As soon as Hendon and the King were out of sight of the constable, his Majesty was instructed to hurry to a certain place outside the town, and wait there, whilst Hendon should go to the inn and settle his . Half an hour later the two friends were blithely jogging eastward on Hendon’s sorry steeds. The King was warm and comfortable, now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the second-hand suit which Hendon had bought on London Bridge.
Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; he judged that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal measures of sleep would be bad for his crazed mind; whilst rest, regularity, and moderate exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure; he longed to see the stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions driven out of the tormented little head; therefore he resolved to move by easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished, instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience and hurrying along night and day.

When he and the King had journeyed about ten miles, they reached a considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a good inn. The former relations were resumed; Hendon stood behind the King’s chair, while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket.
The next day, and the day after, they jogged lazily along talking over the adventures they had met since their separation, and mightily enjoying each other’s narratives. Hendon detailed all his wide wanderings in search of the King, and described how the archangel had led him a fool’s journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the hut, finally, when he found he could not get rid of him. Then—he said—the old man went into the bedchamber and came staggering back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that the boy had returned and laid down in there to rest, but it was not so. Hendon had waited at the hut all day; hope of the King’s return died out, then, and he departed upon the quest again.
“And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your highness came not back,” said Hendon; “I saw it in his face.”
“Marry I will never doubt that!” said the King—and then told his own story; after which, Hendon was sorry he had not destroyed the archangel.
During the last day of the trip, Hendon’s spirits were soaring. His tongue ran constantly. He talked about his old father, and his brother Arthur, and told of many things which illustrated their high and generous characters; he went into loving frenzies over his Edith, and was so glad-hearted that he was even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about Hugh. He dwelt a deal on the coming meeting at Hendon Hall; what a surprise it would be to everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and delight there would be.
It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the road led through broad pasture lands whose receding expanses, marked with gentle elevations and depressions, suggested the swelling and subsiding undulations of the sea. In the afternoon the returning prodigal made constant deflections from his course to see if by ascending some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch a glimpse of his home. At last he was successful, and cried out excitedly—
“There is the village, my Prince, and there is the Hall close by! You may see the towers from here; and that wood there—that is my father’s park. Ah, now thou’lt know what state and grandeur be! A house with seventy rooms—think of that!—and seven and twenty servants! A brave lodging for such as we, is it not so? Come, let us speed—my impatience will not brook further delay.”
All possible hurry was made; still, it was after three o’clock before the village was reached. The travellers scampered through it, Hendon’s tongue going all the time. "Here is the church—covered with the same ivy—none gone, none added.” "Yonder is the inn, the old Red Lion,—and yonder is the market-place.” "Here is the Maypole, and here the pump—nothing is altered; nothing but the people, at any rate; ten years make a change in people; some of these I seem to know, but none know me.” So his chat ran on. The end of the village was soon reached; then the travellers struck into a crooked, narrow road, walled in with tall hedges, and hurried briskly along it for half a mile, then ed into a vast flower garden through an imposing gateway, whose huge stone pillars bore sculptured armorial devices. A noble mansion was before them.
“Welcome to Hendon Hall, my King!” exclaimed Miles. "Ah, ‘tis a great day! My father and my brother, and the Lady Edith will be so mad with joy that they will have eyes and tongue for none but me in the first transports of the meeting, and so thou’lt seem but coldly welcomed—but mind it not; ‘twill soon seem otherwise; for when I say thou art my ward, and tell them how costly is my love for thee, thou’lt see them take thee to their breasts for Miles Hendon’s sake, and make their house and hearts thy home for ever after!”
The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before the great door, helped the King down, then took him by the hand and rushed within. A few steps brought him to a spacious apartment; he entered, seated the King with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man who sat at a writing-table in front of a generous fire of logs.
“Embrace me, Hugh,” he cried, “and say thou’rt glad I am come again! and call our father, for home is not home till I shall touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!”
But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary surprise, and bent a grave stare upon the intruder—a stare which indicated somewhat of offended dignity, at first, then changed, in response to some inward thought or purpose, to an expression of marvelling curiosity, mixed with a real or assumed comion. Presently he said, in a mild voice—
“Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou hast suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world’s hands; thy looks and dress betoken it. Whom dost thou take me to be?”
“Take thee? Prithee for whom else than whom thou art? I take thee to be Hugh Hendon,” said Miles, sharply.
The other continued, in the same soft tone—
“And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?”
“Imagination hath nought to do with it! Dost thou pretend thou knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hendon?”
An expression of pleased surprise flitted across Hugh’s face, and he exclaimed—
“What! thou art not jesting? can the dead come to life? God be praised if it be so! Our poor lost boy restored to our arms after all these cruel years! Ah, it seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true—I charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with me! Quick—come to the light—let me scan thee well!”
He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began to devour him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this way and that, and stepping briskly around him and about him to prove him from all points of view; whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying—
“Go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou’lt find nor limb nor feature that cannot bide the test. Scour and scan me to thy content, my good old Hugh—I am indeed thy old Miles, thy same old Miles, thy lost brother, is’t not so? Ah, ‘tis a great day—I said ‘twas a great day! Give me thy hand, give me thy cheek—lord, I am like to die of very joy!”
He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but Hugh put up his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his breast, saying with emotion—

“Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous disappointment!”
Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he found his tongue, and cried out—
“What disappointment? Am I not thy brother?”
Hugh shook his head sadly, and said—
“I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear me the letter spoke but too truly.”
“What letter?”
“One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. It said my brother died in battle.”
“It was a lie! Call thy father—he will know me.”
“One may not call the dead.”
“Dead"My father dead!—oh, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered now. Prithee let me see my brother Arthur—he will know me; he will know me and console me.”
“He, also, is dead.”
“God be merciful to me, a stricken man! Gone,—both gone—the worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me! Ah! I crave your mercy!—do not say the Lady Edith—”
“Is dead? No, she lives.”
“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again! Speed thee, brother—let her come to me! An’ she say I am not myself—but she will not; no, no, she will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring her—bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.”
“All are gone but five—Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, and Margaret.”
So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing a while, then began to walk the floor, muttering—

“The five arch-villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal and honest—‘tis an odd thing.”
He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he had forgotten the King entirely. By-and-by his Majesty said gravely, and with a touch of genuine comion, though the words themselves were capable of being interpreted ironically—

“Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. Thou hast company.”
“Ah, my King,” cried Hendon, colouring slightly, “do not thou condemn me—wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor—she will say it; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an impostor? Why, I know this old hall, these pictures of my ancestors, and all these things that are , as a child knoweth its own nursery. Here was I born and bred, my lord; I speak the truth; I would not deceive thee; and should none else believe, I pray thee do not thou doubt me—I could not bear it.”
“I do not doubt thee,” said the King, with a childlike simplicity and faith.
“I thank thee out of my heart!” exclaimed Hendon with a fervency which showed that he was touched. The King added, with the same gentle simplicity—
“Dost thou doubt me?”

A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was grateful that the door opened to it Hugh, at that moment, and saved him the necessity of replying.
A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her came several liveried servants. The lady walked slowly, with her head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. The face was unspeakably sad. Miles Hendon sprang forward, crying out—
“Oh, my Edith, my darling—”
But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady—
“Look upon him. Do you know him?”
At the sound of Miles’s voice the woman had started slightly, and her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling now. She stood still, during an impressive pause of several moments; then slowly lifted up her head and looked into Hendon’s eyes with a stony and frightened gaze; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing remained but the grey pallor of death; then she said, in a voice as dead as the face, “I know him not!” and turned, with a moan and a stifled sob, and tottered out of the room.
Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants—
“You have observed him. Do you know him?”
They shook their heads; then the master said—
“The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake. You have seen that my wife knew you not.”

“Thy wife!” In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an iron grip about his throat. "Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all! Thou’st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. There—now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honourable soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a mannikin!

Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to the nearest chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous stranger. They hesitated, and one of them said—
“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”
“Armed! What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, I say!”
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added—
“Ye know me of old—I have not changed; come on, an’ it like you.”

This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they still held back.
“Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the doors, whilst I send one to fetch the watch!” said Hugh. He turned at the threshold, and said to Miles, “You’ll find it to your advantage to offend not with useless endeavours at escape.”

