# The Silent Prince/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
THE ADVENTURE.
Francis Junius hurried from the presence of the Princess of Aremburg, feeling confident that the look of half recognition on the Jesuit’s face boded ill. He wrapped his fur-trimmed cloak more closely around him, and drawing his slouched hat well over his face, soon left the palace far behind in the distance.
As he neared the brow of a hill, a cry for help was heard. Looking back, the preacher saw a frightened horse covered with foam, which with hanging head and dilated nostrils was galloping madly on. The beast was a powerful animal, and his rider, a mere boy, had lost all control of him. He had loosened his hold on the reins and was clinging to the horse’s mane. It was evident that if the animal dashed down the hill, he would stumble and fall, or would at least succeed in flinging his rider. Without a second’s hesitation Junius threw himself directly in the path of the frightened steed, and seized the bridle. With an almost superhuman effort he endeavored to force the horse ​upon his haunches, but the maddened brute reared and plunged wildly, and threatened to throw the preacher down and trample him under his hoofs. Junius dealt the animal a powerful blow with his clenched fist on its forehead. The brute recognized the hand of a master, and quivering in every limb he stood still.
The young rider slipped off the horse's back and stood before his rescuer.
“Seigneur,” he said in faltering tones, “how can I express my thanks to you? You have saved me from a terrible death.”
The lad who thus spoke was perhaps fifteen years of age, with a tall slight figure and a delicate feminine face. His features were perfect in outline. The rounded chin and curved lips were exquisitely formed. The broad white brow was shaded by rings of bronze-blue hair, and from under delicately pencilled eyebrows looked forth a pair of wonderful dark-blue eyes, clear yet fathomless, like a lake on which the sun is shining. That the lad belonged to a family of consequence was evidenced by his rich though disorderly dress.
Junius was attracted by the frank, ingenuous countenance of the youth, and he answered with a smile, “Yes, my young sir, you have had a narrow escape. My appearance at this time was truly providential. You are not strong enough to manage such a powerful animal.”
​“Fritz said that I was foolhardy,” answered the boy, “and I now know that he was right. But for you, I should have paid dearly for my wilfulness.”
Just at this moment a servant in splendid livery rode up on horseback, pale and breathless.
“Ah, my lord Hugo,” he said, “you have given me a terrible fright. I will never consent again to your riding this wicked brute. You know I told you he was altogether too fresh and full of mettle for you to use. I fairly held my breath when you dashed out of sight. My lord knows that I cannot refuse him anything,” and Fritz gazed reproachfully into the face of his youthful master.
“You have a right to rebuke me,” replied Hugo. “I admit that I was a foolish fellow not to take your advice. But I want you to say nothing to my uncle about the affair, there's a good Fritz. You know uncle will not allow me my liberty, if he should know of this escapade. There really is no harm done to any one. See, I have not so much as a scratch! Now take both the horses back to the stable. I will follow as soon as I have spoken with my rescuer.”
Fritz gave a reluctant consent to his master's request, and departed to do his bidding.
The boy turned once more to Junius.
“Seigneur,” he said, “can I not do something for you to repay you for your kindness? Or, better yet, will you not accompany me to my uncle's ​house? You look sad and ill. I know my uncle would do much for one who has saved the life of his favorite nephew.”
“And what may your uncle's name be?” replied Junius, touched by the lad's ingenuous words and winning manner.
“Baron Berlaymont.” The effect of this name upon Francis Junius was electrical.
“You, the nephew of the Tiger of Brussels?” burst from the preacher's lips. “Is it possible to rear a dove in a falcon's nest?”
“The Tiger of Brussels,” repeated the boy in astonishment. “is that what people call my uncle? Why should one so good and kind be called a tiger? It is unjust, monstrous!”
“Ask Baron Berlaymont to take you to the dungeons of the Inquisition in Brussels, where hundreds of your fellow countrymen languish in noisome cells, or to witness the spectacle, far from rare, of the terrible auto da fé. Your uncle's voice is heard in all the councils. His lips are the first to denounce the heretic. You will then find an answer to your question.”
The youth gazed spellbound into the stern face of the preacher. His cheek flushed and paled. The fruits of the tree of knowledge were already producing bitterness of soul. Hugo whispered rather than spoke the words, “Is my uncle one of the inquisitors?”
​Junius regretted his harsh accusation as he gazed into the guileless face of the boy, and his heart smote him with sharp reproach. He would gladly have retracted his words, when he saw the pain he had caused. He had unwittingly changed the whole tenor of that young life. He had forever closed the golden door of trust in that young heart. With a word he had exposed the sin and misery of the world in their nakedness. With a look of compassion, and with infinite tenderness, he answered,
“Yes, my boy.”
“And is it because you are a heretic that you will not seek my uncle's presence?”
Again the preacher nodded assent.
Hugo Berlaymont stood for a moment in thoughtful silence, then he said, “Seigneur, I want to know more about your religion.”
Junius smiled sadly. “Why seek, my boy, to enter upon so dangerous an experiment? You are young, and your path in life is without doubt already mapped out for you.”
“Seigneur, I must know the truth.”
The preacher was silent for a few moments. The passion for souls was strong within him. In this time of religious and political upheaval, mighty interests left small space for delicacy of feeling. The thought that he was acting in direct antagonism to the wishes of the lad's natural guardian never ​occurred to Junius in the far greater question of the lad's eternal happiness or misery. That he might test his companion's strength of character, he hazarded another argument.
“My boy, the religion you seek is banned and persecuted. You can learn about it only by stealth, Are you capable of keeping inviolate a weighty secret?”
“I am,” was the fearless reply. Looking into the earnest face of the youth, the preacher's last, lingering objection was silenced.
“The finger of God is in this request,” he said devoutly. “I may not deny my Master's message to any sincere seeker. Come to-night to the shop of the hairdresser, Monsieur Le Févre, where I shall preach the Word to the brethren. The password is ‘Fidelity.’ I trust you implicitly. Having saved your life, I know that you will not deliver me into the hands of the Inquisition.” With a kind smile, Junius held out his hand in farewell.
“You can trust me, Seigneur,” cried Hugo, “I will never betray you.”