Chapter XXI. Hendon to the rescue.

by Mark Twain

　　The old man glided away, stooping, stealthy, cat-like, and broughtthe low bench. He seated himself upon it, half his body in thedim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow; and so,with his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept hispatient vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softlywhetted his knife, and mumbled and chuckled; and in aspect andattitude he resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrousspider, gloating over some hapless insect that lay bound andhelpless in his web.After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing,--yet notseeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction,--observed, on a sudden, that the boy's eyes were open! wide openand staring!--staring up in frozen horror at the knife. The smileof a gratified devil crept over the old man's face, and he said,without changing his attitude or his occupation--"Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed?"The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds, and at the same timeforced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermitchose to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question."Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying!"A shudder shook the boy's frame, and his face blenched. Then hestruggled again to free himself--turning and twisting himself thisway and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately--butuselessly--to burst his fetters; and all the while the old ogresmiled down upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whettedhis knife; mumbling, from time to time, "The moments are precious,they are few and precious--pray the prayer for the dying!"The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles,panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other,down his face; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effectupon the savage old man.The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and spoke upsharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his voice--"I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is alreadygone. It seems but a moment--only a moment; would it had endureda year! Seed of the Church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes,an' thou fearest to look upon--"The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sankupon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over themoaning boy.Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin--the knifedropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boyand started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presentlythe voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries forhelp; then a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. Immediatelycame a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door,followed by--"Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!"Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in theKing's ears; for it was Miles Hendon's voice!The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly outof the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightwaythe King heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the'chapel':--"Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy--my boy?""What boy, friend?""What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions!--Iam not in the humour for it. Near to this place I caught thescoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made themconfess; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked himto your door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter nomore; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce him not--Where isthe boy?""O good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant thattarried here the night. If such as you take an interest in suchas he, know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will beback anon.""How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time--cannot I overtakehim? How soon will he be back?""Thou need'st not stir; he will return quickly.""So be it, then. I will try to wait. But stop!--you sent him ofan errand?--you! Verily this is a lie--he would not go. He wouldpull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence.Thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! He would not gofor thee, nor for any man.""For any man--no; haply not. But I am not a man.""What! Now o' God's name what art thou, then?""It is a secret--mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel!"There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon--notaltogether unprofane--followed by--"This doth well and truly account for his complaisance! Rightwell I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial serviceof any mortal; but, lord, even a king must obey when an archangelgives the word o' command! Let me--'sh! What noise was that?"All this while the little King had been yonder, alternatelyquaking with terror and trembling with hope; and all the while,too, he had thrown all the strength he could into his anguishedmoanings, constantly expecting them to reach Hendon's ear, butalways realising, with bitterness, that they failed, or at leastmade no impression. So this last remark of his servant came ascomes a reviving breath from fresh fields to the dying; and heexerted himself once more, and with all his energy, just as thehermit was saying--"Noise? I heard only the wind.""Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have been hearingit faintly all the--there it is again! It is not the wind! Whatan odd sound! Come, we will hunt it out!"Now the King's joy was nearly insupportable. His tired lungs didtheir utmost--and hopefully, too--but the sealed jaws and themuffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. Then the poorfellow's heart sank, to hear the hermit say--"Ah, it came from without--I think from the copse yonder. Come, Iwill lead the way."The King heard the two pass out, talking; heard their footstepsdie quickly away--then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awfulsilence.It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approachingagain--and this time he heard an added sound,--the trampling ofhoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say--"I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has lost hisway in this thick wood. Which direction took he? Quick--point itout to me.""He--but wait; I will go with thee.""Good--good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks. Marry Ido not think there's not another archangel with so right a heartas thine. Wilt ride? Wilt take the wee donkey that's for my boy,or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave ofa mule that I have provided for myself?--and had been cheated intoo, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on abrass farthing let to a tinker out of work.""No--ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on mine ownfeet, and will walk.""Then prithee mind the little beast for me while I take my life inmy hands and make what success I may toward mounting the big one."Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings andplungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyedcurses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which musthave broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from thatmoment.With unutterable misery the fettered little King heard the voicesand footsteps fade away and die out. All hope forsook him, now,for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart."My only friend is deceived and got rid of," he said; "the hermitwill return and--" He finished with a gasp; and at once fell tostruggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook offthe smothering sheepskin.And now he heard the door open! The sound chilled him to themarrow--already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horrormade him close his eyes; horror made him open them again--andbefore him stood John Canty and Hugo!He would have said "Thank God!" if his jaws had been free.A moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his captors,each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speedthrough the forest.