What answer the princess might have made to this somewhat vain-glorious speech, we know not, but at this instant a party appeared on the scene in the guise of a knight, somewhat advanced in years, and as he approached hastily, he said:
“You must forgive me, my dear lady, if I urge you to take horse. The abbess knows your journey will have consumed but a day, and that you should have reached Wilton last night, and I shall have a hard task to excuse your protracted stay without betraying you. The men-at-arms are drawn up but a little space off, and, though they are all my servitors, it is best that they should know nothing to reveal. The prince here will understand me.”
“Assuredly, Sir John; and if he they call Beauclerk ever attains power, he will not forget those who befriended the landless prince. I will bring up Maud in an instant.”
The knight bowed, and retreated into the wood. A few parting words were exchanged betwixt the lovers, a few tears were shed by Maud, which were kissed off by the prince, and then, with one long, last embrace, they tore themselves asunder, and in a few minutes the princess had rejoined her train. Prince Henry stood looking vacantly in the direction where she had disappeared, until the sound of her beast’s tramp had died in the distance, when, slowly mounting his steed, who had awaited its master in a neighboring copse, he entered one of the forest roads, and proceeded leisurely onwards. He had journeyed thus about half an hour when he heard a hunting horn sound close by him, and directly he beheld approaching the gallant array of his brother.
“Ha! my good cousin Deer’s-foot, well met,” said the Earl of Surrey; “we have been looking for you. I told your friend here, who swore you were yet abed, that we should meet you afoot in the forest before the day was over—and thereon we have laid a wager. I trow we have neither won. It would be but fair to give you the bet, would it not?” said the gay Earl with a half concealed sneer, as he glanced from his own rich suit to the prince’s garb.
“You may both want yet, fair sirs, all you can spare,” answered the prince; “but let us see who will be first in at the death. You were always apt at that, my lord,” and he turned to the royal treasurer.
“Ay, and shall maintain my reputation, your highness,” said Breteuil, recollecting he addressed almost a beggar; “and, if I may judge by your steed, even against yourself.”
“We shall see—we shall see,” said the prince. “I lay you a new steed, my lord, I distance you to-day.”
“Done,” said the treasurer, laughing; “you have thrown away your horse. But here is the king, and lo!” and as he spoke the horn announced that a stag had been roused, “the game is afoot.”
At the word the eager sportsmen gave spur to their steeds, and the cavalcade swept gaily off in the chase.