He had a few moments to
himself, and then a slim lad of about twelve years of age was admitted
to his presence, whose clothing, except his snowy ruff and the laces
about his wrists, was of black- doublet, hose and all. He bore no
badge of mourning but a knot of purple ribbon on his shoulder. He
advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed and bare, and dropped upon
one knee in front of Tom. Tom sat still and contemplated him soberly
for a moment. Then he said:
'Rise, lad. Who art thou? What wouldst have?'
The boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an aspect of
concern in his face. He said:
'Of a surety thou must remember me, my lord. I am thy
whipping-boy.
'My whipping-boy?'
'The same, your grace, I am Humphrey- Humphrey Marlow.'
Tom perceived that here was some one whom his keepers ought to
have posted him about. The situation was delicate. What should he do?-
pretend he knew this lad, and then betray, by his every utterance,
that he had never heard of him before? No, that would not do. An
idea came to his relief: accidents like this might be likely to happen
with some frequency, now that business urgencies would often call
Hertford and St. John from his side, they being members of the council
of executors; therefore perhaps it would be well to strike out a
plan himself to meet the requirements of such emergencies. Yes, that
would be a wise course- he would practise on this boy, and see what
sort of success he might achieve. So he stroked his brow, perplexedly,
a moment or two, and presently said:
'Now I seem to remember thee somewhat- but my wit is clogged and
dim with suffering-'
'Alack, my poor master!' ejaculated the whipping-boy, with
feeling; adding, to himself, 'In truth 'tis as they said- his mind
is gone- alas, poor soul! But misfortune catch me, how am I
forgetting! they said one must not seem to observe that aught is wrong
with him.
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