“Good—­is he within?”

“Yes,” said the boy; and added, to himself, “within his grave.”

“Might I crave your favour to carry my name to him, and say I beg to say a word in his ear?”

“I will despatch the business right willingly, fair sir.”

“Then say Miles Hendon, son of Sir Richard, is here without—­I shall be greatly bounden to you, my good lad.”

The boy looked disappointed.  “The King did not name him so,” he said to himself; “but it mattereth not, this is his twin brother, and can give his Majesty news of t’other Sir-Odds-and-Ends, I warrant.”  So he said to Miles, “Step in there a moment, good sir, and wait till I bring you word.”

Hendon retired to the place indicated—­it was a recess sunk in the palace wall, with a stone bench in it—­a shelter for sentinels in bad weather.  He had hardly seated himself when some halberdiers, in charge of an officer, passed by.  The officer saw him, halted his men, and commanded Hendon to come forth.  He obeyed, and was promptly arrested as a suspicious character prowling within the precincts of the palace.  Things began to look ugly.  Poor Miles was going to explain, but the officer roughly silenced him, and ordered his men to disarm him and search him.

“God of his mercy grant that they find somewhat,” said poor Miles; “I have searched enow, and failed, yet is my need greater than theirs.”

Nothing was found but a document.  The officer tore it open, and Hendon smiled when he recognised the ‘pot-hooks’ made by his lost little friend that black day at Hendon Hall.  The officer’s face grew dark as he read the English paragraph, and Miles blenched to the opposite colour as he listened.

“Another new claimant of the Crown!” cried the officer.  “Verily they breed like rabbits, to-day.  Seize the rascal, men, and see ye keep him fast whilst I convey this precious paper within and send it to the King.”

He hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the halberdiers.

“Now is my evil luck ended at last,” muttered Hendon, “for I shall dangle at a rope’s end for a certainty, by reason of that bit of writing.  And what will become of my poor lad!—­ah, only the good God knoweth.”

By-and-by he saw the officer coming again, in a great hurry; so he plucked his courage together, purposing to meet his trouble as became a man.  The officer ordered the men to loose the prisoner and return his sword to him; then bowed respectfully, and said—­

“Please you, sir, to follow me.”

Hendon followed, saying to himself, “An’ I were not travelling to death and judgment, and so must needs economise in sin, I would throttle this knave for his mock courtesy.”