The King gazed at the Hermit like one in a dream. "How dare you say
such things to me, your King?" he said at last.

"You are no king of mine, thank God!" said the Hermit. "I am an exile.
I am of no land. This forest is my domain, my animal kingdom. Depart,
I beg, without more bloodshed. O King, already in time past the hunt
has cost you dear. Will you not take heed lest the Lord punish you
further for your sins?"

The King turned pale. "This is certainly witchcraft!" he muttered.
"What know you of the past?" he cried, almost as if against his will.

"I know much," said the Hermit calmly. "I know that hunting cost the
life of your eldest son. Will you not heed that warning, lest more ill
befall?"

There was a stir among the nobles, and John saw the young man with whom
he had wrestled a short time before spur his horse forward to the
King's side. His face was black and angry.

"Sire--father," he said. "Will you not end this parley and slay them
all? I would have a hand in it for the sake of that young cub there!"
and he shook his fist toward John. But more he did not say; perhaps he
was ashamed to tell how the wood-boy had got the best of him.

"Ay," said the Hermit, pointing a finger at him and shaking it sadly.
"The second son follows in the footsteps of his brother, and like his
father is cruel, bloodthirsty, revengeful. Beware, O King! Beware,
King's son! For happiness was never yet distilled from innocent blood,
nor life from death."