"Lo, the poor thing's madness is up with the time! It hath changed with
the great change that is come to the realm, and now in fancy is he KING!
Good lack, I must humour the conceit, too--there is no other way--faith,
he would order me to the Tower, else!"

And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table, took his
stand behind the King, and proceeded to wait upon him in the courtliest
way he was capable of.

While the King ate, the rigour of his royal dignity relaxed a little, and
with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. He said--"I think
thou callest thyself Miles Hendon, if I heard thee aright?"

"Yes, Sire," Miles replied; then observed to himself, "If I MUST humour
the poor lad's madness, I must 'Sire' him, I must 'Majesty' him, I must
not go by halves, I must stick at nothing that belongeth to the part I
play, else shall I play it ill and work evil to this charitable and
kindly cause."

The King warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, and said--"I would
know thee--tell me thy story. Thou hast a gallant way with thee, and a
noble--art nobly born?"

"We are of the tail of the nobility, good your Majesty. My father is a
baronet--one of the smaller lords by knight service {2}--Sir Richard
Hendon of Hendon Hall, by Monk's Holm in Kent."

"The name has escaped my memory. Go on--tell me thy story."

"'Tis not much, your Majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a short