12

The King was warm and comfortable, now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the second-hand suit which Hendon had bought on London Bridge.

They journeyed for a while. At some point, they reached a village, and stopped there for the night, at a good inn. The former relations were resumed; Hendon stood behind the King’s chair, while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; then went to sleep himself, rolled up in a blanket on the floor.

The next day, and the day after, they walked along while talking over the adventures.

During the last day of the trip, Hendon was in a very good mood. His was constantly talking.  He talked about his old father, and his brother Arthur, and told of many things about them; he went into loving frenzies over his Edith, and was in such good mood that he was even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about Hugh.  They were riding to Hendon Hall and he was thinking of the upcoming meeting; what a surprise it would be to everybody.

It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the road led through broad pasture lands.  At last, they saw it—

“There is the village, my Prince, and there is the Hall close by! You may see the towers from here; and that wood there—that is my father’s park. Ah, you’ll see! A house with seventy rooms—think of that!—and seven and twenty servants!  Come—my impatience can’t stand further delay.”

All possible hurry was made; still, it was after three o’clock before the village was reached.  The travellers went through it, Hendon’s tongue going all the time. “Here is the church—covered with the same ivy–none gone, none added.” “Over there is the inn, the old Red Lion,—and that is the market-place.” “Here is the Maypole, and here the pump—nothing is altered; nothing but the people, at any rate; ten years make a change in people; some of these I seem to know, but none know me.”

The end of the village was soon reached. A noble mansion was before them.

“Welcome to Hendon Hall, my King!” exclaimed Miles. “Ah, what a great day!  My father and my brother, and the Lady Edith will be so glad to see us!”

The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before the great door, helped the King down, then took him by the hand and went in. A few steps brought him to a big apartment; he entered, seated the King with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man who sat at a writing-table.

“Hugh,” he cried, “call our father, for home is not home till I shall touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!”

But Hugh only drew back, after stared upon the intruder. Then he said, in a mild voice—

“You are mad, poor stranger. Who do you think I am?”

“Think? Who are you, other then who I know you are? You are Hugh Hendon,” said Miles, sharply.

The other continued, in the same soft tone—

“And who do you imagine yourself to be?”

“Imagination has nothing to do with it!  Do you pretend to not know your brother, Miles Hendon?”

Hugh exclaimed—

“What! Are you joking? Can the dead come to life?  God be praised if it be so!  Our poor lost boy restored to our arms after all these cruel years!  Ah, it seems too good to be true!  Quick—come to the light—let me see!”

He took Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began to look at him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this way and that; whilst Miles smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying—

“Go on, brother, go on, and fear not: I am indeed you old Miles, the same old Miles, isn’t it so?  Ah, it’s a great day!”

He was about to hug his brother; but Hugh put up his hand, then dropped his chin mournfully, saying with emotion—

“Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous disappointment!”

Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he found his tongue, and cried out—

“What disappointment?  Am I not your brother?”

Hugh shook his head sadly, and said—

“I fear me the letter spoke but too truly.”

“What letter?”

“One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago.  It said my brother died in battle.”

“It was a lie!  Call thy father—he will know me.”

“One may not call the dead.”

“Dead?” Miles’s lips trembled. “My father dead!—oh, this is heavy news. Then let me see my brother Arthur—he will know me; he will know me and console me.”

“He, also, is dead.”

“God be merciful to me! Gone,—both gone—the worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me!  Ah! I crave your mercy!—do not say the Lady Edith—”

“Is dead?  No, she lives.”

“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again!  Let her come to me!  She will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring her—bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.”

“All are gone but five—Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, and Margaret.”

So saying, Hugh left the room.  Miles stood still for a while, then began to walk the floor, muttering—

“The five arch-villains have survived the two-and-twenty good and honest—‘tis an odd thing.”

He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he had forgotten the King entirely.  By-and-by his Majesty said gravely, and with a touch of genuine compassion—

“Do not worry, good man; there are others in the world whose identity is denied.  You have company.”

“Ah, my King,” cried Hendon, “do not condemn me—wait, and you shall see.  I am no impostor—she will say it. I know this old hall, these pictures of my ancestors, and all these things around us.  I was born here, my lord; I speak the truth; I would not deceive you. I pray you do not doubt me—I could not bear it.”

“I do not doubt you,” said the King, with a childlike simplicity and faith.

“I thank you!” exclaimed Hendon. The King added, with the same gentle simplicity—

“Do you doubt me?”

Hendon felt guilty confusion, and was grateful that the door opened, and Hugh walked in, saving him the necessity of replying.

A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her came a few servants. The lady walked slowly, with her head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. Her face was sad.  Miles Hendon rushed to her, saying—

“Oh, my Edith, my darling—”

But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady—

“Look upon him.  Do you know him?”

