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The old man glided away, stooping, stealthily, catlike, 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 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 humor 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?'
'Oh, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that
tarried here the night. If such as you take 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 needst 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 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 realizing,
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 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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