“All are gone but five–Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, and
Margaret.”
So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing a while, then
began to walk the floor, muttering–
“The five arch-villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal and
honest–’tis an odd thing.”
He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he had
forgotten the King entirely. By-and-by his Majesty said gravely,
and with a touch of genuine compassion, though the words
themselves were capable of being interpreted ironically–
“Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world
whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. Thou hast
company.”
“Ah, my King,” cried Hendon, colouring slightly, “do not thou
condemn me–wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor–she will
say it; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an
impostor? Why, I know this old hall, these pictures of my
ancestors, and all these things that are about us, as a child
knoweth its own nursery. Here was I born and bred, my lord; I
speak the truth; I would not deceive thee; and should none else
believe, I pray thee do not THOU doubt me–I could not bear it.”
“I do not doubt thee,” said the King, with a childlike simplicity
and faith.
“I thank thee out of my heart!” exclaimed Hendon with a fervency
which showed that he was touched. The King added, with the same
gentle simplicity–
“Dost thou doubt ME?”
A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was grateful that
the door opened to admit Hugh, at that moment, and saved him the
necessity of replying.
A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her
came several liveried servants. The lady walked slowly, with her
head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. The face was
unspeakably sad. Miles Hendon sprang forward, crying out–
“Oh, my Edith, my darling–”
But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady–
“Look upon him. Do you know him?”
At the sound of Miles’s voice the woman had started slightly, and
her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling now. She stood still,
during an impressive pause of several moments; then slowly lifted
up her head and looked into Hendon’s eyes with a stony and
frightened gaze; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop,
till nothing remained but the grey pallor of death; then she said,
in a voice as dead as the face, “I know him not!” and turned, with
a moan and a stifled sob, and tottered out of the room.
Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his
hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants–
“You have observed him. Do you know him?”
They shook their heads; then the master said–
“The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake.
You have seen that my wife knew you not.”
“Thy WIFE!” In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an
iron grip about his throat. “Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it
all! Thou’st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride
and goods are its fruit. There–now get thee gone, lest I shame
mine honourable soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a
mannikin!”
Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to the nearest
chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous
stranger. They hesitated, and one of them said–
“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”
“Armed! What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, I say!”
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added–
“Ye know me of old–I have not changed; come on, an’ it like you.”
This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they still held
back.
“Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the
doors, whilst I send one to fetch the watch!” said Hugh. He
turned at the threshold, and said to Miles, “You’ll find it to
your advantage to offend not with useless endeavours at escape.”
“Escape? Spare thyself discomfort, an’ that is all that troubles
thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall and all its
belongings. He will remain–doubt it not.”