Chapter 3 - Page 2

could leap, run, fence, shoot at a mark; there was
no horse he could not ride, and at ten he stood as tall as a boy of
fourteen, and was stalwart and graceful into the bargain. Of his beauty
there could be no question, it being of an order which marked him in
any assembly. 'Twas not only that his features were of so fine a
moulding, that his thick hair curled about his brow in splendid rings,
and that he had a large deep eye, tawny brown and fearless as a young
lion's, but there was in the carriage of his head, the bearing of his
body, the very movement of his limbs a thing which stamped him. In
truth, it was as if nature, in a lavish mood and having leisure, had
built a human creature of her best and launched him furnished forth
with her fairest fortunes, that she might behold what he would do. The
first time he was taken by his parents to London, there was a day upon
which, while walking in the garden of Hampton Court, accompanied by his
governor, he found himself stopped by a splendid haughty lady, whom Mr.
Fox saluted with some fearfulness when she addressed him. She asked the
boy's name, and, putting her hand on his shoulder, so held him that
she might look at him well.

"The little Roxholm," she said. "Yes, his mother was the beauty who--"

'Twas as if she checked her speech. She made a quick, imperious
movement with her head, and added: "He is all rumour said of him;" and
she turned away with such abruptness that the child asked himself how
he had vexed her, and wondered also at her manners, he being used only
to grace and courtesy.

They were near the end of the terrace which looked upon the River
Thames, and she went with her companion and leaned upon the stone
balustrades, looking out upon the water with fierce eyes. "The woman
who could give him a son like that," she said, "could hold him against
all others, and demand what she chose. Squat Catherine herself could do
it."

Little Roxholm heard her.

"She is a very handsome lady," he said, innocently, "though she has a
strange way. Is she of the Court, and do you know her name?"

"'Tis her Grace the Duchess of Cleveland," answered Mr. Fox, gravely,
as they walked away.

He was seven years old at this time, and 'twas during this visit to
town that he heard a conversation which made a great impression upon
him, opening up as it did new vistas of childish thinking. Having
known but one phase of existence, he was not aware that he had lived
the life of a young prince in a fairy tale, and that there were other
children whose surroundings were as gloomy as his were fair and bright.

He was one day comfortably ensconced in the deep embrasure of