I looked at the woman as she said this, and I thought there was a furtive look in her eyes.
"And how did you find it out?" asked my father presently.
"Of that more anon," replied Katharine Harcomb. "Enough to say now that this is the secret I promised to tell you, a secret which should give you the power to make your own terms with the king. All now depends on young Roland here."
"On me!" I cried, speaking for the first time, although, as may be imagined, I listened eagerly to every word which had been spoken.
"Ay, on you," replied the woman, "for that marriage contract is in hiding. It is hidden in a black box,[1] and may be obtained only with difficulty. The question is, Master Roland, will you undertake the work of bringing it hither?"
"How old is the king's son?" I cried, for her story had excited my imagination and appealed to that love for adventure which for a long time had been struggling for expression.
"How old?" repeated the woman; "he is a lad of about eleven years. At present he is with the dowager queen."
"And do you mean that he is the next heir to the English throne?" I cried.
"Ay, that he is," replied the woman; "and the man who can find the marriage contract can go far to be one of the masters of England."
"And if it be not brought to light?" I cried, "then if Charles has no other son, the Duke of York will become king."