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sleep a second and a third time, at intervals-with the same result which had
marked the first testthen she dragged herself to bed, and fell sorrowfully asleep,
saying, ‘But I cannot give him up-oh, no, I cannot-he must be my boy!’ The
poor mother’s interruptions having ceased, and the prince’s pains having
gradually lost their power to disturb him, utter weariness at last sealed his eyes
in a profound and restful sleep. Hour after hour slipped away, and still he slept
like the dead. Thus four or five hours passed. Then his stupor began to lighten.
Presently, while half asleep and half awake, he murmured: ‘Sir William!’ After a
moment: ‘Ho, Sir William Herbert! Hie thee hither, and list to the strangest
dream that ever.... Sir William! Dost hear? Man, I did think me changed to a
pauper, and...

Ho there! Guards! Sir William! What! is there no groom of the chamber in
waiting? Alack it shall go hard with-’ ‘What aileth thee?’ asked a whisper near
him. ‘Who art thou calling?’ ‘Sir William Herbert. Who art thou?’ ‘I? Who should
I be, but thy sister Nan? Oh, Tom, I had forgot! Thou’rt mad yet-poor lad thou’rt
mad yet, would I had never woke to know it again! But, prithee, master thy
tongue, lest we be all beaten till we die!’ The startled prince sprang partly up,
but a sharp reminder from his stiffened bruises brought him to himself, and he
sunk back among his foul straw with a moan and the ejaculation: ‘Alas, it was no
dream, then!’ In a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which sleep had
banished were upon him again, and he realized that he was no longer a petted
prince in a palace, with the adoring eyes of a nation upon him, but a pauper, an
outcast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit only for beasts, and consorting with
beggars and thieves.

In the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of hilarious noises and
shoutings, apparently but a block or two away. The next moment there were
several sharp raps at the door; John Canty ceased from snoring and said: ‘Who
knocketh? What wilt thou?’ A voice answered: ‘Know’st thou who it was thou
laid thy cudgel on?’ ‘No. Neither know I, nor care.’ ‘Belike thou’lt change thy
note eftsoons. An thou would save thy neck, nothing but flight may stead thee.
The man is this moment delivering up the ghost.

‘Tis the priest, Father Andrew!’ ‘God-a-mercy!’ exclaimed Canty. He roused his
family, and hoarsely commanded, ‘Up with ye all and fly-or bide where ye are
and perish!’ Scarcely five minutes later the Canty household were in the street
and flying for their lives. John Canty held the prince by the wrist, and hurried
him along the dark way, giving him this caution in a low voice: ‘Mind thy
tongue, thou mad fool, and speak not our name. I will choose me a new name,
speedily, to throw the law’s dogs off the scent. Mind thy tongue, I tell thee!’

He growled these words to the rest of the family: ‘If it so chance that we be
separated, let each make for London Bridge; whoso findeth himself as far as the
last linen-draper’s shop on the bridge, let him tarry there till the others be come,
then will we flee into Southwark together.’ At this moment the party burst
suddenly out of darkness into light; and not only into light, but into the midst of
a multitude of singing, dancing, and shouting people, massed together on the
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