And then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, he recollected that he himself wore the cap with the white plume, the jewelled collar of royalty, and the dagger the little prince habitually carried in his girdle.  And had he not the same floating golden curls, the same cast of features, the same active figure, and almost the same stature?  Might he not save the real prince by playing his part to some purpose for the time being?  The men would not distinguish between the pair—­he felt certain of that; they would at once make off with their prize.  Later on, of course, they would discover the trick, but then the prince would be safe.  His own followers would have long since discovered him.  Yes, he would do it—­he would save the prince at all cost.  What did it matter if his own life were the forfeit?  The heir of England would be saved.

It was no small act of heroism to which the boy made up his mind in those few moments.  Those were lawless days, and human life was held very cheap.  The band of fierce men who had believed they were carrying off a prince, would think nothing of running him through with their swords when they discovered how they had been tricked, and that by a mere child.  Paul set his teeth hard and braced himself up for the task he had set himself.  He knew his peril-he realized it too; but he was a soldier’s son, and had he not said he would live and die for the prince?  Would he ever be worthy of the knighthood every lad looked forward to as the goal of his ambition, if he shrank now from the task he had set himself?

Hardly had that resolution been taken before there sprang out from the thick underwood two or three fierce-looking men, armed to the teeth.

“Ha, my young springal! well met, in sooth,” cried the foremost of the band, laying a firm hand upon the boy’s shoulder.  “We have been looking long for you.

“To horse, brave fellows! we have our prize.  We may not linger here.”

“Hands off, varlet!” cried Paul, throwing himself into the character of prince with great energy and goodwill.  “Know you to whom you speak—­whom ye thus rough handle?  Have a care; the Prince of Wales is not thus to be treated.”

“Pardon, sweet prince,” cried the leader, with ironical courtesy, his grasp not relaxing one whit from the boy’s arm.  “Time leaves us scant opportunity for the smooth speech of the court.  We must use all despatch in conveying your worshipful presence hence, to the safe custody of England’s friends.

“Nay, struggle not, boy.  We would not harm you.  You are safe with us—­”

“I know you not.  I will not be thus insulted.  I will to my royal parents,” cried Paul in well-feigned indignation.