St. George's Cross; Or, England Above AllKeene, H. G. (Henry George)
History
St. George's Cross; Or, England Above All
Keene, H. G. (Henry George)
Channel Islands -- History -- Puritan Revolution, 1642-1660 -- Fiction
Retired to his private sitting-room, Charles lay back on a window-seat,
tooth-pick in hand, and looked out indolently on the sea. The waves
scintillated and broke into white foam, among the brown rocks, which
disappeared gradually under the rising tide; and the wings of glancing
gulls shone out against a rain-cloud which was bearing off the recent
storm. Below the dark pall the sky of the horizon glowed bright and
clear as jade over the deepening line of the distant waters. At the
King's feet sat the page who had served the princes at dinner, a bright
rakish-looking young fellow named Thomas Elliot; apparently absorbed in
the preparation of fishing-tackle, he was heedfully watching the face of
his royal master out of the corner of his dare-devil eyes.
"Where is James, Tom?" asked presently the King.
"Gone to feed the hawks, Sir."
"One's own flesh-and-blood is poor company, he finds. By the Lord, Tom,
this is no life for a Christian, be he man or boy. To be lunged round my
good mother at the length of her apron-string seemed but dull work, and
making love to the Grande Mademoiselle was indifferent pastime. But,
odsfish, I would willingly be back there. In this God-forgotten corner
you cannot see a petticoat on any terms, save the farthingale of Dame
Carteret or her ancient housekeeper, as they cross the courtyard to give
corn to the pigeons. James and I went out fishing yesterday, as far as
S. Owen's pond; but no sport had we there but the chance of a broken
head from a Puritan farmer."
"Why, what a plague did they want by laying hands on our anointed pate?"
"Ah! look you," said Charles, in his languid drawl, "We did but beg a
cup of cider from his daughter. James hath a long face and a dull tongue
for a boy of his age; but I warrant I spoke the wench fair for my part;
and in French that had passed muster at Versailles. But 'tis a perverse
and stiff-necked generation. The wench screamed in some language not
understandable by us--Carribee it may be--but faith there was no
difficulty about the farmer's meaning: he conjugated his fists, but we
declined the encounter; and so we were quit as to grammar."
The manner of the speaker was in such dry and droll contrast with his
matter that Elliot had no difficulty in according the sympathetic smile
which is the tribute of the jovial and manly sycophant to a superior he
wishes to please.
"And this is then, the escapade for which the _gros bonnets_ down there
have determined that you are not to stir out of this charming retreat
without a guard, or suffer your sacred person to meet the air of the
island without the hedge of an escort. But I have a plan to defeat
them...."
Whatever projects the young men might be disposed to form for the
purpose of eluding the prudent precautions of their seniors were for
the moment cut short by a knocking at the door, which made them start
aside like the disturbed conspirators that they were.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account