Hendon Hall

No bien se vieron Hendon y el rey libres del alguacil, Su Majestad recibi instrucciones de correr a un lugar determinado fuera del pueblo y esperar all, mientras Hendon iba a la posada a pagar la cuenta. Media hora ms tarde los dos amigos se encaminaban alegremente hacia el este, en las cansadas cabalgaduras de Hendon. El rey iba ya abrigado y cmodo, porque haba desechado sus andrajos para vestirse con el traje usado que Miles haba comprado en el Puente de Londres.
Quera el soldado no fatigar demasiado al nio, pues consideraba que las jornadas duras, las comidas irregulares y el escaso sueo seran perjudiciales para su perturbada mente, al paso que el descanso, la regularidad y el ejercicio moderado apresuraran, sin duda, su curacin. Deseaba volver a ver en sus cabales a aquella perturbada inteligencia, desterradas las desafortunadas visiones de la atormentada cabecita; por consiguiente, se dirigi a jornadas cortas hacia el lugar de que llevaba tanto tiempo ausente, en vez de obedecer a los impulsos de su impaciencia y correr da y noche.
Cuando hubieron recorrido como diez millas, llegaron a un pueblo importante, donde pernoctaron en una buena posada. Se reanudaron entonces las relaciones de antes, mantenindose Hendon detrs de la silla del rey mientras ste coma, asistindole y desnudndole cuando se dispona a acostarse. Lo haca l en el suelo, al travs de la puerta, envuelto en una manta.
El da siguiente y el otro siguieron su caminata despacio, sin dejar de hablar de las aventuras que haban tenido desde su separacin, y gozando grandemente con sus narraciones. Hendon refiri todas sus idas y venidas en busca del rey, y le dijo cmo el arcngel le haba conducido por todo el bosque, hasta llevarlo otra vez a la choza, cuando al fin vio que no s poda desembarazar de l. Entonces –prosigui–, el viejo entr al cubil y volvi dando traspis y en extremo alicado, pues dijo que esperaba encontrarse con que el nio haba vuelto y se haba tendido a descansar, mas no era as. Hendon aguard todo el da en la choza, y cuando al fin perdi la esperanza del regreso del rey, parti, otra vez en su busca.
–Y el viejo Sanctumm Sanctorum estaba verdaderamente apenado por la desaparicin de Vuestra Majestad. Se le conoca en la cara.
–No lo dudo, a fe ma –contest el rey. Tras de lo cual refiri sus aventuras, que hicieran arrepentirse a Hendon de no haber acogotado al arcngel.
El buen humor del soldado adquiri gran vuelo el ltimo da del viaje. Sin dar paz a la lengua, habl de su anciano padre y de su hermano Arturo, y refiri hartas cosas que revelaban el generoso carcter de ambos. Tuvo palabras de exaltacin para su Edita, y, en suma, estaba tan animado que hasta lleg a decir cosas cordiales y fraternales de Hugo.. Habl largo y tendido de la futura llegada a Hendon Hall. Qu sorpresa para todos, y qu estallido de agradecimiento y deleite se manifestara!
Era una campia hermosa, sembrada de casas de campo y huertos, y el camino se tenda entre vastas praderas, cuyas lejanas, sealadas por suaves altozanos y depresiones, sugeran las constantes ondulaciones del mar. Por la tarde, el hijo prdigo que regresaba a su hogar se desviaba continuamente de su camino para ver si subiendo a alguna loma le sera posible atravesar la distancia y divisar su morada. Al fin lo consigui, y exclam excitado:

–Aqul es el pueblo, prncipe, y all se ve mi casa. Desde ah se alcanza a divisar las torres. Y aquel bosque es el jardn de mi casa. Ah! Ya vers qu lujo y qu grandeza. Una casa con setenta habitaciones, pinsalo, y con veintisiete criados! Magnfico albergue para nosotros, verdad? Ea! Corramos, que mi impaciencia no sufre ms demora.

