"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.
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