Grieving much for the loss of the King, however greatly it might be (as the parson had declared it was, while telling us to pray against it) for the royal benefit, I resolved to ride to Porlock myself, directly after dinner, and make sure whether he were dead, or not.
For it was not by any means hard to suppose that Sam Fry, being John's first cousin, might have inherited either from grandfather or grandmother some of those gifts which had made our John so famous for mendacity.
_Ex labore Deo naturæ sacrifica liberaliter paulatim reduces animum Deo subiectum.
Firmam custodiam vitæ tuæ, misericorditer gubernando tenebit, incolumemque seruabit._
At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the “George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was discussing the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones.
She had even copied one or two of the “receipts”—as she called them—for the different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.
At Porlock I found that it was too true; and the women of the town were in great distress, for the King had always been popular with them: the men, on the other hand, were forecasting what would be likely to ensue.