after you have receiued this Priuy Seale, which, together with the Commissioner's acquittance, shall be sufficient Warrant unto the Officers of our receipt for the repayment thereof at the time limitted.--Giuen under our Priuy Seale at our Pallace of Westminster. "Carolus Rex." So ran the curious communication put into the hands of Ambrose Powell. A letter of "Loan by Privy Seal" even more execrable both as to grammar and diction than the documents emanating from Royalty at the present day--and that is admitting much. Spoke the master of Hollymead, after perusing it:-- "Request for a loan, the King calls this! Beggarly enough in the beginning--a very whine; but at the end more like the demand of a robber!" "Mr Powell!" cried he who had presented it, his back now up in anger, "though but the messenger of Sir John Wintour, at the same time I'm in the service of the King. And, holding his Majesty's commission, I cannot allow such talk as yours. It's almost the same as calling the King a robber!" "Take it as all the same, if you like, sirrah! And apply it also to Sir John Wintour, your more immediate master. Go back, and say to both how I've treated the begging petition--thus!" And at the word he tore the paper into scraps, flinging them at his feet, as something to be trampled upon. At this Reginald Trevor became furious; all the more from again seeing two feminine faces in the window above, by their looks both seeming to speak approval of what their father had said and done. He might have given exhibition of his anger by some act of violence; but just then he saw something else which prompted to prudence, effectually restraining it. This something in the shape of three or four stalwart fellows--stablemen and servants of other sorts belonging to Hollymead House--who, having caught sound of the fracas in front, now appeared coming round from the rear. No need for Reginald Trevor, noting the scowl upon their faces, to tell him they were foes, and as little to convince him of the small chance he and his varlet would have in an encounter with them. He neither thought of it nor any longer felt inclined to take vengeful action, not even to speaking some strong words of menace that had risen to his lips. Instead, choking them down, and swallowing his chagrin as he best could, he said, in a resigned, humble way,-- "Oh! well, Mr Powell; what you've done or intend doing is no affair of mine--specially. As you know, I'm here but in the performance of my duty, which I need not tell you is to me most disagreeable." "_Very_ disagreeable, no doubt!" rejoined the master of Hollymead, in a tone of cutting sarcasm; "and being so, the sooner you get through with it the better. I think you've made a finish of it now, unless you deem it part of this disagreeable duty to gather up those torn scraps of the King's letter, and carry them back to the Queen's obsequious servant, and your master, Sir John."