Roy and Reine’s master was a Cavalier, a man in the prime of life, who had seen the loss of a good many things he valued, before the civil war deprived him at last of his already dilapidated old court, and sent him adrift to wander in disguise here and there, and lie in hiding till better days came round, and the King should enjoy his own again. He was a Master Neville of the Alders, himself a scion, and his estate a fragment, of what had been, so far back as the Wars of the Roses, the mighty Neville family, with their vast domains. When peace yet prevailed in England, and the storm was only brewing in the sky, Master Neville went to court and ruffled it with the best. He was then a young man, and made a picturesque figure in his slashed velvet satin doublet, his long Spanish leather boots, his falling collar, and just such a hat and feather as is to be seen in the picture, shading one of those swarthy oval faces which the peaked beard of the time became, while his dark hair was suffered to grow, and was tied by a ribbon—such as Roy and Reine are represented wearing—till it hung in one long scented curl down his back. He was by no means so destitute of resources as Roy and Reine were, apart from their beauty and their winning ways. He was a bold, dashing, clever enough young fellow, rather accomplished for his day. He could not compose a madrigal like Lovelace, but he could sing it after it was composed. He could fence, dance, fight, even speak when graceful fluent oratory was all that was called for. He could bandy a jest with a court wit, and manage a pageant with a master of the ceremonies. In those days Master Neville married a court beauty in white satin and pearls, with her yellow hair crisped in curls all round her pink and white face, and brought her down to the Alders. The two did not tarry long there with all their charms and accomplishments; the simplicity and quiet of the country were too much for them, and they were attracted back without fail to London, with its splendid court and ceaseless stir, its water-parties and masks, cabals and intrigues, in which the husband and wife played their parts in such company as that of arrogant, magnificent Buckingham, and fair, frivolous Lucy Percy, Countess of Carlisle. But such company was neither safe nor economical for a mere aspiring squire and his sympathetic madam. Many a fine oak and beech at the Alders, and even some of its massive silver plate, paid for the master and mistress’s addiction to town living with its extravagance.