Chapter XXI

Hendon to the rescue.



The old man glided away, stooping, stealthy, cat-like, and brought

the low bench. He seated himself upon it, half his body in the

dim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow; and so,

with his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept his

patient vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly

whetted his knife, and mumbled and chuckled; and in aspect and

attitude he resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous

spider, gloating over some hapless insect that lay bound and

helpless in his web.



After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing,--yet not

seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction,--

observed, on a sudden, that the boy's eyes were open! wide open

and staring!--staring up in frozen horror at the knife. The smile

of a gratified devil crept over the old man's face, and he said,

without changing his attitude or his occupation--



"Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed?"



The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds, and at the same time

forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit

chose to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question.



"Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying!"



A shudder shook the boy's frame, and his face blenched. Then he

struggled again to free himself--turning and twisting himself this

way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately--but

uselessly--to burst his fetters; and all the while the old ogre

smiled down upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted

his knife; mumbling, from time to time, "The moments are precious,

they are few and precious--pray the prayer for the dying!"



The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles,

panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other,

down his face; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effect

upon the savage old man.



The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and spoke up

sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his voice--



"I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is already

gone. It seems but a moment--only a moment; would it had endured

a year! Seed of the Church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes,

an' thou fearest to look upon--"



The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sank

upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the

moaning boy.



Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin--the knife

dropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy

and started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently

the voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for

help; then a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. Immediately

came a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door,

followed by--



"Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!"



Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the

King's ears; for it was Miles Hendon's voice!



The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out

of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway

the King heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the 'chapel':--



"Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy--MY boy?"



"What boy, friend?"



"What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions!--I

am not in the humour for it. Near to this place I caught the

scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made them

confess; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked him

to your door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter no

more; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce him not--Where is the boy?"



"O good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that

tarried here the night. If such as you take an interest in such

as he, know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back anon."



"How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time--cannot I overtake

him? How soon will he be back?"



"Thou need'st not stir; he will return quickly."



"So be it, then. I will try to wait. But stop!--YOU sent him of

an errand?--you! Verily this is a lie--he would not go. He would

pull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence.

Thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! He would not go

for thee, nor for any man."



"For any MAN--no; haply not. But I am not a man."



"WHAT! Now o' God's name what art thou, then?"



"It is a secret--mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel!"



There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon--not

altogether unprofane--followed by--



"This doth well and truly account for his complaisance! Right

well I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial service

of any mortal; but, lord, even a king must obey when an archangel

gives the word o' command! Let me--'sh! What noise was that?"



All this while the little King had been yonder, alternately

quaking with terror and trembling with hope; and all the while,

too, he had thrown all the strength he could into his anguished

moanings, constantly expecting them to reach Hendon's ear, but

always realising, with bitterness, that they failed, or at least

made no impression. So this last remark of his servant came as

comes a reviving breath from fresh fields to the dying; and he

exerted himself once more, and with all his energy, just as the

hermit was saying--



"Noise? I heard only the wind."



"Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have been hearing

it faintly all the--there it is again! It is not the wind! What

an odd sound! Come, we will hunt it out!"



Now the King's joy was nearly insupportable. His tired lungs did

their utmost--and hopefully, too--but the sealed jaws and the

muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. Then the poor

fellow's heart sank, to hear the hermit say--



"Ah, it came from without--I think from the copse yonder. Come, I

will lead the way."



The King heard the two pass out, talking; heard their footsteps

die quickly away--then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful

silence.



It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approaching

again--and this time he heard an added sound,--the trampling of

hoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say--



"I will not wait longer. I CANNOT wait longer. He has lost his

way in this thick wood. Which direction took he? Quick--point it

out to me."



"He--but wait; I will go with thee."



"Good--good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks. Marry I

do not think there's not another archangel with so right a heart

as thine. Wilt ride? Wilt take the wee donkey that's for my boy,

or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of

a mule that I have provided for myself?--and had been cheated in

too, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on a

brass farthing let to a tinker out of work."



"No--ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on mine own

feet, and will walk."



"Then prithee mind the little beast for me while I take my life in

my hands and make what success I may toward mounting the big one."



Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and

plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed

curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which must

have broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from that moment.



With unutterable misery the fettered little King heard the voices

and footsteps fade away and die out. All hope forsook him, now,

for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart.

"My only friend is deceived and got rid of," he said; "the hermit

will return and--" He finished with a gasp; and at once fell to

struggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off

the smothering sheepskin.



And now he heard the door open! The sound chilled him to the

marrow--already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horror

made him close his eyes; horror made him open them again--and

before him stood John Canty and Hugo!



He would have said "Thank God!" if his jaws had been free.



A moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his captors,

each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speed

through the forest.

****

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