Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.How to land horses.It was a long and dreary night, full of suffering; but, like the worst, it slowly came to an end. The grey dawn began to creep through the dim skylight, grew stronger and brighter, and at last the sun arose, with the King still sleeping profoundly, and Denis standing at the top of the cabin ladder, gazing out over a glorious foaming sea, all purple, orange, and gold, wide awake to the beauty of the scene, and ready to wonder what had become of the horror and darkness of the night.There was a fresh breeze blowing and the sea was rough, but the clumsy craft rode more easily and had ceased to pitch and toss. Far ahead too the sea looked smoother, and so Denis said to the rough-looking skipper, who came up with a nod and smile.“Only looks so,” he said, “because it is so far off. But the wind is going down, and in a couple of hours we shall be in smooth water. How’s your master?”“Fast asleep still,” replied Denis.“Best thing for a man not used to the sea. Well, you see, we shall get your horses over safely. Poor beasts! They are worse sailors than men. How are you? Feel as if you could eat some breakfast?”“Yes, I’m getting horribly hungry.”“That’s right. You are the best sailor of the lot. There will be some in an hour’s time.”The skipper passed on, leaving Denis with a look of disgust upon his features, for he was thinking of the roughness of the common vessel upon which they had been obliged to take their passage, and the pleasant meal of which he would have eaten at Fontainebleau.Just then Saint Simon turned, caught sight of him, and signalled to him to come. Denis started, hesitated, and then ran down into the cabin again to see whether the King had awakened. But far from it: he was flat on his back and looking far from king-like, for his mouth was open and he was giving forth sounds which in a common person would have been called snores.Hurrying back to the deck, Denis ran forward, awakening to the fact that the sea was much smoother, for he could not have progressed like that over-night.“Well, how are you?” he cried.“Beginning to get dry,” was the morose reply. “Look here, boy, if I had known that I was going to play horse-keeper all through a night like this I wouldn’t have volunteered to come. I shall want a week’s sleep to put me straight.”“Why didn’t you ask one or two of the sailors to come and help you?”“Why didn’t you come and help me?”“You know: because I was obliged to be in attendance on the—”“Comte!” shouted Saint Simon. “You will be spoiling the expedition before you have done.”“Yes, it is hard work to remember. I am sorry, though, Saint Simon. You know that I would have come and helped you if I could.”“Oh yes, I know,” said the other. “I couldn’t trust anyone to help, for the poor beasts knew me, and at the worst times a word or two and a pat on the neck seemed to calm them, and they left off shivering with cold and fear; but I have had a night such as I don’t want to have again.”“You must have had. But the skipper says that we shall soon be in smooth water, and that there will be some breakfast in an hour.”“Heugh!” ejaculated Saint Simon. “Breakfast here! I don’t want anything till we get on shore—if we ever do. Here, look behind you.”Denis turned sharply, to see a familiar face in the full sunshine peering over the edge of the hatchway and looking about, but apparently not seeing what was sought till a hand appeared to shade its owner’s eyes, sending forth a flash or two of light from a ring upon one of the fingers.“Why, it’s the—”“Comte!” said Saint Simon quickly. “Stop here, and lay hold of his horse.”Saint Simon said no more, and Denis obeyed, grasping his companion’s reason, while the next minute the King had mounted to the deck, and came forward to join them, after making a rush to the bulwarks and grasping the rail.“Oh, you’re here, gentlemen,” he said sharply. “Why was not somebody in attendance—oh, I see; you’re minding our steeds. It has been a very bad night for them. Not injured, I hope?”“No, sir,” replied Saint Simon; “but during the worst part of the storm we had to have extra ropes. I was afraid at one time that we should lose them all.”“But they are safe,” said the King, “thanks to you, gentlemen. Poor boys,” he continued, as he passed amongst the ropes, each charger in turn uttering a low, piteous whinny, and stretching out its muzzle to receive the King’s caress, each too snorting its satisfaction the next moment, and impatiently pawing the deck.“Morning, master!” cried the skipper, hurrying up. “Been a windy night, but it will be all smooth directly. Wind’s veered round to the north, and coming off the shore. Sha’n’t be getting on so fast now.”“But these horses,” said the King; “they ought to have water and food.”“Not they, master. They wouldn’t touch it if you gave them of the best. They want to feel solid ground under their hoofs.”“And how soon will they get that?” asked Denis quickly.“Two or three hours if the wind doesn’t drop,” replied the skipper; “and,” he continued, as he held up his hand and shouted an order or two to his men to stand by the sheets, “it’s chopping round again to the south. Give us an hour like this, and we shall be in shelter, sailing between the island and the mainland. You can’t say but what we have had a splendid run.”There was such a quaint comical expression upon the King’s countenance that Denis felt obliged to swing swiftly round and bend down to make believe to loosen the slip-knot about his charger’s leg.“If I hadn’t done so,” he said afterwards to Saint Simon, “I should have burst out laughing in the Comte’s face. There,” he added quickly, in triumphant tones, “I have got it now!”“Yes, and you would have got it then,” replied Saint Simon, “for my lord will forgive a good deal sooner than being laughed at.”This was some time later, when they were gliding gently on through the smooth water on a bright sunny morning with their port close at hand and full prospect of being, some time during the next half-hour, close up to the landing-place; and before long so it proved, for the King, quite recovered now from his indisposition, was in eager converse with the skipper as to the best means of getting the horses ashore.“Well, master, you see this: Southampton isn’t Havre de Grâce.”“Bah!” ejaculated the King impatiently.“We had nothing to do there but walk the horses straight from the wharf over the planks, and down through the gangway on to the deck; but you see it’s different here.”“Nonsense!” said the King. “There are landing-places here, for I can see them. Work your vessel up quite close, and then boards can be laid from the deck, and the same thing can be done the other way on.”“Yes, master, that’s what I meant; but I forgot all about the tide. You see, we are coming in just at low water, and I sha’n’t be able to get within fifty fathoms of the shore till well on towards night.”“What! And we have to stop here all day?” cried the King angrily.“Yes, that’s about it. I’ll get in as close as I can, and then we shall be in the mud.”“But is there no other way farther along?” cried the King.“The only other way is for me to hail a barge or a flat, and swing the horses down into that; but I shouldn’t like to undertake the job.”“It must be done,” said the King. His words were law, and, in his impatient eagerness to get clear of the vessel where he had passed so many uncomfortable hours, he promised to hold the skipper free from responsibility.Taking advantage of the King going aft with Saint Simon, Denis went up to the skipper.“Do you think there will be any danger,” he said, “to the horses?”“Shouldn’t like to promise, my lad,” was the reply, “but if they were my horses I should go to your master and say, What’s the use of being in such a hurry? It’s only waiting a tide, and then we could get close in.”“But you don’t know him,” said Denis. “He will have his own way.”“Yes, I can see that,” said the bluff skipper. “It’d do him good to be six months aboard my vessel under me. I’d make another man of him. Ah, you may laugh, my young sharper. You think I’m a quiet, good-tempered sort of an old chap, but a ship’s captain has to be a bit of a Tartar too. Do you know what he is aboard his ship? Well, I’ll tell you. He’s a king.”Denis gazed sharply in the man’s face, wondering whether he had any suspicion as to who his passenger really was, as he went on talking.“You see, my boy, I’m used to this sort of thing. Sometimes it’s cattle, sometimes it’s pigs and sheep. Well, they don’t like going down into a flat-bottomed boat; but,” he added, with a chuckle and a nudge, “they have to go, and if they won’t go decently like passengers, we just shoves them overboard and lets them swim ashore. But with horses like these it would be spoiling them to treat them roughly.”“But you need not treat them roughly,” said Denis. “You could sling them with your ropes and tackle into the boat.”“Yes, you could,” said the skipper; “but they wouldn’t let you.”“Oh, they would,” said Denis.“Well, sir,” said the skipper, “you wait and see.”

It was a long and dreary night, full of suffering; but, like the worst, it slowly came to an end. The grey dawn began to creep through the dim skylight, grew stronger and brighter, and at last the sun arose, with the King still sleeping profoundly, and Denis standing at the top of the cabin ladder, gazing out over a glorious foaming sea, all purple, orange, and gold, wide awake to the beauty of the scene, and ready to wonder what had become of the horror and darkness of the night.

There was a fresh breeze blowing and the sea was rough, but the clumsy craft rode more easily and had ceased to pitch and toss. Far ahead too the sea looked smoother, and so Denis said to the rough-looking skipper, who came up with a nod and smile.

“Only looks so,” he said, “because it is so far off. But the wind is going down, and in a couple of hours we shall be in smooth water. How’s your master?”

“Fast asleep still,” replied Denis.

“Best thing for a man not used to the sea. Well, you see, we shall get your horses over safely. Poor beasts! They are worse sailors than men. How are you? Feel as if you could eat some breakfast?”

“Yes, I’m getting horribly hungry.”

“That’s right. You are the best sailor of the lot. There will be some in an hour’s time.”

The skipper passed on, leaving Denis with a look of disgust upon his features, for he was thinking of the roughness of the common vessel upon which they had been obliged to take their passage, and the pleasant meal of which he would have eaten at Fontainebleau.

Just then Saint Simon turned, caught sight of him, and signalled to him to come. Denis started, hesitated, and then ran down into the cabin again to see whether the King had awakened. But far from it: he was flat on his back and looking far from king-like, for his mouth was open and he was giving forth sounds which in a common person would have been called snores.

Hurrying back to the deck, Denis ran forward, awakening to the fact that the sea was much smoother, for he could not have progressed like that over-night.

“Well, how are you?” he cried.

“Beginning to get dry,” was the morose reply. “Look here, boy, if I had known that I was going to play horse-keeper all through a night like this I wouldn’t have volunteered to come. I shall want a week’s sleep to put me straight.”

“Why didn’t you ask one or two of the sailors to come and help you?”

“Why didn’t you come and help me?”

“You know: because I was obliged to be in attendance on the—”

“Comte!” shouted Saint Simon. “You will be spoiling the expedition before you have done.”

“Yes, it is hard work to remember. I am sorry, though, Saint Simon. You know that I would have come and helped you if I could.”

“Oh yes, I know,” said the other. “I couldn’t trust anyone to help, for the poor beasts knew me, and at the worst times a word or two and a pat on the neck seemed to calm them, and they left off shivering with cold and fear; but I have had a night such as I don’t want to have again.”

“You must have had. But the skipper says that we shall soon be in smooth water, and that there will be some breakfast in an hour.”

“Heugh!” ejaculated Saint Simon. “Breakfast here! I don’t want anything till we get on shore—if we ever do. Here, look behind you.”

Denis turned sharply, to see a familiar face in the full sunshine peering over the edge of the hatchway and looking about, but apparently not seeing what was sought till a hand appeared to shade its owner’s eyes, sending forth a flash or two of light from a ring upon one of the fingers.

“Why, it’s the—”

“Comte!” said Saint Simon quickly. “Stop here, and lay hold of his horse.”

Saint Simon said no more, and Denis obeyed, grasping his companion’s reason, while the next minute the King had mounted to the deck, and came forward to join them, after making a rush to the bulwarks and grasping the rail.

“Oh, you’re here, gentlemen,” he said sharply. “Why was not somebody in attendance—oh, I see; you’re minding our steeds. It has been a very bad night for them. Not injured, I hope?”

“No, sir,” replied Saint Simon; “but during the worst part of the storm we had to have extra ropes. I was afraid at one time that we should lose them all.”

“But they are safe,” said the King, “thanks to you, gentlemen. Poor boys,” he continued, as he passed amongst the ropes, each charger in turn uttering a low, piteous whinny, and stretching out its muzzle to receive the King’s caress, each too snorting its satisfaction the next moment, and impatiently pawing the deck.

“Morning, master!” cried the skipper, hurrying up. “Been a windy night, but it will be all smooth directly. Wind’s veered round to the north, and coming off the shore. Sha’n’t be getting on so fast now.”

“But these horses,” said the King; “they ought to have water and food.”

“Not they, master. They wouldn’t touch it if you gave them of the best. They want to feel solid ground under their hoofs.”

“And how soon will they get that?” asked Denis quickly.

“Two or three hours if the wind doesn’t drop,” replied the skipper; “and,” he continued, as he held up his hand and shouted an order or two to his men to stand by the sheets, “it’s chopping round again to the south. Give us an hour like this, and we shall be in shelter, sailing between the island and the mainland. You can’t say but what we have had a splendid run.”

There was such a quaint comical expression upon the King’s countenance that Denis felt obliged to swing swiftly round and bend down to make believe to loosen the slip-knot about his charger’s leg.

