“I knew it,” cried the King, “and Hurst was right. And you have been deceiving us all here, lying bandaged in that bed, while he has been placing himself beyond our reach, bearing away that fateful gem?”
“Yes, Sire; but my word for it, his Majesty the King has never laid hands upon the jewel, and is not bearing it away.”
“Well!” exclaimed the King, with his eyes rolling and his cheeks puffed out; and then, loosening his fierce grip upon the boy’s shoulder, he staggered back to the nearest chair, dropped into it, and laughed.
The next minute the mirth died out of his half closed eyes, and a scowl appeared upon his brow, as he fiercely gazed in the eyes that did not for a moment blench. But the frown died out in a look of admiration, as he said sharply:
“You springald, to play a part like this, with the executioner’s axe hanging above your neck and waiting to fall. Why did you do this?”
“To save my master, Sire.”
“Hah! To the risk of your own life.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Speak out, boy—the naked truth. Are you not afraid?”
“Horribly, Sire,” replied the boy slowly. “The duty is harder than I thought.”