"Emigrate to Virginia, man! to the land of good eating, good drinking, good fighting, stout men, and pretty women—who make angelic wives." And the Governor, who loved his own wife with chivalric devotion, kissed a locket which he wore at his neck. "Come to Virginia where we need loyal men and true. Lord! we all thought the millennium was come with the king, but damme! if it doesn’t seem as far off as ever! Not that his Majesty is to blame," he added quickly, as though fearing that his words might be taken as an aspersion upon Charles’s ability to conduct the millennium single-handed. "The naughty spirit of the age sets itself against the Lord’s Anointed. The Puritan snake is but scotched, not killed. It’s the old prate of freedom of conscience, government by the people, and the like disgusting stuff (no offense to you, Major Carrington) that makes the trouble of the times both here and at home. I sigh for the good old days when, for eleven sweet years, no Parliament sat to meddle in affairs of state, when Wentworth kept down faction and the saintly Laud built up the Church which he adorned." And the Governor buried his woes in the Rhenish. "Sir William Berkeley’s loyalty is proverbial," said Sir Charles suavely. "The King knows that while he is at the helm in Virginia, the colony is on the high road to that era of peace and prosperity which his majesty so ardently desires—for his tax-paying people. And I have thought more than once of late that I might do worse than to dispose of my majority in the ’Blues,’ bid the Court adieu, and obtaining from his Majesty a grant of land, retire here to Virginia to pass my days on my own land and amid a little court of my own, in the patriarchal fashion you gentlemen affect. Under certain circumstances it is a course I might possibly pursue." He glanced at his kinsman, whose countenance showed high approval of a plan which dovetailed nicely with one of his own making. "Can you guess the ’certain circumstances’ which are to give us the pleasure of his confounded company?" whispered Mr. Peyton to Mr. Carey. "An easy riddle, Jack. Damn the insolent, smooth-spoken knave of hearts, and confound the women! They all drop to a court card." "Not Mistress Betty Carrington. She looks below the surface." "Humph! What does she see below thine? An empty gourd with a few madrigals and sonnets, and fine images, conned from the ’Grand Cyrus,’ rattling about like dried seeds?" "Hush, thou green persimmon! the Governor is speaking."