desires to seduce him into any venture that had much uncertainty
about it.
Hugo’s chance came first. For at last a woman approached who
carried a fat package of some sort in a basket. Hugo’s eyes
sparkled with sinful pleasure as he said to himself, “Breath o’ my
life, an’ I can but put THAT upon him, ’tis good-den and God keep
thee, King of the Game-Cocks!” He waited and watched–outwardly
patient, but inwardly consuming with excitement–till the woman
had passed by, and the time was ripe; then said, in a low voice–
“Tarry here till I come again,” and darted stealthily after the
prey.
The King’s heart was filled with joy–he could make his escape,
now, if Hugo’s quest only carried him far enough away.
But he was to have no such luck. Hugo crept behind the woman,
snatched the package, and came running back, wrapping it in an old
piece of blanket which he carried on his arm. The hue and cry was
raised in a moment, by the woman, who knew her loss by the
lightening of her burden, although she had not seen the pilfering
done. Hugo thrust the bundle into the King’s hands without
halting, saying–
“Now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry ‘Stop thief!’ but
mind ye lead them astray!”
The next moment Hugo turned a corner and darted down a crooked
alley–and in another moment or two he lounged into view again,
looking innocent and indifferent, and took up a position behind a
post to watch results.
The insulted King threw the bundle on the ground; and the blanket
fell away from it just as the woman arrived, with an augmenting
crowd at her heels; she seized the King’s wrist with one hand,
snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out a
tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success,
to free himself from her grip.
Hugo had seen enough–his enemy was captured and the law would get
him, now–so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling, and wended
campwards, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to
the Ruffler’s crew as he strode along.
The King continued to struggle in the woman’s strong grasp, and
now and then cried out in vexation–
“Unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not I that bereaved thee
of thy paltry goods.”
The crowd closed around, threatening the King and calling him
names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to
his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him
well, for a lesson; but just then a long sword flashed in the air
and fell with convincing force upon the man’s arm, flat side down,
the fantastic owner of it remarking pleasantly, at the same time–
“Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood and
uncharitable words. This is matter for the law’s consideration,
not private and unofficial handling. Loose thy hold from the boy,
goodwife.”
The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then
went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the woman released the boy’s
wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but
prudently closed their mouths. 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. Trust in me–all shall go well in the end.”
Then he added to himself: “SIR Miles! Bless me, I had totally
forgot I was a knight! Lord, how marvellous a thing it is, the
grip his memory doth take upon his quaint and crazy fancies! . . .
An empty and foolish title is mine, and yet it is something to
have deserved it; for I think it is more honour to be held worthy
to be a spectre-knight in his Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows, than
to be held base enough to be an earl in some of the REAL kingdoms