“He has yet to prove his boast,” replied the prince, coloring with suppressed anger; “but give him his bow, Brithric,” continued he, “that we may all have the advantage of taking a lesson from so peerless an archer.”

“It is far from my wish presumptuously to compete with my lord,” replied Wilfrid, calmly rejecting the bow.

“He has boasted that which he cannot perform,” said Brithric, with an insulting laugh.

“You are welcome to that opinion, Brithric, if it so please you,” said Wilfrid, turning about to quit the ground.

“Nay,” cried the prince, “you go not till you have made good your boast, young sir, by sending an arrow nearer to the mark than mine.”

“Ay, royal Atheling,” shouted the company, “compel the vaunter to show us a sample of his skill.”

“Rather, let my lord, the Atheling, try his own skill once more,” said Wilfrid; “he can hit the mark himself, if he will.”

Prince Edwin bent his bow, and this time the arrow entered the centre of the target.  The ground rang with the plaudits of the spectators.

“Let us see now if Wilfrid, the son of Cendric, the traitor, can equal the Atheling’s shot,” shouted Brithric.

“Shoot, Wilfrid, shoot!” cried more than twenty voices among the royal wards.

“I have no wish to bend the bow to-day,” said Wilfrid.

“Because you know that you must expose yourself to contempt by failing to make your vaunt good,” said Brithric; “but you shall not escape thus lightly.”

“Nothing but the express command of the prince, my master, will induce me to bend my bow to-day,” said Wilfrid.

“Wilfrid, son of Cendric, I, Edwin Atheling, command thee to shoot at yonder mark,” said the prince.

Wilfrid bowed his head in obedience to the mandate.  He fitted the arrow to the string, and stepping a pace backward, took his aim and bent the bow.  The arrow flew unerringly, and cleft in twain that of Prince Edwin which already remained fixed in the centre of the mark.

This feat of skillful archery on the part of the page called forth no shout, nor even a word of applause, from the partial group of flatterers, who had so loudly commended the Atheling’s less successful shots.  Their silence, however, was best pleasing to the modest Wilfrid, who, without so much as casting a single triumphant glance upon those who had insulted and reviled him, dropped his bow upon the earth, and, bowing to his royal master, retired from the scene without uttering a syllable.

From that day there was a visible change in the manners of the Atheling toward his page, for his vanity had been piqued by this trifling circumstance, of which the artful Brithric took advantage to irritate his mind against Wilfrid.  He now addressed him only in the language of imperious command, and not unfrequently treated him with personal indignity.