part I play, else shall I play it ill and work evil to this charitable

and kindly cause.”

The King warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, and said--“I

would know thee--tell me thy story.  Thou hast a gallant way with thee,

and a noble--art nobly born?”

“We are of the tail of the nobility, good your Majesty.  My father is

a baronet--one of the smaller lords by knight service {2}--Sir Richard

Hendon of Hendon Hall, by Monk’s Holm in Kent.”

“The name has escaped my memory.  Go on--tell me thy story.”

“‘Tis not much, your Majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a short

half-hour for want of a better.  My father, Sir Richard, is very rich,

and of a most generous nature.  My mother died whilst I was yet a

boy.  I have two brothers:  Arthur, my elder, with a soul like to

his father’s; and Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous,

treacherous, vicious, underhanded--a reptile.  Such was he from the

cradle; such was he ten years past, when I last saw him--a ripe rascal

at nineteen, I being twenty then, and Arthur twenty-two.  There is

none other of us but the Lady Edith, my cousin--she was sixteen

then--beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, the last of her

race, heiress of a great fortune and a lapsed title.  My father was her

guardian.  I loved her and she loved me; but she was betrothed to Arthur

from the cradle, and Sir Richard would not suffer the contract to be

broken.  Arthur loved another maid, and bade us be of good cheer and

hold fast to the hope that delay and luck together would some day give

success to our several causes.  Hugh loved the Lady Edith’s fortune,

though in truth he said it was herself he loved--but then ’twas his way,

alway, to say the one thing and mean the other.  But he lost his arts

upon the girl; he could deceive my father, but none else.  My father

loved him best of us all, and trusted and believed him; for he was the

youngest child, and others hated him--these qualities being in all

ages sufficient to win a parent’s dearest love; and he had a smooth

persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of lying--and these be

qualities which do mightily assist a blind affection to cozen itself.

 I was wild--in troth I might go yet farther and say _very_ wild, though

‘twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but me, brought

shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of crime or baseness,

or what might not beseem mine honourable degree.

“Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good account--he seeing

that our brother Arthur’s health was but indifferent, and hoping the

worst might work him profit were I swept out of the path--so--but ’twere

a long tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling.  Briefly,

then, this brother did deftly magnify my faults and make them

crimes; ending his base work with finding a silken ladder in mine

apartments--conveyed thither by his own means--and did convince my

father by this, and suborned evidence of servants and other lying

knaves, that I was minded to carry off my Edith and marry with her in

rank defiance of his will.

“Three years of banishment from home and England might make a soldier

and a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree of wisdom.

 I fought out my long probation in the continental wars, tasting

sumptuously of hard knocks, privation, and adventure; but in my last

battle I was taken captive, and during the seven years that have waxed

and waned since then, a foreign dungeon hath harboured me.  Through wit

and courage I won to the free air at last, and fled hither straight; and

am but just arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer still

in knowledge of what these dull seven years have wrought at Hendon Hall,

its people and belongings.  So please you, sir, my meagre tale is told.”

“Thou hast been shamefully abused!” said the little King, with a

flashing eye. “But I will right thee--by the cross will I!  The King

hath said it.”

Then, fired by the story of Miles’s wrongs, he loosed his tongue and

poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of his

astonished listener.  When he had finished, Miles said to himself--

“Lo, what an imagination he hath!  Verily, this is no common mind; else,

crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as this

out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt.

Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst I

bide with the living.  He shall never leave my side; he shall be my

pet, my little comrade.  And he shall be cured!--ay, made whole and

sound--then will he make himself a name--and proud shall I be to say,

‘Yes, he is mine--I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I saw

what was in him, and I said his name would be heard some day--behold

him, observe him--was I right?’”

The King spoke--in a thoughtful, measured voice--

“Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so my

crown. Such service demandeth rich reward.  Name thy desire, and so it

be within the compass of my royal power, it is thine.”

This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon out of his reverie.  He was

about to thank the King and put the matter aside with saying he had only

done his duty and desired no reward, but a wiser thought came into his

head, and he asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider the

gracious offer--an idea which the King gravely approved, remarking that

it was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great import.

Miles reflected during some moments, then said to himself, “Yes, that is

the thing to do--by any other means it were impossible to get at it--and

certes, this hour’s experience has taught me ’twould be most wearing and

inconvenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will propose it; ’twas a

happy accident that I did not throw the chance away.”  Then he dropped

upon one knee and said--

“My poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject’s simple duty,

and therefore hath no merit; but since your Majesty is pleased to hold

it worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to make petition to this

effect.  Near four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth, there being

ill blood betwixt John, King of England, and the King of France, it was

decreed that two champions should fight together in the lists, and so

settle the dispute by what is called the arbitrament of God.  These two

kings, and the Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the

conflict, the French champion appeared; but so redoubtable was he, that

our English knights refused to measure weapons with him.  So the matter,

which was a weighty one, was like to go against the English monarch by

default.  Now in the Tower lay the Lord de Courcy, the mightiest arm in

England, stripped of his honours and possessions, and wasting with

long captivity.  Appeal was made to him; he gave assent, and came forth

arrayed for battle; but no sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge

frame and hear his famous name but he fled away, and the French king’s

cause was lost.  King John restored De Courcy’s titles and possessions,

and said, ‘Name thy wish and thou shalt have it, though it cost me half

my kingdom;’ whereat De Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, made answer,

‘This, then, I ask, my liege; that I and my successors may have and

hold the privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings of

England, henceforth while the throne shall last.’ The boon was granted,

as your Majesty knoweth; and there hath been no time, these four hundred

years, that that line has failed of an heir; and so, even unto this day,

the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before the

King’s Majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may do.

{3} Invoking this precedent in aid of my prayer, I beseech the King to

grant to me but this one grace and privilege--to my more than sufficient

reward--and none other, to wit:  that I and my heirs, for ever, may

_sit_ in the presence of the Majesty of England!”

“Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight,” said the King, gravely--giving the

accolade with Hendon’s sword--“rise, and seat thyself.  Thy petition is

granted.  Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilege

shall not lapse.”

His Majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a chair at

table, observing to himself, “‘Twas a brave thought, and hath wrought

me a mighty deliverance; my legs are grievously wearied. An I had not

thought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor lad’s

wits are cured.”  After a little, he went on, “And so I am become a

knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows! A most odd and strange

position, truly, for one so matter-of-fact as I.  I will not laugh--no,

God forbid, for this thing which is so substanceless to me is _real_ to

him.  And to me, also, in one way, it is not a falsity, for it reflects

with truth the sweet and generous spirit that is in him.”  After

a pause: “Ah, what if he should call me by my fine title before

folk!--there’d be a merry contrast betwixt my glory and my raiment!  But

no matter, let him call me what he will, so it please him; I shall be

content.”