Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain (portable ebook reader TXT) 📖
- Author: Mark Twain
Book online «The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain (portable ebook reader TXT) 📖». Author Mark Twain
They shook their heads; then the master said—
“The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake. You have seen that my wife knew you not.”
“Thy wife!” In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an iron grip about his throat. "Oh, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all! Thou’st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. There—now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honourable soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a mannikin!”
Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to the nearest chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous stranger. They hesitated, and one of them said—
“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.”
“Armed! What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, I say!”
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added—
“Ye know me of old—I have not changed; come on, an’ it like you.”
This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they still held back.
“Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the doors, whilst I send one to fetch the watch!” said Hugh. He turned at the threshold, and said to Miles, “You’ll find it to your advantage to offend not with useless endeavours at escape.”
“Escape? Spare thyself discomfort, an’ that is all that troubles thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall and all its belongings. He will remain—doubt it not.”
Chapter XXVI. Disowned.
The King sat musing a few moments, then looked up and said—
“’Tis strange—most strange. I cannot account for it.”
“No, it is not strange, my liege. I know him, and this conduct is but natural. He was a rascal from his birth.”
“Oh, I spake not of him, Sir Miles.”
“Not of him? Then of what? What is it that is strange?”
“That the King is not missed.”
“How? Which? I doubt I do not understand.”
“Indeed? Doth it not strike you as being passing strange that the land is not filled with couriers and proclamations describing my person and making search for me? Is it no matter for commotion and distress that the Head of the State is gone; that I am vanished away and lost?”
“Most true, my King, I had forgot.” Then Hendon sighed, and muttered to himself, “Poor ruined mind—still busy with its pathetic dream.”
“But I have a plan that shall right us both—I will write a paper, in three tongues—Latin, Greek and English—and thou shalt haste away with it to London in the morning. Give it to none but my uncle, the Lord Hertford; when he shall see it, he will know and say I wrote it. Then he will send for me.”
“Might it not be best, my Prince, that we wait here until I prove myself and make my rights secure to my domains? I should be so much the better able then to—”
The King interrupted him imperiously—
“Peace! What are thy paltry domains, thy trivial interests, contrasted with matters which concern the weal of a nation and the integrity of a throne?” Then, he added, in a gentle voice, as if he were sorry for his severity, “Obey, and have no fear; I will right thee, I will make thee whole—yes, more than whole. I shall remember, and requite.”
So saying, he took the pen, and set himself to work. Hendon contemplated him lovingly a while, then said to himself—
“An’ it were dark, I should think it was a king that spoke; there’s no denying it, when the humour’s upon on him he doth thunder and lighten like your true King; now where got he that trick? See him scribble and scratch away contentedly at his meaningless pot-hooks, fancying them to be Latin and Greek—and except my wit shall serve me with a lucky device for diverting him from his purpose, I shall be forced to pretend to post away to-morrow on this wild errand he hath invented for me.”
The next moment Sir Miles’s thoughts had gone back to the recent episode. So absorbed was he in his musings, that when the King presently handed him the paper which he had been writing, he received it and pocketed it without being conscious of the act. “How marvellous strange she acted,” he muttered. "I think she knew me—and I think she did not know me. These opinions do conflict, I perceive it plainly; I cannot reconcile them, neither can I, by argument, dismiss either of the two, or even persuade one to outweigh the other. The matter standeth simply thus: she must have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how could it be otherwise? Yet she saidshe knew me not, and that is proof perfect, for she cannot lie. But stop—I think I begin to see. Peradventure he hath influenced her, commanded her, compelled her to lie. That is the solution. The riddle is unriddled. She seemed dead with fear—yes, she was under his compulsion. I will seek her; I will find her; now that he is away, she will speak her true mind. She will remember the old times when we were little playfellows together, and this will soften her heart, and she will no more betray me, but will confess me. There is no treacherous blood in her—no, she was always honest and true. She has loved me, in those old days—this is my security; for whom one has loved, one cannot betray.”
He stepped eagerly toward the door; at that moment it opened, and the Lady Edith entered. She was very pale, but she walked with a firm step, and her carriage was full of grace and gentle dignity. Her face was as sad as before.
Miles sprang forward, with a happy confidence, to meet her, but she checked him with a hardly perceptible gesture, and he stopped where he was. She seated herself, and asked him to do likewise. Thus simply did she take the sense of old comradeship out of him, and transform him into a stranger and a guest. The surprise of it, the bewildering
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