There was a conspiracy to carry off the young prince, and the band of men pledged to the deed were actually on their track and close at hand.

How could he warn the prince in time?
How could he save him from their hands?
For a moment the boy's courage seemed to desert him.

A cold sweat broke out on his face, his knees trembled beneath him.

But his fear was not a selfish or unworthy one; it was all for the royal child, whose peril was so imminent.
And then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, he recollected that he himself wore the cap with the white plume, the jewelled collar of royalty, and the dagger the little prince habitually carried in his girdle.

And had he not the same floating golden curls, the same cast of features, the same active figure, and almost the same stature?
Might he not save the real prince by playing his part to some purpose for the time being?
The men would not distinguish between the pair--he felt certain of that; they would at once make off with their prize.