Her majesty the queen :: :: University of Virginia Library

The king had just turned his horse's head to ride
back to London, when Sir William Strickland again
came on at the head of his party of horsemen, and,
reaching the spot, dismounted a second time, and approached
the king with the same air of deep respect.

The eyes of the king filled with sudden fire.

“What now, sir?” he exclaimed, in accents so abrupt
and haughty that they resembled a blow struck.

“I am deeply pained to offend your majesty,” began
Sir William Strickland.

“A truce to words and ceremony!” rejoined the
king. “You are not here, sir, as my friend or loyal
subject. Your business, sir! And I beg that you will
dispatch it briefly, as we are not in the mood to be
annoyed to-day.”

The emissary bowed low again, and said,—

“I would fain spare your majesty annoyance.
Briefly, a courier reached me on my way back to London,
bearing the paper I hold in my hand, which is
addressed to your majesty.”

The king caught the paper with a movement of rage

almost. His eye ran over it: suddenly he crumpled
it up and threw it upon the ground.

“Tell these people—” he began. Then he stopped,
and seemed to realize how unbecoming his anger must
appear. His eyes were fixed with a cold and haughty
expression upon Sir William Strickland.

“Do you know the contents of that paper, sir?” he
said.

“I do not, your majesty.”

“It is a `petition,'—everything is a `petition' now,—
in which the gentlemen of my parliament considerately
ask that I will not deprive them of the charms of my
company; they will be in despair if I absent myself
from London, and will be plunged into melancholy if
I even remove the Prince Charles from them. Will I
therefore, they say, `be pleased to reside nearer the
metropolis, and not take the prince away from them'?
It would afflict them, these tender-hearted gentlemen!
'Tis this that yonder paper contains, sir.”

The emissary inclined his head before the royal displeasure,
but was silent.

“The meaning is simple!” added the king, with disdain
in eye and lip. “My good subjects of the parliament
design making me and my son prisoners. They
have assailed my prerogative, they would lay hands on
my person. I am intractable, they would render me
docile. 'Tis an ingenious device, sir,—is it not?—this
humble `petition' of my humble subjects?”

Sir William Strickland bowed profoundly; but I
could see from the obstinate expression of his countenance
that he was unmoved.

“You do not reply, sir,” said the king, in the

same tone. “You do not think the device ingenious,
then?”

“Your majesty will pardon me for declaring that I
regard it as natural.”

“That is the opinion of Sir William Strickland,
Baronet?”

A slight color tinged the face of Sir William at these
words. With sudden embarrassment he bowed low,
but made no reply. The king gazed at him for a
moment in silence, and then said, coolly,

“I will reply to this petition within three days, sir.
Does that suffice, or am I compelled to respond here
and now?”

“That will assuredly answer every purpose; and I
now beg to take my leave of your majesty.”

With these words, Sir William Strickland, who had
begun to betray some signs of discomposure at the
threatening faces around him, made the king a profound
inclination, and, mounting his horse, rode
away.

The king gazed after him for a moment, and said to
a nobleman of his suite,—

“So pass away one's old friends to the enemy's
standard! 'Tis scarce two years since I made this gentleman
a baronet: I would not upbraid him with it,
but he had the grace to blush as he remembered it.
Well, a truce to all this. Things hasten more than
ever! Before three days have passed—”

He suddenly stopped, and the sentence remained
unfinished. Some scruple, if not some secret resolve,
seemed to check him,—the latter, it appeared.

“That message to the parliament may involve the

appearance of trick,” he muttered. “In three days, I
said. The message must be modified.”

He turned quickly to an officer of the Guard.

“Captain Hyde, take two or three gentlemen of the
Guard, and ride after Sir William Strickland. Say on
my part that I will make a speedy reply—use those words
—to the petition of the parliament, if it be not made
in three days.”

Captain Hyde bowed low, and turned to select two
or three of the Guard. I caught his eye, and he nodded;
then he indicated one other. A moment afterwards
we were all riding at full speed after Sir William Strickland,
whose party was visible on the crest of a hill in
our front.

The guardsmen of the queen possessed fine horses
and were hard riders. We went on at a pace which
would soon have borne us over the distance separating
us from Sir William Strickland, but this very rapidity
defeated our object: the emissary seemed to suspect
something, and also pressed forward at a rapid gallop.

Thus it was that the affair became a chase. The king
had followed us with the rest of his suite, and Sir
William now plainly regarded the aspect of things as
hostile. The war had begun!—the royal forces were
pressing the retreating representatives of parliament!

The speed of the Guardsmen's horses at last enabled
them to come up with the parliamentarians,—but I was
not present at the scene: I was in fact unaware of my
existence. My horse, a fine bay, had enabled me for
some time to keep the lead of the pursuing party: an
old fox-hunter, he went on at a thundering rush, when
unfortunately a stone in the road caused him to stumble

and fall. I rolled beneath him, his full weight fell
upon me, and I dislocated my shoulder.

I only remember thereafter that the king stopped
beside me, and raised my head: there was a group
around; then I fainted. Half an hour afterwards I
revived, and was dimly conscious that a surgeon was
setting my shoulder. Then I fainted again—was aware
that I was placed in a vehicle—the vehicle moved:
when I opened my eyes next, I was lying on a couch in
a lofty antechamber at Whitehall, and Harry was
sitting beside me, holding my hand and gazing at me
tenderly.

“So, Ned,” he said, “here you are yourself at last
again. How do you feel?”

“Badly, Harry; but not so very badly. This is
Whitehall?”

“Yes; we brought you here, the king's affairs summoning
him to London: arrived an hour since, just at
sunset, and you were so weak that you were laid upon
this couch. Better remain here, wrapped in your
cloak, until morning: I will watch beside you. Meanwhile,
Dick is riding post to Cecil Court to bring the
coach. 'Twill doubtless come speedily, and you must
go thither till your recovery.”

As Harry spoke, his name was pronounced at the
door: he was absent from my side a moment, and then,
returning, said, with some annoyance,—

“I must go on post for two hours, Ned. Then I
will return to you. Compose yourself to sleep: no one
will disturb you in this part of the palace; and the
moon through the oriel yonder will be sufficient
light.”

100

“Content, Harry; I will sleep,” I said.

And, drawing my cloak around me with my well
arm, I closed my eyes.