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 u