a king might do that, but a king could not beg.

But meantime, Miles Hendon was resolving the difficulty. “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