“Thy wife!” In an instant Hugh was
pinned to the wall, with an iron grip about his throat.
“Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all!
Thou’st writ the lying letter thyself, and
my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. There—now
get thee gone, lest I shame mine honourable soldiership
with the slaying of so pitiful a mannikin!”
Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to
the nearest chair, and commanded the servants to seize
and bind the murderous stranger. They hesitated,
and one of them said—
“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”
“Armed! What of it, and ye so many?
Upon him, I say!”
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did,
and added—
“Ye know me of old—I have not changed;
come on, an’ it like you.”
This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they
still held back.
“Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves
and guard the doors, whilst I send one to fetch the
watch!” said Hugh. He turned at the threshold,
and said to Miles, “You’ll find it to your
advantage to offend not with useless endeavours at
escape.”
“Escape? Spare thyself discomfort, an’
that is all that troubles thee. For Miles Hendon
is master of Hendon Hall and all its belongings.
He will remain—doubt it not.”
The King sat musing a few moments, then looked up
and said—
“’Tis strange—most strange.
I cannot account for it.”
“No, it is not strange, my liege. I know
him, and this conduct is but natural. He was
a rascal from his birth.”
“Oh, I spake not of him, Sir Miles.”
“Not of him? Then of what? What
is it that is strange?”
“That the King is not missed.”
“How? Which? I doubt I do not understand.”
“Indeed? Doth it not strike you as being
passing strange that the land is not filled with couriers
and proclamations describing my person and making
search for me? Is it no matter for commotion
and distress that the Head of the State is gone; that
I am vanished away and lost?”
“Most true, my King, I had forgot.”
Then Hendon sighed, and muttered to himself, “Poor
ruined mind—still busy with its pathetic
dream.”
“But I have a plan that shall right us both—I
will write a paper, in three tongues—Latin,
Greek and English—and thou shalt haste away
with it to London in the morning. Give it to
none but my uncle, the Lord Hertford; when he shall
see it, he will know and say I wrote it. Then
he will send for me.”
“Might it not be best, my Prince, that we wait
here until I prove myself and make my rights secure
to my domains? I should be so much the better
able then to—”
The King interrupted him imperiously—
“Peace! What are thy paltry domains, thy
trivial interests, contrasted with matters which concern
the weal of a nation and the integrity of a throne?”
Then, he added, in a gentle voice, as if he were sorry
for his severity, “Obey, and have no fear; I
will right thee, I will make thee whole—yes,
more than whole. I shall remember, and requite.”