“If I hadn’t done so,” he said afterwards to Saint Simon, “I should have burst out laughing in the Comte’s face. There,” he added quickly, in triumphant tones, “I have got it now!”

“Yes, and you would have got it then,” replied Saint Simon, “for my lord will forgive a good deal sooner than being laughed at.”

This was some time later, when they were gliding gently on through the smooth water on a bright sunny morning with their port close at hand and full prospect of being, some time during the next half-hour, close up to the landing-place; and before long so it proved, for the King, quite recovered now from his indisposition, was in eager converse with the skipper as to the best means of getting the horses ashore.

“Well, master, you see this: Southampton isn’t Havre de Grâce.”

“Bah!” ejaculated the King impatiently.

“We had nothing to do there but walk the horses straight from the wharf over the planks, and down through the gangway on to the deck; but you see it’s different here.”

“Nonsense!” said the King. “There are landing-places here, for I can see them. Work your vessel up quite close, and then boards can be laid from the deck, and the same thing can be done the other way on.”

“Yes, master, that’s what I meant; but I forgot all about the tide. You see, we are coming in just at low water, and I sha’n’t be able to get within fifty fathoms of the shore till well on towards night.”

“What! And we have to stop here all day?” cried the King angrily.

“Yes, that’s about it. I’ll get in as close as I can, and then we shall be in the mud.”

“But is there no other way farther along?” cried the King.

“The only other way is for me to hail a barge or a flat, and swing the horses down into that; but I shouldn’t like to undertake the job.”

“It must be done,” said the King. His words were law, and, in his impatient eagerness to get clear of the vessel where he had passed so many uncomfortable hours, he promised to hold the skipper free from responsibility.

Taking advantage of the King going aft with Saint Simon, Denis went up to the skipper.

“Do you think there will be any danger,” he said, “to the horses?”

“Shouldn’t like to promise, my lad,” was the reply, “but if they were my horses I should go to your master and say, What’s the use of being in such a hurry? It’s only waiting a tide, and then we could get close in.”

“But you don’t know him,” said Denis. “He will have his own way.”

“Yes, I can see that,” said the bluff skipper. “It’d do him good to be six months aboard my vessel under me. I’d make another man of him. Ah, you may laugh, my young sharper. You think I’m a quiet, good-tempered sort of an old chap, but a ship’s captain has to be a bit of a Tartar too. Do you know what he is aboard his ship? Well, I’ll tell you. He’s a king.”

Denis gazed sharply in the man’s face, wondering whether he had any suspicion as to who his passenger really was, as he went on talking.

“You see, my boy, I’m used to this sort of thing. Sometimes it’s cattle, sometimes it’s pigs and sheep. Well, they don’t like going down into a flat-bottomed boat; but,” he added, with a chuckle and a nudge, “they have to go, and if they won’t go decently like passengers, we just shoves them overboard and lets them swim ashore. But with horses like these it would be spoiling them to treat them roughly.”

“But you need not treat them roughly,” said Denis. “You could sling them with your ropes and tackle into the boat.”

“Yes, you could,” said the skipper; “but they wouldn’t let you.”

“Oh, they would,” said Denis.

“Well, sir,” said the skipper, “you wait and see.”

Chapter Seven.Only a boy.The rough old skipper was right, for after getting in as close as he could, the vessel took the ground, and some time was spent in hailing and getting a large flat barge close alongside to the open gangway.A big spar with its blocks and tackle was run out, and proceedings were commenced with the men for slinging the horses off the deck and lowering them down; but everything was of the roughest kind and perfectly unsuitable, while the horses, which were recovering fast from their stormy journey, grew more and more restless, and after several attempts with the King’s charger, which was to be the first, it resented the handling of the men, lashed out, and then began to rear, proving in a short time that disaster must follow the attempt, for plainly enough, if the horse began to struggle when raised from the deck, it would free itself from the badly fitted on ropes and be seriously damaged and maimed before being finally lowered down.The worse matters grew the more the King lost his temper. He bullied, raged, and stormed, called the skipper and his men clumsy idiots and imbeciles, till temper was lost on the other side, the skipper’s face, always ruddy and brown, grew red and black, and he ended by telling his Majesty that he would have to wait, for the men should do no more.“This will be the end of our travels,” whispered Saint Simon, “for the King will now betray himself.”“The Comte, you mean,” said Denis quietly; for he had been standing very thoughtful and quiet, thinking over his conversation with the skipper hours before, and starting forward suddenly just as the King was clapping his hand to his sword, he whispered to him quickly:“I think I can get the horses ashore, Sire.”“How dare—here—how?”“Will your Majesty let me try—I mean, Monsieur le Comte, will you let me try?”“Hah! That’s better, boy. But speak; what do you mean to do?”“Let me show you, sir,” cried the boy excitedly, and going to where his steed was tethered, he patted and tried to soothe it for a few moments before taking bit and bridle and fitting them on. Then he called to the skipper.“What do you want?” said the man gruffly, as he came up scowling.“Have that flat hauled away,” said Denis quickly, “and then give me a clear space on the deck. There isn’t much room, but I think I can manage.”“Hah!” cried the skipper. “Well done, youngster! I see what you mean, and if you can do that there will be no trouble with the others. Well done! Good idea!”The anger against the King seemed to die out at once, and giving his orders sharply, in a very brief space of time the shallow barge had been allowed to drift astern, there was a fairly clear space on deck, there was the open gangway on the side of the vessel nearest the shore, and the time had come for the young esquire to act.The next minute Denis cast loose the halter which tethered his charger to the vessel’s side, turned it round, patted the arched neck once more, and then, bridle in hand, sprang up, threw over one leg, and the next moment was seated upon his barebacked steed.The sailors gave a cheer, which startled the horse, but a few words from Denis quieted it again, and in obedience to the pressure of the rider’s heels it paced forward along the deck as far as the hamper of the vessel would allow, turned in obedience to the pressure on the rein, and paced back again in the other direction, to be turned once more.Everyone else on board was turned into a spectator now, the men in the flat watching as eagerly as the rest. “He will never do it, Saint Simon,” said the King.“Think not, sir?” was the reply. “I believe he will. Look!”For after walking his beautiful steed to and fro again, Denis waited till they reached the open gangway, and then turned the noble animal’s head and let it stop to stretch out its muzzle towards the shore to gaze with starting eyes at the solid land and moving people there.It snuffed the air loudly, and then a loud neigh rang out like a challenge, which was answered by one of the horses attached to a trolley high-up on a wharf.This had the effect of setting the other two chargers challenging in turn, and as they ceased, Denis spoke to and patted his steed, bending well forward the while. Then he turned its head again and rode a few yards up and down the deck once more.“Well done, my lad,” cried the skipper, coming to his side. “You will do it. Go on.”“How deep is the water here?” said Denis eagerly.“About a fathom. Plenty of room for you to swim.”Denis set his teeth, walked his horse up and down once more, turned it sharply toward the gangway, and then with voice and heel urged it forward, but only to elicit a loud snort as it stood with all four feet pressed firmly on the deck.Once more, half despairing now, Denis rode up and down again, before turning toward the open gangway, and it happened that just as he reached it a neighing challenge came afresh from the shore, sending a quiver through the charger, which snorted loudly, and then, in obedience to the rider’s voice and the pressure of his heel, rose and bounded bravely forward from the vessel’s side, out into the water, descending with a heavy splash, and then submerged all but the extended neck, and with the lad with the water rising above his hips, but firmly in his seat, bending forward and giving as if part of the brave animal that had begun swimming steadily towards the shore.A ringing cheer rose from the vessel, was taken up by the men on the flat, and answered from the shore, while all watched the progress of horse and rider, who both seemed as if to the manner born.“That means success, sir,” said Saint Simon eagerly. “Will you go next?”“But I shall be so wet, man. You had better follow with my charger now.”“Yes, sir, I will if you wish,” whispered Saint Simon; “but—this is the beginning of our adventures, and—”“Yes,” said the King, in a voice full of vexation, “it seems so cowardly if I hang back. I am not afraid to do it, man, but I shall be so horribly drenched.”“You can get dry, sir, when we are ashore.”“Yes, of course,” whispered the King. “Here, I’ll go next. I am not going to be beaten by that boy.”He was in full earnest, and bitting and bridling his horse himself, refusing Saint Simon’s help and leaving him to perform the same task on his own steed, almost as soon as Denis had reached the shore, for his steed to stand snorting and shaking the water from its flowing mane and tail, the King was mounted, barebacked too. He rode his charger to the open gangway, where the brave beast answered the neigh that came from its companion on land, and without hesitation made the splashing leap so suddenly that the rider nearly lost his seat, having an undignified struggle to get himself upright again; while as soon as there was a clear way Saint Simon followed without the slightest difficulty, his charger in a few strides getting abreast of the King’s; and they swam together till the water shallowed and the swimming became a splashing wade to where, wet and triumphant, Denis was waiting their arrival.

The rough old skipper was right, for after getting in as close as he could, the vessel took the ground, and some time was spent in hailing and getting a large flat barge close alongside to the open gangway.

A big spar with its blocks and tackle was run out, and proceedings were commenced with the men for slinging the horses off the deck and lowering them down; but everything was of the roughest kind and perfectly unsuitable, while the horses, which were recovering fast from their stormy journey, grew more and more restless, and after several attempts with the King’s charger, which was to be the first, it resented the handling of the men, lashed out, and then began to rear, proving in a short time that disaster must follow the attempt, for plainly enough, if the horse began to struggle when raised from the deck, it would free itself from the badly fitted on ropes and be seriously damaged and maimed before being finally lowered down.

The worse matters grew the more the King lost his temper. He bullied, raged, and stormed, called the skipper and his men clumsy idiots and imbeciles, till temper was lost on the other side, the skipper’s face, always ruddy and brown, grew red and black, and he ended by telling his Majesty that he would have to wait, for the men should do no more.

“This will be the end of our travels,” whispered Saint Simon, “for the King will now betray himself.”

“The Comte, you mean,” said Denis quietly; for he had been standing very thoughtful and quiet, thinking over his conversation with the skipper hours before, and starting forward suddenly just as the King was clapping his hand to his sword, he whispered to him quickly:

“I think I can get the horses ashore, Sire.”

“How dare—here—how?”

“Will your Majesty let me try—I mean, Monsieur le Comte, will you let me try?”

“Hah! That’s better, boy. But speak; what do you mean to do?”

“Let me show you, sir,” cried the boy excitedly, and going to where his steed was tethered, he patted and tried to soothe it for a few moments before taking bit and bridle and fitting them on. Then he called to the skipper.

“What do you want?” said the man gruffly, as he came up scowling.

“Have that flat hauled away,” said Denis quickly, “and then give me a clear space on the deck. There isn’t much room, but I think I can manage.”

“Hah!” cried the skipper. “Well done, youngster! I see what you mean, and if you can do that there will be no trouble with the others. Well done! Good idea!”

The anger against the King seemed to die out at once, and giving his orders sharply, in a very brief space of time the shallow barge had been allowed to drift astern, there was a fairly clear space on deck, there was the open gangway on the side of the vessel nearest the shore, and the time had come for the young esquire to act.

The next minute Denis cast loose the halter which tethered his charger to the vessel’s side, turned it round, patted the arched neck once more, and then, bridle in hand, sprang up, threw over one leg, and the next moment was seated upon his barebacked steed.

The sailors gave a cheer, which startled the horse, but a few words from Denis quieted it again, and in obedience to the pressure of the rider’s heels it paced forward along the deck as far as the hamper of the vessel would allow, turned in obedience to the pressure on the rein, and paced back again in the other direction, to be turned once more.

Everyone else on board was turned into a spectator now, the men in the flat watching as eagerly as the rest. “He will never do it, Saint Simon,” said the King.

“Think not, sir?” was the reply. “I believe he will. Look!”

For after walking his beautiful steed to and fro again, Denis waited till they reached the open gangway, and then turned the noble animal’s head and let it stop to stretch out its muzzle towards the shore to gaze with starting eyes at the solid land and moving people there.

It snuffed the air loudly, and then a loud neigh rang out like a challenge, which was answered by one of the horses attached to a trolley high-up on a wharf.

This had the effect of setting the other two chargers challenging in turn, and as they ceased, Denis spoke to and patted his steed, bending well forward the while. Then he turned its head again and rode a few yards up and down the deck once more.

“Well done, my lad,” cried the skipper, coming to his side. “You will do it. Go on.”

“How deep is the water here?” said Denis eagerly.

“About a fathom. Plenty of room for you to swim.”

Denis set his teeth, walked his horse up and down once more, turned it sharply toward the gangway, and then with voice and heel urged it forward, but only to elicit a loud snort as it stood with all four feet pressed firmly on the deck.

