It was the most doubtful question in the world whether he did. If so, it was, at all events, without a spark of comprehending; and Lawrence Lee continued to lie back, pale and more than half senseless, in the king's chair, whither he had staggered forward as he had uttered those last words, and with a twist and a reel, sunk among its crimson cushions. "Nay," said another of the crowd of lackeys; "leave him alone. Let him bide a minute. I saw 'twas a comin' over him before the king had done speakin' to him. He went on gettin' whiter and whiter. Come, man, drink a drop o' this;" and he took a tall ruby-red Venice goblet of wine from the table and placed it to the young man's lips. "So; that's brave!" he went on in kindly tones, as Lawrence drank a little of the wine and roused up. "Finish it, man, and have another atop o't. One leg o' mutton drives down another. Oh! eh! but we don't take noes here. Drink, I tell 'ee;" and refilling the goblet, the well-meaning fellow forced Lawrence to drain it again, in spite of his efforts at resistance. [Sidenote: Where is the King?] "Where's the king?--the king?" said Lawrence as consciousness all broke in upon him, and he sat up. "I must speak to him. I haven't told him half--" "Then t'must wait!" cried another lackey, "for the king's gone." "Gone!" "Ay; ever so far by now. He wasn't going to stop here all day listening to your wild-goose tales, I doubt. He's half-way across the heath by now, and all the lot after him." "But the queen!" "Ay; her too. Didn't you see them all go? Where had your eyes got to?" "Gone a wool-gathering along of his wits!" laughed another. And while their shouts of boisterous laughter made the old walls echo again, Lawrence pressed the palms of his hands on the top of his aching head and made an effort to recall all that had passed, and to solve the puzzle of the strange condition in which he found himself. Possibly the fact of neither food nor drink having passed his lips since a hasty meal snatched at the Nether Hall early dinner of the previous day, was accountable for much of it. Neither can long-fasting men ride a score and a half of miles and retain their wits in good working order; and strong wine, if it be a temporary remedy, is scarcely one to be recommended, as these noisy court lackeys seemed bent on doing. And when he refused the dainty food they hospitably pressed upon him with the savageness only those who have lost all desire for eating, from too long going without it, can ever be guilty of, they forced more wine upon him, challenging him with a toast he neither dared nor willed to refuse. [Sidenote: A loyal toast.] "The king! the king!" they cried, filling all round for themselves, and brimming the goblet in his hand. "Come, Master Stranger, we must see what metal you're made of. Drink a bumper to the king's majesty, and no heeltaps. Here's confusion to all crop-eared knaves."