awhile, as if seeking some grateful sign of returning reason
there, then pressed the curly head against his breast, and patted
it tenderly. Presently he said–
“Dost not know thy father, child? Break not mine old heart; say
thou know’st me. Thou DOST know me, dost thou not?”
“Yea: thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve!”
“True, true–that is well–be comforted, tremble not so; there is
none here would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee.
Thou art better now; thy ill dream passeth–is’t not so? Thou
wilt not miscall thyself again, as they say thou didst a little
while agone?”
“I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth,
most dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a
pauper born, and ’tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here,
albeit I was therein nothing blameful. I am but young to die, and
thou canst save me with one little word. Oh speak it, sir!”
“Die? Talk not so, sweet prince–peace, peace, to thy troubled
heart–thou shalt not die!”
Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry–
“God requite thy mercy, O my King, and save thee long to bless thy
land!” Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two
lords in waiting, and exclaimed, “Thou heard’st it! I am not to
die: the King hath said it!” There was no movement, save that
all bowed with grave respect; but no one spoke. He hesitated, a
little confused, then turned timidly toward the King, saying, “I
may go now?”
“Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry yet a little?
Whither would’st go?”
Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly–
“Peradventure I mistook; but I did think me free, and so was I
moved to seek again the kennel where I was born and bred to
misery, yet which harboureth my mother and my sisters, and so is
home to me; whereas these pomps and splendours whereunto I am not
used–oh, please you, sir, to let me go!”
The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed
a growing distress and uneasiness. Presently he said, with
something of hope in his voice–
“Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits
unmarred as toucheth other matter. God send it may be so! We
will make trial.”
Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom answered him lamely
in the same tongue. The lords and doctors manifested their
gratification also. The King said–
“‘Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but showeth
that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. How say you,
sir?”
The physician addressed bowed low, and replied–
“It jumpeth with my own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined
aright.”
The King looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did
from so excellent authority, and continued with good heart–
“Now mark ye all: we will try him further.”
He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent a moment,
embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said
diffidently–
“I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty.”
The King fell back upon his couch. The attendants flew to his
assistance; but he put them aside, and said–
“Trouble me not–it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. Raise me!
There, ’tis sufficient. Come hither, child; there, rest thy poor
troubled head upon thy father’s heart, and be at peace. Thou’lt
soon be well: ’tis but a passing fantasy. Fear thou not; thou’lt
soon be well.” Then he turned toward the company: his gentle
manner changed, and baleful lightnings began to play from his
eyes. He said–
“List ye all! This my son is mad; but it is not permanent. Over-
study hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. Away
with his books and teachers! see ye to it. Pleasure him with
sports, beguile him in wholesome ways, so that his health come
again.” He raised himself higher still, and went on with energy,
“He is mad; but he is my son, and England’s heir; and, mad or
sane, still shall he reign! And hear ye further, and proclaim it: