of his own rashness, and not convinced
that Turner's thrust was only a slip and an accident, bore with patience
several days of extreme danger. As for Turner, he displayed natural
regret, and was exonerated by everybody. Some time after, Lord Sanquhar
being in the court of Henry IV. of France, that chivalrous and gallant
king, always courteous to strangers, seeing the patch of green taffeta,
unfortunately, merely to make conversation, asked the young Scotchman
how he lost his eye. Sanquhar, not willing to lose the credit of a
wound, answered cannily, "It was done, your majesty, with a sword." The
king replied, thoughtlessly, "Doth the man live?" and no more was said.
This remark, however, awoke the viper of revenge in the young man's
soul. He brooded over those words, and never ceased to dwell on the hope
of some requital on his old opponent. Two years he remained in France,
hoping that his wound might be cured, and at last, in despair of such a
result, set sail for England, still brooding over revenge against the
author of his cruel and, as it now appeared, irreparable misfortune. The
King of Denmark, James's toss-pot father-in-law, was on a visit here at
the time, and the court was very gay. The first news that Lord Sanquhar
heard was, that the accursed Turner was down at Greenwich Palace,
fencing there in public matches before the two kings. To these
entertainments the young Scotchman went, and there, from some corner of
a gallery, the man with a patch over his eye no doubt scowled and bit
his lip at the fencing-master, as he strutted beneath, proud of his
skill and flushed with triumph. The moment the prizes were given,
Sanquhar hurried below, and sought Turner up and down, through court and
corridor, resolved to stab him on the spot, though even drawing a sword
in the precincts of the palace was an offence punishable with the loss
of a hand. Turner, however, at that time escaped, for Sanquhar never
came across him in the throng, though he beat it as a dog beats a
covert. The next day, therefore, still on his trail, Lord Sanquhar went
after him to London, seeking for him up and down the Strand, and in all
the chief Fleet Street and Cheapside taverns. The Scot could not have
come to a more dangerous place than London. Some, with malicious pity,
would tell him that Turner had vaunted of his skilful thrust, and the
way he had punished a man who tried to publicly shame him. Others would
thoughtlessly lament the spoiling