"But," thought he, "men work, and it must be so grand to be a man--a prince too; and I fancy princes work harder than anybody-- except kings. The princes I read about generally turn into kings. I wonder"--the boy was always wondering--"Nurse,"--and one day he startled her with a sudden question,--"tell me-- shall I ever be a king?"

The woman stood, perplexed beyond expression. So long a time had passed by since her crime--if it were a crime--and her sentence, that she now seldom thought of either. Even her punishment--to be shut up for life in Hopeless Tower--she had gradually got used to. Used also to the little lame Prince, her charge --whom at first she had hated, though she carefully did everything to keep him alive, since upon him her own life hung.

But latterly she had ceased to hate him, and, in a sort of way, almost loved him--at least, enough to be sorry for him--an innocent child, imprisoned here till he grew into an old man, and became a dull, worn-out creature like herself. Sometimes, watching him, she felt more sorry for him than even for herself; and then, seeing she looked a less miserable and ugly woman, he did not shrink from her as usual.