Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; he judged that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal measures of sleep would be bad for his crazed mind; whilst rest, regularity, and moderate exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure; he longed to see the stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions driven out of the tormented little head; therefore he resolved to move by easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished, instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience and hurrying along night and day.

When he and the King had journeyed about ten miles, they reached a considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a good inn.  The former relations were resumed; Hendon stood behind the King’s chair, while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket.

The next day, and the day after, they jogged lazily along talking over the adventures they had met since their separation, and mightily enjoying each other’s narratives.  Hendon detailed all his wide wanderings in search of the King, and described how the archangel had led him a fool’s journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the hut, finally, when he found he could not get rid of him.  Then—­he said—­the old man went into the bedchamber and came staggering back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that the boy had returned and laid down in there to rest, but it was not so.  Hendon had waited at the hut all day; hope of the King’s return died out, then, and he departed upon the quest again.

“And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your highness came not back,” said Hendon; “I saw it in his face.”

“Marry I will never doubt that!” said the King—­and then told his own story; after which, Hendon was sorry he had not destroyed the archangel.

During the last day of the trip, Hendon’s spirits were soaring.  His tongue ran constantly.  He talked about his old father, and his brother Arthur, and told of many things which illustrated their high and generous characters; he went into loving frenzies over his Edith, and was so glad-hearted that he was even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about Hugh.  He dwelt a deal on the coming meeting at Hendon Hall; what a surprise it would be to everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and delight there would be.

It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the road led through broad pasture lands whose receding expanses, marked with gentle elevations and depressions, suggested the swelling and subsiding undulations of the sea.  In the afternoon the returning prodigal made constant deflections from his course to see if by ascending some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch a glimpse of his home.  At last he was successful, and cried out excitedly—­