like your true King; now where got he that trick? See him scribble and

scratch away contentedly at his meaningless pot-hooks, fancying them to

be Latin and Greek--and except my wit shall serve me with a lucky device

for diverting him from his purpose, I shall be forced to pretend to post

away to-morrow on this wild errand he hath invented for me."

The next moment Sir Miles's thoughts had gone back to the recent episode.

So absorbed was he in his musings, that when the King presently handed

him the paper which he had been writing, he received it and pocketed it

without being conscious of the act. "How marvellous strange she acted,"

he muttered. "I think she knew me--and I think she did NOT know me.

These opinions do conflict, I perceive it plainly; I cannot reconcile

them, neither can I, by argument, dismiss either of the two, or even

persuade one to outweigh the other. The matter standeth simply thus:

she MUST have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how could it be

otherwise? Yet she SAID she knew me not, and that is proof perfect, for

she cannot lie. But stop--I think I begin to see. Peradventure he hath

influenced her, commanded her, compelled her to lie. That is the

solution. The riddle is unriddled. She seemed dead with fear--yes, she

was under his compulsion. I will seek her; I will find her; now that he

is away, she will speak her true mind. She will remember the old times

when we were little playfellows together, and this will soften her heart,

and she will no more betray me, but will confess me. There is no

treacherous blood in her--no, she was always honest and true. She has

249

The Prince and The Pauper