King Edmund, he would assuredly never try
to set the world right on its hinges. Honest fellow, soon he will be as
hearty in his congratulations as though he did not lie under a great
wrong. Heigh-ho! such as he may be in the right on't. I've marvelled of
late, whether any priest or hermit could bring back my old assurance,
that all this is my work on earth, or tell me if it be all one grand
error. Men there have been like Caesar, Alexander, or Charlemagne, who
thought my thoughts and worked them out; and surely Church and nations
cry aloud for purifying. Jerusalem, and a general council--I saw them
once clear and bright before me; but now a mist seems to rise up from
Richard's blood, and hide them from me; and there comes from it my
father's voice when he asked on his deathbed what right I had to the
crown. What would it be if I had to leave this work half done?'

He was interrupted by the sight of a young knight stealing into the camp,
after a furtive expedition to Paris. It was enough to rouse him from his
despondent state; and the severity of his wrath was in full proportion to
the offence. Nor did he again utter his misgivings, but was full of his
usual alacrity and life, as though daylight had restored his buoyancy.

James, on the way back to the thanksgiving mass, interceded for last
night's offenders, as an act of grace suitable to the occasion; but Henry
was inexorable.

'Had they stood to die like Englishmen, they had not lied like dogs! 'he
said; 'and as dogs they shall hang!'

In fact, in the critical state of his army, he knew that the only safety
lay in the promptest and sternest justice; and therefore the three
foremost in accusing King James of treachery were hung long before noon.

However, he called for the two Yorkshiremen, and thus addressed them:
'Well done, my masters! Thanks for showing Scots and Frenchmen what
stuff Englishmen are made of! I keep my word, good fellows. Kneel down,
and I'll dub each a knight. How now! what are you blundering and
whispering for?'

'So please you, Sir,' said Kitson, 'this is no matter to win one's spurs
for--mere standing still without a blow.'

'I would all had that same gift of standing still,' returned Henry. 'What
is it sticks in your gizzard, friend? If 'tis the fees, I take them on
myself.'

'No, Sir,' hoarsely cried both.

And Kitson explained: 'Sir, you said you'd knight the one of us that was
foremost. Now, the two being dubbed, we