Once more, half despairing now, Denis rode up and down again, before turning toward the open gangway, and it happened that just as he reached it a neighing challenge came afresh from the shore, sending a quiver through the charger, which snorted loudly, and then, in obedience to the rider’s voice and the pressure of his heel, rose and bounded bravely forward from the vessel’s side, out into the water, descending with a heavy splash, and then submerged all but the extended neck, and with the lad with the water rising above his hips, but firmly in his seat, bending forward and giving as if part of the brave animal that had begun swimming steadily towards the shore.

A ringing cheer rose from the vessel, was taken up by the men on the flat, and answered from the shore, while all watched the progress of horse and rider, who both seemed as if to the manner born.

“That means success, sir,” said Saint Simon eagerly. “Will you go next?”

“But I shall be so wet, man. You had better follow with my charger now.”

“Yes, sir, I will if you wish,” whispered Saint Simon; “but—this is the beginning of our adventures, and—”

“Yes,” said the King, in a voice full of vexation, “it seems so cowardly if I hang back. I am not afraid to do it, man, but I shall be so horribly drenched.”

“You can get dry, sir, when we are ashore.”

“Yes, of course,” whispered the King. “Here, I’ll go next. I am not going to be beaten by that boy.”

He was in full earnest, and bitting and bridling his horse himself, refusing Saint Simon’s help and leaving him to perform the same task on his own steed, almost as soon as Denis had reached the shore, for his steed to stand snorting and shaking the water from its flowing mane and tail, the King was mounted, barebacked too. He rode his charger to the open gangway, where the brave beast answered the neigh that came from its companion on land, and without hesitation made the splashing leap so suddenly that the rider nearly lost his seat, having an undignified struggle to get himself upright again; while as soon as there was a clear way Saint Simon followed without the slightest difficulty, his charger in a few strides getting abreast of the King’s; and they swam together till the water shallowed and the swimming became a splashing wade to where, wet and triumphant, Denis was waiting their arrival.

Chapter Eight.Madame the hostess.A little crowd of idlers soon began to gather about the adventurers, who had dismounted to shake the water from their clinging garments and make much of their brave steeds.“My faith!” said the King. “We are beginning our adventures indeed; but we are in a sorry plight, and ought to change.”“Here’s the boat coming, sir,” cried Denis, who turned away from a man who began questioning him eagerly as to who they were and why they had come ashore like this.The fellow’s manner had annoyed him, for though he pretty well understood his English he replied shortly in his native tongue. But the man was in no wise rebuffed, and turned now to Saint Simon, with whom he fared no better, in fact, rather worse, the result being that he addressed the King, who shortly told him to go and mind his own affairs.The boat, which soon reached the shore, contained the skipper, who had thoughtfully brought on the travellers’ light valises, their saddles, and the remains of the horse-gear, ready to offer them any further assistance, and praising their gallant swim; but warmed up by his excitement, the King made light of it all, seeming ready to forget the state of his garments; and eager to get away from the crowd, he joined with his young companions in saddling up and mounting, to ride away from the curious crowd and the hangers-on, several of whom seemed on friendly terms with the man who had first addressed Denis, and whose curiosity seemed in no degree abated.“I did think of going to some inn to change and rest, and start forward later on for Winchester,” said the King; “but we will start at once and get away from here. Do the people think we have come to make an exhibition for them?”“But you will want rest and refreshment, sir, and to dry your clothes,” said Saint Simon.“No,” said the King. “Do you?”“I am ready—we are ready,” said Saint Simon, “to follow you in everything.”“Are our valises fast in their places, and the saddles well girthed?” said the King. “Yes? Then we ride on at once till we are clear of this town. We shall soon dry in the hot sunshine, and be better ready to make a breakfast, for I feel as if I could touch no food. Follow, gentlemen,” he continued, and putting spurs to his charger he cantered away along what seemed to be the main street, at the end of which a few inquiries put them on their right road and direct for the open country, where, once amongst green fields and hedgerows, they dismounted, to rest their horses by a river-bank and let them drink and graze.But for this the brave animals, which had suffered more than their riders from the crossing, displayed no eagerness, and the travellers advanced again, walking each with his bridle in his hand, enjoying the glowing sunshine and the simple beauty of the country, and gradually growing more light-hearted and ready for any fresh adventure that they might encounter.The road became more and more deserted, a village or two was passed, and later on in the day they were attracted by the appearance of a substantial farmhouse whose very aspect suggested that here was the spot to put an end to certain qualms connected with the fact that they had not partaken of food for a considerable length of time.Here there was corn for their horses in a shady barn-like stable whose loft shed a delicious odour of sweet hay, and in the house a clean white scrubbed table with bowls of new milk, newly made bread, and freshly fried ham, the whole forming a repast to which the party paid ample justice, while it made the King declare that it was the most delicious banquet he had ever enjoyed.Then with the horses quite recovered, the journey was recommenced and the travellers rode off, Denis turning in his saddle to wave his hand to the farmer and his wife, just in time to catch sight of another party riding up to the farm as if to take their places and enjoy a similar meal.Winchester at last, with the square tower of the fine old cathedral standing up from amongst the trees, the river sparkling in the sunshine, the wooded hills and verdant plains rising on all sides making Francis draw rein to breathe his horse and half close his eyes as he gazed around.“Well,” he said, “France is France, but my brother of England, if all his country is like this, possesses a land that any king might envy; and I shall tell him so if we meet, as of course we shall. But after all, I don’t like this task. I am a king, and it begins to look to me, boys, as if I am going crawling up to the back door of this palace of his like some lacquey. But there, I have said that I would do it. It is for France, and I will. What do you say, Saint Simon?”“Oh, sir, you mustn’t turn back now.”“No: I must not turn back now, though we have been rather damped at the start, eh?” he added, with a laugh. “But are you lads dry?”They declared they were, and the conversation turned upon their proceedings.“This is evidently a fine city,” said the King. “I have read enough to know that it has been a home of kings, so we will sleep there to-night and start afresh in good time to-morrow, though we shall not go to the Palace for a bed. But there is sure to be some good travellers’ inn.”And this proved to be the case as they rode through the city gate down the High Street, to check their steeds by the Market Cross, the observed of all observers, and they were many lurking about the place, for it had been market day.It was not the costume of the three horsemen, for they were purposely very plainly clad, everything about them, however, looking good and soldierly. It was their beautiful horses that took the attention of most of the sturdy country-looking folks, and more than one keen-eyed man approached them with no little freedom, scanning their mounts from head to heel, one man giving the King a nod and stretching out his hand to run it down his charger’s leg.The King looked furious, darted a fierce glance at the intruder, and reined up his horse so suddenly that the fine beast reared and made the man start back, his discomfiture being greeted by a roar of laughter on the part of the uncouth people around.“The insolence!” muttered the King to Denis. “These English islanders are brutal in their ways. If they knew who I was! Here, let’s ride on.”His horse answered to the pressure of his knees and moved off upward through the crowd, Saint Simon following his track, and Denis coming last, having no little difficulty in closing up, for the increasing crowd obstructed his way, the people’s curiosity being aroused by the strangers.“These horses for sale?” said the man who had been rebuffed, pressing up to the young esquire’s knee.“No,” said the lad, in fairly good English. “Why?”“Hallo!” said the man. “You are a Frenchman. Then you have brought these over to sell. Look here, young man, I can help your master to find a buyer in some great English lord. I deal in horses, and I’ll make it worth his while. Where are you going to stay?”“I don’t know,” replied Denis. “Keep back, please. My horse doesn’t like crowding, and he may strike out.”“I’ll take care,” said the man. “I understand horses. Yes, this is a nice animal you are riding too.”Denis made no answer, but pressed forward. There was some shouting, but the crowd gave way and he rode up close just as the King drew rein by a gateway and then passed into a great inn-yard, where a couple of hostlers hurried to meet them, and a buxom-looking landlady in widow’s coif came smiling to the door of the comfortable-looking inn.“Hah!” said the King, dismounting. “This looks like France. Here we can rest and dine. Denis, my boy, talk to the dame there, and tell her to get us quickly a dinner of the best.”Denis turned, meeting the pleasant-faced landlady’s eye as he dismounted and threw his rein to one of the stablemen, noting, as he walked to where the landlady stood waiting, that the man who had accosted them was following into the inn-yard with three or four others of the same stamp; and the sight of the fellow made the lad hesitate as he thought of the possibility of the fellow’s insolence raising the King’s ire. But he had his task to fulfil, and the next moment the landlady was receiving him with bows and smiles, ready to show him into a comfortable old-fashioned room, and make his task easy by suggesting instead of taking orders, the only one he found it necessary to give being the simple one:“Everything, and of the best; but quickly, for we have ridden far.”This was in French, but to the lad’s great delight the hostess spoke his tongue, with a good accent, easily and well.“Anyone would think you were French,” he said, with a courtly bow.“Oh no,” she said, “I am English. I was in Rouen many years at school, and we have French travellers here sometimes. But let me show you the chambers for your lord and your young friend. He is a lord?” she said, with a pleasant smile.“He is what you English would call a lord,” replied Denis. “The Comte de la Seine.”“Ah,” said the hostess, with a smile of satisfaction at the quality of her guests, as she led the way to the best chambers of the fine old inn, Denis selecting two, one within the other, which were exactly such as he felt the King would like—that is to say, a fine old bedroom with a double-bedded ante-chamber, which he immediately determined should be for himself and Saint Simon.Within an hour, partly refreshed, the King and his two followers entered the room where their dinner was spread, unbuckled and laid by their swords, and took their places at the well-furnished table, as a couple of fresh-looking serving-maids, under the guidance of the hostess, brought in the soup and plates, the mistress seeing to the helping and then retiring, leaving the guests to their repast.“Hah!” exclaimed the King. “My appetite is grand. What soup! Why, we might be in France. No, it is better, thicker and stronger. But what’s this? The insolence of these Englanders! Here, Denis, boy, read it aloud.” And he tossed a folded paper, one end of which was sticking out from beneath his soup bowl, across to the young esquire.The lad’s eyes flashed, as he read in a crabbed, clear hand the words: “Imminent undique pericula.”“What’s that, Leoni? Bah! He isn’t here,” cried the King, letting his spoon fall back into the bowl. “I thought it was the account. Latin. Read it again.”Denis obeyed, while the King’s left hand began to play with his dagger, as he darted a suspicious look at the closed door, and then at the side dresser upon which he had thrown his sword.“What do you make of that, Saint Simon?” he said, in a low, deep voice.“Sir, I do not know Latin as I should,” was the reply.“Shame on you!” growled the King. “You, Denis, you were last at school. What do you make it to be?”“In plain homely language, sir: Beware of danger.”“Yes, imminent danger,” cried the King. “Poison! And I have eaten nearly half my soup!”“No, no, sir,” cried Denis. “I’ll vouch for this. A woman with a motherly face like that could be trusted, I will vow.”“I don’t know,” said the King. “You are only a boy. Now I have grown old enough to think that it requires a very clever man to know exactly what there is behind a woman’s pleasant smiling face. This one looks plump and comfortable and honest; but there’s no knowing. Now, if we had Leoni here he’d fix her with that quiet eye of his, and search her through and through with the other. He’d know. And I am beginning to find out that I have done a very stupid thing in not bringing his Ugliness with us. By my sword, I wish we had brought him! I wished it last night too, over and over again, when I felt so—ah, hum—when I couldn’t sleep for the creaking and groaning of that wretched vessel.”As he pulled himself up short he looked searchingly from one to the other of the two young men, giving each a suspicious glance, suspecting as he did that he would find a mocking smile upon their lips; but he was pleasantly disappointed, for Saint Simon looked stolidly stupid, and Denis eager and expectant of the next words he should let fall.“Well,” said the King, “we haven’t got him here, and we must think for ourselves; but that must be right. The soup is too good for that,” and he began to partake again. “Here, Denis, lad, on second thoughts it must mean that we are being recognised. The islanders know who I am, and that pleasant-faced woman wishes to give us warning. Saint Simon, my lad, fetch our sword and hang it by the belt upon the corner of the chair. Do the same by your own. I am not going to leave this soup, and if we are to fight for what is evidently intended for an excellent dinner, why, fight we will.”Saint Simon obeyed, and then at a sign from the King re-took his place and went on eating with such appetite as he could command.“Shall I stand on guard by the door, sir, till you have dined?” said Denis.“No, boy. Eat your soup and what else comes. We shall all three fight the better for a meal.”

A little crowd of idlers soon began to gather about the adventurers, who had dismounted to shake the water from their clinging garments and make much of their brave steeds.

“My faith!” said the King. “We are beginning our adventures indeed; but we are in a sorry plight, and ought to change.”

