Glad to escape, Hugh quickly made his exit, having come off far more
easily than at one time he feared. He reappeared in a short time, but
with empty hands.

"Well, where's the cord?" angrily enquired his master.

"An it please you, sir," he replied, with a sly wink at Edmund, "I
cannot find one strong enough to bear him."

"You can't hang him yet; let him have a proper trial. There has been
naught proved against him as yet," eagerly interrupted the baron, upon
whom the lesson of his own trouble had not been lost.

"He shall have a proper trial, my lord," exclaimed the landlord, "and
to-morrow we shall have him in the pillory. The proprietor of the Cock
Tavern is no hangman; I only wanted to bind him. Fetch me a piece of
cord, you knave, and be quick, or I'll lay it about your back when it
does come. Nay, you don't do that," he added, turning to Edmund, who
was struggling to free himself; "not yet, my fine fellow. I have not
done with thee yet," and by Sir Nicholas' timely help the prisoner was
laid upon his back and then firmly secured with the cords which the
ostler brought up a minute later.

Leaving Edmund to bemoan his fate to himself, the party drew nigh
to the window to witness the play afresh. They were just in time to
witness the advent of another "silent scene."

"Let me explain it to you," proffered the once more equable Boniface.
"I know all about these things, they oft-times visit us here. I know
every bit of this play as well as I know my creed."

"Happen you may not be very familiar with the creed, though," laughed
Sir Thomas.

"Don't I know it, though?" he replied. "Sir Nicholas, if I might be
pardoned for mentioning it, knows full well that every citizen of
London knows the creed by heart."

"Yes," assented the Lord Keeper, "everyone is compelled to attend some
church at least once a Sabbath."

"Or else they are smartly fined for staying away, as I was," ruefully
added the landlord. "Yes, my lords, I know my creed full well."

"Well, what's that fellow drinking now?" asked Sir George.

"He's fainting, poor fellow," replied Sir Thomas.

"Fainting," laughed the host, "fainting! not a bit of it. He is
drinking some of my best Malmesey wine, that's what he is doing; only
you must think he is taking poison. He is Gorboduc, the king."

"Well?"

"Oh, I forgot, you know naught of him as yet. Well, he, a king of
Britain years ago, has just told everybody that the kingdom is to
be divided bet