There was a footfall without at that moment, and the Masked Lady resumed her writing. A bluff, soldierly-appearing man of middle age entered the room: a bearded man of harsh visage, yet with an eye in which justice sat enthroned. He looked about the room with an air of dawning relief; and when two villainous-looking rascals followed him into the room he remarked, with a sigh: "He's not here. And that's a bit of luck at least--to have no one about whilst we mix this devil's brew." Then more briskly: "A red-hot iron--red-hot, do you hear?--in a hurry!" The first attendant, to whom he had spoken, glanced darkly at the second door of the room, which remained closed. "A hot iron? Yes, sir," he said, trying to speak naturally. "It shall be prepared." The second attendant seemed incapable of remaining silent--after the manner of sorry men. "It will be quite simple, sir," he said. Hubert de Burgh (for the soldierly-appearing man was he) turned upon them fiercely. "Enough!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how men of your breed go about a task like this, but Hubert de Burgh has always faced the truth. Listen: When you've fetched me the hot iron you'll hide behind the tapestry there. And when I stamp on the floor you'll come quickly and bind him hand and foot." The first attendant found courage to say: "Bind him? A little lad like that? A man might do the job with one hand without half trying." But Hubert de Burgh gazed at the man darkly. "Look you, fellow," he said, "there are forces besides a man's hands which are powerful. His very helplessness and innocence . . . I think they shall paralyze my hands and make me helpless. Do as I say: bind the boy and stand near, ready to lend a hand." Whereupon the first and second attendants withdrew, staring as if with terror at the unopened door near which they had to pass. Hubert de Burgh took no further notice of them, but dropped into a chair and stared straight before him. At this point Mr. Literal began rubbing his hands and smiling with pleased excitement. "It seems," he remarked to the Masked Lady, "that we're to be in on a really famous event--the slaying of Prince Arthur. It's a great opportunity of its kind. It will give me a chance to confute the historians who have quarreled among themselves about how the poor boy met his death. How--er--how should you say he dies?" The Masked Lady replied tranquilly: "He does not die. He lives forever to proclaim to all mankind that the way of kings is an evil way." It was now that Hubert de Burgh bestirred himself as if he could no longer bear to be alone with his thoughts. He cried out sharply--"Arthur! Arthur!" The second door now opened and Prince Arthur appeared: a handsome boy, perhaps fourteen years of age, straight of limb and noble of countenance. He wore a velvet suit, including knee breeches and silk hose and gaiters, and a jacket with a flowing lace collar.