intention. And so James at the end lived and died as a saint, though he
was far from being one at this time; and Charles lived and died a
sinner, though, thank God, a penitent one.

Now although I knew all this well enough, and how Charles' private life
stank in the nostrils of God and man, I cannot describe how he affected
me with loyalty and compassion and even a kind of love, in this little
while that I had with him in private, nor how these emotions grew upon
me the more that I knew him.

He was sitting in his great chair, not yet dressed for supper, for his
wristbands were tumbled and turned back, and his huge dark brown periwig
was ever so little awry. He was in a dark suit, with a lace cravat; and
his rosetted shoes were crossed one over the other as he sat. The light
of the window fell full upon him from one side, shewing his swarthy
face, his thin close moustaches, and his heavy eyes under his arched
brows--shewing above all that air of strange and lovable melancholy that
was so marked a trait in those of the Stuart blood. He smiled a little
at me, but did not move, except to put out his hand. I came across the
floor, kneeled and kissed his hand, then, at a motion from him, stood up
again.

"So you are Mr. Roger Mallock," he said. "Welcome to England, Mr. Roger
Mallock. You bring good news of His Holiness, I hope."

"His Holiness does very well, Sir," I said.

"We should all do as well if we were as holy," said the King. "And you
come to look after my soul, I am informed."