A heavy drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades. The King said—
“Remove these rags.”—meaning his clothing.
Hendon disapparelled the boy without dissent or remark, tucked him up in bed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself, ruefully, “He hath taken my bed again, as before—marry, what shall I do?” The little King observed his perplexity, and dissipated it with a word. He said, sleepily—
“Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it.” In a moment more he was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber.
“Dear heart, he should have been born a king!” muttered Hendon, iringly; “he playeth the part to a marvel.”
Then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, saying contentedly—
“I have lodged worse for seven years; ‘twould be but ill gratitude to Him above to find fault with this.”
He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared. Toward noon he rose, uncovered his unconscious ward—a section at a time—and took his measure with a string. The King awoke, just as he had completed his work, complained of the cold, and asked what he was doing.
“‘Tis done, now, my liege,” said Hendon; “I have a bit of business outside, but will presently return; sleep thou again—thou needest it. There—let me cover thy head also—thou’lt be warm the sooner.”
The King was back in dreamland before this speech was ended. Miles slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the course of thirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand suit of boy’s clothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of wear; but tidy, and suited to the season of the year. He seated himself, and began to overhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself—
“A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not the long purse one must be content with what a short one may do—
“‘There was a woman in our town,
In our town did dwell—’
“He stirred, methinks—I must sing in a less thunderous key; ‘tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him, and he so wearied out, poor chap . . . This garment—‘tis well enough—a stitch here and another one there will set it aright. This other is better, albeit a stitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise . . . These be very good and sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry—an odd new thing to him, belike, since he has doubtless been used to foot it bare, winters and summers the same . . . Would thread were bread, seeing one getteth a year’s sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needle without cost, for mere love. Now shall I have the demon’s own time to thread it!”
And so he had. He did as men have always done, and probably always will do, to the end of time—held the needle still, and tried to thrust the thread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman’s way. Time and time again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one side of the needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes doubling up against the shaft; but he was patient, having been through these experiences before, when he was soldiering. He succeeded at last, and took up the garment that had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work.

“The inn is paid—the breakfast that is to come, included—and there is wherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our little costs for the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us at Hendon Hall—
“‘She loved her hus—’
“Body o’ me! I have driven the needle under my nail! . . . It matters little—‘tis not a novelty—yet ‘tis not a convenience, neither. . . . We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it! Thy troubles will vanish there, and likewise thy sad distemper—
“‘She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man—’
“These be noble large stitches!”—holding the garment up and viewing it iringly—“they have a grandeur and a majesty that do cause these small stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily paltry and plebeian—
“‘She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man he loved she,—’
“Marry, ‘tis done—a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought with expedition. Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed him, and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard Inn in Southwark and—be pleased to rise, my liege!—he answereth not—what ho, my liege!—of a truth must I profane his sacred person with a touch, sith his slumber is deaf to speech. What!”
He threw back the covers—the boy was gone!
He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment; noticed for the first time that his ward’s ragged raiment was also missing; then he began to rage and storm and shout for the innkeeper. At that moment a servant entered with the breakfast.
“Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come!” roared the man of war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this latter could not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and surprise. "Where is the boy?”
In disted and trembling syllables the man gave the information desired.
“You were hardly gone from the place, your worship, when a youth came running and said it was your worship’s will that the boy come to you straight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side. I brought him hither; and when he woke the lad and gave his message, the lad did grumble some little for being disturbed ‘so early,’ as he called it, but straightway trussed on his rags and went with the youth, only saying it had been better manners that your worship came yourself, not sent a stranger—and so—”
“And so thou’rt a fool!—a fool and easily cozened—hang all thy breed! Yet mayhap no hurt is done. Possibly no harm is meant the boy. I will go fetch him. Make the table ready. Stay! the coverings of the bed were disposed as if one lay beneath them—happened that by accident?”
“I know not, good your worship. I saw the youth meddle with them—he that came for the boy.”
“Thousand deaths! ’Twas done to deceive me—‘tis plain ‘twas done to gain time. Hark ye! Was that youth alone?”
“All alone, your worship.”
“Art sure?”
“Sure, your worship.”
“Collect thy scattered wits—bethink thee—take time, man.”
After a moment’s thought, the servant said—
“When he came, none came with him; but now I me that as the two stepped into the throng of the Bridge, a ruffian-looking man plunged out from some near place; and just as he was ing them—”
“What then?—out with it!” thundered the impatient Hendon, interrupting.
“Just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them in, and I saw no more, being called by my master, who was in a rage because a t that the scrivener had ordered was forgot, though I take all the saints to witness that to blame me for that miscarriage were like holding the unborn babe to judgment for sins com—”
“Out of my sight, idiot! Thy prating drives me mad! Hold! Whither art flying? Canst not bide still an instant? Went they toward Southwark?”
“Even so, your worship—for, as I said before, as to that detestable t, the babe unborn is no whit more blameless than—”

“Art here yet! And prating still! Vanish, lest I throttle thee!” The servitor vanished. Hendon followed after him, ed him, and plunged down the stairs two steps at a stride, muttering, “‘Tis that scurvy villain that claimed he was his son.

