said, "that our knight here pays to
the last penny for the courtesy of the accolade. You shall levy upon his
estate."

"We are both gentlemen, your Majesty, and my rights within the law are
no less than your Majesty's," said Enderby stoutly.

"The gentleman forgets that the King is the fountain of all law," said
Lord Rippingdale obliquely to the King.

"We will make one new statute for this stubborn knight," said Charles;
"even a writ of outlawry. His estates shall be confiscate to the Crown.
Go seek a King and country better suited to your tastes, our rebel
Knight of Enderby."

"I am still an Enderby of Enderby, and a man of Lincolnshire, your
Majesty," answered the squire, as the King rode towards Boston church,
where presently he should pray after this fashion with his subjects
there assembled:

"Most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy favour to behold our most
gracious sovereign King Charles. Endue him plenteously with
Heavenly gifts; grant him in health and wealth long to live;
strengthen him that he may vanquish and overcome all his enemies;
and, finally, after this life, he may attain everlasting joy and
felicity."

With a heavy heart Enderby turned homewards; that is, towards
Mablethorpe upon the coast, which lies between Saltfleet Haven and
Skegness, two ports that are places of mark in the history of the
kingdom, as all the world knows.

He had never been so vexed in his life. It was not so much anger against
the King, for he had great reverence for the monarchy of England;
but against Lord Rippingdale his mind was violent. Years before, in a
quarrel between the Earl of Lindsey and Lord Rippingdale, upon a public
matter which Parliament settled afterwards, he had sided with the Earl
of Lindsey. The two Earls had been reconciled afterwards, but Lord
Rippingdale had never forgiven Enderby.

In Enderby's brain ideas worked somewhat heavily; but to-day his
slumberous strength was infused with a spirit of action and the warmth
of a pervasive idea. There was no darkness in his thoughts, but his
pulse beat heavily and he could hear the veins throbbing under his ear
impetuously. Once or twice as he rode on in the declining afternoon he
muttered to himself. Now it was: "My Lord Rippingdale, indeed!" or "Not
even for a King!" or "Sir John Enderby, forsooth! Sir John Enderby,
forsooth!" Once again he spoke, reining in his horse beside a tall cross
at four corners, near Stickford by the East F