"Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!"
O, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the king's ears; for it was Miles Hendon's voice!
The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway the king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the "chapel:"
"Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy—my boy?"
"What boy, friend?"
"What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions!—I am not in the humor for it. Near to this place I caught the scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made them confess; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked him to your door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter no more; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce him not— Where is the boy? "
"O, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that tarried here the night. If such as you take interest in such as he, know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back anon."
"How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time—cannot I overtake him? How soon will he be back?"
"Thou needst not stir; he will return quickly."
"So be it then. I will try to wait. But stop!—you sent him of an errand?—you! Verily this is a lie—he would not go. He would pull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence. Thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! He would not go for thee nor for any man."
"For any man—no; haply not. But I am not a man."
