idea of the importance of their little island. "But how fares my Rose? A
wanderer may love his Ithaca, but he loves his wife most. Have I your
leave, Mr. Prynne, to examine this missive?"

Prynne bowed, and Lempriere cut open his letter.

"Penelope maketh such cheer as she may," he added, after glancing at the
contents: "but I see nothing of your mighty news, Alain."

"The letter was written before I learned the same. The return of Ulysses
did not then seem so far as it does now."

"Leave riddling, Alain, and let us know the worst."

"The worst is, Charles Stuart is in S. Helier, with a large power,
warmly received by Sir George, and holding the island as a tool of
Jermyn and the Queen, if not a pensioner of France. I saw his barge row
into the harbour at high tide, followed by others laden with silken
courtiers and musicians; horse-boats and cook-boats swelled the train;
the great guns of the Castle fired salvoes, and the militia stood to
their arms upon the quay, with drums beating, fifes squeaking, and our
own company from Saint Saviour's ranked among the rest, green leaves in
their hats and round the poles of their colours."

Lempriere leant his head on his hand with a discomfited and despondent
gesture. Prynne addressed him kindly:--

"Have a little patience, H. de Maufant," said he. "The sun shines in
heaven though earth's clouds hide his face."