“I like thy spirit, I do in truth; but I do not admire thy judgment.  Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life, without going out of one’s way to invite them.  But a truce to these matters; I believe your father.  I doubt not he can lie; I doubt not he doth lie, upon occasion, for the best of us do that; but there is no occasion here.  A wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying for nought.  But come; sith it is thy humour to give over begging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves?  With robbing kitchens?”

The King said, impatiently—­

“Have done with this folly—­you weary me!”

Hugo replied, with temper—­

“Now harkee, mate; you will not beg, you will not rob; so be it.  But I will tell you what you will do.  You will play decoy whilst I beg.  Refuse, an’ you think you may venture!”

The King was about to reply contemptuously, when Hugo said, interrupting—­

“Peace!  Here comes one with a kindly face.  Now will I fall down in a fit.  When the stranger runs to me, set you up a wail, and fall upon your knees, seeming to weep; then cry out as all the devils of misery were in your belly, and say, ’Oh, sir, it is my poor afflicted brother, and we be friendless; o’ God’s name cast through your merciful eyes one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken, and most miserable wretch; bestow one little penny out of thy riches upon one smitten of God and ready to perish!’ —­and mind you, keep you on wailing, and abate not till we bilk him of his penny, else shall you rue it.”

Then immediately Hugo began to moan, and groan, and roll his eyes, and reel and totter about; and when the stranger was close at hand, down he sprawled before him, with a shriek, and began to writhe and wallow in the dirt, in seeming agony.

“O, dear, O dear!” cried the benevolent stranger, “O poor soul, poor soul, how he doth suffer!  There—­let me help thee up.”

“O noble sir, forbear, and God love you for a princely gentleman—­but it giveth me cruel pain to touch me when I am taken so.  My brother there will tell your worship how I am racked with anguish when these fits be upon me.  A penny, dear sir, a penny, to buy a little food; then leave me to my sorrows.”

“A penny! thou shalt have three, thou hapless creature”—­and he fumbled in his pocket with nervous haste and got them out.  “There, poor lad, take them and most welcome.  Now come hither, my boy, and help me carry thy stricken brother to yon house, where—­”

“I am not his brother,” said the King, interrupting.

“What! not his brother?”

“Oh, hear him!” groaned Hugo, then privately ground his teeth.  “He denies his own brother—­and he with one foot in the grave!”

“Boy, thou art indeed hard of heart, if this is thy brother.  For shame! —­and he scarce able to move hand or foot.  If he is not thy brother, who is he, then?”