None but this Somerset, and Sir John Longstrother, who was called the Prior of St. John's, had courage wherewith to accuse the King of broken faith, in that he had sworn to give mercy to all who sought refuge in the Abbey. To this young Gloster, still deadly calm, made answer that the King had given no such pledge, but only granted some old monk's prayer that all of gentle blood who met their death, either in battle or on the scaffold, might be buried in the Abbey without dismemberment; this, and nothing more. Of a sudden, Hugh, grown at home among these horrors, saw advancing under guard between the glittering lines of bills, the mailed figure he knew so well. The boy held his breath as the strange Knight stood before the dais, helmeted and erect--and as he noted that the morris-dancer, fiercely pushing his way, had followed close behind. "What now!"--it was Mowbray who spoke--"Who comes thus covered? Loose us his helm!" "I pray ye both," spoke the Knight, "suffer me to thus remain! It is as easy to lose one's head in this fashion as another. I crave no other mercy." A pale, flitting smile played over the Prince's lips. "After such stress of sober state affairs, cousin of Norfolk," he said, more gently, "the jest is grateful. Hast brought thy morris-dancer with thee, too, I note, good sir!" The Knight swung round to follow Gloster's glance; then, after a moment's earnest gaze upon the disguised man close at hand, turned with closed eyes and hand on heart. The Prince rubbed his hands softly together, and smiled again. "Aye! lift us the basnet," he said to the soldiers standing guard. "The jest will trip the better for more air and light"--and in a twinkling the men had unfastened and raised the heavy helmet; and the Knight stood, flushed and confused, no knight at all! but a young and fair-faced woman, with loose golden hair tumbled sweetly upon her neck. Richard's lips curled again, and his teeth gleamed under them, while his eyes shone with a merry light. "Most excellent!" he chuckled, looking to Mowbray's dull, puzzled face in mock search for sympathy. "Now scrub us the paint off yon mummer's cheeks, and let his head be bared. The jest goes bravely." Before the astonished onlookers, this too was done, and Sir Hereward, still arrayed to the throat in motley, with eyes sheepishly downcast, stood revealed. The young Prince covered the two, as they stood, with his mirthful regard, and rubbed his palms together in silent enjoyment. "Read me the riddle, Lady Kate," he said at last. "I guess thy errand to these parts, and his is clear enough--perchance too clear!--but why, if thou must trick him out in morris-dress, why bring him here? Nay!"--as the lady would have spoken--"fear nothing; I like the jest thus far, but comprehend it only in part."