“Here’s the boat coming, sir,” cried Denis, who turned away from a man who began questioning him eagerly as to who they were and why they had come ashore like this.

The fellow’s manner had annoyed him, for though he pretty well understood his English he replied shortly in his native tongue. But the man was in no wise rebuffed, and turned now to Saint Simon, with whom he fared no better, in fact, rather worse, the result being that he addressed the King, who shortly told him to go and mind his own affairs.

The boat, which soon reached the shore, contained the skipper, who had thoughtfully brought on the travellers’ light valises, their saddles, and the remains of the horse-gear, ready to offer them any further assistance, and praising their gallant swim; but warmed up by his excitement, the King made light of it all, seeming ready to forget the state of his garments; and eager to get away from the crowd, he joined with his young companions in saddling up and mounting, to ride away from the curious crowd and the hangers-on, several of whom seemed on friendly terms with the man who had first addressed Denis, and whose curiosity seemed in no degree abated.

“I did think of going to some inn to change and rest, and start forward later on for Winchester,” said the King; “but we will start at once and get away from here. Do the people think we have come to make an exhibition for them?”

“But you will want rest and refreshment, sir, and to dry your clothes,” said Saint Simon.

“No,” said the King. “Do you?”

“I am ready—we are ready,” said Saint Simon, “to follow you in everything.”

“Are our valises fast in their places, and the saddles well girthed?” said the King. “Yes? Then we ride on at once till we are clear of this town. We shall soon dry in the hot sunshine, and be better ready to make a breakfast, for I feel as if I could touch no food. Follow, gentlemen,” he continued, and putting spurs to his charger he cantered away along what seemed to be the main street, at the end of which a few inquiries put them on their right road and direct for the open country, where, once amongst green fields and hedgerows, they dismounted, to rest their horses by a river-bank and let them drink and graze.

But for this the brave animals, which had suffered more than their riders from the crossing, displayed no eagerness, and the travellers advanced again, walking each with his bridle in his hand, enjoying the glowing sunshine and the simple beauty of the country, and gradually growing more light-hearted and ready for any fresh adventure that they might encounter.

The road became more and more deserted, a village or two was passed, and later on in the day they were attracted by the appearance of a substantial farmhouse whose very aspect suggested that here was the spot to put an end to certain qualms connected with the fact that they had not partaken of food for a considerable length of time.

Here there was corn for their horses in a shady barn-like stable whose loft shed a delicious odour of sweet hay, and in the house a clean white scrubbed table with bowls of new milk, newly made bread, and freshly fried ham, the whole forming a repast to which the party paid ample justice, while it made the King declare that it was the most delicious banquet he had ever enjoyed.

Then with the horses quite recovered, the journey was recommenced and the travellers rode off, Denis turning in his saddle to wave his hand to the farmer and his wife, just in time to catch sight of another party riding up to the farm as if to take their places and enjoy a similar meal.

Winchester at last, with the square tower of the fine old cathedral standing up from amongst the trees, the river sparkling in the sunshine, the wooded hills and verdant plains rising on all sides making Francis draw rein to breathe his horse and half close his eyes as he gazed around.

“Well,” he said, “France is France, but my brother of England, if all his country is like this, possesses a land that any king might envy; and I shall tell him so if we meet, as of course we shall. But after all, I don’t like this task. I am a king, and it begins to look to me, boys, as if I am going crawling up to the back door of this palace of his like some lacquey. But there, I have said that I would do it. It is for France, and I will. What do you say, Saint Simon?”

“Oh, sir, you mustn’t turn back now.”

“No: I must not turn back now, though we have been rather damped at the start, eh?” he added, with a laugh. “But are you lads dry?”

They declared they were, and the conversation turned upon their proceedings.

“This is evidently a fine city,” said the King. “I have read enough to know that it has been a home of kings, so we will sleep there to-night and start afresh in good time to-morrow, though we shall not go to the Palace for a bed. But there is sure to be some good travellers’ inn.”

And this proved to be the case as they rode through the city gate down the High Street, to check their steeds by the Market Cross, the observed of all observers, and they were many lurking about the place, for it had been market day.

It was not the costume of the three horsemen, for they were purposely very plainly clad, everything about them, however, looking good and soldierly. It was their beautiful horses that took the attention of most of the sturdy country-looking folks, and more than one keen-eyed man approached them with no little freedom, scanning their mounts from head to heel, one man giving the King a nod and stretching out his hand to run it down his charger’s leg.

The King looked furious, darted a fierce glance at the intruder, and reined up his horse so suddenly that the fine beast reared and made the man start back, his discomfiture being greeted by a roar of laughter on the part of the uncouth people around.

“The insolence!” muttered the King to Denis. “These English islanders are brutal in their ways. If they knew who I was! Here, let’s ride on.”

His horse answered to the pressure of his knees and moved off upward through the crowd, Saint Simon following his track, and Denis coming last, having no little difficulty in closing up, for the increasing crowd obstructed his way, the people’s curiosity being aroused by the strangers.

“These horses for sale?” said the man who had been rebuffed, pressing up to the young esquire’s knee.

“No,” said the lad, in fairly good English. “Why?”

“Hallo!” said the man. “You are a Frenchman. Then you have brought these over to sell. Look here, young man, I can help your master to find a buyer in some great English lord. I deal in horses, and I’ll make it worth his while. Where are you going to stay?”

“I don’t know,” replied Denis. “Keep back, please. My horse doesn’t like crowding, and he may strike out.”

“I’ll take care,” said the man. “I understand horses. Yes, this is a nice animal you are riding too.”

Denis made no answer, but pressed forward. There was some shouting, but the crowd gave way and he rode up close just as the King drew rein by a gateway and then passed into a great inn-yard, where a couple of hostlers hurried to meet them, and a buxom-looking landlady in widow’s coif came smiling to the door of the comfortable-looking inn.

“Hah!” said the King, dismounting. “This looks like France. Here we can rest and dine. Denis, my boy, talk to the dame there, and tell her to get us quickly a dinner of the best.”

Denis turned, meeting the pleasant-faced landlady’s eye as he dismounted and threw his rein to one of the stablemen, noting, as he walked to where the landlady stood waiting, that the man who had accosted them was following into the inn-yard with three or four others of the same stamp; and the sight of the fellow made the lad hesitate as he thought of the possibility of the fellow’s insolence raising the King’s ire. But he had his task to fulfil, and the next moment the landlady was receiving him with bows and smiles, ready to show him into a comfortable old-fashioned room, and make his task easy by suggesting instead of taking orders, the only one he found it necessary to give being the simple one:

“Everything, and of the best; but quickly, for we have ridden far.”

This was in French, but to the lad’s great delight the hostess spoke his tongue, with a good accent, easily and well.

“Anyone would think you were French,” he said, with a courtly bow.

“Oh no,” she said, “I am English. I was in Rouen many years at school, and we have French travellers here sometimes. But let me show you the chambers for your lord and your young friend. He is a lord?” she said, with a pleasant smile.

“He is what you English would call a lord,” replied Denis. “The Comte de la Seine.”

“Ah,” said the hostess, with a smile of satisfaction at the quality of her guests, as she led the way to the best chambers of the fine old inn, Denis selecting two, one within the other, which were exactly such as he felt the King would like—that is to say, a fine old bedroom with a double-bedded ante-chamber, which he immediately determined should be for himself and Saint Simon.

Within an hour, partly refreshed, the King and his two followers entered the room where their dinner was spread, unbuckled and laid by their swords, and took their places at the well-furnished table, as a couple of fresh-looking serving-maids, under the guidance of the hostess, brought in the soup and plates, the mistress seeing to the helping and then retiring, leaving the guests to their repast.

“Hah!” exclaimed the King. “My appetite is grand. What soup! Why, we might be in France. No, it is better, thicker and stronger. But what’s this? The insolence of these Englanders! Here, Denis, boy, read it aloud.” And he tossed a folded paper, one end of which was sticking out from beneath his soup bowl, across to the young esquire.

The lad’s eyes flashed, as he read in a crabbed, clear hand the words: “Imminent undique pericula.”

“What’s that, Leoni? Bah! He isn’t here,” cried the King, letting his spoon fall back into the bowl. “I thought it was the account. Latin. Read it again.”

Denis obeyed, while the King’s left hand began to play with his dagger, as he darted a suspicious look at the closed door, and then at the side dresser upon which he had thrown his sword.

“What do you make of that, Saint Simon?” he said, in a low, deep voice.

“Sir, I do not know Latin as I should,” was the reply.

“Shame on you!” growled the King. “You, Denis, you were last at school. What do you make it to be?”

“In plain homely language, sir: Beware of danger.”

“Yes, imminent danger,” cried the King. “Poison! And I have eaten nearly half my soup!”

“No, no, sir,” cried Denis. “I’ll vouch for this. A woman with a motherly face like that could be trusted, I will vow.”

“I don’t know,” said the King. “You are only a boy. Now I have grown old enough to think that it requires a very clever man to know exactly what there is behind a woman’s pleasant smiling face. This one looks plump and comfortable and honest; but there’s no knowing. Now, if we had Leoni here he’d fix her with that quiet eye of his, and search her through and through with the other. He’d know. And I am beginning to find out that I have done a very stupid thing in not bringing his Ugliness with us. By my sword, I wish we had brought him! I wished it last night too, over and over again, when I felt so—ah, hum—when I couldn’t sleep for the creaking and groaning of that wretched vessel.”

As he pulled himself up short he looked searchingly from one to the other of the two young men, giving each a suspicious glance, suspecting as he did that he would find a mocking smile upon their lips; but he was pleasantly disappointed, for Saint Simon looked stolidly stupid, and Denis eager and expectant of the next words he should let fall.

“Well,” said the King, “we haven’t got him here, and we must think for ourselves; but that must be right. The soup is too good for that,” and he began to partake again. “Here, Denis, lad, on second thoughts it must mean that we are being recognised. The islanders know who I am, and that pleasant-faced woman wishes to give us warning. Saint Simon, my lad, fetch our sword and hang it by the belt upon the corner of the chair. Do the same by your own. I am not going to leave this soup, and if we are to fight for what is evidently intended for an excellent dinner, why, fight we will.”

Saint Simon obeyed, and then at a sign from the King re-took his place and went on eating with such appetite as he could command.

“Shall I stand on guard by the door, sir, till you have dined?” said Denis.

“No, boy. Eat your soup and what else comes. We shall all three fight the better for a meal.”

