The old man glided away, stooping, stealthy, cat-like, and brought the low bench. He seated himself upon it, half his body in the dim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow; and so, with his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept his patient vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly whetted his knife, and mumbled and chuckled; and in aspect and attitude he resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating over some hapless insect that lay bound and helpless in his web.
After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing,—yet not seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction,—observed, on a sudden, that the boy’s eyes were open! wide open and staring!—staring up in frozen horror at the knife. The smile of a gratified devil crept over the old man’s face, and he said, without changing his attitude or his occupation—
“Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed?”
The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds, and at the same time forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit chose to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question.
“Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying!”
A shudder shook the boy’s frame, and his face blenched. Then he struggled again to free himself—turning and twisting himself this way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately—but uselessly—to burst his fetters; and all the while the old ogre smiled down upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife; mumbling, from time to time, “The moments are precious, they are few and precious—pray the prayer for the dying!”
The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles, panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other, down his face; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effect upon the savage old man.
The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and spoke up sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his voice—
“I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is already gone. It seems but a moment—only a moment; would it had endured a year! Seed of the Church’s spoiler, close thy perishing eyes, an’ thou fearest to look upon—”
The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sank upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the moaning boy.
Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin—the knife dropped from the hermit’s hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently the voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for help; then a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. Immediately came a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by—
“Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!”
Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the King’s ears; for it was Miles Hendon’s voice!

The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway the King heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the ‘chapel’:—
“Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy—my boy?”

“What boy, friend?”
“What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions!—I am not in the humour for it. Near to this place I caught the scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made them confess; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked him to your door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter no more; for look you, holy sir, an’ thou produce him not—Where is the boy?”

“O good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that tarried here the night. If such as you take an interest in such as he, know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back anon.”
“How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time—cannot I overtake him? How soon will he be back?”

“Thou need’st not stir; he will return quickly.”
“So be it, then. I will try to wait. But stop!—you sent him of an errand?—you! Verily this is a lie—he would not go. He would pull thy old beard, an’ thou didst offer him such an insolence. Thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! He would not go for thee, nor for any man.”
“For any man—no; haply not. But I am not a man.”
“What! Now o’ God’s name what art thou, then?”
“It is a secret—mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel!”
There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon—not altogether unprofane—followed by—
“This doth well and truly for his complaisance! Right well I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial service of any mortal; but, lord, even a king must obey when an archangel gives the word o’ command! Let me—‘sh! What noise was that?”
All this while the little King had been yonder, alternately quaking with terror and trembling with hope; and all the while, too, he had thrown all the strength he could into his anguished moanings, constantly expecting them to reach Hendon’s ear, but always realising, with bitterness, that they failed, or at least made no impression. So this last remark of his servant came as comes a reviving breath from fresh fields to the dying; and he exerted himself once more, and with all his energy, just as the hermit was saying—
“Noise? I heard only the wind.”
“Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have been hearing it faintly all the—there it is again! It is not the wind! What an odd sound! Come, we will hunt it out!”
Now the King’s joy was nearly inable. His tired lungs did their utmost—and hopefully, too—but the sealed jaws and the muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. Then the poor fellow’s heart sank, to hear the hermit say—
“Ah, it came from without—I think from the copse yonder. Come, I will lead the way.”
The King heard the two out, talking; heard their footsteps die quickly away—then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful silence.
It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approaching again—and this time he heard an added sound,—the trampling of hoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say—
“I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has lost his way in this thick wood. Which direction took he? Quick—point it out to me.”
“He—but wait; I will go with thee.”
“Good—good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks. Marry I do not think there’s not another archangel with so right a heart as thine. Wilt ride? Wilt take the wee donkey that’s for my boy, or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of a mule that I have provided for myself?—and had been cheated in too, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month’s usury on a brass farthing let to a tinker out of work.”
“No—ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on mine own feet, and will walk.”
“Then prithee mind the little beast for me while I take my life in my hands and make what success I may toward mounting the big one.”
Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which must have broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from that moment.
With unutterable misery the fettered little King heard the voices and footsteps fade away and die out. All hope forsook him, now, for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart. “My only friend is deceived and got rid of,” he said; “the hermit will return and—” He finished with a gasp; and at once fell to struggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off the smothering sheepskin.
And now he heard the door open! The sound chilled him to the marrow—already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horror made him close his eyes; horror made him open them again—and before him stood John Canty and Hugo!

