"So shall your Lordship when you be donned," answered Guenllian firmly. Little Roger looked up into her face, and seeing no relenting, broke into a merry little laugh, and resigned himself to the inevitable. "Oh, come then, make haste!" Vanity was not among Roger’s failings, and impatience very decidedly was. Guenllian obeyed her little charge’s bidding, and in a few minutes released him from bondage. He rewarded her with a hurried kiss, and scampered off into the ante-chamber, calling out,— "Lolly, Lolly, come and play at soldiers!" The two boys, master and servant, were very fond of each other. This was the more remarkable since not only their temperaments, but their tastes, were diverse. Roger liked noise and show, was lively, impulsive, ardent: he had no particular love for lessons, and no capacity for sitting still. Lawrence was grave and calm, gifted with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and of a quiet, almost indolent physical temperament. The one point on which their tastes met was a liking for music; and even in this case Roger delighted in stirring martial strains, while Lawrence preferred soft and plaintive airs. Playing at soldiers, therefore, was rather in Roger’s line than in Lawrence’s: but the latter never dreamed of setting his will in antagonism to that of his master. The game had gone on for about half an hour when a young man of twenty presented himself at the door of the ante-chamber. He was clad in a blue tunic reaching nearly to the knee, and girded with a black belt round the hips, studded with gold; a red hood encircled his neck; his stockings were diverse, the right being of the same shade as the hood, and the left of green stripped with black. Low black shoes, with very pointed toes, completed his costume. "Now, Master Constantine, you may go away. I want nought with you," shouted little Roger, still struggling with Lawrence, whom he had almost forced into a corner. "Please it your Lordship," returned Master Constantine with an amused smile, "I want somewhat with you. My gracious Lord hath sent me to fetch you to hall." "O you bad man, you have spoiled my fun!" cried little Roger. "I had nearly won the battle.—Come along then, Lolly, we will make an end at after. Draw off the troops—right about face! March!" A smile broke over the somewhat weary face of the Viceroy, when, two minutes later, his little son came marching into the hall, shouldering his toy spear, and followed by Lawrence, who carried a long stick in a manner similar as to position, but dissimilar as to the appearance of interest. At the edge of the dalts Lawrence dropped his stick, made a low bow to his master, and retreated among the household beneath. Roger bounded on the daïs, kissed his father’s hand, and squatted himself down—for half a minute—on a hassock at the Earl’s feet. The father’s hand lingered tenderly among the fair curls on the boy’s head. "Little Roger," he said, "I have somewhat to tell thee."