echoed insult in the Prince's brain. He fled the sounds. Hard by
him on his right a road struck towards the palace, and he followed
it through the thick shadows and branching alleys of the park. It
was a busy place on a fine summer's afternoon, when the court and
burghers met and saluted; but at that hour of the night in the early
spring it was deserted to the roosting birds. Hares rustled among
the covert; here and there a statue stood glimmering, with its
eternal gesture; here and there the echo of an imitation temple
clattered ghostly to the trampling of the mare. Ten minutes brought
him to the upper end of his own home garden, where the small stables
opened, over a bridge, upon the park. The yard clock was striking
the hour of ten; so was the big bell in the palace bell-tower; and,
farther off, the belfries of the town. About the stable all else
was silent but the stamping of stalled horses and the rattle of
halters. Otto dismounted; and as he did so a memory came back to
him: a whisper of dishonest grooms and stolen corn, once heard, long
forgotten, and now recurring in the nick of opportunity. He crossed
the bridge, and, going up to a window, knocked six or seven heavy
blows in a particular cadence, and, as he did so, smiled. Presently
a wicket was opened in the gate, and a man's head appeared in the
dim starlight.

'Nothing to-night,' said a voice.

'Bring a lantern,' said the Prince.

'Dear heart a' mercy!' cried the groom. 'Who's that?'

'It is I, the Prince,' replied Otto. 'Bring a lantern, take in the
mare, and let me through into the garden.'