Describes an Ardent Search.  
While the prince and the Hebrew were thus conversing, Cormac was speeding towards the camp of Gadarn. He quickly arrived, and was immediately arrested by one of the sentinels. Taken before one of the chief officers, he was asked who he was, and where he came from.
 
“That I will tell only to your chief,” said the lad.
 
“I am a chief,” replied the officer proudly.
 
“That may be so; but I want to speak with your chief, and I must see him alone.”
 
“Assuredly thou art a saucy knave, and might be improved by a switching.”
 
“Possibly; but instead of wasting our time in useless talk, it would be well to convey my message to Gadarn, for my news is urgent; and I would not give much for your head if you delay.”
 
The officer laughed; but there was that in the boy’s tone and manner that induced him to obey.
 
Gadarn, the chief, was seated on a tree-stump inside of a booth of boughs, leaves, and birch-bark, that had been hastily constructed for his accommodation. He was a great, rugged, north-country man, of immense physical power—as most chiefs were in those days. He seemed to be brooding over his sorrows at the time his officer entered.
 
“A prisoner waits without,” said the officer. “He is a stripling; and says he has urgent business to communicate to you alone.”
 
“Send him hither, and let every one get out of ear-shot!” said Gadarn gruffly.
 
A minute later Cormac appeared, and looked wistfully at the chief, who looked up with a frown.
 
“Are you the pris—”
 
He stopped suddenly, and, springing to his feet, advanced a step with glaring eyes and fast-coming breath, as he held out both hands.
 
With a cry of joy, Cormac sprang forward and threw his arms round Gadarn’s neck, exclaiming—
 
“Father!—dear father!”
 
For a few moments there was silence, and a sight was seen which had not been witnessed for many a day—two or three gigantic tears rolled down the warrior’s rugged cheeks, one of them trickling to the end of his weather-beaten nose and dropping on his iron-grey beard.
 
“My child,” he said at length, “where—how came you—why, this—”
 
“Yes, yes, father,” interrupted the lad, with a tearful laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it in good time; but I’ve got other things to speak of which are more interesting to both of us. Sit down and let me sit on your knee, as I used to do long ago.”
 
Gadarn meekly obeyed.
 
“Now listen,” said Cormac, putting his mouth to his father’s ear and whispering.
 
The chief listened, and the first effect of the whispering was to produce a frown. This gradually and slowly faded, and gave place to an expression of doubt.
 
“Are you sure, child?—sure that you—”
 
“Quite—quite sure,” interrupted Cormac with emphasis. “But that is not all—listen!”
 
Gadarn listened again; and, as the whispering continued, there came the wrinkles of humour over his rugged face; then a snort that caused Cormac to laugh ere he resumed his whispering.
 
“And he knows it?” cried Gadarn, interrupting and suppressing a laugh.
 
“Yes; knows all about it.”
 
“And the other doesn’t?”
 
“Has not the remotest idea!”
 
“Thinks that you’re a—”
 
Here the chief broke off, got up, placed his hands on both his sides and roared with laughter, until the anxious sentinels outside believed that he had gone mad.
 
With the energy of a strong nature he checked himself and became suddenly grave.
 
“Listen!” he said; “you have made me listen a good deal to you. It is my turn now. Before the sun stands there (pointing), you will be on your way to the court of King Hudibras, while I remain, and make this Hebrew lead me all over the country in search of—ha! ha!—my daughter. We must search and search every hole and corner of the land; for we must—we must find her—or perish!”
 
Again the chief exploded, but subdued himself immediately; and, going to the entrance of the booth, summoned his lieutenant, who started forward with the promptitude of an apparition, and with an expression of some curiosity on his countenance, for he also had heard the laughter.
 
“Get ready forty men,” said the chief; “to convey this lad in safety to the court of King Hudibras. He is well known there. Say not that I sent you, but that, in ranging the country, you found him lost in the woods, and, understanding him to belong to the household of the king, you brought him in.”
 
Without a word the lieutenant withdrew, and the plotters looked at each other with that peculiarly significant expression which has been the characteristic of intriguers in all ages.
 
“Thou wilt know how to act, my little one,” said the chief.
 
“Yes, better even than you imagine, my big one,” replied Cormac.
 
“What! is there something beyond my ken simmering in thy noddle, thou pert squirrel?”
 
“Perchance there is, father dear.”
 
A sound at the root of Gadarn’s nose betrayed suppressed laughter, as he turned away.
 
Quarter of an hour later a band of foot-soldiers defiled out of the camp, with Cormac in their midst, mounted on a small pony, and Gadarn, calling another of his lieutenants, told him to let it be known throughout the camp, that if any officer or man should allow his tongue to wag with reference to the lad who had just left the camp, his tongue would be silenced for all future time, and an oak limb be decorated with an acorn that never grew on it.
 
“You know, and they know, that I’m a man of my word—away!” said the chief, returning to the privacy of his booth.
 
While these events were happening at the camp, Bladud and Beniah were discussing many subjects—religion among others, for they were both philosophical as well as seriously-minded. But neither their philosophy nor their religion were profound enough at that time to remove anxiety about the youth who had just left them.
 
“I wish that I were clear of the whole business,” remarked the Hebrew uneasily, almost petulantly.
 
“Why, do you fear that any evil can happen to the boy?” asked Bladud anxiously.
 
“Oh! I fear not for him. It is not that. He will be among friends at the camp—but—but I know not how Gadarn may take it.”
 
“Take what?” demanded the prince in surprise.
 
“Take—take my failure to find his daughter.”
 
“Ha! to be sure; he may be ill-pleased at that. But if I thought there was any chance of evil befalling Cormac in the camp, by all the gods of the east, west, north, and south,” cried the prince, carried away by the strength of his feelings into improper and even boastful language, “I would go and demand his liberation, or fight the whole tribe single-handed.”
 
“A pretty boast for a man in present safety,” remarked the Hebrew, with a remonstrative shake of the head.
 
“Most true,” returned the prince, flushing; “I spoke in haste, yet it was not altogether a boast, for I ............