"Well, sir?" he asked, with a sense of friendship at sight of a man so obviously free of guile. "Have they done wagering in Oxford as to the hour your kinsmen ride in?" "I think the play runs even faster. Some learned dons have brought the heavy guns of algebra to bear on it, and all the town is waiting for their answer to the riddle." "All’s topsy-turvy," laughed the Prince. "If dons have taken to giving the odds on a horserace, where will Oxford end? But you were hurrying, and I detain you." Michael explained that the King had commanded his presence at the Deanery; and the other, after a brief farewell, turned on his heel. After all, his own business with the King could wait until this reigning favourite in Oxford had had his audience. Just across the way was Merton, where the Queen’s lodging was. Rupert had had his fill of disillusion and captivity here in the loyal city; he was human, and could not hide for ever his heartache to be out and doing, lest it ate inward with corrosion. He crossed to Merton, asked for the Queen, and was told that she had gone out a half-hour since to take the air. The Duchess of Richmond was within, he learned in answer to a second query. The Duchess was stooping over a table when he was announced. She added a few quick strokes to the work she was engaged on, then rose. "You, my Prince?" she said, with frank welcome. "You come from the Council? I hoped that you would come. Were they as always?" "My lord Cottington’s gout was at its worst, and he in the same mood as the disease. Digby’s mouth was more like a Cupid’s bow than ever, and he simpered well-groomed impertinences. How I loathe them, Duchess." "You would." She turned for a moment to the window, looked out on the May sunlight and the dancing leaves. All the vigour of their loyalty to the King—her husband’s and her own—all the dreams they had shared of monarchy secure again, and rebellion trampled underfoot, were summed up in Rupert’s person. He had done so much already; he was resolute to go forward with the doing, if the curs of scandal and low intrigue would cease snapping at his heels. She turned from the window. "My Prince," she said, touching his arm with the grace that gives courage to a man, "you do well to come here for sanctuary between the pauses of the battle. If you knew what my husband says of you, if you guessed the many prayers I send you——" The keen, happy smile broke through from boyhood’s days. "Duchess," he said very simply, "I am well rewarded. What were you busy about when I intruded?" She showed him her handiwork. "One must do something these dull days," she explained, "and it was you who taught me this new art of etching. Am I an apt pupil?" Rupert looked at the work with some astonishment. The art was in its infancy, and difficult; yet she had done very well, a few crudities apart. The etching showed a kingfisher, triumphant on a rock set in midstream; at its feet lay a half-eaten grayling.