it, and awaited the advice of his friends who perforce remained standing.

"I have sent for you, my Lords and gentlemen, to confer on the matter brought me by Mr. La Cloche, the Rector of St. Owen, and Chaplain to Sir George Carteret."

Hopton opened the conference, speaking in a dull, precise manner, from the lips only, hardly opening his teeth:—

"May it please you Sir, Mr. La Cloche hath reported to me, as I met him returning from your presence, that while he was imparting to your Highness—I may say, your Majesty—a matter of great moment, there was one hid in the room that played the eavesdropper. Before proceeding farther I would humbly ask...."

"Hold there, my Lord," broke in Charles. "Remember, I pray you, that—howbeit our present power, by the malice of our enemies, be brought to a narrow pass, we are still, by the grace of God your King, of full age, moreover, and no longer to be schooled. As touching what anyone may have heard here, by our consent, we need answer to no man; neither to Mr. La Cloche nor to your Lordship. There is, however, no one but ourselves in this room, as you may clearly see. As to the matter of the priest's discourse, we opine that it is already known to you. It is of that matter that we now seek to know your minds."

The words were not ungracefully uttered; but Hopton found no immediate answer. He only knit his narrow brow and held his peace. Carteret, however, stepped briskly forward; and would perhaps have committed some indiscretion had not Nicholas plucked him by the cloak. "By your leave, Mr. Lieutenant," said the jovial lawyer, "I would say an humble word to his Majesty, with the freedom of an ancient servant." His round face and merry eye were rendered serious by the resolution of a full-lipped yet firm mouth. "Sir!" said he, turning to the young King with a look in which the bonhomie of an indulgent