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grey; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame,
were grey also. His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly
frayed in places. One of his swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was
wrapped in bandages. There was silence now; and there was no head there
but was bent in reverence, except this man's. This stern-countenanced
invalid was the dread Henry VIII. He said--and his face grew gentle as
he began to speak--
"
How now, my lord Edward, my prince? Hast been minded to cozen me, the
good King thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a
sorry jest?"
Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to
the beginning of this speech; but when the words 'me, the good King' fell
upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his
knees as if a shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he
exclaimed--
"
Thou the KING? Then am I undone indeed!"
This speech seemed to stun the King. His eyes wandered from face to face
aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him. Then he
said in a tone of deep disappointment--
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