Chapter Nine.The scent of danger.It was hard to imagine that there was danger in the air, for in that comfortably furnished panelled room everything was suggestive of plenty and peace, and, noticing as he went on with his meal how impressed his two followers seemed to be, the King paused, spoon in hand, and cried with a laugh:“Come, boys, where are your appetites? Are we to be scared with a scrap of paper, a Latin exercise, perhaps, written by our hostess’s son?”As he spoke there was a faint rasping sound as of wood passing over wood, making Denis turn sharply and put out his hand towards his sword, for it seemed to him that there was a tremulous motion in one of the panels of the wall behind where the King was seated.“What’s that?” cried the latter sharply, as with a bound the lad sprang past him to stand between him and the side of the room.For answer Denis drew his sword and pointed to the panel.“Well? Why don’t you speak?”“There is a door there, sir, and I saw it move.”“There is no door here,” cried Saint Simon, as he felt about the panel, which was perfectly rigid; and just then the hostess entered, followed by the maids bearing fresh dishes, to look wonderingly from one to the other.“Ah, mistress!” cried the King. “Is there a door there? Does one of those panels open?”“Oh yes, my lord,” she replied. “It is a hatch to pass dishes through into a smaller dining chamber.” And she smilingly stepped to the wall, turned a carved rose at one corner of the panel, and pressed it sidewise, showing a square opening through which a similarly furnished room could be seen.“Send away those women,” said the King sternly.The hostess started, spoke to the two girls, who stepped back with the dishes, and she closed the door after them.“One of my followers saw that panel move,” said the King sternly. “There is some one there.”“Oh no, my lord,” she cried, “The room is empty. Look.”“But the panel moved,” cried Denis, “and I heard a sound.”“Impossible, sir,” said the woman.“Then what does this mean?” said the King, taking up the scrap of paper.The woman took it, looked at it blankly, and passed it back.“I don’t know,” she said. “It is a foreign tongue.”“Humph!” ejaculated the King. “This is strange, madam. That paper lay beneath my plate, and some one must have been watching us at our meal.”“No, my lord,” said the woman; “it is impossible. Nobody could have been there. If anyone has dared—” She said no more, but angrily thrust the panel back into its place and turned the oaken rose, which gave a snap as of a bolt shooting into its socket, and then, raising her hand to the diagonal corner, she turned a fellow ornament in the oaken carving, to produce another sound as of a second bolt being shot.“There,” she cried, “it is quite fast now. One minute, and I will return.”She hurried out of the room, and the next minute they heard the sounds of knuckles rapping the panel on the other side and directly after the loud closing and locking of a door.A few moments later, as the party stood there waiting, the woman was back at their side, to lay a large key upon the table, looking flushed and angry.“I am very sorry, my lord and gentlemen,” she cried, “and angry too”—a fact which was plainly enough marked in her countenance. “But this is a public inn, and some insolent idler, moved by curiosity, has dared to watch. I never imagined anyone would venture; and now I beg you will resume your meal.”“But there is the paper,” said the King.“Yes, yes,” she said, “the paper. I do not understand.”“Ah, well,” said the King, “we will not spoil our dinner; but I do not like to have hungry dogs watching while I make my meal. Sit down, gentlemen, and let us finish.”Setting the example, he recommenced, but thrust the half-finished bowl away with an impatient “Bah! The soup is cold. Here, hostess! Call those women back. And I want some wine. What have you in the house?”“Some of the best vintages of France, my lord,” said the woman eagerly, and drawing a deep breath of relief in the feeling that the trouble was at an end, though there was a twitching now and then at the corners of her eyes suggesting that she was not quite at ease.The fresh dishes were placed upon the table as soon as the soup was removed, and soon after the hostess herself bore in a couple of rush-covered flasks of wine.“Burgundy—Malvoisey,” she said, indicating each in turn.“The Burgundy,” said the King, and as the glasses were filled, and they were once more quite alone, he made as if to tear up the paper, but altering his mind folded it quickly, and thrust it in the pouch he carried at his belt.“Come, gentlemen,” he said: “that scrap of paper shall not spoil a pleasant meal. It is a mere molehill in our path. Here’s success to our expedition.—Hah! better vine than my own.”A few minutes later the hostess returned, and smiled once more upon finding that her guests were hard at work evidently in the full enjoyment of their meal.“Ah, madam!” cried the King, raising his glass and drinking again. “You keep good wine. I would not have wished for better; but tell me, what other guests have you in the house?”“None, my lord,” said the woman frankly. “There have been some of the country people at the market, but they have gone. There was an ordinary traveller too, earlier in the day. He came from somewhere in the south, I believe, but he has gone. You are the only guests I have, and I humbly hope that the meats are to your liking.”“Excellent, madam, excellent,” said the King, looking at her fixedly. “Then we are quite alone?”The woman met his eye without wincing, and bowed gravely.“Yes, my lord; quite alone.”“Then we will have no one here while we stay, madam. I like to be undisturbed. Understand me, please. I take the whole place, and you can charge me what you please.”The woman made a grave courtesy, and retired to see to the next course she had prepared, wiping her brow as soon as she was outside.“Some great French noble,” she muttered, “travelling to London, to the Court perhaps. I wonder who he is. Yes,” she said to herself excitedly, “and I wonder too who dared to enter that next room. It must have been that evil-looking traveller, that starveling. I believe he was a thief. It could not have been— Oh no, I know them all by sight.”

It was hard to imagine that there was danger in the air, for in that comfortably furnished panelled room everything was suggestive of plenty and peace, and, noticing as he went on with his meal how impressed his two followers seemed to be, the King paused, spoon in hand, and cried with a laugh:

“Come, boys, where are your appetites? Are we to be scared with a scrap of paper, a Latin exercise, perhaps, written by our hostess’s son?”

As he spoke there was a faint rasping sound as of wood passing over wood, making Denis turn sharply and put out his hand towards his sword, for it seemed to him that there was a tremulous motion in one of the panels of the wall behind where the King was seated.

“What’s that?” cried the latter sharply, as with a bound the lad sprang past him to stand between him and the side of the room.

For answer Denis drew his sword and pointed to the panel.

“Well? Why don’t you speak?”

“There is a door there, sir, and I saw it move.”

“There is no door here,” cried Saint Simon, as he felt about the panel, which was perfectly rigid; and just then the hostess entered, followed by the maids bearing fresh dishes, to look wonderingly from one to the other.

“Ah, mistress!” cried the King. “Is there a door there? Does one of those panels open?”

“Oh yes, my lord,” she replied. “It is a hatch to pass dishes through into a smaller dining chamber.” And she smilingly stepped to the wall, turned a carved rose at one corner of the panel, and pressed it sidewise, showing a square opening through which a similarly furnished room could be seen.

“Send away those women,” said the King sternly.

The hostess started, spoke to the two girls, who stepped back with the dishes, and she closed the door after them.

“One of my followers saw that panel move,” said the King sternly. “There is some one there.”

“Oh no, my lord,” she cried, “The room is empty. Look.”

“But the panel moved,” cried Denis, “and I heard a sound.”

“Impossible, sir,” said the woman.

“Then what does this mean?” said the King, taking up the scrap of paper.

The woman took it, looked at it blankly, and passed it back.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It is a foreign tongue.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the King. “This is strange, madam. That paper lay beneath my plate, and some one must have been watching us at our meal.”

“No, my lord,” said the woman; “it is impossible. Nobody could have been there. If anyone has dared—” She said no more, but angrily thrust the panel back into its place and turned the oaken rose, which gave a snap as of a bolt shooting into its socket, and then, raising her hand to the diagonal corner, she turned a fellow ornament in the oaken carving, to produce another sound as of a second bolt being shot.

“There,” she cried, “it is quite fast now. One minute, and I will return.”

She hurried out of the room, and the next minute they heard the sounds of knuckles rapping the panel on the other side and directly after the loud closing and locking of a door.

A few moments later, as the party stood there waiting, the woman was back at their side, to lay a large key upon the table, looking flushed and angry.

“I am very sorry, my lord and gentlemen,” she cried, “and angry too”—a fact which was plainly enough marked in her countenance. “But this is a public inn, and some insolent idler, moved by curiosity, has dared to watch. I never imagined anyone would venture; and now I beg you will resume your meal.”

“But there is the paper,” said the King.

“Yes, yes,” she said, “the paper. I do not understand.”

“Ah, well,” said the King, “we will not spoil our dinner; but I do not like to have hungry dogs watching while I make my meal. Sit down, gentlemen, and let us finish.”

Setting the example, he recommenced, but thrust the half-finished bowl away with an impatient “Bah! The soup is cold. Here, hostess! Call those women back. And I want some wine. What have you in the house?”

“Some of the best vintages of France, my lord,” said the woman eagerly, and drawing a deep breath of relief in the feeling that the trouble was at an end, though there was a twitching now and then at the corners of her eyes suggesting that she was not quite at ease.

The fresh dishes were placed upon the table as soon as the soup was removed, and soon after the hostess herself bore in a couple of rush-covered flasks of wine.

“Burgundy—Malvoisey,” she said, indicating each in turn.

“The Burgundy,” said the King, and as the glasses were filled, and they were once more quite alone, he made as if to tear up the paper, but altering his mind folded it quickly, and thrust it in the pouch he carried at his belt.

“Come, gentlemen,” he said: “that scrap of paper shall not spoil a pleasant meal. It is a mere molehill in our path. Here’s success to our expedition.—Hah! better vine than my own.”

A few minutes later the hostess returned, and smiled once more upon finding that her guests were hard at work evidently in the full enjoyment of their meal.

“Ah, madam!” cried the King, raising his glass and drinking again. “You keep good wine. I would not have wished for better; but tell me, what other guests have you in the house?”

“None, my lord,” said the woman frankly. “There have been some of the country people at the market, but they have gone. There was an ordinary traveller too, earlier in the day. He came from somewhere in the south, I believe, but he has gone. You are the only guests I have, and I humbly hope that the meats are to your liking.”

“Excellent, madam, excellent,” said the King, looking at her fixedly. “Then we are quite alone?”

The woman met his eye without wincing, and bowed gravely.

“Yes, my lord; quite alone.”

“Then we will have no one here while we stay, madam. I like to be undisturbed. Understand me, please. I take the whole place, and you can charge me what you please.”

The woman made a grave courtesy, and retired to see to the next course she had prepared, wiping her brow as soon as she was outside.

“Some great French noble,” she muttered, “travelling to London, to the Court perhaps. I wonder who he is. Yes,” she said to herself excitedly, “and I wonder too who dared to enter that next room. It must have been that evil-looking traveller, that starveling. I believe he was a thief. It could not have been— Oh no, I know them all by sight.”

