But though seven long years had rolled away, Princess Jean had not forgotten Hynde Horn. Forgotten! Nay, day and night he was in her thought, in her heart. Yet was she sure that he would never now return.
It is true that in her despair she had yielded to her father's wishes; she had promised to wed Prince Fykenyld that very day. It was no wonder then that she sat on the throne sad at heart, pale of face.
Hynde Horn had knocked at the palace gate. It was no humble beggar's rap he gave, but a bold, impatient knock. King Horn had forgotten for the moment that he was only a beggar man.
The palace gate was flung wide. One of the noble guests had arrived, thought the porter. But when he saw a beggar standing before him, he wellnigh slammed the gate in the poor man's face.
Before he could do this Hynde Horn spoke, and his voice made the porter pause to listen, so sweet, so soft it was. It brought back to the rough old man the thought of Hynde Horn, for he had been used to speak in just such a tone.
The porter cleared his voice, wiped his eyes, for he, as all others who dwelt in the palace, had loved Hynde Horn, and grieved sorely for his absence.
For the sake of Hynde Horn it was that the porter listened to the beggar man's request.
'I have come to ask for alms, yet will I take them from none save from the hand of the Princess Jean herself, and from across the sea,' said the beggar man.
Still hearing the sound of the lost prince's voice, the porter bade the beggar wait, and stealing up into the hall unnoticed, he passed through the crowd of gay lords and ladies until he reached the princess.