CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PRINCE A PRISONER.
Hendon forced back a smile, and bent down and whispered in the king's ear—
"Softly, softly, my prince, wag thy tongue warily—nay, suffer it not to wag at all. Trust in me—all shall go well in the end." Then he added, to himself: "Sir Miles! Bless me, I had totally forgot I was a knight! Lord how marvellous a thing it is, the grip his memory doth take upon his quaint and crazy fancies! . . . An empty and foolish title is mine, and yet it is something to have deserved it, for I think it is more honor to be held worthy to be a spectre-knight in his Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows, than to be held base enough to be an earl in some of the real kingdoms of this world."
The crowd fell apart to admit a constable, who approached and was about to lay his hand upon the king's shoulder, when Hendon said—
"Gently, good friend, withhold your hand—he shall go peaceably; I am responsible for that. Lead on, we will follow."
The officer led, with the woman and her bundle; Miles and the king followed after, with the crowd at their heels. The King was inclined to rebel; but Hendon said to him in a low voice—
"Reflect, sire—your laws are the wholesome breath of your own royalty; shall their source resist them, yet require the branches to respect them? Apparently one of these laws has been broken; when
