“He is dead,” answered Wildrake, “that’s one comfort—the roundheaded rascal!—Nay, hold! it was but a trip of the tongue—I meant, the sweet godly youth.” “And hear you aught of the young man, King of Scotland, as they call him?” said Everard. “Nothing but that he is hunted like a partridge on the mountains. May God deliver him, and confound his enemies!—Zoons, Mark Everard, I can fool it no longer. Do you not remember, that at the Lincoln’s-Inn gambols—though you did not mingle much in them, I think—I used always to play as well as any of them when it came to the action, but they could never get me to rehearse conformably. It’s the same at this day. I hear your voice, and I answer to it in the true tone of my heart; but when I am in the company of your snuffling friends, you have seen me act my part indifferent well.” “But indifferent, indeed,” replied Everard; “however, there is little call on you to do aught, save to be modest and silent. Speak little, and lay aside, if you can, your big oaths and swaggering looks—set your hat even on your brows.” “Ay, that is the curse! I have been always noted for the jaunty manner in which I wear my castor—Hard when a man’s merits become his enemies!” “You must remember you are my clerk.” “Secretary,” answered Wildrake: “let it be secretary, if you love me.” “It must be clerk, and nothing else—plain clerk—and remember to be civil and obedient,” replied Everard. “But you should not lay on your commands with so much ostentatious superiority, Master Markham Everard. Remember, I am your senior of three years’ standing. Confound me, if I know how to take it!” “Was ever such a fantastic wrong-head!—For my sake, if not for thine own, bend thy freakish folly to listen to reason. Think that I have incurred both risk and shame on thy account.” “Nay, thou art a right good fellow, Mark,” replied the cavalier; “and for thy sake I will do much—but remember to cough, and cry hem! when thou seest me like to break bounds. And now, tell me whither we are bound for the night.” “To Woodstock Lodge, to look after my uncle’s property,” answered Markham Everard: “I am informed that soldiers have taken possession—Yet how could that be if thou foundest the party drinking in Woodstock?” “There was a kind of commissary or steward, or some such rogue, had gone down to the Lodge,” replied Wildrake; “I had a peep at him.” “Indeed!” replied Everard. “Ay, verily,” said Wildrake, “to speak your own language. Why, as I passed through the park in quest of you, scarce half an hour since, I saw a light in the Lodge—Step this way, you will see it yourself.” “In the north-west angle?” returned Everard. “It is from a window in what they call Victor Lee’s apartment.”