ave
from the hand of the Princess Jean herself, and from across the
sea,' said the beggar man.

Still hearing the sound of the lost prince's voice, the porter
bade the beggar wait, and stealing up into the hall unnoticed, he
passed through the crowd of gay lords and ladies until he reached
the princess.

'A beggar from across the sea begs alms, yet none will he have
save from the hand of the Princess Jean herself,' said the porter
boldly. Then--for he had known the princess from the time that
she was only a tiny little girl--then he added in a whisper: 'The
man hath a voice soft and sweet as that of our lost Prince Horn.'

Princess Jean heard, and not a moment did she pause.

She stepped down from the throne, took a cup of red wine in her
hand, and heeding not the astonished stare of lord and lady, she
hastened out to the palace gate.

Very beautiful she looked in her long white robe, her gold combs
glinting in her hair.

'Drink,' she said gently, as she stood before the beggar, 'drink,
and then haste to tell me what tidings thou dost bring from
across the sea.'

[Illustration: 'Drink,' she said gently, 'drink']

The beggar took the cup of wine and drank. As he handed back the
cup to the princess he dropped into it the diamond ring, which
had been dull and dim for many a long day now.

Princess Jean saw the ring. She knew it was the very one she had
given to Hynde Horn. Her heart bounded. Now at least she would
hear tidings of her long-lost love.

'Oh tell me, tell me quick,' she cried, 'where didst thou find
this ring? Was it on the sea or in a far-off country that thou
didst find it, or was it on the finger of a dead man? Tell me, oh
tell me quick!' cried the Princess Jean.

'Neither by sea nor by land did I find the ring,' answered the
beggar, 'nor on a dead man's hand. It was given to me by one who
loved me well, and I, I give it back to her on this her
wedding-day.' As Hynde Horn spoke he stood up, straight and tall,
and looked straight into the eyes of the Princess Jean.

Then, in a flash, she understood. In spite of the tattered coat,
she knew her own Hynde Horn.

Her pale cheeks glowed, her dim eyes shone.

'Hynde Horn!' she cried, 'my own Hynde Horn, I will never let
thee leave me again. I will throw away my golden combs, I will
put on my oldest gown, and I will come with thee, and together we
will beg for bread.'

King Horn smiled, and his voice was soft as he answered, 'No need
is there