I have lost thee, my poor little mad master—it is a bitter thought—and I had come to love thee so! No! by book and bell, not lost! Not lost, for I will ransack the land till I find thee again. Poor child, yonder is his breakfast—and mine, but I have no hunger now; so, let the rats have it—speed, speed! that is the word!” As he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes upon the Bridge he several times said to himself—clinging to the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one—

La desaparicin del prncipe

Pronto invadi a ambos camaradas una pesada somnolencia. Dijo el rey, refirindose a sus vestidos: Qutame estos andrajos.
Hendon desnud al nio sin disentir, ni proferir una palabra, lo arrop en el lecho y mir en tomo del aposento, dicindose, condolido:
"Me ha vuelto a quitar la cama como antes... Qu hago yo ahora?"
El reyecito observ su perplejidad y la disip con unas palabras, diciendo sooliento:
–T dormirs atravesado en la puerta y la guardars.
Y un momento despus se haban desvanecido todas sus desazones en un profundsimo sueo.
"Corazn sencillo; debera haber nacido –se dijo Hendon lleno de iracin–. Representa su papel a maravilla."
Y despus se tendi en el suelo al travs de la puerta, diciendo con contento:
–Peor lecho he tenido en estos siete aos. Ponerle reparos a esto sera una ingratitud para El de arriba.
Cay dormido cuando apuntaba el alba, y hacia el medioda se levant, destap con el mayor cuidado a su dormido pupilo y con un bramante le tom medidas. El rey despert en el momento de terminar Miles su obra; se quej de fro y le pregunt qu era lo que estaba haciendo.
–Hecho est ya, seor mo –contest Hendon–. Tengo quehacer fuera, pero no tardar en volver. Durmete otra vez, que lo has menester. Djame que te cubra tambin la cabeza. As entrars ms pronto en calor.
Antes de terminar Hendon estas palabras el rey estaba de nuevo en el pas de los sueos. Miles sali sin hacer ruido y volvi a entrar, tambin de puntillas, a los treinta minutos, con un traje de segunda mano, completo, de nio, de tela barata y mostrando seales de uso, pero limpio y apropiado a la estacin del ao. Se sent y empez a examinar su compra, dicindose entre dientes:
–Una escarcela mejor provista habra comprado cosa mejor, pero cuando ella est medio vaca, debe uno contentarse con lo que hay...
Viva en nuestra ciudad una mujer...
En nuestra ciudad ella moraba
"Parece que se ha movido... Tendr que cantar en clave no tan alta. No estara bien turbar su sueo con la jornada que le espera, pobre muchacho... Esta prenda est bastante bien ... Con una puntada aqu y otra all, quedar adecuada. Esta otra es mejor, si bien no le vendrn mal tampoco unas cuantas puntadas. Estos zapatos estn de muy buen uso, y con ellos tendr los piececitos secos y calientes. Son cosa nueva para l, pues sin duda est acostumbrado a ir descalzo, lo mismo en los veranos que en los inviernos... Ojal que el hilo fuera pan! Con cun poco dinero se compra lo necesario para un ao! Y adems, le dan a uno de balde una aguja tan brava y grande como sta solo por caridad. Ahora me va a costar un demonio enhebrarla."
Y as fue. Como han hecho siempre los hombres, y como harn probablemente hasta el final de los tiempos, Hendon mantuvo la aguja quieta y trat de pasar la hebra por su ojo, es decir, al revs de como lo hacen las mujeres. Una y otra vez el hilo err el blanco, pasando ora a un lado de la aguja ora al otro, y en ocasiones doblndose; pero era paciente, pues ms de una vez en su vida de campaa haba experimentado dificultades semejantes. Por fin enhebr la aguja, tom la prenda que le estaba esperando, se la puso sobre las rodillas y empez su trabajo.
–La posada est pagada, incluyendo el desayuno que ha de venir, y an me queda lo bastante para comprar un par de burros y sufragar nuestros dispendios menudos en los dos o tres das que han de mediar hasta que lleguemos a la abundancia que nos espera en Hendon Hall.
Que amaba a su ma...
–Caramba! Me he clavado la aguja en la ua... No importa. Esto no es novedad, pero no me hace gracia tampoco... All estaremos muy alegres, pequeo, no lo dudes; Tus trastornos desaparecern y tu destemplanza lo mismo.
