free from malady."

"And with this simple-seeming draught thou wilt undertake to cure
a monarch?" said the Bishop of Tyre.

"I have cured a beggar, as you may behold," replied the sage.
"Are the Kings of Frangistan made of other clay than the meanest
of their subjects?"

"Let us have him presently to the King," said the Baron of
Gilsland. "He hath shown that he possesses the secret which may
restore his health. If he fails to exercise it, I will put
himself past the power of medicine."

As they were about to leave the hut, the sick man, raising his
voice as much as his weakness permitted, exclaimed, "Reverend
father, noble knight, and you, kind leech, if you would have me
sleep and recover, tell me in charity what is become of my dear
master?"

"He is upon a distant expedition, friend," replied the prelate--
"on an honourable embassy, which may detain him for some days."

"Nay," said the Baron of Gilsland, "why deceive the poor fellow?
--Friend, thy master has returned to the camp, and you will
presently see him."

The invalid held up, as if in thankfulness, his wasted hands to
Heaven, and resisting no longer the soporiferous operation of the
elixir, sunk down in a gentle sleep.