The King sprang to his deliverer’s side, with
flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, exclaiming--

“Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season, now, Sir
Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!”




CHAPTER XXIII. The Prince a prisoner.

Hendon forced back a smile, and bent down and whispered in the King’s
ear--

“Softly, softly, my prince, wag thy tongue warily--nay, suffer it not to
wag at all.