Hendon, el salvador

El anciano se apart, agachado, cautelosamente, como un gato, y acerc el banco. Se sent en l, con medio cuerpo expuesto a la dbil y vacilante luz, y el otro medio en las sombras; y as, con la mirada clavada en el dormido nio, prosigui su paciente vela, sin cuidarse del paso del tiempo y sin cesar de afilar suavemente el cuchillo, en tanto que no paraba de refunfuar y hacer gestos. Por su aspecto y su actitud no pareca sino una araa horrible y misteriosa, que se ensaara sobre un desdichado insecto preso en su tela e indefenso.
Despus de largo tiempo, el viejo, que segua an mirando, aunque sin ver, pues su mente haba cado en una abstraccin soolienta, observ de pronta que los ojos del nio estaban abiertos, y se fijaban con helado terror en el cuchillo. Una sonrisa de diablo satisfecho asom al rostro del ermitao, que dijo sin cambiar de actitud ni de ocupacin:
–Hijo de Enrique VIII, has, rezado?
El nio luch impotente contra sus ligaduras y al propio tiempo profiri por entre las cerradas mandbulas un sonido ahogado, que el ermitao quiso interpretar, como contestacin afirmativa a su pregunta.
–Entonces reza otra vez; reza la oracin de los moribundos.
Se estremeci el cuerpo de Eduardo, cuya faz palideci. Intent otra vez libertarse, retorcindose a un lado y a otro y tirando con frenes, desesperadamente, pero en vano, para romper sus ligaduras; y entre tanto el viejo ogro no dejaba de sonrerle moviendo la cabeza y afilando plcidamente el cuchillo. De cuando en cuando refunfuaba.
–Los momentos son preciosos; son pocos y preciosos. Reza la oracin de los moribundos.
Lanz el nio un gemido de desesperacin, y jadeante ces en sus forcejeos; luego asomaron a sus ojos las lgrimas, que cayeron una tras otra por su rostro. Pero esta lastimera escena no logr aplacar al feroz anciano.
Se acercaba ya el alba. Al darse cuenta el ermitao habl bruscamente, con un aire de temor nervioso en la voz:
–No debo permitir ms tiempo este xtasis. La noche ha pasado ya. No tengo ms que un momento, slo un momento... Ojal hubiera durado un ao! Semilla del despojador de la Iglesia, cierra esos ojos que van a morir. Si temes levantar la vista...
Lo dems se perdi en palabras inarticuladas.
El viejo cay de rodillas, cuchillo en mano, y se inclin sobre el gemebundo nio.
Silencio. Se oy ruido de voces cerca de la choza y el cuchillo cay de las manos del ermitao, el cual arroj una piel de cordero sobre Eduardo y se levant tembloroso. Aumentaron los ruidos, y pronto las voces sonaron bruscas y colricas. Sobrevinieron luego golpes y gritos de socorro, y por fin el rumor de pasos rpidos que se retiraban. Inmediatamente se sinti una sucesin de golpes atronadores en la puerta de la choza, seguida de estas palabras:
–Hola! Abrid! Despertad, en nombre de todos los diablos!
Oh! Este fue el sonido ms grato que cuantas msicas sonaron jams en los odos del rey, porque era la voz de Miles Hendon.
El ermitao, rechinando los dientes con impotente rabia, sali vivamente del cuarto, cerrando la puerta tras s, y al instante oy el rey una conversacin parecida a sta:
–Mi homenaje y mi saludo, reverendo seor. Donde est el muchacho..., mi muchacho?
–Qu muchacho, amigo?
–Qu muchacho? Dejaos de mentiras, seor, ermitao, y no tratis de engaarme, que no estoy de humor para sufrirlo. Cerca de aqu he apresado a los bellacos que me lo robaron, y les he hecho confesar. Me han dicho que se haba escapado otra vez y que le haban seguido hasta la puerta de esta choza. Me ensearon sus mismas huellas. No os detengis ms, porque os aseguro que si no me lo entregis... Dnde est?
–Oh, mi buen seor! Acaso os, refers al andrajoso vagabundo que lleg aqu anoche? Ya que un hombre como vos se interesa por un arrapiezo como l, sabed que ha ido a hacer un mandado. No tardar en venir.
–Cunto tardar? Cunto tardar? No perdis el tiempo. No puedo alcanzarle? Cunto tardara en volver?
–No necesitis molestaros. Volver pronto.
