CHAPTER THIRTY.
HENRY STUART, THE BOY WHOM A NATION LOVED.
In the courtyard of a Scottish castle, over which floated the royal banner, a curious scene might have been witnessed one morning nearly three centuries ago.

The central figures of the scene were a horse and a boy, and the attendant crowd of courtiers, grooms, lackeys; while from an open window, before which every one in passing bowed low, an ungainly-looking man watched what was going on with a strangely anxious excitement.

The horse was saddled and bridled, but, with an ominous roll of his eyes, and a savage expansion of his nostrils, which bespoke only too plainly his fierce temper, defied every attempt on the part of the grooms to hold him steady.

The boy, scarcely in his teens, was evidently a lad of distinction, as might be inferred from his gallant dress, and the deferential demeanour of those who now advanced, and endeavoured to dissuade him from a rash and perilous adventure.
"Beware, my lord," said one, "how you peril your life in this freak!" "The animal," said another, "has never yet been ridden.

See how even now he nearly pulls the arms of the grooms from their sockets." "Lad," cried the ungainly man from the window, "dinna be a fool, I tell ye! Let the beast be." But the boy laughed gaily at them all.
"Such a fuss about an ordinary horse! Let him go, men, and leave him to me." And he advanced and boldly took the rein, which the grooms unwillingly relinquished.
There was something about the resolute bearing of the boy which for a moment seemed to impress the horse himself, for, pricking his ears and rolling his bloodshot eyes upon him, he desisted from his struggles and stood still.
The lad put out a hand and patted his neck, and in doing so secured a firm clutch of the mane in his hand; the next instant his foot was in the stirrup, and the next he had vaulted into the saddle, before the horse had recovered from his astonishment.
Once in, no effort of the untamed beast could succeed in ousting him from his seat.