“You were not alone when you started on this journey last night,” said the robber, addressing Paul sternly.  “Where is your companion?  You had better speak frankly.  It will be the worse for you if you do not.”

Paul’s heart beat fast; the blood began to circulate in his veins.  He tried hard to keep his faculties clear, and to speak nothing which could injure the prince.

“We parted company.  I know not where he is,” he answered slowly.  “I told him to go his own way; I would not be a source of peril to him.  I bid him adieu and sent him away.”

It suddenly occurred to Paul that if, even for an hour, he could personate the prince, and so draw off pursuit from him, his point might be gained.  He had not forgotten the episode of the first adventure they had shared as children; and as we all know, history repeats itself in more ways than one.

The man who appeared the leader of the band, and whose face was not unkindly, doffed his hat respectfully at these words, and said, “It is true, then, that I am addressing the Prince of Wales?”

Paul said nothing, but bent his head as if in assent, and the man continued speaking, still respectfully.

“It is my duty then, sire, to take your sacred person under my protection.  You are in peril from many sources in these lone woods, and I have been sent out on purpose to bring you into a place of safety.  My followers will provide you with a good horse, and you will soon be in safe shelter, where you can obtain the food and rest your condition requires, and you will receive nothing but courteous treatment at our hands.”

To resist were fruitless indeed.  Politely as the invitation was tendered, there was an undertone of authority in the man’s voice which convinced Paul that any attempt at resistance would be met by an appeal to force.  And he had no disposition to resist.  The longer the fiction was kept up, the longer there would be for the prince to seek safe asylum at the Priory.  When once those sanctuary doors had closed behind Edward, Paul thought it mattered little what became of himself.

“I will go with you,” he answered with simple dignity; “I presume that I have indeed no choice.”

A draught from a flask tendered him by one of the men did much to revive Paul, and the relief at finding himself well mounted, instead of plodding wearily along on foot, was very great.  He was glad enough to be mounted behind one of the stout troopers, for he was excessively drowsy, despite the peril of his situation.  He had been unable to sleep, as Edward had done, in the woodman’s hut, and it was now more than thirty-six hours since sleep had visited him, and those hours had been crowded with excitement, peril, and fatigue.  The potent liquor he had just drunk helped to steal his senses away, and as the party jogged through the dim aisles of the wood, Paul fell fast asleep, with his head resting on the shoulder of the stalwart trooper, and he only awoke with a start, half of fear and half of triumph—­for he knew the prince was safe enough by this time—­when the glare from the mouth of a great cavern, and the loud, rough voices of a number of men who came crowding out, smote upon his senses, and effectually aroused him to a sense of what was passing.