"
"I have already offered my humble Supplication to your Majesty's
Secretary of State," said Lord Glenvarloch--"but it seems----"
"That he would not receive it, I warrant?" said the king, interrupting
him; "bu my saul, our Secretary kens that point of king-craft, called
refusing, better than we do, and will look at nothing but what he
likes himsell--I think I wad make a better Secretary to him than he to
me.--Weel, my lord, you are welcome to London; and, as ye seem an
acute and learned youth, I advise ye to turn your neb northward as
soon as ye like, and settle yoursell for a while at Saint Andrews, and
we will be right glad to hear that you prosper in your studies.--
_Incumbite Remis Fortiter._"
While the king spoke thus, he held the petition of the young lord
carelessly, like one who only delayed till the supplicant's back was
turned, to throw it away, or at least lay it aside to be no more
looked at. The petitioner, who read this in his cold and indifferent
looks, and in the manner in which he twisted and crumpled together the
paper, arose with a bitter sense of anger and disappointment, made a
profound obeisance, and was about to retire hastily. But Lord
Huntinglen, who stood by him, checked his intention by an almost
imperceptible touch upon the skirt of his cloak, and Nigel, taking the
hint, retreated only a few steps from the royal presence, and then
made a pause.
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