“By my faith, Neville, it is too late to speak in such a strain now, when everything, almost even hope, is lost. Beshrew me if I feel not strongly at times that I would rather be laid to-morrow by the side of my father and mother in the abbey of Fontevraud than endure the humiliation of submitting to the triumph of my foes.” “Sire,” replied Neville, “in this life we must take the thorn with the rose, the sweet with the bitter. But life is life after all; and a live dog is better than a dead lion.” “And yet,” said John, sorrowfully, “you know full well that if Fitzwalter and his confederates are henceforth to have their own way, and to do what they list in England, I am like to lead a life compared to which that of a dog is comfort and dignity. By St. Wulstan! I am like to be no better than a slave in mine own realm; and no being on earth is so contemptible as a despised king.” Hugh Neville was silent. “Why speak you not?” asked John, sternly. “I want to hear what you would counsel me to do.” “Sire,” replied Neville, frankly, “I was thinking that, if any quality would stand you in good stead in the present situation of affairs, it would be that which the Arabs say is the price of all felicity--I mean patience.” John’s brow darkened, and his lip curled. It was not the advice which he wished his minister to give, and, being against the grain, was not well taken. CHAPTER XVIII THE DAY OF RUNNYMEDE It was Friday, the 15th of June, 1215, a week before Midsummer Eve, or the vigil of John the Baptist, and the sun shone fair on Runnymede--a large green meadow on the margin of the Thames, midway between Windsor and Staines--when thither came King John and the Anglo-Norman barons (the King from Windsor, and the barons from Staines) to bring their fierce dispute to a close, and give peace and security to England, by putting their signatures and the great seal of the realm to that important document since known as Magna Charta, and regarded with veneration as the foundation of England’s laws and liberties. Runnymede was not unworthy of being the scene of a ceremony so memorable in the annals of a nation which clung tenaciously to its old history and traditions, and which forced even the iron-handed, iron-clad, and strong-willed heirs of the Norman conquerors--the grandsons of the men who had fought under the banner of Duke William at Hastings--to treat the history and traditions with respect, and demand a restoration of the laws of Edward the Confessor, the last of the old royal line. In earlier days, when the Saxon kings had a palace at Old Windsor, Runnymede had been celebrated as a place where the people assembled to discuss public questions of great moment; and where now cattle graze and wild flowers spring, grew a gigantic oak, under the shade of which Alfred or Athelstane, perhaps, had occupied a throne of stone, and sat in royal state, when rallying their subjects to their standard to resist the inroads of the Danes.