faith had brought these sorrows upon her, and the Dauphin felt himself to be disgraced and shamed. As his father hurried after Constance, Lewis muttered to himself:

"There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ;

And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness."

But Cardinal Pandulph tried to arouse his ambition by showing what would soon happen to King John if Arthur's life were taken. The Dauphin would then be able to claim all the possessions of the young Duke of Brittany, and the English people, already shaken in their allegiance, would execrate the excommunicated tyrant as an accursed murderer. John would soon be swept from the throne he had disgraced, and who more likely to succeed him than the ambitious French Prince who had already secured the possessions of the Lady Blanche, and had behind him the assistance of the Empire, France, and Castile? The eloquent wisdom of the wily prelate prevailed, and word was sent throughout France that the Dauphin was about to lead a powerful army against all the territories of Normandy and England, that he would beat down the fortresses in France which professed to serve King John, and finally sail to England to ravage Kent and Surrey, and hold London. According to the play a great array soon afterwards landed on the shores of England, and, brushing aside the opposition on the coasts, the Dauphin took possession of all the county of Kent, with the exception of Dover Castle, and then

pushed on for London, where he was well received, finally establishing a great camp at Saint Edmundsbury. From Bury he sent out messengers to the great lords inviting them to join him in his struggle against King John, and soon an awful event drove many adherents to his standard. Chief among these were Earl Salisbury, Earl Pembroke, and Lord Bigot, powerful nobles with many retainers, who had for some time slackened in their allegiance to King John.

In a strong castle with massive gates and walls, young Arthur of Brittany had been kept a close prisoner by Hubert de Burgh.

He was not chained, nor had he been thrown into a dungeon, but his room was secluded and high up, and every day Hubert kept a vigilant watch upon him. The quiet patience of the lad appealed to the rough noble who was his custodian, and many an hour was spent by the two in converse over the stirring events which were agitating France and England. So Hubert grew fond of his captive and called him his "little Prince." Once when Hubert could not sleep because of a fever which gave him a violent headache, Arthur nursed him through the night with loving care, holding a wetted handkerchief to his hot brow and soothing him with gentle sympathy, cheering and brightening the dark hours with the tender ministrations of a generous heart. And so their affections became entwined, and the young Prince loved the rough soldier, and Hubert on his side felt like a father to the lad. But all the while a cloud of apprehension lay upon him, for he knew that the cruelty of King John would one day go out against the life of the boy. His forebodings were soon realised. A messenger came spurring to the

castle with a letter from the King. It was before the time of the French invasion, and Hubert read its message with a pale face and a sad heart. It was an order from King John that the eyes of Arthur should be put out with red hot irons. Hubert summoned two men, a brazier was placed in the anteroom, and the awful instruments of torture were thrust into the glowing embers. Then it was arranged that Hubert should speak with the lad until he (Hubert) stamped upon the floor, at which signal the men were to rush into the room and bind the Prince with a strong cord. With pale face and sinking heart Hubert lifted the arras and stood before Arthur.

"You are sad, Hubert," was the friendly greeting as the noble entered.

"Indeed, I have been merrier."

"Mercy on me! Methinks nobody should be sad but I. By my Christendom, so I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day."

Avoiding his solicitous looks, Hubert held out the letter he had received, and told the Prince to read. He read the note and realised the meaning of the fatal message with wild, staring eyes, and the paper dropped from his nerveless fingers and fluttered to the ground.

In wondering, amazed tones the poor boy said: "Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that never did nor never shall so much as frown on you."

"I have sworn to do it; and with hot irons must 1 burn them out."

"And if an angel should have come to me and told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him-no tongue but Hubert's."

As the Prince uttered these words Hubert stamped, and two rough-looking soldiers, carrying cords and irons, dragged aside the curtains and advanced towards the terrified boy. He screamed in affright and ran behind Hubert, crying, "O save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out even with the fierce looks of these bloody men."

"Bind him," said Hubert, and they seized the shrinking, helpless captive.

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Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough," he moaned, "I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, and I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, nor look upon the iron angrily : thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, whatever torment you do put me to."

In his agony he clung to Hubert, his eyes filling with tears, and his breath coming in quick pants. The soldier's heart was filled with pity, and yet the King's command was urgent. But he sent the men away. "I am best pleased to be from such a deed," muttered one of the men as he dropped the heavy curtain behind him and hurried away lest he should hear the screams of the tortured child. There was a long pause. Neither Hubert nor Arthur could speak. The coals in the brazier were beginning to lose their glow, and the irons were growing cold. With an effort Hubert aroused himself and plunged the iron into the heart of the fire. As it grew hot he said in a hoarse whisper :

"Come, boy, prepare yourself. There is no remedy but to lose your eyes."

"O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours, a grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, your vile intent must needs seem horrible."

Hubert felt the strain to be almost beyond endurance, but he shouted: "Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue."

"Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues

Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes :
Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes,
Though to no use but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold
And would not harm me.

No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used

In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
An' if you do revive it, you will but make it blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert :
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office: only you do lack

That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses."

He lifted up his face to Hubert as though in earnest