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WHEN Hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he was
released and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. His
sword was restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. He
mounted and rode off, followed by the king, the crowd opening with
quiet respectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersing when they
were gone.
Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. There were questions of
high import to be answered. What should he do? Whither should he go?
Powerful help must be found somewhere, or he must relinquish his
inheritance and remain under the imputation of being an impostor
besides. Where could he hope to find this powerful help? Where,
indeed! It was a knotty question. By and by a thought occurred to
him which pointed to a possibility- the slenderest of slender
possibilities, certainly, but still worth considering, for lack of any
other that promised anything at all. He remembered what old Andrews
had said about the young king's goodness and his generous championship
of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not go and try to get speech of
him and beg for justice? Ah, yes, but could so fantastic a pauper
get admission to the august presence of a monarch? Never mind- let
that matter take care of itself; it was a bridge that would not need
to be crossed till he should come to it. He was an old campaigner, and
used to inventing shifts and expedients; no doubt he would be able
to find a way. Yes, he would strike for the capital. Maybe his
father's old friend, Sir Humphrey Marlow, would help him- 'good old
Sir Humphrey, Head Lieutenant of the late king's kitchen, or
stables, or something'- Miles could not remember just what or which.
Now that he had something to turn his energies to, a distinctly
defined object to accomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression
that had settled down upon his spirits lifted and blew away, and he
raised his head and looked about him. He was surprised to see how
far he had come; the village was away behind him. The king was jogging
along in his wake, with his head bowed; for he, too, was deep in plans
and thinkings. A sorrowful misgiving clouded Hendon's newborn
cheerfulness; would the boy be willing to go again to a city where,
during all his brief life, he had never known anything but ill usage
and pinching want? But the question must be asked; it could not be
avoided; so Hendon reined up, and called out:
'I had forgotten to inquire whither we are bound. Thy commands, my
liege?'
'To London!'
Hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the answer- but
astonished at it, too.
The whole journey was made without an adventure of importance.
But it ended with one. About ten o'clock on the night of the night
of the 19th of February, they stepped upon London Bridge, in the midst
of a writhing, struggling jam of howling and hurrahing people, whose
beer-jolly faces stood out strongly in the glare from manifold
torches- and at that instant the decaying head of some former duke
or other grandee tumbled down between them, striking Hendon on the
elbow and then bounding off among the hurrying confusion of feet. So
evanescent and unstable are men's works in this world!- the late
good king is but three weeks dead and three days in his grave, and
already the adornments which he took such pains to select from
prominent people for his noble bridge are falling. A citizen
stumbled over that head, and drove his own head into the back of
somebody in front of him, who turned and knocked down the first person
that came handy, and was promptly laid out himself by that person's
friend. It was the right ripe time for a free fight, for the
festivities of the morrow- Coronation Day- were already beginning;
everybody was full of strong drink and patriotism; within five minutes
the free fight was occupying a good deal of ground; within ten or
twelve it covered an acre or so, and was become a riot. By this time
Hendon and the king were hopelessly separated from each other and lost
in the rush and turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. And so we
leave them.
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