thought which had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was unsuccessful. Now he started quickly up, and entered his guest’s room, and said —

“Thou art King?”

“Yes,” was the response, drowsily uttered.

“What King?”

“Of England.”

“Of England? Then Henry is gone!”

“Alack, it is so. I am his son.”

A black frown settled down upon the hermit’s face, and he clenched his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few moments, breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voice —