Se apresuraron todo lo posible, mas a pesar de todo eran las tres antes de llegar al pueblo. Los viajeros lo cruzaron sin que Hendon dejara de hablar.
–Esta es la iglesia..., cubierta con la misma hiedra, ni ms ni menos. All est la posada, el viejo "Len Rojo", y ms all el mercado. Aqu est el Mayo y aqu la fuente. Nada ha cambiado, por lo menos nada ms que la gente, porque en diez aos la gente cambia. A algunos me parece conocer, pero a m no me conoce nadie.
As continu hablando y no tardaron en llegar al extremo del pueblo, donde los viajeros se metieron por un camino angosto y tortuoso que se abra entre elevados setos, y anduvieron por l al trote cerca de media hora, para entrar despus a un amplio jardn por una verja magnfica, en cuyos grandes pilares de piedra se mostraban emblemas nobiliarios esculpidos. Hallbanse en una noble morada.
–Bienvenido a Hendon Hall, Majestad –exclam Miles–. ste es un gran da. Mi padre, mi hermano y lady Edith sentirn, tanta alegra que no tendrn ojos ni palabras ms que para m en los primeros momentos de este encuentro, y as tal vez te parezca que te acogen con frialdad; pero no te preocupes, que pronto te parecer lo contrario, pues cuando yo diga que t eres mi pupilo y les cuente lo que me cuesta el cario que te profeso, ya vers cmo te estrechan contra su pecho y te hacen el don de su casa y sus corazones para siempre.
En el momento siguiente se ape Hendon delante de la gran puerta, ayud a bajar al rey, lo tom de la mano y corri al interior. A los pocos pasos dieron en un espacioso aposento; entr el soldado e hizo entrar al rey con ms prisa de la que convena, y corri hacia un hombre que se hallaba sentado a un escritorio frente a un abundante fuego.
–Abrzame, Hugo, y di que te alegras de volver a verme Llama a nuestro padre, porque este casa no es mi casa hasta que yo estreche su mano y vea su rostro y oiga su voz una vez ms.
Pero Hugo retrocedi, despus de revelar una sorpresa momentnea, y clav la mirada en el intruso; una mirada que revelaba al principio algo de dignidad ofendida, pero que se mud al instante, como respondiendo a un pensamiento o intencin internos, en una exclamacin de maravillada curiosidad mezclada con una compasin real o fingida. De pronto dijo con suave acento:
–Tu razn parece perturbada, oh pobre desconocido! Sin duda has sufrido privaciones y duros tratos en el mundo, como parecen denunciar tu cara y tus vestidos. Por quin me tomas?
–Por quin te tomo? Por quin te voy a tomar sino por quien eres? Te tomo por Hugo Hendon –dijo enojado Miles.
El otro continu con el mismo tono suave:
–Y quin te imaginas t ser?
–No se trata aqu de imaginaciones. Pretendes que no conoces a tu hermano Miles Hendon?
En el semblante de Hugo apareci una expresin de agradable sorpresa.
–Cmo! No bromeis? –exclam–. Pueden los muertos volver a la vida? Loado sea Dios, si as es. Nuestro pobre muchacho perdido vuelve a nuestros brazos despues de estos crueles aos! Ah! Parece demasiado bueno para ser verdad. Es demasiado bueno para ser verdad. Te ruego que tengas compasin y no bromees conmigo. Pronto! Ven a la luz. Djame que te mire bien.
Asi a Miles del brazo, lo arrastr a la ventana y empez a devorarlo con los ojos de pies a cabeza, volvindolo a uno y otro lado, dando vueltas vivamente en tomo de l para examinarlo desde todos los ngulos, en tanto que el hijo prdigo, radiante de alegra, sonrea, rea y no cesaba de mover la cabeza, diciendo:
–Sigue, hermano, sigue y no temas. No hallars ni faccin que no pueda soportar la prueba. Escudrame a tu antojo, mi buen Hugo. Soy, en efecto, tu viejo Miles, el mismo viejo Miles, el hermano perdido. No es eso? iAh! ste es un gran da; ya deca yo qu era un gran da! Dame la mano, acerca la cara. Dios mo, si voy a morir de alegra!
Iba a arrojarse sobre su hermano, pero Hugo levant una mano para detenerle y dej caer la cabeza sobre el pecho con dolorida expresin, mientras deca emocionado:
–Ah! Dios en su bondad me dar fuerzas para sobrellevar este terrible desencanto.
Miles, irado, estuvo un momento sin poder hablar, mas al fin recobr el uso de la palabra y exclam:
–Qu desencanto? No soy tu hermano?
Movi Hugo tristemente la cabeza y dijo:
–Quiera el cielo que sea verdad y que otros ojos encuentren la semejanza que se oculta a los mos.
–Ah! Mucho me temo que la carta deca una triste verdad.
–Qu carta?
–Una que vino de ms all de los mares, hace seis o siete aos. Deca que mi hermano muri en un combate.
–Era mentira. Llama a nuestro padre, que l me conocer.
–No se puede llamar a los muertos.
