“But I cannot disguise from you, Master Jocelyn Mounchensey—­for your dispute with Sir Francis Mitchell has acquainted me with your name,” John Wolfe said—­“that your rashness has placed you in imminent peril; so that there is but little chance for the present of my showing you the hospitality and kindness I desire.  Sir Giles seems to hover over you as a rapacious vulture might do before making his swoop.  Heaven shield you from his talons!  And now, my good young Sir, accept one piece of caution from me, which my years and kindly feelings towards you entitle me to make.  An you ’scape this danger, as I trust you may, let it be a lesson to you to put a guard upon your tongue, and not suffer it to out-run your judgment.  You are much too rash and impetuous, and by your folly (nay, do not quarrel with me, my young friend—­I can give no milder appellation to your conduct) have placed yourself in the power of your enemies.  Not only have you provoked Sir Francis Mitchell, whose malice is more easily aroused than appeased, but you have defied Sir Giles Mompesson, who is equally implacable in his enmities; and as if two such enemies were not enough, you must needs make a third, yet more dangerous than either.”

“How so, good Master Wolfe?” Jocelyn cried.  “To whom do you refer?”

“To whom should I refer, Master Jocelyn,” Wolfe rejoined, “but to my lord of Buckingham, whom you wantonly insulted?  For the latter indiscretion there can be no excuse, whatever there may be for the former; and it was simple madness to affront a nobleman of his exalted rank, second only in authority to the King himself.”

“But how have I offended the Marquis?” demanded Jocelyn, surprised.

“Is it possible you can have spoken at random, and without knowledge of the force of your own words?” John Wolfe rejoined, looking hard at him.  “It may be so, for you are plainly ignorant of the world.  Well, then,” he added, lowering his tone, “when you said that these two abominable extortioners were the creatures of some great man, who glozed over their villainous practices to the King, and gave a better account of them than they deserve, you were nearer the truth than you imagined; but it could hardly be agreeable to the Marquis to be told this to his face, since it is notorious to all (except to yourself) that he is the man.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Jocelyn, “I now see the error I have committed.”

“A grave error indeed,” rejoined Wolfe, shaking his head, “and most difficult to be repaired—­for the plea of ignorance, though it may suffice with me, will scarcely avail you with the Marquis.  Indeed, it can never be urged, since he disowns any connection with these men; and it is suspected that his half-brother, Sir Edward Villiers, goes between them in all their secret transactions.  Of this, however, I know nothing personally, and only tell you what I have heard.  But if it were not almost treasonable to say it, I might add, that his