"Let the child go," said he; "ye heartless dogs, do ye not see how young and frail he is?
Let him go--I will take his lashes." "Marry, a good thought--and thanks for it," said Sir Hugh, his face lighting with a sardonic satisfaction.

"Let the little beggar go, and give this fellow a dozen in his place--an honest dozen, well laid on." The King was in the act of entering a fierce protest, but Sir Hugh silenced him with the potent remark, "Yes, speak up, do, and free thy mind--only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he shall get six strokes the more." Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid bare; and whilst the lash was applied the poor little King turned away his face and allowed unroyal tears to channel his cheeks unchecked.

"Ah, brave good heart," he said to himself, "this loyal deed shall never perish out of my memory.

I will not forget it--and neither shall THEY!" he added, with passion.

Whilst he mused, his appreciation of Hendon's magnanimous conduct grew to greater and still greater dimensions in his mind, and so also did his gratefulness for it.