–Muerto? –exclam Miles con voz apagada y temblorosos labios–. Mi padre muerto? Oh! sta es una terrible noticia. La mitad de mi alegra se ha desvanecido ya. Djame ver a mi hermano Arturo, que l me conocer; l me conocer y sabr consolarme.
–Tambin Arturo ha muerto.
–Dios tenga piedad de m! Muertos! Los dos muertos! Muertos los dignos y vivo el indigno, que soy yo. Ah! Te lo imploro. No me digas que lady Edith ha muerto tambin...
–Lady Edith? No; vive.
–Entonces loado sea Dios! Mi alegra vuelve a ser completa. Corre, hermano; haz que venga a m. Si ella dice que yo no soy yo... Pero no lo dir. No, no; ella me reconocer. He sido un necio al dudarlo. Trela aqu. Trae a los viejos criados, que ellos me conocern tambin.
–Han muerto todos menos cinco: Pedro, Halsey, David, Bernardo, Margarita.
Al decir esto sali Hugo del aposento y Miles se qued meditando un rato y luego empez a dar paseos, diciendo entre dientes:
–Los cinco bellacos han sobrevivido a los veintids fieles y honrados... Cosa extraa!
Continu dando pasos a un lado y otro sin cesar de hablar para s, pues se haba olvidado por completo del rey; mas de pronto Su Majestad dijo con gravedad y con acento de verdadera compasin, aunque sus palabras podan tomarse en sentido irnico.
–No te preocupe tu desventura, buen amigo. Otros hay en el mundo cuya identidad se niega y cuyos derechos se toman a broma. No ests solo.
–Ah, seor mo! –exclam Hendon, sonrojndose levemente–. No me condenes. Espera, que ya vers. No soy un impostor: ella lo dir. Lo oirs de los ms dulces labios de Inglaterra. Yo, un impostor? Yo conozco esta vieja casa, esas efigies de mis antepasados y todo lo que nos rodea, como conoce un nio su propio cuarto. Aqu nac y me eduqu, seor mo. Hablo la verdad; a ti no te engaara. Y aunque nadie ms me crea, te ruego que no dudes t de m; no podra soportarlo.
–No dudo de ti –dijo el rey con infantil sencillez y convencimiento.
–Te doy las gracias con toda mi alma –exclam Hendon con un fervor que revelaba su emocin.
Y el rey aadi con la misma sencillez irable:
–Dudas t de m?
Invadi a Hendon una confusin culpable, que le hizo sentirse aliviado al abrirse la puerta para dar paso a Hugo, ahorrndole as la necesidad de replicar.
Una hermosa dama, fastuosamente vestida, segua a Hugo, y detrs de ella llegaban varios criados de librea. La dama se acerc lentamente, con la cabeza baja y los ojos fijos en el suelo. Su semblante revelaba una inefable tristeza. Miles Hendon se precipit hacia adelante, exclamando: Oh, Edith ma, alma ma!...
Pero Hugo le hizo retroceder gravemente, diciendo a la dama:
–Miradle: Le conocis?
Al or la voz de Miles, la dama se turb levemente, sus mejillas se tieron de rubor, y tembl todo su cuerpo. Permaneci inmvil durante una emocionante pausa de segundos, y, al fin, levant la cabeza y clav sus ojos en los de Hendon, con mirada apagada y asustada. De su rostro se desvaneci la sangre gota a gota, sin dejar ms que una palidez de muerte; y al fin dijo la dama, con voz tan muerta coma el rostro:
–No le conozco–. Dio media vuelta, ahogando un suspiro y un solloz, y sali temblando del aposento. Miles Hendon se dej caer en una silla y se cubri la cara con las manos. Despus de una pausa, pregunt su hermano a los criados:
–Ya lo habis visto. Lo conocis?
Todos movieron la cabeza negativamente, y entonces el dueo dijo:
–Los criados no os conocen, seor. Sin duda hay una equivocacin. Ya habis visto que mi mujer no os conoce.
–Tu mujer?
Inmediatamente se vio Hugo acorralado contra la pared, con una mano de hierro en la garganta.
–Ah, maldito zorro! Todo lo veo claro! T mismo escribiste la fingida carta, cuyos frutos han sido mi novia y mis bienes robados! Ea! Vete de aqu, porque no quiero mancillar mi honrada condicin con la muerte de un perro tan despreciable.
Hugo, encendido y casi sofocado, se tambale hasta la silla prxima y orden a los criados que asieran y ataran al desconocido agresor. Vacilaron, y uno de ellos dijo:
–Est armado, sir Hugo, y nosotros no lo estamos.
–Armado? Y qu importa, siendo tantos? A l os digo!
Pero Miles les previno que se anduvieron con tiento en lo que hacan aadi:
–Todos me conocis de antiguo; yo no he cambiado. Venid aqu, si os place.
Este recuerdo no les dio a los criados ms valor, y siguieron acobardados.
–Entonces id a armaros, cobardes, y guardad las puertas mientras yo envo por la guardia –exclam Hugo. Y volvindose en el umbral dijo a Miles–: Ser ventajoso para vos que no intentis intilmente escaparos.
–Escaparme? No te apures por eso, si es lo que te apura, porque Miles Hendon es el amo de Hendon Hall y todas sus pertenencias. Y seguir sindolo, no lo dudes.