“I know not,” answered the boy, timidly; “yet an it please your noble lordship to permit my pleading mine own cause without witness, I may prevail, as I have done before.”

“Be it so, then,” replied the earl.  “And now, ere we part, I would bid thee remember I have trusted thee; I have granted that to thee, without condition, with perfect liberty of action, which to others could only have been granted on their surrendering themselves, rescue or no rescue, even as thy master.  I have done this, trusting to that noble faithfulness, the candor and honesty of youth, which hath breathed forth in all that thou hast said.  Let me not repent it.  And now, Hugo de l’Orme,” he called aloud, but Lancaster himself declared his intention of conducting the boy to Sir Nigel’s tent, and the esquire was consequently dismissed; but ere they departed, the boy turned once more to the aged minstrel.

“And thou—­whither goest thou?” he said, in low yet thrilling tones.  “My more than father, thou hast seen thy child’s earnest wish fulfilled; that for which thou didst conduct me hither is accomplished; yet ere I say farewell, tell me—­oh, tell me, whither goest thou?”

“I know not,” answered the old man, struggling with unexpressed emotion; “yet think not of me, my child, I shall be free, be safe, untouched by aught of personal ill, while young and lovely ones, for whom it would be bliss to die, are crushed and bleeding in their spring; the mountains, and rocks, and woods, yet unstained with blood, call on me to return, and be at rest within their caves.  The love I bear to thee and him thou seekest hath yet a louder voice to bid me follow ye.  I know not whither I shall go, yet an my vision telleth that thou needst my aid, I shall not be far from thee.  Farewell, my child; and ye, true-hearted lords, the blessing of an aged man repay ye for the kindly deed this day that ye have done.”  He pressed the boy in his arms, reverentially saluted the earls, and passed from the tent as he spoke.

A few words passed between the warriors, and then Lancaster desired the page to follow him.  In silence they proceeded through the camp, avoiding the more bustling parts, where the soldiery were evidently busied in preparing for the morrow’s march, and inclining towards the wooded bank of the river.  The eye of the Earl of Lancaster had scarcely moved from the page during his interview with Hereford, though the boy, engrossed in his own feelings, had failed to remark it.  He now glanced rapidly and searchingly round him, and perceiving the ground perfectly clear, not a soldier visible, he suddenly paused in his hasty stride, and laying his hand heavily on the boy’s shoulder, said, in a deep, impressive voice, “I know not who or what thou art, but I love thy master, and know that he is ill at ease, not from captivity, but from uncertainty as to the fate of one beloved.  If it be, as I suspect, in thy power entirely to remove this uneasiness, be cautioned,