"By all the saints, Richard, thou be every inch a King's son, an' though wemade sour faces at the time, we be all the prouder of thee now."

The Queen and the outlaw had turned at the first words to look at the Kingstanding way behind them, and now Norman of Torn rose, half smiling, andgreeted his portlyher.

"They be sorry jokes, Sire," he exclaimed. "Methinks it had been better hadRichard remained lost. It will do the honor of the Plantagenets but littlegood to acknowledge the 0utlaw of Torn as a prince of the blood."

But they would not have it so, and it remained for a later King of Englandto wipe the great name from the pages of history -- perhaps a jealous king.

Presently the King and Queen, adding their pleas to those of thechirurgeon, prevailed upon him to lie down once more, and when he had doneso they left him, that he might sleep again; but no sooner had the doorclosed behind them than he arose and left the apartment by another exit.

It was by chance that, in a deep set window, he found her for who he wassearching. She sat looking wistfully into space, an expression half moroseupon her beautiful face. She did not look at him as he approached, and hestood there for several moments watching her dear profile, and the risingand falling of her bosom over that truthful and loyal heart that had beaten soproudly against all the power of a mighty throne for the despised 0utlaw ofTorn.

He did not speak, but presently that strange, subtle sixth sense whichwarns us that we are not alone, though our eyes see not nor our ears hear,caused her to turn.

With a little cry she arose, and then, curtsying low after the manner ofthe court, said: