This news struck his Majesty dumb with amazement, and plunged him into so deep and dismal a reverie that he heard no more of the old man’s gossip.  He wondered if the ‘little urchin’ was the beggar-boy whom he left dressed in his own garments in the palace.  It did not seem possible that this could be, for surely his manners and speech would betray him if he pretended to be the Prince of Wales—­then he would be driven out, and search made for the true prince.  Could it be that the Court had set up some sprig of the nobility in his place?  No, for his uncle would not allow that—­he was all-powerful and could and would crush such a movement, of course.  The boy’s musings profited him nothing; the more he tried to unriddle the mystery the more perplexed he became, the more his head ached, and the worse he slept.  His impatience to get to London grew hourly, and his captivity became almost unendurable.

Hendon’s arts all failed with the King—­he could not be comforted; but a couple of women who were chained near him succeeded better.  Under their gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree of patience.  He was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and to delight in the sweet and soothing influence of their presence.  He asked them why they were in prison, and when they said they were Baptists, he smiled, and inquired—­

“Is that a crime to be shut up for in a prison?  Now I grieve, for I shall lose ye—­they will not keep ye long for such a little thing.”

They did not answer; and something in their faces made him uneasy.  He said, eagerly—­

“You do not speak; be good to me, and tell me—­there will be no other punishment?  Prithee tell me there is no fear of that.”

They tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he pursued it—­

“Will they scourge thee?  No, no, they would not be so cruel!  Say they would not.  Come, they will not, will they?”

The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no avoiding an answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with emotion—­

“Oh, thou’lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit!—­God will help us to bear our—­”

“It is a confession!” the King broke in.  “Then they will scourge thee, the stony-hearted wretches!  But oh, thou must not weep, I cannot bear it.  Keep up thy courage—­I shall come to my own in time to save thee from this bitter thing, and I will do it!”

When the King awoke in the morning, the women were gone.

“They are saved!” he said, joyfully; then added, despondently, “but woe is me!—­for they were my comforters.”

Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in token of remembrance.  He said he would keep these things always; and that soon he would seek out these dear good friends of his and take them under his protection.

Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates, and commanded that the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard.  The King was overjoyed—­it would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and breathe the fresh air once more.  He fretted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but his turn came at last, and he was released from his staple and ordered to follow the other prisoners with Hendon.