y: bind the boy and stand near,
ready to lend a hand."

Whereupon the first and second attendants withdrew, staring as if with
terror at the unopened door near which they had to pass.

Hubert de Burgh took no further notice of them, but dropped into a
chair and stared straight before him.

At this point Mr. Literal began rubbing his hands and smiling with
pleased excitement. "It seems," he remarked to the Masked Lady, "that
we're to be in on a really famous event--the slaying of Prince Arthur.
It's a great opportunity of its kind. It will give me a chance to
confute the historians who have quarreled among themselves about how
the poor boy met his death. How--er--how should you say he dies?"

The Masked Lady replied tranquilly: "He does not die. He lives forever
to proclaim to all mankind that the way of kings is an evil way."

It was now that Hubert de Burgh bestirred himself as if he could no
longer bear to be alone with his thoughts. He cried out
sharply--"Arthur! Arthur!"

The second door now opened and Prince Arthur appeared: a handsome boy,
perhaps fourteen years of age, straight of limb and noble of
countenance. He wore a velvet suit, including knee breeches and silk
hose and gaiters, and a jacket with a flowing lace collar.

He regarded Hubert de Burgh with dull eyes which slowly began to
brighten. "Oh, it's you?" he cried after a pause. And then, "If you
could know how glad I am to see you!" And then, falteringly,
"Hubert--when you were a boy, were you ever kept hidden away as if you
meant ill to every one?"

And now he approached Hubert with a wistful air, and leaned against his
knee, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

But the chamberlain flinched beneath the weight of that light hand.
"There, there, Arthur!--take your hand away!" he said. And then, with
an attempt to be severe, "We'll have none of that, you know!"

Prince Arthur pondered, and then his eyes brightened. "I'm glad you
said that, Hubert," he declared. "If you feel that way toward me you
can tell me why--why all the others feel so. Every face I look into
seems either to pity or to hate me; and I'd so like people to be
friendly. Tell me, why must I take my hand away?"

The stern man plucked at his beard thoughtfully; and suddenly he turned
to the boy with a quality of stern candor which was a true prince's
due. "Listen, boy," he said. "It is the fate of kings to tremble at
many things: at the too great misery of thei