But at that moment John himself gave a cry.  He had seen a figure that he knew, and, forgetting all else, he was hurrying towards it.  At one side of the throne stood the Hermit, pale and sad, with his hands tied behind his back and a rope about his neck.  He was guarded on each side by a man with a drawn sword.

“My father!” cried John, throwing himself upon the good man’s neck before the wondering guards could interfere.  At the same time Brutus gave a loud bark of joy and leaped upon his master.

“My dear son!” cried the Hermit, with tears in his eyes.  “I thought not to see you again!”

At the sound of his voice the cat gave a loud “Miaou!” and ran to him.  The kittens squeaked and tried to climb his gown.  The bear growled contentedly and trotted to his side.  The wolf leaped to him with fierce pleasure.  The raven hopped to his feet with a scream of Joy, and the carrier pigeon, with a soft “Coo!” fluttered to his shoulder.  To the watching men and women of that court it seemed a miracle.

For a moment all was silent.  Then the King found voice.  “What does this mean?” he cried again.  “How have this vagrant and his vile beasts found entrance to my palace?  It is the hour for execution, not for mummery.  Why is not the signal given?”

“O King,” said John timidly, “they let me in because I said that I came to cure your son, if may be.”

“More sorcery!” howled the King, beside himself with rage.  “Take him away!  Slay them all,—­the old man, the boy, the animals!  I have waited too long already.  Perhaps even now my son is dead!” He rose, trembling.

But the Hermit’s voice rang out now, loud and clear.  “O King,” he cried, “enough talk of sorcery and magic.  This boy has come to help your son, who sought to slay him.  He has brought the animals whose lives you covet, to show you how much you may owe to them.  Lo, this carrier pigeon bore my message bidding him to come,—­not for my sake.  For I told him nothing of the danger in which I lay.  This noble dog guided him to the village by a path which only he could follow.  Now with these other animals he hopes to amuse the Prince and awaken him to life.  There is no magic in this; only love, O King—­the love which is lacking in your sad and sullen kingdom.”

There was a murmur in the crowd, which swayed forward toward John and the Hermit.  For some seconds the King stood speechless, staring at the Hermit and the group around him.  Then, with a wave of his hand, he bade the guards stand back.  He turned to a black-gowned man on his right who had just entered the hall.  “Does my son still live?” he asked in a choking voice.

The doctor nodded gravely.  “He still lives, Sire.  But he is very low.  He cannot survive many minutes.”

The King paled.  “Let us hasten,” he said.  “It is the last chance.  Perhaps the boy has skill.”  Then, turning to the little group of people from the forest, he beckoned grimly.  “Come with me,” he said.  “Save my son’s life, and you save your own.  Otherwise I swear that you shall all die the most hideous and painful of deaths.”