A more agonizing expression than the one breaking on Sheppard's face at this challenge, it would be impossible to conceive. Half-way his trembling fingers carried the goblet to his lips that quivered with strange contortions; then as his oblique stolen glances crossed those of the silent smoker, uplifted towards the shadows cast by the ivy half covering the lattice, his cheeks turned white as his apron, and he set down the glass untasted. "Come man! what ails you?" said the stranger, looking up at the unhappy Sheppard, and then not without a touch of suspicion at the flagon. "Or is anything wrong with the wine?" "No, no," gasped Sheppard, "it's very nice wine indeed;" and he gazed at the contents of his cup, with affectionate admiration. "Very nice. But I--I--I'm--ordered not--to--to--" Then he broke down hopelessly. [Sidenote: Dinner for a King.] "Not to touch it, eh?" and laughing heartily at his host's perturbation, the stranger turned his attention to the trout which Mistress Sheppard was now setting before him with her own fair hands. "And who's your medical adviser?" he continued, as he made a deep incision into the gleaming armour of the fish. "I' faith! if 'tis yonder gentleman," and he gave a half glance towards the silent stranger, "I'd seek another opinion if I were you. What is this?" he went on, turning to inspect the contents of a little cruet-tray which Mistress Sheppard was handing to him. "Verjuice and vinegar! Thanks, no. I'll have none of them. For though 'tis said they're good for the digestion, they always spoil mine," and he pushed away his plate, almost untasted, and his dark eyes wandered towards the silent guest. "What have you there?" he went on, as Sheppard with vast pomp and circumstance, placed on the table a large dish. "Sirloin," answered Sheppard, flourishing off the silver cover, huge as Mambrino's helmet. "Sirloin--your worship," he reiterated obsequiously, as if he was anxious to patch up the appalling hole he had just now made in his manners. "Prime cut. Fit for a king." [Sidenote: Dangerous names.] "I'll have none of it. I cannot wait longer," said Charles, impatiently looking again towards the window. "I came here by appointment with a--friend, who does not appear disposed to be punctual. And yet, by his own tale, he lives not so far off from here. His name is--" "Hush!" whispered Mistress Sheppard in his ear, as she bent to replace his plate with a clean one. "H'm--No matter," went on Charles. "We--I am not accustomed to be kept waiting," and he rose, and took up his hat. "Tell the young gentleman when he does come, that he will find me at Whitehall--" "Hush--sh!" again whispered Mistress Sheppard.