CHAPTER XI

MAGIC July was almost out. The weather was insufferably hot, and Whitehall grown stuffy beyond enduring. The King, having dissolved some months ago in a spirit of finality a Parliament too stubborn and recalcitrant to serve his purposes, was determined henceforth to govern Britain without the cavillings and interferences of that vexatious body. Meanwhile, he had gone off to indulge his increasing indolence in the comparative cool of Royston, where he hunted and hawked for the benefit of his health. Thence almost da…