argument. I hope you will not ask me what it all means, or what the
moral of it is. I rank myself with the historian in this business of
tale-telling, and consider that my sole affair is to hunt the argument
dispassionately. Your romancer must be neither a lover of his heroine
nor (as the fashion now sets) of his chief rascal. He must affect a
genial height, that of a jigger of strings; and his attitude should be
that of the Pulpiteer:--Heaven help you, gentlemen, but I know what is
best for you! Leave everything to me.

It is related of Prosper le Gai, that when his brother Malise, Baron
of Starning and Parrox, showed him the door of their father's house,
and showed it with a meaning not to be mistaken, he stuck a sprig of
green holly in his cap. He put on his armour; his horse and sword also
he took: he was for the wilds. Baron Jocelyn's soul, the priests
reported, was with God; his body lay indubitably under a black effigy
in Starning Church. Baron Malise was lord of the fee, with a twisted
face for Prosper whenever they met in the hall: had there been scores
no deeper this was enough. Prosper was a youth to whom life was a very
pretty thing; he could not afford to have tarnish on the glass; he
must have pleasant looks about him and a sweet air, or at least scope
for the making of them. Baron Malise blew like a miasma and cramped
him like a church-pew: then Adventure beaconed from far off, and his
heart leapt to greet the light. He left at dawn, and alone. Roy, his
page, had begged as hard as he dared for pillion or a donkey. He was
his master's only friend, but Prosper's temper needed no props. "Roy,"
said he, "what I do I will do alone, nor will I imperil any man's
bread. The bread of my brother Malise may be a trifle over-salt to my
taste, but to you it is better than none at all. Season your tongue,
Roy, enure it. Drink water, dry your eyes, and forget me not."