Que amaba a su marido con pasin,
Mas otro hombre...
–stas s que son unas puntadas magnficas! –exclam levantando el vestido y contemplndolo con iracin–. Tienen una grandeza y una majestad, que a su lado esas pobres puntaditas del sastre son miserables y plebeyas.
Que amaba a su marido con pasin,
Mas otro hombre...
–Ea! Ya est. Es un trabajo de primera, y hecho con sobrada rapidez. Ahora voy a despertarlo, lo vestir, le echar agua, le dar de comer, nos iremos al mercado junto a la posada del Tabardo de Southwark, y... Dignaos levantaros, seor... No responde! Qu es esto? No tendr ms remedio que profanar su sagrado cuerpo tocndolo, puesto que su sueo es sordo a mis palabras. Qu!
Jal las mantas. El nio haba desaparecido.
El soldado mir un momento a su alrededor sin que su asombro pudiera expresarse en palabras. Por primera vez observ que tambin faltaban las andrajosas ropas de su pupilo, y entonces empez a echar juramentos y a llamar furioso al posadero.
–Habla, aborto de Satans, o es llegada tu ltima hora! –rugi el soldado, dando tan salvaje salto hacia el mozo, que ste perdi unos instantes el habla, de espanto y sorpresa–. Dnde est el muchacho?
Con entrecortadas y temblorosas palabras dio el criado la informacin que s le peda.
–Apenas habas salido de aqu, seor, cuando lleg un mozalbete corriendo y dijo que vuestra voluntad era que el muchacho fuera a reunirse con vos en el extremo del puente, por el lado de Southwark. Yo lo traje aqu, y cuando despert el nio y le di el recado, gru un poco, porque lo despertaban "tan temprano", como l dijo, pero al punto se puso sus harapos y se fue con el mozalbete, diciendo que mejor habra sido que vos hubirais venido en persona en vez de enviar a un extrao; y as... .
–Y as que eres un imbcii, un necio incapaz! Maldita sea toda tu casta! Pero acaso no haya en ello nada majo. Quiz no se proponen hacerle dao. Voy en su busca. Prepara la mesa. Esprate! Las ropas de la cama estaban puestas como si taparan a alguien. Ha sido casualidad?
–No lo s, seor. Yo he visto que el mozalbete andaba removindolas; quiero decir, el que ha venido por el nio.
–Truenos y centellas! Lo han hecho para engaarme, est claro que se proponan ganar tiempo. Escucha. Vena solo el mozalbete?
–Completamente solo, seor.
–Ests seguro?
–Segursimo.
–Pinsalo bien. Haz memoria. Tmalo con calma.
Despus de un momento de meditar, dijo el criado:
–Cuando lleg no vena nadie con l;. pero ahora recuerdo que al salir los dos y meterse entre la muchedumbre del puente, un hombre mal encarado ha salido de un sitio cercano, y cuando se unan a ellos...
–Y despus qu! Saca fuera lo que sabes! –estall la impaciencia de Hendon interrumpindole.
–En aquel momento se confundieron entre la gente y desaparecieron, y no vi mas porque me llam el amo, que estaba furioso porque se le haba olvidado la carne encargada por el escribano; aunque yo tomo a todos los santos por testigos de que el reirme por el olvido fuera como llevar a juicio un nio antes de nacer, por pecados come...
–Qutate de mi vista, idiota! Tus sandeces me vuelven loco! Espera! Adnde vas? No puedes aguardar un instante? Se fueron hacia Southwark?
–As es, seor. Porque, como he dicho antes respecto de esa maldita carne, el nio que no ha nacido no tiene ms culpa que...
–An ests aqu? Y charlando todava? Vete, si no quieres que te estrangule!
El servidor desapareci. Hendon sali tras l, pas por su lado y baj la escalera de dos en dos peldaos refunfuando:
–Ha sido ese maldito villano que pretenda ser su padre. Te he perdido, pobrecillo! Es un pensamiento muy amargo. Tanto como haba llegado ya a quererte! No! Por vida del infierno, no te he perdido! No te he perdido, porque registrar todo el pas hasta que vuelva a encontrarte. Pobre nio! All queda su desayuno... y el mo, pero ya no tengo hambre: as, que se lo coman los ratones. Aprisa, aprisa, eso es!
Mientras rpidamente se abra paso por entre la ruidosa muchedumbre que llenaba el puente, se dijo varias veces, aferrndose a esa idea como si fuera especialmente placentera:
–Ha gruido, pero se ha ido... Se ha ido, s, porque ha credo que se lo peda Miles Hendon. . . Pobre muchacho! No lo habra hecho por otro, lo s muy bien!