Chapter Ten.How Leoni lost his eye.The meal was ended, and the King in the best of tempers, in that condition of mind which a good digestion produces, and ready to be friends with all the world.“It is absurd,” he said, “to let a scrap of paper which may mean nothing, and the curiosity of some country idiot who wanted to get a peep at me, interfere with our enjoying a comfortable rest in this excellent inn, and then going on fresh and well in the morning.”“Then you mean to stay here to-night, sir?” said Denis anxiously.“Of course, boy.”Saint Simon shook his head as if in dissent, and the King glared at him.“Did you hear me, sir?” he cried. “I said I mean to stay here to-night.”Saint Simon drew back respectfully, and the King, apparently mollified, continued:“An excellent dinner. I suppose it was having such a bad night, and tossing about. It has made me feel quite drowsy.” And as he spoke he settled himself down in a big chair and closed his eyes, while those of the two young men met in a wondering glance, and had they dared, as they thought of the night they too had spent, they would have burst into a roar of laughter.But they contented themselves with just raising their brows, and then sat there for a time silent and thoughtful. They could not converse for fear of disturbing their lord and master, who now began to breathe rather heavily. And then a curious thing happened to each: Saint Simon began to think of the frightfully wearying night he had passed, and in an instant the wind was whistling and shrieking through the rigging, the sea rising with a heavy splash against the vessel’s bows, to now and then deluge the deck, and the shivering horses in turn were straining their muzzles towards him in the darkness as if appealing to be relieved from their miserable state.With Denis it was on this wise. He sat back in his chair watching the King for a few minutes, before fixing his eyes upon the wall just to his left. Then he too as if in a moment was down in the dark cabin with the dim lamp swinging to and fro, and the King sleeping heavily and giving forth that deep breathing sound, while a panel seemed to have formed itself in the bulkhead of the ship, where it began gliding sideways till there was room for a hand to appear, holding a tiny scrap of paper. This was passed through very slowly, to be followed by wrist, elbow, and then the whole of an arm so long that it stretched out like a spear-shaft, and the fingers reached the King’s plate and thrust the paper underneath.Then it gradually shrank back and grew shorter and shorter till it had all passed through the panel, which next closed of itself with a soft dull roar. Then Denis’s eyes opened and he sat up with a start, realising the fact that he had been fast asleep and that the closing of the panel was only the King’s deep snore.“Having no sleep last night,” the lad said to himself. “Enough to make anyone drowsy; that and the long ride. Why, Saint Simon’s worse than I was. Nice pair of guards we make! Suppose instead of an arm a spear were thrust through that panel, an enemy might reach his heart.”Making an effort to shake off his lethargy, the boy stepped to where Saint Simon lay back sleeping soundly, and then, buckling on his sword the while, he bent over him, took his sword-belt from where it hung over a corner of the chair back, and thrust the cold hilt into the heavy sleeper’s hand.“Quiet, my boy,” muttered Saint Simon, “and keep your nasty cold wet muzzle out of my hand. We shall get there some time,” he added murmuringly, “and you are all right. I am not going away.”“Pst! Pst! Saint Simon! Rouse up, man! Don’t go to sleep.”“Is it nearly morning, skipper?” grumbled the sleeper.“No, and it isn’t night,” whispered Denis, with his lips close to the other’s ear. “Quiet, or you’ll wake the King.”“The King—the King! Vive le roi!” muttered Saint Simon.“Stupid!” whispered Denis, laying one hand lightly over Saint Simon’s lips and shaking him softly with the other. “Wake up. You’re asleep.”“I kiss your Majesty’s hand,” babbled the sleeper softly.—“Eh? Asleep? Nonsense! Who’s asleep?”Then coming suddenly to himself, his hand closed tightly upon the hilt of his sword, and dashing away the fingers upon his lips he sprang fiercely to his feet, gazing wonderingly at his companion.“Pst! The King!” whispered Denis.“Eh? The King?” said Saint Simon, lowering his voice and glancing at the slumbering monarch. “I say, I haven’t been asleep, have I?”“Sound as a dormouse in December.”“Oh, horrible! Suppose he had woke up. But he would have found you on the watch.”“He wouldn’t,” said Denis, laughing silently, “for I went off as sound as you; and no wonder after such a night. What with that and the dinner, and this hot room, a weasel couldn’t have kept awake. Here, let’s go outside into the open air. I want to see if the horses have been well fed.”“Yes, of course. We ought to have thought of that before,” whispered Saint Simon; and together they crossed softly to the door, passed out, and closed it behind them without a sound; and then, with a soft pleasant air greeting their cheeks, they passed along the open hall, caught sight of their hostess, who smiled a reply to their salute, and entered the great inn-yard, going to the far end and the big range of stables where they had left their steeds.“Yes,” said Saint Simon thoughtfully, in response to his own thoughts, “we must look after the horses, or else the chief will be wishing again that he had brought the old physic-monger. Nice time we should have of it if he were here! He always makes me uncomfortable with those eyes of his. I should like to catch him asleep some time.”“Why? What for?”“To put it to the test. But you never catch a weasel asleep, and I believe old Leoni always snoozes with one eye open.”“I daresay; and I wonder which. But what do you mean about putting it to the test?”“Whether he can see with that fixed eye of his.”“Whether he can see? Why shouldn’t he?”“Why, you know, of course?”“Not I. Why, of course he can.”“Do you mean to say that you have been all this time at Court and don’t know about that?”“About what?”“About that eye of his.”“I only know that it’s precious ugly, and used to make me very uncomfortable, because I always felt as if I must look at it instead of at the other or at both at once.”“But don’t you know what they say?”“Who do you mean by ‘they’?”“Well,on; everybody. That he had the point of a sword jabbed into it once when he was fencing.”“Oh, I never heard that,” cried Denis. “Then that accounts for its queer fixed look.”“Queer fixed look? It’s horrible! I don’t think that I am quite a coward; but old Leoni, when he fixes me with that eye of his, quite gives me the creeps.”“Well, he does look queer sometimes. But I say, this is refreshing after that hot room,” said Denis. “There’s a great garden yonder, and open fields. I should like to have a wander there for an hour or two.”“So should I,” said Saint Simon; “but we must get back, in case his lordship wakes.”“Yes. It won’t do for us to forget ourselves. Esquires ought never to want to sleep,” said Denis; and then quickly, “nor grooms nor hostlers neither. Here, look at these two red-faced pigs.”He pointed on to the two men who had taken charge of and rubbed down their chargers upon their arrival, and who were now lying in a heap of straw, eyes shut, mouth open, and with their heavy faces looking swollen and red, breathing stertorously.“Why, the brutes are drunk,” said Saint Simon. “If their mistress knew, I fancy their stay here would be short, for she seems a thorough business soul.”“Sim!” cried Denis excitedly, gripping him by the shoulder.“What’s the matter, lad? Can you see a ghost or a nightmare in the dark corner there?”“No, nor can I see our horses. They were haltered yonder. Where are they now?”“Ah!” yelled Saint Simon, and snatching out his sword he made as if to prick the two sleeping grooms into wakefulness; but Denis flung his arm across his chest and cried angrily:“Never mind them! The horses, man, the horses—the horses! They may be only in the field, led there to graze.”“You are mad!” cried Saint Simon angrily. “But yes; go on out through that farther door.”Denis was already making for an opening at the far end of the long low building, through which the afternoon sunshine streamed. Passing out, they found themselves in an inner yard, and beyond that there was a long open meadow, surrounded by a high hedge. But for the moment all was blank, and a feeling of despair made the young men’s hearts sink as they mentally saw at a glance that their beautiful chargers had not excited attention for nothing—that they had been followed, horse-thieves had been at work, and that their noble steeds were gone.“How shall we dare to face the King?” thought Denis, and the next instant he grasped the fact that there must be a lane beyond the distant hedge, for he just caught sight of the head of a man whose covering seemed familiar gliding along above the fencing, now seen, now disappearing, as if he were mounted on a walking-horse.“Look! Not too late, Sim,” he whispered. “They’re over yonder. We must make for that lane. I’ll go this way to cut that fellow off; you go to the left there, to meet him if I turn him back.”“Think the horses are there?” whispered Saint Simon hoarsely.“Think!” cried Denis, in a low, harsh voice that he did not know as his own. “No: I am sure.”No further words passed, for, separating at once, Denis dashed off to the right to make for the far corner of the field, in the faint hope of reaching it and getting through into the lane in time, while Saint Simon ran swiftly to the left to get into the horse-track there and follow the marauders up.

The meal was ended, and the King in the best of tempers, in that condition of mind which a good digestion produces, and ready to be friends with all the world.

“It is absurd,” he said, “to let a scrap of paper which may mean nothing, and the curiosity of some country idiot who wanted to get a peep at me, interfere with our enjoying a comfortable rest in this excellent inn, and then going on fresh and well in the morning.”

“Then you mean to stay here to-night, sir?” said Denis anxiously.

“Of course, boy.”

Saint Simon shook his head as if in dissent, and the King glared at him.

“Did you hear me, sir?” he cried. “I said I mean to stay here to-night.”

Saint Simon drew back respectfully, and the King, apparently mollified, continued:

“An excellent dinner. I suppose it was having such a bad night, and tossing about. It has made me feel quite drowsy.” And as he spoke he settled himself down in a big chair and closed his eyes, while those of the two young men met in a wondering glance, and had they dared, as they thought of the night they too had spent, they would have burst into a roar of laughter.

But they contented themselves with just raising their brows, and then sat there for a time silent and thoughtful. They could not converse for fear of disturbing their lord and master, who now began to breathe rather heavily. And then a curious thing happened to each: Saint Simon began to think of the frightfully wearying night he had passed, and in an instant the wind was whistling and shrieking through the rigging, the sea rising with a heavy splash against the vessel’s bows, to now and then deluge the deck, and the shivering horses in turn were straining their muzzles towards him in the darkness as if appealing to be relieved from their miserable state.

With Denis it was on this wise. He sat back in his chair watching the King for a few minutes, before fixing his eyes upon the wall just to his left. Then he too as if in a moment was down in the dark cabin with the dim lamp swinging to and fro, and the King sleeping heavily and giving forth that deep breathing sound, while a panel seemed to have formed itself in the bulkhead of the ship, where it began gliding sideways till there was room for a hand to appear, holding a tiny scrap of paper. This was passed through very slowly, to be followed by wrist, elbow, and then the whole of an arm so long that it stretched out like a spear-shaft, and the fingers reached the King’s plate and thrust the paper underneath.

Then it gradually shrank back and grew shorter and shorter till it had all passed through the panel, which next closed of itself with a soft dull roar. Then Denis’s eyes opened and he sat up with a start, realising the fact that he had been fast asleep and that the closing of the panel was only the King’s deep snore.

“Having no sleep last night,” the lad said to himself. “Enough to make anyone drowsy; that and the long ride. Why, Saint Simon’s worse than I was. Nice pair of guards we make! Suppose instead of an arm a spear were thrust through that panel, an enemy might reach his heart.”

Making an effort to shake off his lethargy, the boy stepped to where Saint Simon lay back sleeping soundly, and then, buckling on his sword the while, he bent over him, took his sword-belt from where it hung over a corner of the chair back, and thrust the cold hilt into the heavy sleeper’s hand.

“Quiet, my boy,” muttered Saint Simon, “and keep your nasty cold wet muzzle out of my hand. We shall get there some time,” he added murmuringly, “and you are all right. I am not going away.”

“Pst! Pst! Saint Simon! Rouse up, man! Don’t go to sleep.”

“Is it nearly morning, skipper?” grumbled the sleeper.

“No, and it isn’t night,” whispered Denis, with his lips close to the other’s ear. “Quiet, or you’ll wake the King.”

“The King—the King! Vive le roi!” muttered Saint Simon.

“Stupid!” whispered Denis, laying one hand lightly over Saint Simon’s lips and shaking him softly with the other. “Wake up. You’re asleep.”

“I kiss your Majesty’s hand,” babbled the sleeper softly.—“Eh? Asleep? Nonsense! Who’s asleep?”

Then coming suddenly to himself, his hand closed tightly upon the hilt of his sword, and dashing away the fingers upon his lips he sprang fiercely to his feet, gazing wonderingly at his companion.

“Pst! The King!” whispered Denis.

“Eh? The King?” said Saint Simon, lowering his voice and glancing at the slumbering monarch. “I say, I haven’t been asleep, have I?”

“Sound as a dormouse in December.”

“Oh, horrible! Suppose he had woke up. But he would have found you on the watch.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Denis, laughing silently, “for I went off as sound as you; and no wonder after such a night. What with that and the dinner, and this hot room, a weasel couldn’t have kept awake. Here, let’s go outside into the open air. I want to see if the horses have been well fed.”

“Yes, of course. We ought to have thought of that before,” whispered Saint Simon; and together they crossed softly to the door, passed out, and closed it behind them without a sound; and then, with a soft pleasant air greeting their cheeks, they passed along the open hall, caught sight of their hostess, who smiled a reply to their salute, and entered the great inn-yard, going to the far end and the big range of stables where they had left their steeds.

“Yes,” said Saint Simon thoughtfully, in response to his own thoughts, “we must look after the horses, or else the chief will be wishing again that he had brought the old physic-monger. Nice time we should have of it if he were here! He always makes me uncomfortable with those eyes of his. I should like to catch him asleep some time.”

“Why? What for?”

“To put it to the test. But you never catch a weasel asleep, and I believe old Leoni always snoozes with one eye open.”

“I daresay; and I wonder which. But what do you mean about putting it to the test?”

“Whether he can see with that fixed eye of his.”

“Whether he can see? Why shouldn’t he?”

“Why, you know, of course?”

“Not I. Why, of course he can.”

“Do you mean to say that you have been all this time at Court and don’t know about that?”

“About what?”

“About that eye of his.”

“I only know that it’s precious ugly, and used to make me very uncomfortable, because I always felt as if I must look at it instead of at the other or at both at once.”

“But don’t you know what they say?”

“Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

“Well,on; everybody. That he had the point of a sword jabbed into it once when he was fencing.”

“Oh, I never heard that,” cried Denis. “Then that accounts for its queer fixed look.”

“Queer fixed look? It’s horrible! I don’t think that I am quite a coward; but old Leoni, when he fixes me with that eye of his, quite gives me the creeps.”

“Well, he does look queer sometimes. But I say, this is refreshing after that hot room,” said Denis. “There’s a great garden yonder, and open fields. I should like to have a wander there for an hour or two.”

“So should I,” said Saint Simon; “but we must get back, in case his lordship wakes.”

“Yes. It won’t do for us to forget ourselves. Esquires ought never to want to sleep,” said Denis; and then quickly, “nor grooms nor hostlers neither. Here, look at these two red-faced pigs.”

He pointed on to the two men who had taken charge of and rubbed down their chargers upon their arrival, and who were now lying in a heap of straw, eyes shut, mouth open, and with their heavy faces looking swollen and red, breathing stertorously.

“Why, the brutes are drunk,” said Saint Simon. “If their mistress knew, I fancy their stay here would be short, for she seems a thorough business soul.”

“Sim!” cried Denis excitedly, gripping him by the shoulder.

“What’s the matter, lad? Can you see a ghost or a nightmare in the dark corner there?”

“No, nor can I see our horses. They were haltered yonder. Where are they now?”

“Ah!” yelled Saint Simon, and snatching out his sword he made as if to prick the two sleeping grooms into wakefulness; but Denis flung his arm across his chest and cried angrily:

“Never mind them! The horses, man, the horses—the horses! They may be only in the field, led there to graze.”

“You are mad!” cried Saint Simon angrily. “But yes; go on out through that farther door.”

Denis was already making for an opening at the far end of the long low building, through which the afternoon sunshine streamed. Passing out, they found themselves in an inner yard, and beyond that there was a long open meadow, surrounded by a high hedge. But for the moment all was blank, and a feeling of despair made the young men’s hearts sink as they mentally saw at a glance that their beautiful chargers had not excited attention for nothing—that they had been followed, horse-thieves had been at work, and that their noble steeds were gone.

“How shall we dare to face the King?” thought Denis, and the next instant he grasped the fact that there must be a lane beyond the distant hedge, for he just caught sight of the head of a man whose covering seemed familiar gliding along above the fencing, now seen, now disappearing, as if he were mounted on a walking-horse.

“Look! Not too late, Sim,” he whispered. “They’re over yonder. We must make for that lane. I’ll go this way to cut that fellow off; you go to the left there, to meet him if I turn him back.”

“Think the horses are there?” whispered Saint Simon hoarsely.

“Think!” cried Denis, in a low, harsh voice that he did not know as his own. “No: I am sure.”

No further words passed, for, separating at once, Denis dashed off to the right to make for the far corner of the field, in the faint hope of reaching it and getting through into the lane in time, while Saint Simon ran swiftly to the left to get into the horse-track there and follow the marauders up.

