“Peace, Hamlyn,” returned the Prince: “thou speakest thou knowest not what.—Come hither, boy,” he added, laying his hand on his young captive’s shoulder, and putting him through the door with a familiarity that astonished Hamlyn—all the more, when he found that while both prisoners were admitted, he himself was excluded! Princess Eleanor was alone in another chamber of the sylvan lodge, hung with tapestry representing hunting scenes, the floor laid with deer-skins, and deer’s antlers projecting from the wall, to support the feminine properties that marked it as her special abode. She was standing when they entered; and was turning eagerly with outstretched hand and face of recognition, when Prince Edward checked her by saying, “Nay, the cause is not yet tried:” and placing her in a large carved oaken chair, where she sat with a lily-like grace and dignity, half wondering, but following his lead, he proceeded, “Sit thou there, fair dame, and exercise thy right, as judge of the two captives whom I place at thy feet.” “And you, my Lord?” she asked. “I stand as their accuser,” said Edward. “Advance, prisoners!—Now, most fair judge, what dost thou decree for the doom of Adam de Gourdon, rebel first, and since that the terror of our royal father’s lieges, the robber of his treasurers, the rifler of our Cousin Pembroke’s jewellery, the slayer of our deer?” “Alas! my Lord, why put such questions to me,” said Eleanor imploringly, “unless, as I would fain hope, thou dost but jest?” “Do I speak jest, Gourdon?” said Edward, regarding Adam with a lion-like glance. “’Tis all true,” growled Adam. “And,” proceeded the Prince, “if thy gentle lips refuse to utter the doom merited by such deeds, what wilt thou say to hear that, not content with these traitorous deeds of his own, he fosters the treason of others? Here stands a young rebel, who would have perished at Evesham, but for the care and protection of this Gourdon—who healed his wounds, guarded him, robbed for him, for him spurned the offer of amnesty, and finally, set on thine own husband in Alton Wood—all to shelter yonder young traitor from the hands of justice! Speak the sentence he merits, most just of judges!” “The sentence he merits?” said Eleanor, with swimming eyes. “Oh! would that I were indeed monarch, to dispense life or death! What he merits he shall have, from my whole heart—mine own poor esteem for his fidelity, and our joint entreaties to the King for his pardon! Brave man—thou shalt come with me to seek thy pardon from King Henry!” “Thanks, Lady,” said Adam with rude courtesy; “but it were better to seek my young lord’s.” “My own dear young cousin!” exclaimed Eleanor, laying aside her assumed judicial power, and again holding out her hands to him, “we deemed you slain!”