he Irish; the dread north, the vast northern forests, from
which at any time invading hosts might descend on the fertile south--it
all went before his eyes.

What was there behind the immense and untraversed belt of forest which
extended to the south, to the east, and west? Where did the great Lake
end? Were the stories of the gold and silver mines of Devon and Cornwall
true? And where were the iron mines, from which the ancients drew their
stores of metal?

Led by these thoughts he twice or thrice left his labour, and walking
some twenty miles through the forests, and over the hills, reached the
summit of White Horse. From thence, resting on the sward, he watched the
vessels making slow progress by oars, and some drawn with ropes by gangs
of men or horses on the shore, through the narrow straits. North and
South there nearly met. There was but a furlong of water between them.
If ever the North came down there the armies would cross. _There_ was
the key of the world. Excepting the few cottages where the owners of the
horses lived, there was neither castle nor town within twenty miles.

Forced on by these thoughts, he broke the long silence which had existed
between him and his father. He spoke of the value and importance of this
spot; could not the Baron send forth his retainers and enclose a new
estate there? There was nothing to prevent him. The forest was free to
all, provided that they rendered due service to the Prince. Might not a
house or castle built there become the beginning of a city? The Baron
listened, and then said he must go and see that a new hatch was put in
the brook to irrigate the water-meadow. That was all.

Felix next wrote an anonymous letter to the Prince pointing out the
value of the place. The Prince should seize it, and add to his power. He
knew that the letter was delivered, but there was no sign. It had
indeed, been read and laughed at. Why make further efforts when they
already had what they desired? One only, the deep and designing
Valentine, gave it serious thought in secret. It seemed to him that
something might come of it, another day, when he was himself in
power--if that should happen. But he, too, forgot it in a week. Some
secret effort was made to discover the writer, for the council were very
jealous of political opinion, but it soon ended. The idea, not being
supported by money or influence, fell into oblivion.

Felix worked on, chipping out the canoe. The days passed, and the