Chapter Eleven.First blood.Denis was in no trim for running, but he ran.“This would wake anyone up,” he muttered to himself. “The villain! The dog! I see it all: he must have given those two fellows drink till they were helpless, and then led the horses quietly away. Oh, if I had only been ten minutes sooner, instead of sleeping like the untrusty cur I was! I never dare face the King now! I’m running now as hard as ever I can run, not to bring back the horses, but to go right away. I never dare show my face before him again. Here,” he thought, “am I to go on whining like some foolish girl? I can—I will get there first, in time to stop him. I never used my sword in earnest yet, but if I can only get face to face with that insolent hound I’ll make him bleed, or he shall me. Too late! Too late!” he groaned, for the man’s head had disappeared beyond the hedge.“There must be some turning yonder, and he has gone; and once out there in the open country he, a man who rides with such horses as ours, it will be folly ever to expect to see him again.”The boy ran on, not growing breathless, but nerved as it were to the highest pitch of excitement, seeing nothing now, but reaching the hedge at last close by a rough gate, over which he vaulted lightly, to find himself in a winding green lane, but with nothing in sight to his left, nothing to his right, and no turning visible, and stretching right away.“There hasn’t been time for him to get to here, for the horses were only walking,” he argued to himself, and then with sinking heart, “Oh!” he ejaculated, half aloud. “Perhaps it was only my mistake. I jumped at the conclusion that it was the man we saw.”There was nothing for it but to continue along the lane till he met Saint Simon, and then he felt that they must go back to the inn and rouse people to a pursuit.He began running at a gentle trot now, to husband his strength for what might come, when all at once his heart seemed to give a violent leap and then stand still; for coming round a bend he caught sight of the black, heavily maned head of the King’s horse, and then of the soft, pointed cap of the horse-dealer whom he had credited with the theft.He was not looking forward, but bending over to his right, evidently doing something to the rein of another horse he was leading—Denis’s own—while, in the middle of the three abreast, he was mounted on Saint Simon’s. The three horses were fully in sight some fifty yards away, just as the man sat up again and began to urge them on from their walk, when he suddenly caught sight of Denis in the act of drawing his sword in the middle of the lane to bar his way.The effect was to make him pull up short, and then with a cry to the horses he swung them round and set off back at a canter, to disappear round the bend directly after, with Denis running far in his rear.“Now,” panted the lad, “if Saint Simon has only done his work we have him between us.” And he tried to utter a prolonged whistle, which he hoped might reach his charger’s ear; but he had not breath to give more than the faintest call.“Oh, if I could only run ten times as fast!” he groaned. “I know what he’ll do. He will get them into a gallop, and ride my poor comrade down. If I were only at his side! And I seem to crawl!”But he was running pretty fast, though to his misery he heard the dullthud, thudof the cantering horses grow fainter and fainter till it seemed to die right away.“Sim’s let them pass him,” he groaned piteously. “No! No! No!” he literally yelled. “They are coming back! Saint Simon’s turned them, and it will be my chance after all.”For still invisible, after the thudding of the hoofs had quite died out, the sounds came again; then louder, louder, and louder still, coming nearer and nearer, till all at once the noble animals swept into sight again round the curving lane, galloping excited and snorting, Saint Simon’s horse right in the centre being urged forward by the rider, while the other two hung away right and left to the full extent of their reins. While perfectly unconscious of his peril, thinking of nothing but checking the headlong gallop, the lad stood with extended blade right in the middle of the lane.It seemed an act of madness. Certainly he was a well-built youth, accustomed to athletic exercises, but as a barrier to three fine chargers urged by the rider of the centre one forward at a hand gallop, and armed only with a long thin Andrea Ferrara blade, he seemed but a fragile reed to stem the charge. But the unexpected happens more often than the reverse, and it was so here. One minute the horses were tearing along as far apart as the reins would allow; the next they seemed to have passed over the brave youth, and went galloping down the lane at increasing speed, leaving Denis flat upon his back in the middle of the road and his sword-arm outstretched in a peculiar way above his head, with the keen blade pointing in the direction taken by the steeds.He lay perfectly motionless for some moments as if dead, while the horses tore on with the rider bending forward over his mount’s neck till they had gone about a couple of hundred yards, when the man suddenly began to sway in his saddle to right, then to left, recovered himself, to sit upright for a few moments, and then with a sudden lurch went headlong down, to fall with a thud in the grassy track, roll over once or twice, and then begin to crawl to the hedge on his left, creep painfully through a gap, and disappear; while the horse he had ridden stopped short, like the well-trained beast he was, and turned to follow his late rider towards the hedge, snuffling and snorting in alarm.The others continued their gallop for some seventy or eighty yards before, missing the guidance and companionship of their fellow, they too stopped short, to utter a low whinnying neigh, which was answered from behind and drew them trotting back to the halted beast.By this time the marauder had disappeared, and the three chargers seemed to hold a consultation, uttering low whinnying neighs, and then, as if moved by one impulse, they trotted back slowly to where Denis lay with his head towards them, apparently dead. As they stopped short the youth’s charger lowered its muzzle to begin to snuff at his face, when all at once the lad made a sudden movement to jerk back his outstretched arm into a more natural position, making his bright rapier describe an arc in the air, giving forth a bright flash in the afternoon sunshine and making a whistling sound like the lash of a whip. The consequence was that all three chargers started violently, to move off for a short distance; but as the lad was motionless again they stopped short and began to return, led by their companion, which seemed drawn to its fallen master. But before it could reach him there was the sound of feet, and Saint Simon came panting up to the group.“Hah!” he ejaculated breathlessly, as he dropped on one knee by Denis’s side. “Don’t say you are hurt, lad! Not wounded, are you? Ah! There’s blood upon his sword! Denis, lad, where are you wounded? For Heaven’s sake speak! Oh, my poor brave lad! He’s dead—he’s dead!”The drops that started to his eyes were a brave man’s tears, blinding him for the time being as they fell fast, while he eagerly felt Denis’s breast and neck, ending by unfastening his doublet and thrusting his hand within to feel for the beatings of his heart.Those hot blinding tears fell fast, several of them upon Denis’s upturned face, and at the fourth the nerves therein twitched; at the fifth there was a quick motion; and when six and seven fell together the lad’s left hand came up suddenly to give an irritable rub where he felt a tickling sensation; and he opened his eyes, stared hard and blankly for some moments in the countenance so near his own, and exclaimed angrily:“What are you doing?”“Ah!” ejaculated Saint Simon, with a cry of joy. “Then the horses were worth winning back, after all.”“Horses? Winning?” faltered Denis wonderingly; and then as his companion snatched a hand from his breast, he cried again impatiently, “Here, what are you doing to my face?”Saint Simon dashed his hand hastily across his own, his already ruddy countenance glowing of a deeper red, as he stammered out confusedly:“Drops—perspiration—I have been having such a run.”“Drops? Run? My head’s all of a buzz. Who ran? What have you been doing to my neck?” continued the lad, passing his left hand across his throat. “Something seemed to jerk across me just here. Ah, how it hurts!”He made an effort then to raise his sword-arm, but it fell back upon the grass.“Here, my shoulder’s bad too,” he cried. “Just as if my arm was wrenched out of the socket.” Then as his wandering eyes fell upon his horse, “Oh!” he cried, “I understand now. I have been thrown.”“Never mind now,” cried Saint Simon, in a choking voice, as he mastered the hysterical emotion that had seized upon him. “You’re alive, boy, and we have saved the horses, and our credit with the—with the—”“Comte,” said Denis faintly. “I am beginning to recollect now. Here, where’s that ruffian who was galloping away?”“You’ve killed him, I suppose,” cried Saint Simon, “for there’s blood upon your sword. How was it, boy?”“I don’t know,” said Denis dreamily; and then in an excited voice, “Yes, I do!” he cried. “I remember it all now. He came galloping along on the centre horse, with the others on each side at the full extent of their reins. I stood there to stop them, and he came right at me to ride me down. But I started a little on one side and thrust at him, when my horse’s tight rein caught me right below the chin, and at the same moment my right arm was jerked upwards, and— that’s all. Where is he now?”“Gone,” said Saint Simon, “and with your mark upon him too. Why, you brave old fellow! You, a mere boy! I daren’t have faced three galloping horses like that. But you are not wounded?”“My right arm seems to be gone. Is it broken, Sim?”The young man began to feel it gently from shoulder to wrist, raised it, and laid it down again, while the boy bore it for a time, flinching involuntarily though again and again, till he could bear no more.“Oh!” he groaned at last. “Don’t! It’s horrible! How you do hurt! I suppose I shall have no arm. It’s horrible, Sim. I wish he had killed me out of hand.”“What! Why, my dear brave old fellow, it’s only a horrible wrench, and will soon come right.”“Not broken?” cried the boy wildly.“Broken? No, or it wouldn’t move like that. Why, Denis, lad, when you gave point you must have run him through, and as he tore on your arm must have been wrenched round while he dragged himself or was carried away—of course, as the horses galloped on.”“But where is he?” cried Denis.“I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I came up. He must have taken flight—I mean, crawled away, for he must have been wounded badly.”“But the horses are all right?” said Denis faintly.“Yes; the brave beasts were as you see them now, standing round you. Ah! Stop a moment. What does this mean?”He had been looking from side to side as he spoke, and caught sight of the crushed-down herbage which grew densely at the foot of the hedge, nettle and towering dock and hemlock looking as if something had crawled through; and, rising quickly, he found somewhat of a gap through which a person might have passed.And he found ruddy traces which made him go on a few paces to where the hedge seemed thinner, so that he could force his way through, to return on the other side to the gap and see traces again in the grass where some one had crawled. This track he followed for a few yards to a spot where the long grass was a good deal trampled, and beyond that there were regular footprints, as if some one had risen and walked light across the field.“Gone,” said Saint Simon to himself; and he hurried back to the lane, where Denis was lying very still with his eyes closed, and the three horses ready to raise their heads from where they were calmly cropping the thick herbage and ready to salute him with a friendly whinny before resuming their meal.“Well, Denis, boy,” he cried, “how is it now?”“Oh, a bit sick and faint, but I’m better. Have you found that brute?”“No; he has gone right away. But we don’t want him, unless he comes back to take revenge on you, and then I should like to see you use your sword again.”“Oh!” groaned Denis. “With an arm like this! I feel as if I should not lift it again for months.”“Bah! Nonsense, man—boy, I mean,” said Saint Simon, with a laugh. “But I say, you must have given it to him somewhere. He was bleeding like a pig. I followed his track to where he must have sat down on the grass to bind up his wound. And there he stopped it, to rise and walk off, making good strides for a dead man. You gave him his pay for horse-stealing, and I’ll be bound to say he feels more sore than you, my hero. Now then, how do you feel about getting up?”“I feel sick, and as if I want to lie.”“But the—ahem!—Comte? He must be awake by now.”“Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand—Thanks—Ah!—It hurts horribly—my throat’s better—but my arm feels as though it had been screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can’t.”“I ought to have done it before,” said Saint Simon; “but I say, lad, let go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip.”“Are they?” said the boy faintly. “I don’t feel as if I had any. Everything is hot and numb.”“Yes, you have had a nasty wrench. But that will soon be right. We soldiers don’t mind unless we are killed. That’s better. Here, let’s wipe the blade,” and he picked a bunch of grass. “I am not going to soil my kerchief with the ruffian’s blood. That’s better,” he continued, as he returned the long thin blade to its sheath. “I’ll give it a polish for you when we get back to the inn. Now do you think you could mount?”“No, not yet,” said the boy. “Give me a little time.”“Hours, lad; and here, let me arrange your scarf. Stand still. That’s the way. Over your right shoulder—tied in a knot—now opened out widely here so that your arm can rest in it, like that. Those are soldiers’ knots for a wounded limb.—That feel easier?”“Not much,” said Denis. “Yes, that’s better. It seems to take the weight, and I’m beginning to feel that I’ve got one now.”“Oh, yes, it will soon come round,” cried Saint Simon joyfully. “Now, boys, it’s time you left off sullying your bits with grass,” he continued, to the horses, as he unbuckled their reins, so that in leading one he led all three; and offering his right arm to Denis, who gladly took it and leant upon it heavily, he led the way back along the lane to where they had parted, and from thence into the great stable-yard and through the long stable to where the two hostlers were still sleeping heavily, not in the slightest degree roused by the trampling of the chargers upon the stone-paved floor.“Now then,” said Saint Simon, “shall we tie up the horses here again?”“No,” cried Denis sharply. “Look—through the door yonder. There’s the Comte!”

Denis was in no trim for running, but he ran.

