and
addressed to the prince the most extravagant compliments every time his
arrow came near the mark, which they all purposely abstained from
hitting.

At that moment the pale, sorrowful Wilfrid crossed the ground; but,
wishing to escape the attention of the joyous group, he kept at a
distance. The prince, however, observed him, and willing to obliterate
the remembrance of his late unkindness, called to him in a lively
voice: "Come hither, Wilfrid," said he, "and tell me if you think you
could send an arrow nearer to yonder mark than I have done."

"Certainly," replied Wilfrid, "or I should prove myself but a bad
archer."

The group of youthful flatterers, who surrounded the heir of the
throne, smiled contemptuously at the unguarded sincerity of the page in
speaking the truth thus openly and plainly to his lord.

"Wilfrid, if we may believe his own testimony, is not only wiser and
better than any of the servants of the Atheling," said Brithric
scornfully, "but excels even the royal Atheling himself, in all the
exercises of princely skill."

"He has yet to prove his boast," replied the prince, coloring with
suppressed anger; "but give him his bow, Brithric," continued he, "that
we may all have the advantage of taking a lesson from so peerless an
archer."

"It is far from my wish presumptuously to compete with my lord,"
replied Wilfrid, calmly rejecting the bow.

"He has boasted that which he cannot perform," said Brithric, with an
insulting laugh.

"You are welcome to that opinion, Brithric, if it so please you," said
Wilfrid, turning about to quit the ground.

"Nay," cried the prince, "you go not till you have made good your
boast, young sir, by sending an arrow nearer to the mark than mine."

"Ay, royal Atheling," shouted the company, "compel the vaunter to show
us a sample of his skill."

"Rather, let my lord, the Atheling, try his own skill once more," said
Wilfrid; "he can hit the mark himself, if he will."

Prince Edwin bent his bow, and this time the arrow entered the centre
of the target. The ground rang with the plaudits of the spectators.

"Let us see now if Wilfrid, the son of Cendric, the traitor, can equal
the Atheling's shot," shouted Brithric.

"Shoot, Wilfrid, shoot!" cried more than twenty voices among the royal
wards.

"I have no wish to bend the bow to-day," said Wilfrid.

"Because you know that you must expose yourself to contempt by failing
to make your vaunt good," said Brit