–Sea, pues. Tratar de esperar. Pero..., un momento. Decs que ha ido a un mandado? Vos lo habis enviado? Ments; porque l no habra ido. Os habra tirado de esas viejas barbas si hubierais osado semejante insolencia. Has mentido, amigo, seguramente has mentido. No ira ni por ti ni por otro hombre alguno.
–Por otro hombre, no; por fortuna, no. Pero yo no soy un hombre.
–Qu? Entonces, en nombre de Dios, qu eres?
–Es un secreto... Cuidad de no revelarlo. Yo soy un arcngel.
Solt Miles Hendon un juramento tremendo, seguido de estas palabras:
–Eso explica muy bien su complacencia. Harto saba yo que no movera pie ni mano en servicio de ningn mortal; pero hasta un rey debe obedecer cuando un arcngel se lo manda. Silencio! Qu ruido es se?
Entretanto, el reyecito, en el otro aposento, no paraba de temblar tanto de terror como de esperanza, y pona en sus gemidos de angustia toda la fuerza que poda, esperando siempre que llegaran a odos de Hendon, y dndose cuenta con amargura de que no llegaban, o por lo menos de que no causaban efecto. As esta ltima observacin de Hendon lleg a sus odos como llegara a un moribundo un aliento vivificante desde una fresca campia. Hizo un nuevo esfuerzo con la mayor energa, en el mismo momento que el ermitao deca:
–Ruido? No he odo ms que el viento.
–El viento sera tal vez. Es indudable: era el viento. Yo lo he estado oyendo dbilmente mientras... Otra vez? No es el viento. Qu sonido tan raro. Vamos a ver qu es.
La alegra del rey era casi insoportable Sus fatigados pulmones hicieron un terrible esfuerzo con la mayor fe, pero las atadas quijadas y la piel de cordero que le ahogaba, consiguieron frustrarlo. El corazn del pobre nio dio un vuelco al or decir al ermitao:
Ah! Ha venido de fuera..., creo que de ese bosquecillo. Venid, que yo os guiar.
El rey oy que ambos salan hablando y que sus pisadas expiraban muy pronto, y se qued solo en un terrible silencio de mal agero. Le pareci un siglo el tiempo que pas hasta que se acercaron de nuevo los pasos y las voces, y esta vez oy adems otro ruido, al parecer el de los cascos de un caballo. Luego oy decir a Hendon:
–No espero ms, no espero ms. Se habr perdido en este espeso bosque. Qu direccin ha tomado? Pronto! Indicdmelo.
–Oh! Esperad; ir yo con vos.
–Bueno, bueno. La verdad es que eres mejor de lo que pareces. Pienso que no hay otro arcngel con tan buen corazn como el tuyo. Quieres montar? Puedes subir en el asno que traigo para el muchacho, o ceir con tus santas piernas los lomos de esta maldita mula que me he conseguido. Y en verdad que me habran engaado con ella, aunque me hubiera costado menos de un penique.
–No. Subos en vuestra mula y conducid el asno. Yo voy ms seguro andando.
–Entonces haz el favor de cuidar el animalillo mientras yo arriesgo la vida en mi intento de montar en el animal grande.
Sigui una confusin de coces, pateos y corbetas, acompaados de una atronadora mezcla de maldiciones y juramentos, y, finalmente, de una amarga invectiva a la mula, que debi de dejarla sin nimo; porque en aquel misma momento parecieron cesar las hostilidades.
Con inenarrable dolor oy el atado rey que las voces y los pasos se alejaban y moran. Por un momento abandon toda esperanza, y una desesperacin sombra invadi su corazn.
–Han engaado a mi nico amigo para librarse de l. Volver el ermitao y...
Termin dando una sacudida, y en seguida se puso a forcejear frenticamente con sus ligaduras, hasta lograr sacudirse la piel de cordero que le asfixiaba.
De pronto oy abrirse la puerta y esto le hel hasta los huesos, pues ya le pareca sentir el cuchillo en su garganta. El horror le hizo cerrar, los ojos; el horror le hizo abrirlos de nuevo... y vio delante a John Canty y a Hugo.
Habra exclamado "Gracias a Dios!"; si hubiera tenido libres las quijadas.
Uno o dos minutos ms tarde sus estaban en libertad, y sus capturadores, asindolo cada cual de un brazo, se lo llevaron a toda prisa a travs del bosque.