“This would wake anyone up,” he muttered to himself. “The villain! The dog! I see it all: he must have given those two fellows drink till they were helpless, and then led the horses quietly away. Oh, if I had only been ten minutes sooner, instead of sleeping like the untrusty cur I was! I never dare face the King now! I’m running now as hard as ever I can run, not to bring back the horses, but to go right away. I never dare show my face before him again. Here,” he thought, “am I to go on whining like some foolish girl? I can—I will get there first, in time to stop him. I never used my sword in earnest yet, but if I can only get face to face with that insolent hound I’ll make him bleed, or he shall me. Too late! Too late!” he groaned, for the man’s head had disappeared beyond the hedge.

“There must be some turning yonder, and he has gone; and once out there in the open country he, a man who rides with such horses as ours, it will be folly ever to expect to see him again.”

The boy ran on, not growing breathless, but nerved as it were to the highest pitch of excitement, seeing nothing now, but reaching the hedge at last close by a rough gate, over which he vaulted lightly, to find himself in a winding green lane, but with nothing in sight to his left, nothing to his right, and no turning visible, and stretching right away.

“There hasn’t been time for him to get to here, for the horses were only walking,” he argued to himself, and then with sinking heart, “Oh!” he ejaculated, half aloud. “Perhaps it was only my mistake. I jumped at the conclusion that it was the man we saw.”

There was nothing for it but to continue along the lane till he met Saint Simon, and then he felt that they must go back to the inn and rouse people to a pursuit.

He began running at a gentle trot now, to husband his strength for what might come, when all at once his heart seemed to give a violent leap and then stand still; for coming round a bend he caught sight of the black, heavily maned head of the King’s horse, and then of the soft, pointed cap of the horse-dealer whom he had credited with the theft.

He was not looking forward, but bending over to his right, evidently doing something to the rein of another horse he was leading—Denis’s own—while, in the middle of the three abreast, he was mounted on Saint Simon’s. The three horses were fully in sight some fifty yards away, just as the man sat up again and began to urge them on from their walk, when he suddenly caught sight of Denis in the act of drawing his sword in the middle of the lane to bar his way.

The effect was to make him pull up short, and then with a cry to the horses he swung them round and set off back at a canter, to disappear round the bend directly after, with Denis running far in his rear.

“Now,” panted the lad, “if Saint Simon has only done his work we have him between us.” And he tried to utter a prolonged whistle, which he hoped might reach his charger’s ear; but he had not breath to give more than the faintest call.

“Oh, if I could only run ten times as fast!” he groaned. “I know what he’ll do. He will get them into a gallop, and ride my poor comrade down. If I were only at his side! And I seem to crawl!”

But he was running pretty fast, though to his misery he heard the dullthud, thudof the cantering horses grow fainter and fainter till it seemed to die right away.

“Sim’s let them pass him,” he groaned piteously. “No! No! No!” he literally yelled. “They are coming back! Saint Simon’s turned them, and it will be my chance after all.”

For still invisible, after the thudding of the hoofs had quite died out, the sounds came again; then louder, louder, and louder still, coming nearer and nearer, till all at once the noble animals swept into sight again round the curving lane, galloping excited and snorting, Saint Simon’s horse right in the centre being urged forward by the rider, while the other two hung away right and left to the full extent of their reins. While perfectly unconscious of his peril, thinking of nothing but checking the headlong gallop, the lad stood with extended blade right in the middle of the lane.

It seemed an act of madness. Certainly he was a well-built youth, accustomed to athletic exercises, but as a barrier to three fine chargers urged by the rider of the centre one forward at a hand gallop, and armed only with a long thin Andrea Ferrara blade, he seemed but a fragile reed to stem the charge. But the unexpected happens more often than the reverse, and it was so here. One minute the horses were tearing along as far apart as the reins would allow; the next they seemed to have passed over the brave youth, and went galloping down the lane at increasing speed, leaving Denis flat upon his back in the middle of the road and his sword-arm outstretched in a peculiar way above his head, with the keen blade pointing in the direction taken by the steeds.

He lay perfectly motionless for some moments as if dead, while the horses tore on with the rider bending forward over his mount’s neck till they had gone about a couple of hundred yards, when the man suddenly began to sway in his saddle to right, then to left, recovered himself, to sit upright for a few moments, and then with a sudden lurch went headlong down, to fall with a thud in the grassy track, roll over once or twice, and then begin to crawl to the hedge on his left, creep painfully through a gap, and disappear; while the horse he had ridden stopped short, like the well-trained beast he was, and turned to follow his late rider towards the hedge, snuffling and snorting in alarm.

The others continued their gallop for some seventy or eighty yards before, missing the guidance and companionship of their fellow, they too stopped short, to utter a low whinnying neigh, which was answered from behind and drew them trotting back to the halted beast.

By this time the marauder had disappeared, and the three chargers seemed to hold a consultation, uttering low whinnying neighs, and then, as if moved by one impulse, they trotted back slowly to where Denis lay with his head towards them, apparently dead. As they stopped short the youth’s charger lowered its muzzle to begin to snuff at his face, when all at once the lad made a sudden movement to jerk back his outstretched arm into a more natural position, making his bright rapier describe an arc in the air, giving forth a bright flash in the afternoon sunshine and making a whistling sound like the lash of a whip. The consequence was that all three chargers started violently, to move off for a short distance; but as the lad was motionless again they stopped short and began to return, led by their companion, which seemed drawn to its fallen master. But before it could reach him there was the sound of feet, and Saint Simon came panting up to the group.

“Hah!” he ejaculated breathlessly, as he dropped on one knee by Denis’s side. “Don’t say you are hurt, lad! Not wounded, are you? Ah! There’s blood upon his sword! Denis, lad, where are you wounded? For Heaven’s sake speak! Oh, my poor brave lad! He’s dead—he’s dead!”

The drops that started to his eyes were a brave man’s tears, blinding him for the time being as they fell fast, while he eagerly felt Denis’s breast and neck, ending by unfastening his doublet and thrusting his hand within to feel for the beatings of his heart.

Those hot blinding tears fell fast, several of them upon Denis’s upturned face, and at the fourth the nerves therein twitched; at the fifth there was a quick motion; and when six and seven fell together the lad’s left hand came up suddenly to give an irritable rub where he felt a tickling sensation; and he opened his eyes, stared hard and blankly for some moments in the countenance so near his own, and exclaimed angrily:

“What are you doing?”

“Ah!” ejaculated Saint Simon, with a cry of joy. “Then the horses were worth winning back, after all.”

“Horses? Winning?” faltered Denis wonderingly; and then as his companion snatched a hand from his breast, he cried again impatiently, “Here, what are you doing to my face?”

Saint Simon dashed his hand hastily across his own, his already ruddy countenance glowing of a deeper red, as he stammered out confusedly:

“Drops—perspiration—I have been having such a run.”

“Drops? Run? My head’s all of a buzz. Who ran? What have you been doing to my neck?” continued the lad, passing his left hand across his throat. “Something seemed to jerk across me just here. Ah, how it hurts!”

He made an effort then to raise his sword-arm, but it fell back upon the grass.

“Here, my shoulder’s bad too,” he cried. “Just as if my arm was wrenched out of the socket.” Then as his wandering eyes fell upon his horse, “Oh!” he cried, “I understand now. I have been thrown.”

“Never mind now,” cried Saint Simon, in a choking voice, as he mastered the hysterical emotion that had seized upon him. “You’re alive, boy, and we have saved the horses, and our credit with the—with the—”

“Comte,” said Denis faintly. “I am beginning to recollect now. Here, where’s that ruffian who was galloping away?”

“You’ve killed him, I suppose,” cried Saint Simon, “for there’s blood upon your sword. How was it, boy?”

“I don’t know,” said Denis dreamily; and then in an excited voice, “Yes, I do!” he cried. “I remember it all now. He came galloping along on the centre horse, with the others on each side at the full extent of their reins. I stood there to stop them, and he came right at me to ride me down. But I started a little on one side and thrust at him, when my horse’s tight rein caught me right below the chin, and at the same moment my right arm was jerked upwards, and— that’s all. Where is he now?”

“Gone,” said Saint Simon, “and with your mark upon him too. Why, you brave old fellow! You, a mere boy! I daren’t have faced three galloping horses like that. But you are not wounded?”

“My right arm seems to be gone. Is it broken, Sim?”

The young man began to feel it gently from shoulder to wrist, raised it, and laid it down again, while the boy bore it for a time, flinching involuntarily though again and again, till he could bear no more.

“Oh!” he groaned at last. “Don’t! It’s horrible! How you do hurt! I suppose I shall have no arm. It’s horrible, Sim. I wish he had killed me out of hand.”

“What! Why, my dear brave old fellow, it’s only a horrible wrench, and will soon come right.”

“Not broken?” cried the boy wildly.

“Broken? No, or it wouldn’t move like that. Why, Denis, lad, when you gave point you must have run him through, and as he tore on your arm must have been wrenched round while he dragged himself or was carried away—of course, as the horses galloped on.”

“But where is he?” cried Denis.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I came up. He must have taken flight—I mean, crawled away, for he must have been wounded badly.”

“But the horses are all right?” said Denis faintly.

“Yes; the brave beasts were as you see them now, standing round you. Ah! Stop a moment. What does this mean?”

He had been looking from side to side as he spoke, and caught sight of the crushed-down herbage which grew densely at the foot of the hedge, nettle and towering dock and hemlock looking as if something had crawled through; and, rising quickly, he found somewhat of a gap through which a person might have passed.

And he found ruddy traces which made him go on a few paces to where the hedge seemed thinner, so that he could force his way through, to return on the other side to the gap and see traces again in the grass where some one had crawled. This track he followed for a few yards to a spot where the long grass was a good deal trampled, and beyond that there were regular footprints, as if some one had risen and walked light across the field.

“Gone,” said Saint Simon to himself; and he hurried back to the lane, where Denis was lying very still with his eyes closed, and the three horses ready to raise their heads from where they were calmly cropping the thick herbage and ready to salute him with a friendly whinny before resuming their meal.

“Well, Denis, boy,” he cried, “how is it now?”

“Oh, a bit sick and faint, but I’m better. Have you found that brute?”

“No; he has gone right away. But we don’t want him, unless he comes back to take revenge on you, and then I should like to see you use your sword again.”

“Oh!” groaned Denis. “With an arm like this! I feel as if I should not lift it again for months.”

“Bah! Nonsense, man—boy, I mean,” said Saint Simon, with a laugh. “But I say, you must have given it to him somewhere. He was bleeding like a pig. I followed his track to where he must have sat down on the grass to bind up his wound. And there he stopped it, to rise and walk off, making good strides for a dead man. You gave him his pay for horse-stealing, and I’ll be bound to say he feels more sore than you, my hero. Now then, how do you feel about getting up?”

“I feel sick, and as if I want to lie.”

“But the—ahem!—Comte? He must be awake by now.”

“Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand—Thanks—Ah!—It hurts horribly—my throat’s better—but my arm feels as though it had been screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can’t.”

“I ought to have done it before,” said Saint Simon; “but I say, lad, let go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip.”

“Are they?” said the boy faintly. “I don’t feel as if I had any. Everything is hot and numb.”

“Yes, you have had a nasty wrench. But that will soon be right. We soldiers don’t mind unless we are killed. That’s better. Here, let’s wipe the blade,” and he picked a bunch of grass. “I am not going to soil my kerchief with the ruffian’s blood. That’s better,” he continued, as he returned the long thin blade to its sheath. “I’ll give it a polish for you when we get back to the inn. Now do you think you could mount?”

“No, not yet,” said the boy. “Give me a little time.”

“Hours, lad; and here, let me arrange your scarf. Stand still. That’s the way. Over your right shoulder—tied in a knot—now opened out widely here so that your arm can rest in it, like that. Those are soldiers’ knots for a wounded limb.—That feel easier?”

“Not much,” said Denis. “Yes, that’s better. It seems to take the weight, and I’m beginning to feel that I’ve got one now.”

“Oh, yes, it will soon come round,” cried Saint Simon joyfully. “Now, boys, it’s time you left off sullying your bits with grass,” he continued, to the horses, as he unbuckled their reins, so that in leading one he led all three; and offering his right arm to Denis, who gladly took it and leant upon it heavily, he led the way back along the lane to where they had parted, and from thence into the great stable-yard and through the long stable to where the two hostlers were still sleeping heavily, not in the slightest degree roused by the trampling of the chargers upon the stone-paved floor.

“Now then,” said Saint Simon, “shall we tie up the horses here again?”

“No,” cried Denis sharply. “Look—through the door yonder. There’s the Comte!”

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