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WHEN the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession
of Hugh Hendon, that his wife had repudiated Miles by his command that
day at Hendon Hall- a command assisted and supported by the
perfectly trustworthy promise that if she did not deny that he was
Miles Hendon, and stand firmly to it, he would have her life;
whereupon she said take it, she did not value it- and she would not
repudiate Miles; then her husband said he would spare her life, but
have Miles assassinated! This was a different matter; so she gave
her word and kept it.
Hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing his
brother's estates and title, because the wife and brother would not
testify against him- and the former would not have been allowed to
do it, even if she had wanted to. Hugh deserted his wife and went over
to the continent, where he presently died; and by and by the Earl of
Kent married his relict. There were grand times and rejoicings at
Hendon village when the couple paid their first visit to the Hall.
Tom Canty's father was never heard of again.
The king sought out the farmer who had been branded and sold as
a slave, and reclaimed him from his evil life with the Ruffler's gang,
and put him in the way of a comfortable livelihood.
He also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted his
fine. He provided good homes for the daughters of the two Baptist
women whom he saw burned at the stake, and roundly punished the
official who laid the undeserved stripes upon Miles Hendon's back.
He saved from the gallows the boy who had captured the stray
falcon, and also the woman who had stolen the remnant of cloth from
a weaver; but he was too late to save the man who had been convicted
of killing a deer in the royal forest.
He showed favor to the justice who had pitied him when he was
supposed to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratification of
seeing him grow in the public esteem and become a great and honored
man.
As long as the king lived he was fond of telling the story of
his adventures, all through, from the hour that the sentinel cuffed
him away from the palace gate till the final midnight when he deftly
mixed himself into a gang of hurrying workmen and so slipped into
the Abbey and climbed up and hid himself in the Confessor's tomb,
and then slept so long, next day, that he came within one of missing
the Coronation altogether. He said that the frequent rehearsing of the
precious lesson kept him strong in his purpose to make its teachings
yield benefits to his people; and so, while his life was spared he
should continue to tell the story, and thus keep its sorrowful
spectacles fresh in his memory and the springs of pity replenished
in his heart.
Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favorites of the king, all through
his brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died. The good
Earl of Kent had too much good sense to abuse his peculiar
privilege; but he exercised it twice after the instance we have seen
of it before he was called from the world; once at the accession of
Queen Mary, and once at the accession of Queen Elizabeth. A descendant
of his exercised it at the accession of James I. Before this one's son
chose to use the privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed,
and the 'privilege of the Kents' had faded out of most people's
memories; so, when the Kent of that day appeared before Charles I
and his court and sat down in the sovereign's presence to assert and
perpetuate the right of his house, there was a fine stir, indeed!
But the matter was soon explained and the right confirmed. The last
earl of the line fell in the wars of the Commonwealth fighting for the
king, and the odd privilege ended with him.
Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, white-haired old
fellow, of grave and benignant aspect. As long as he lasted he was
honored; and he was also reverenced, for his striking and peculiar
costume kept the people reminded that 'in his time he had been royal';
so, wherever he appeared the crowd fell apart, making way for him, and
whispering, one to another, 'Doff thy hat, it is the King's Ward!'-
and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return- and they
valued it, too, for his was an honorable history.
Yes, King Edward VI lived only a few years, poor boy, but he lived
them worthily. More than once, when some great dignitary, some
gilded vassal of the crown, made argument against his leniency, and
urged that some law which he was bent upon amending was gentle
enough for its purpose, and wrought no suffering or oppression which
any one need mightily mind, the young king turned the mournful
eloquence of his great compassionate eyes upon him and answered:
'What dost thou know of suffering and oppression! I and my
people know, but not thou.'
The reign of Edward VI was a singularly merciful one for those
harsh times. Now that we are taking leave of him let us try to keep
this in our minds, to his credit.
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