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Now a voice spake to him as he gazed with knitted brows and careful heart on that turmoil of battle: 'What now hast thou done with the Sun-beam, and where is her brother? Is the Chief of the Wolf skulking when our work is so heavy? And thou meseemeth art overlate on the field: the mowing of this meadow is no sluggard's work.
The king closes with the hope that the prince's "natural inclination will have a happie simpathie with these precepts; making the wise man's schoolmaister, which is the example of others, to be your teacher; and not that overlate repentance by your own experience, which is the schoolmaister of fools."
Kenneth replied that the hour was overlate to be setting out upon a journey, and he requested Galliard to wait until to-day, when he would be ready to fulfil what he had promised. But Crispin retorted that Kenneth was bound by his oath to go with him when he should require it, and again he bade the boy make ready at once.
Early the next morning Patsy waited on the braided rug outside the spare chamber for Joseph's mother to come out. "I've been praying ye'd not hate me for the tale I told the little lad that day, the tale that brought him yonder. And if it isn't overlate, I'd like to be thanking ye for taking me in that night." The woman looked at her searchingly through swollen lids.
And without waiting for reply or acknowledgment, he turned on his heel, and entered the palace. But he had yielded overlate to leave a good impression and, as Kenneth turned away, it was with a curse upon Galliard, for whom his detestation seemed to increase at every step.
You have fallen among friends. We are Orleanists too, at Lavedan, for all that I was not in the fight at Castelnaudary. That was no fault of mine. His Grace's messenger reached me overlate, and for all that I set out with a company of my men, I put back when I had reached Lautrec upon hearing that already a decisive battle had been fought and that our side had suffered a crushing defeat."
Again the lad approached the door and listened; then going to the porter he said: 'This drenching storm will tear the last poor leaves from the forest trees, I ween, Sir Falk. 'Of a truth, said the porter, ''tis overlate for leaves. They be stuck in the mire of the rides long ere this. 'They could not be blown so far in this gushing storm, said the page, 'and therefore I have deceived myself.
"Not yet," he said, in a deep, concentrated voice. "Not yet. I did you a wrong, I know. And what you say cruel as it is is no more than I deserve. But I desire to make amends. I love you, Hortensia, and desire to make amends." She smiled wistfully. "'Tis overlate to talk of that." "Why?" he demanded fiercely, and caught her arms, holding her there before him. "Why is it overlate?"
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