Chapter XXIX. To London.

When Hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he was released

and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. His sword was

restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. He mounted and rode

off, followed by the King, the crowd opening with quiet respectfulness to

let them pass, and then dispersing when they were gone.

Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. There were questions of high import

to be answered. What should he do? Whither should he go? Powerful help

must be found somewhere, or he must relinquish his inheritance and

remain under the imputation of being an impostor besides. Where could he

hope to find this powerful help? Where, indeed! It was a knotty question.

By-and-by a thought occurred to him which pointed to a possibility--the

slenderest of slender possibilities, certainly, but still worth

considering, for lack of any other that promised anything at all. He

remembered what old Andrews had said about the young King's goodness

and his generous championship of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not

go and try to get speech of him and beg for justice? Ah, yes, but could so

fantastic a pauper get admission to the august presence of a monarch?

Never mind--let that matter take care of itself; it was a bridge that

would not need to be crossed till he should come to it. He was an old

campaigner, and used to inventing shifts and expedients: no doubt he

would be able to find a way. Yes, he would strike for the capital.

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The Prince and The Pauper