a hollow show. Althea and I chanced one day to be passing the Royal Oak,
as the chief inn of the village had been new christened, just as there
reeled out of it a young gentleman whom every one had deemed a most
hopeful pious youth, Mr. Truelocke in particular having a great opinion
of him, though I never liked his demure looks for my part, nor his stiff
way of dressing himself. He was called Ralph Lacy, and was son and heir
to old Mr. Lacy of Lacy Manor, a worthy old gentleman, though somewhat
austere, who was lately dead; which I suppose partly accounted for the
mighty change in his son, who was now clad in silk and velvet, scarlet
and gold; and, as I have said, could not walk too straight at that
moment.

He stood still, leering foolishly on us, just in our way; I could not
bear to look at him, and would have slipt on one side; but Althea
looked sternly at him, and said bitterly,--

'Shame on you, Ralph Lacy! You mourn for your father in a very vile
manner; a swine could do no worse.'

'Ah, sweet Mistress Dacre,' said he, 'do you think then the grim,
sour-visaged saints are reigning still? Nay, their day is over! we have
a right good fellow for a king now, and this shall be Merry England
again, I can tell thee.' (He was growing more familiar at every word.)
'I will soon show thee what the ways are at Whitehall now;' and he was
coming much nearer to her than was pleasant, when Andrew, who came up
with us at that moment, flung him out of our path with such goodwill
that Master Lacy measured his length on the ground; and there we left
him lying. Althea thanked Andrew warmly and cordially; but Andrew, who
had been all glowing with just wrath at first, seemed to shrink into
himself at her praise.