diamonds growing always more dull, more dim. Hynde Horn longed as he had never longed before to be once more beside the Princess Jean that he might guard her from all harm.

Fair blew the wind, onward sailed the ship, and at length Hynde Horn saw land, and knew that he was drawing near to Scotland.

A little later he had reached the coast and had begun his journey towards the palace.

As he hastened on, King Horn met a beggar man.

'Old man,' cried Hynde Horn, 'I have come from far across the sea. Tell me what news there is in this country, for it is many a long day since I have been in Scotland.'

'There is little news,' said the beggar, 'little news, for we dwell secure under our gracious King Alymer. To be sure, in the palace there is rejoicing. The feast has already been spread for forty days and more. To-day is the wedding-day of the king's daughter, the Princess Jean.'

Ah, now Hynde Horn understood why his diamonds had grown dull and dim. His beautiful princess had not forgotten him. Of that he was quite sure. But King Alymer and his people had grown weary of waiting for his return. Seven years had seemed a long, long time, and now the king was anxious that his daughter should marry and wait no longer for the return of Hynde Horn.

And, but this King Horn did not know, Fykenyld, his old companion, loved the princess, and had wooed her long and was waiting to marry her. False to Hynde Horn was Fykenyld, for ever did he say, 'Hynde Horn is dead,' or 'Hynde Horn hath forgotten the Princess Jean,' or 'Hynde Horn hath married one of the dark-haired princesses in the far-off East.' And never did he leave the palace to go in search of his old playfellow, whom he had once longed to serve.

Now King Alymer had listened to Fykenyld's words, and though he did not believe Hynde Horn would forget his daughter, he did believe that Hynde Horn might be dead. Thus it was that he commanded Princess Jean to look no longer for the return of Hynde Horn, but without more delay to marry Prince Fykenyld.

And the princess, pale and sad, worn out by long waiting, promised to look no more for Hynde Horn. To please her father and his people, she even promised to marry Hynde Horn's old playfellow, Prince Fykenyld.

Ah, but had they only known, King Horn was already hastening towards the palace. Already he had learned that the wedding had not yet taken place.

Now he was speaking to the beggar again, quickly, impatiently.

'Old man, lend me your torn and tattered coat. Thou shalt have my scarlet cloak in its place. Thy staff, too, I must have. Instead of it thou shalt have my horse.'

You see the young king had made up his mind to go to the palace dressed as a beggar.

But the old man was puzzled. Could the young prince from across the sea really wish to dress in his torn rags? Well, it was a strange wish, but right glad would he be to have the scarlet cloak, the gallant steed.

When King Horn had donned his disguise, he cried, 'Tell me now, how dost thou behave thyself when thou comest to the palace to beg?'

'Ah, sir,' said the old man, 'thou must not walk thus upright. Thou must not look all men boldly in the face. As thou goest up the hill, thou must lean heavily on thy staff, thou must cast thine eyes low to the ground. When thou comest to the gate of the palace, thou must tarry there until the hour for the king to dine. Then mayest thou go to the great gate and ask an alms for the sake of St. Peter and St. Paul, but none shalt thou take from any hand, save from the hand of the young bride herself.'

Hynde Horn thanked the old beggar man, and, bidding him farewell, set off up the hill toward the palace gate. And no one looking at him in the tattered coat, bending half double over his staff, no one could have guessed that this beggar man was the brave and courteous Hynde Horn.

Now when at length King Horn reached the palace gate, the wedding feast was spread.

Princess Jean was sitting on the throne beside her father, Prince Fykenyld on her other side, smiling to himself.

He would soon be wedded to the princess, he thought, and in days to come he would reign with her over King Alymer's wide domains. Fykenyld had no thought to spare for his old playmate, save to be glad that he had never returned from the far East to claim his bride.

But though seven long years had rolled away, Princess Jean had not forgotten Hynde Horn. Forgotten! Nay, day and night he was in her thought, in her heart. Yet was she sure that he would never now return.

It is true that in her despair she had yielded to her father's wishes; she had promised to wed Prince Fykenyld that very day. It was no wonder then that she sat on the throne sad at heart, pale of face.

Hynde Horn had knocked at the palace gate. It was no humble beggar's rap he gave, but a bold, impatient knock. King Horn had forgotten for the moment that he was only a beggar man.

The palace gate was flung wide. One of the noble guests had arrived, thought the porter. But when he saw a beggar standing before him, he wellnigh slammed the gate in the poor man's face.

Before he could do this Hynde Horn spoke, and his voice made the porter pause to listen, so sweet, so soft it was. It brought back to the rough old man the thought of Hynde Horn, for he had been used to speak in just such a tone.

The porter cleared his voice, wiped his eyes, for he, as all others who dwelt in the palace, had loved Hynde Horn, and grieved sorely for his absence.

For the sake of Hynde Horn it was that the porter listened to the beggar man's request.

'I have come to ask for alms, yet will I take them from none save from the hand of the Princess Jean herself, and from across the sea,' said the beggar man.

Still hearing the sound of the lost prince's voice, the porter bade the beggar wait, and stealing up into the hall unnoticed, he passed through the crowd of gay lords and ladies until he reached the princess.