"Alack, I had believed the rumour disproportioned to the truth; but I

fear me 'tis not so." He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle

voice, "Come to thy father, child: thou art not well."

Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of England,

humble and trembling. The King took the frightened face between his

hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking

some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed the curly head

against his breast, and patted it tenderly. Presently he said--

Dost not know thy father, child? Break not mine old heart; say thou

know'st me. Thou DOST know me, dost thou not?"

"Yea: thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve!"

True, true--that is well--be comforted, tremble not so; there is none

here would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee. Thou art better

now; thy ill dream passeth--is't not so? Thou wilt not miscall thyself

again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?"

"I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth, most

dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a pauper born,

and 'tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here, albeit I was therein

nothing blameful. I am but young to die, and thou canst save me with one

The Prince and The Pauper