two Princes. There were some dozen others present, mostly
priests and noblemen of high quality who clustered in a group at a
little distance. Myles knew most of them at a glance having seen them
come and go at Scotland Yard. But among them all, he singled out only
one--the Earl of Alban. He had not seen that face since he was a little
child eight years old, but now that he beheld it again, it fitted
instantly and vividly into the remembrance of the time of that terrible
scene at Falworth Castle, when he had beheld the then Lord Brookhurst
standing above the dead body of Sir John Dale, with the bloody mace
clinched in his hand. There were the same heavy black brows, sinister
and gloomy, the same hooked nose, the same swarthy cheeks. He even
remembered the deep dent in the forehead, where the brows met in
perpetual frown. So it was that upon that face his looks centred and
rested.

The Earl of Alban had just been speaking to some Lord who stood beside
him, and a half-smile still hung about the corners of his lips. At
first, as he looked up at the entrance of the newcomers, there was no
other expression; then suddenly came a flash of recognition, a look of
wide-eyed amazement; then the blood left the cheeks and the lips, and
the face grew very pale. No doubt he saw at a flash that some great
danger overhung him in this sudden coming of his old enemy, for he was
as keen and as astute a politician as he was a famous warrior. At least
he knew that the eyes of most of those present were fixed keenly and
searchingly upon him. After the first start of recognition, his left
hand, hanging at his side, gradually closed around the scabbard of his
sword, clutching it in a vice-like grip.

Meantime the Earl of Mackworth had led the blind Lord to the King, where
both kneeled.

"Why, how now, my Lord?" said the King. "Methought it was our young
Paladin whom we knighted at Devlen that was to be presented, and here
thou bringest this old man. A blind man, ha! What is the meaning of
this?"

"Majesty," said the Earl, "I have taken this chance to bring to thy
merciful consideration one who hath most wofully and unjustly suffered
from thine anger. Yonder stands the young knight of whom we spake; this
is his father, Gilbert Reginald, whilom Lord Falworth, who craves mercy
and justice at thy hands."

"Falworth," said the King, placing his hand to his head. "The name is
not strange to mine ears, but I cannot place it. My head hath troubled