"The King!" The Hermit and John spoke the word together, staring wildly.

"Yes, the King," repeated the man. "I have killed my horse to get
here. He fell in the forest yonder, even as I spied the light from
your window. There is no time to be lost. We must go on foot to the
nearest town, where horses may be had. Hasten, old man, and bring your
herbs and balsams."

"But whither? And for what purpose?" asked the Hermit, still standing
with one trembling hand on the holy book.

"The King's son is wounded," cried the messenger. "Five days ago he
was hunting the deer, and an arrow, glancing falsely, pierced his
breast. He was grievously hurt. Even now he may be dying. Why do we
waste words? The physicians have done their best, but they have given
him up at last. The King raved; he was beyond reason. Suddenly, in
his madness he spoke of you, the wizard of this forest. He recalled
that day when you cursed him for the sake of your brute creatures. He
vowed it was all enchantment. 'Send for the wizard!' he cried. 'Let
him cure my son. He dare not refuse, for he claims to be a servant of
God.'"

The Hermit was trembling now with emotion. "It is the Lord's will!" he
said. "He was wounded while hunting an innocent beast. On the
strength and speed of another beast hung his chance for life. And now,
only with the aid of another can we reach him in time.--Nay, upon a
fourth we must rely to find our way out of the forest. Brutus only can
help us. But let us hasten. Come, my friend! Back to the city once
more." Calling to the dog, he began to make hurried preparations for
departure.