“We have all favoured King Edward’s cause here, as I told you yesterday,” said Joan; “for we seemed better off under his rule than in the days before, when we were distracted by the war.  But tell us of this prince—­the Prince of Wales, as you call him.  Would he be able to rule us wisely and well?  Has he a strong arm and a kind heart?  And does he think for himself? or do the monks or the queen direct him in all matters?  Have you ever seen him?  Do you know what he is like?”

“I have not seen him since he was a child and I a child, too,” answered Paul, his face lighting at the recollection of the little prince of his dreams, which had never faded or grown dim.  “In sooth, he was the noblest, kingliest child the sun ever shone on.  And men say he has grown up to fulfil all the promise of his youth.  He is solemnly betrothed, so they say, to the Lady Anne, the daughter of the proud Earl of Warwick, and it is into his hands that the real government of the country will be intrusted.

“Oh, you would love him if you could see him—­I am sure of that.  I would he could come himself now, for the hearts of the nation would surely go out to him.  Shall I tell you a story of him when he was a child—­when we were children together?  You will see how sweet and lovable he was even then, and I warrant that he has not changed now.”

Joan answered eagerly in the affirmative, and Paul told of his adventure with the little prince in the forest hard by Lichfield; and mother and daughter as they heard the tale exchanged glances, as if it was not the first time they had heard something of the kind.  He had hardly finished the narrative before Joan broke eagerly in: 

“O sir, was it in truth you that balked the robbers of their prey?  I pray you never speak of this to any in these parts, for truly it might cost you your life.  You have heard us speak of the Black Notley robbers, whose lawless band our neighbour joined—­the one who tried yesterday to get me into his clutches?  Well, this same story that you have told to us he has heard a dozen times from his chief—­the chief of all the band—­Fire Eater, as he is called in their fierce language.  It was he and his followers who hung upon the royal party all those long years ago, and he who carried you off in mistake for the Prince of Wales.  He has often been heard to swear terribly over that great disappointment, and regret that he did not run his sword through the body of the daring boy who had outwitted him.  If he were to hear of your being here, he would move heaven and earth to obtain your capture or death.

“O sir, be advised, you are in more peril than you know.  Go not forth from the shelter of these doors till you can do so a sound man, and then make hasty and swift flight for London, where perchance you may be safe.  These terrible robbers are not to be smiled at; they are cunning and cruel and crafty beyond belief.  I shiver even for myself whenever I think of that terrible Simon Dowsett, whom they call Devil’s Own.”