long ago by the Conqueror, he studied. Guards watched over him,
but his spirit was far away voyaging in the realms of poetry.
And in these thought journeys, sitting at his little window, with
a big book upon his knee, he visited the famous places which the
Gesta Romanorum unrolled before him. . . . The 'noble senator'
Boece taught him resignation. William de Lorris took him by the
hand and led him to the garden of the Rose. The illustrious
Chaucer invited him to follow the gay troop of pilgrims along the
highroad to Canterbury. The grave Gower, announcing in advance a
sermon of several hours, begged him to be seated, and to the
murmur of his wise talk, his head leaning on the window frame,
the child slept peacefully.

"Thus passed the years, and the chief change that they brought
was a change of prison. After the Tower it was the Castle of
Nottingham, another citadel of the Norman time, then Evesham,
then again the Tower when Henry V came to the throne; and at
last, and this was by contrast almost liberty, the Castle of
Windsor."*

*J. J. Jusserand, Le Roman d'un Roi d'Ecosse
And thus for eighteen years the Prince lived a life half-real,
half-dream. The gray days followed each other without change,
without adventure. But the brilliant throng of kings and queens,
of knights and ladies, of pilgrims and lovers, and all the make-
believe people of storyland stood out all the brighter for the
grayness of the background. And perhaps to the Prince in his
quiet tower the storied people were more real than the living,
who only now and again came to visit him. For the storied people
were with him always, while the living came and went again and