At the sound of Miles’s voice the woman’s cheeks had flushed; she was trembling. She stood still for a few moments; then slowly lifted up her head and looked into Hendon’s eyes with a frightened gaze; then she said, in a voice as dead as her face, “I know him not!” and, with a stifled sob, quickly walked out of the room.

Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants—

“Do you know him?”

They shook their heads; then the master said—

“The servants know you not, sir.  I fear there is some mistake. You have seen that my wife knew you not.”

“Your WIFE!”  In an instant Miles pinned Hugh to the wall, with an iron grip around his throat. “Oh, I see it all! You wrote the lying letter yourself, and stole my bride and my right!  Get out of my sight, before I shame my honourable soldiership with your slaying!”

Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous stranger.  They hesitated, and one of them said—

“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”

“Armed!  What of it? There are so many of you! Upon him, I say!”

But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added—

“You know how I was back then—I have not changed.”

The servants still held back.

“Then go, you cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the doors!” said Hugh.  He turned to Miles, “Don’t try to escape.”

“Escape?  I am Miles Hendon, the master of Hendon Hall and all its belongings. I will remain—doubt it not.”

Hugh turned and walked out of the room.

The King sat still a few moments, then looked up and said—

“It’s strange—most strange.”

“No, it is not strange, my liege.  He was a rascal from his birth.”

“Oh, he’s not the one I speak of.”

“Then of what?  What is it that is strange?”

“That the King is not missed.”

“How?  Which?  I do not understand.”

“Indeed?  Is it not strange that the land is not filled with people searching for me?  Is it not strange that the Head of the State is gone; that I am vanished away and lost?”

“Most true, my King, I had forgot.”  Then Hendon sighed, and muttered to himself, “Poor ruined mind—still busy with a dream.”

“But I have a plan that shall right us both—I will write a paper—and you shall go to London in the morning.  Give it to my uncle, the Lord Hertford; when he shall see it, he will know and say I wrote it.  Then he will send for me.”

“Wouldn’t it be best, my Prince, that we wait here until I prove myself and secure my right?  I should be so much the better able then to—”

The King interrupted him—

“Obey, and have no fear; I will make it right by you.  I shall remember, and repay.”

So the King took the pen, and set himself to work.

Sir Miles’s thoughts had gone back to the recent episode. So when the King gave him the paper, he took it and put it in his pocket without thinking. “How trange she acted,” he muttered. “I think she knew me—and I think she did not know me. She must have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how could it be otherwise?  Yet she said she knew me not. Perhaps he has influenced her, commanded her to lie.  That is the solution.  The riddle is unriddled.  She seemed dead with fear.  I will find her; now that he is away, she will speak her true mind.  She will remember me.  She was always honest and true.  She loved me, in those old days, so she cannot betray me.”

He stepped toward the door. At that moment it opened, and Lady Edith entered.  She was very pale, but she walked with a firm step. Her face was as sad as before.

She seated herself, and asked him to do likewise. The Lady Edith said—

“Sir, I have come to warn you.  I think this dream of yours seemed an honest truth to you, and therefore it is not criminal, but it is dangerous.”  She looked into Miles’s face a moment, then added, “It is the more dangerous, since you do look like our lost lad must have looked grown up, if he had lived.”

“Heavens, but I am he!”

“I truly think you think it, sir.  I don’t question your honesty; I warn you, that is all.  My husband is master in this region; his power has no limits; the people prosper or starve, as he wills. Ttrust me, I know him well; I know what he will do; he will say to all that you are but a mad impostor, and all will echo him.”  She gave Miles that same steady look once more, and added: “If you were Miles Hendon, and he knew it and all the region knew it—consider what I am saying—he would deny you and denounce you, and none would be bold enough to disagree.”

“I believe it,” said Miles, bitterly. “The power that can command one life-long friend to betray and disown another, will be be obeyed in quarters where bread and life are on the stake.”

A flush appeared for a moment in the lady’s cheek, and she dropped her eyes to the floor; then she proceeded—

“I have warned you—I must still warn you—to go.  This man will destroy you, else.  He is a tyrant who knows no pity.  I, his slave, know this.  Poor Miles, and Arthur, and my dear guardian, Sir Richard, are free of him, and are at rest:  better that you were with them than in his clutches.  Your presense are a menace to his title and possessions; you have assaulted him in his own house:  you are ruined if you stay.  Go–do not hesitate. If you lack money, take this purse, I beg of you, and bribe the servants to let you pass.”

Miles declined the purse with a gesture, and rose up and stood before her.

“Grant me one thing,” he said. “Look me in the eyes, so that I may see that yours are steady.  There—now answer me.  Am I Miles Hendon?”

“No.  I know you not.”

“Swear it!”

The answer was low, but distinct—

“I swear.”

“Oh.”

“Go!  Why will you waste the precious time?  Go, and save yourself.”

At that moment the officers burst into the room, and a violent struggle began; but Hendon was soon overpowered and dragged away. The King was taken also, and both were bound and led to prison.