“Fickle tyrant!” muttered De Bracy, as he left the presence of the Prince; “evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed!⁠—He who hath the keeping of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal of England ! that,” he said, extending his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride along the antechamber, “that is indeed a prize worth playing for!”

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince John summoned an attendant.

“Bid Hugh Bardon, our scoutmaster, come hither, as soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.”

The scoutmaster arrived after a brief delay, during which John traversed the apartment with, unequal and disordered steps.

“Bardon,” said he, “what did Waldemar desire of thee?”