was so ineffably sweet, 'Be still, Richard; I fear me thou hast suffered a wrong, and I am come to repair it, as far as I can! Lay thee down again.'
And the Prince seated himself on the oaken chest; while Richard, after a few words, sat down on his couch.
'Is this the letter about which there has been such a coil?' said Edward, giving him the scroll in its sepia ink.
'It is!' replied Richard in amazement and dismay.
'The only letter thou didst write?'
'The only one,' repeated Richard.
'And,' added Edward, 'it concerns thy brother Henry.
Richard turned even paler than before, and could not suppress a gasp of dismay. 'My Lord, make me not forsworn!'
'Listen to me, Richard,' said Edward. 'My sweet lady gave me no rest about thee. She held that I had withdrawn my trust over lightly, for what was no blame to thine heart; and that having set thee here apart from thy natural friends, we owed thee more notice than I have been wont to think wholesome for untried striplings. Others, and I among them, held that Raynald Ferrers' friendship and countenance showed thee stubbornly set on old connections, and many thought the letter to the Grand Prior Darcy a mere excuse. But when Hamlyn fell, and I still held that thou wert merely cleared from wilful share in the deadly crime of which I had never held thee guilty, then she spake more earnestly. She of her own will sent for Raynald Ferrers to our tent, and called me to speak with him, sure that, even though his family had been our foes, he was too honourable a knight to have espoused thy cause without good reason. Then it was that he told us of thine interest for the blind beggar whose child thou didst save, and of the Grand Prior's message. Also, as full exculpation of thee, he gave me the letter, which, having failed to find a home-bound messenger at San Giovanni, he had brought back to the camp. And now, Richard, what can I say more, than that I did thee wrong, and pray thee to give me thy hand in pardon?'
Richard hid his face and sobbed, completely overwhelmed by the simple dignity of the humility of such a man as Edward. He held the Prince's hand to his lips, and exclaimed, 'Oh, how-how could I have ever felt discontent, or faltered? not in truth-oh, no-but in trust and patience? Oh! my Lord, that I could die for you!'
'Not yet,' said Edward, smiling; 'we have much to do together first. And now tell me, Richard, this beggar is indeed Henry?'
Richard hung his head.
'What, thou mayst not betray him?'
'I am under an oath, my Lord.'
'Nay, I know well-nigh all, Richard. I did indeed see my dear old comrade laid in Evesham Church, so as it broke my heart to see him, bleeding from many wounds, and even his hand lopped by the savage Mortimers. Then, as I bent down, and gave his brow a last kiss, it struck me, for a moment, that the touch was not that of a dead man's skin. But I looked again at the deadly wounds of head and breast, and thought it would be but cruelty to strive to bring back the glimmer of life only to-to see the ruin of his house; and all that he could not be saved from. O Richard, to no man in either host could the day of Evesham have been so sore, as to me, who had to sit in the gate, to gladden men's hearts, like holy King David, when he would fain have been weeping for his son! But in early morning came Abbot William of Whitchurch to my chamber, and with much secrecy told me that the corpse of Henry de Montfort had been stolen from the church by night, praying me to excuse that the monks, wearied out with the day of alarms, and the care of our wounded, had not kept better watch. Then knew I that some one had been less faithless than I, and I hoped that poor Henry was at least dying in peace; I had never deemed that he could survive. But when I saw thy billet, and heard Ferrers' tale, I had no further doubt, remembering likewise how strangely familiar was the face of that little one at Westminster.'
'Yes, my Lord, it was even as a strange, wild, wilful, blind beggar that I found poor Henry; and heavy was the curse he laid me under, should I make him known to you. He calls himself thus a freer and happier man than he could be even were he pardoned and reinstated; and he can indulge his vein of mockery.'
'I dare be sworn that consoles him for all,' said Edward, nearly laughing. 'So long as he could utter his gibe, Henry little recked which way the world passed round him; and I trow he has found some mate of low degree, that he would be loth to produce in open day.'
'Not so, my Lord: it is so wild a tale of true love that I can sometimes scarce believe a minstrel did not sing it to me!' And Richard told the history of Isabel Mortimer's fidelity. The Prince was deeply touched, and then remembered the marked manner in which the Baron of Mortimer had replied to his inquiry, in what convent he had bestowed Henry de Montfort's betrothed. 'She is dead, my Lord, dead to us.' Then he added suddenly, 'So that black-eyed babe is the heiress of Leicester and all the honours of Montfort!'
'It is one of the causes for Henry's resolve to be secret,' said Richard. 'I thought it harsh and distrustful then, but he dreaded Simon's knowledge of her.'
'We will find a way of securing her from Simon,' said the Prince. 'But fear not, Richard, Henry's secret shall be safe with me! I have kept his secrets before now,' he added, with a smile. 'Only, when we are at home again-so it please the Saints to spare us-thou shalt strive to show him cause to trust my Lady with his child, if he doth not seek to breed her up to scrip and wallet. I see such is thy counsel in this scroll, and it is well.'
'How could I say other?' said Richard, 'and now, more than ever! I long to thank the gracious Princess this very evening.'
'Thy wound?' said the Prince.
'My wound is naught, I scarce feel it.'
'Then,' said the Prince, 'unless the leech gainsay it, it would be as well to be at our pavilion this evening, that men may see thou art not in any disgrace. Rest then till supper-time.' And as he spoke he rose to depart, but Richard made a gesture of entreaty. 'So please your Grace, grant me a few farther words. I sware, and truly, that I had heard nothing from my brothers when I was accused of writing that letter to them. But see here, what yester-morn was pinned to that tent-pole.'
He gave Edward the scroll, at which the Prince looked half smiling. 'So! A dagger in store for me too, is there? Well, my cousins have a goodly thirst for vengeance! Hast thou any suspicion how this billet came here?'
'Ay, my Lord; and for that cause I would warn you against two of the archers, one of whom was in Simon's troop, and went with the late prince to Viterbo. I gave them no promise of silence.'
'You spoke with them?'
'With one, who was charged to let me through the outposts to a spot where means were provided for bringing me to Guy.'
'And thou,' said Edward, smiling, 'didst choose to bide the buffet?'
'Sir,' said Richard, 'I did indeed long after my brethren when Guy had been so near me in Africa; but now, I would far rather die than cast in my lot with them.'
'Thou art wise,' said Edward; 'not merely right, but wise. I have sent Gloucester to my uncle of Sicily with such messages that he will scarce dare to leave them scatheless! Then, at supper-time we meet again-in thine own name, Richard, and as my kinsman and esquire. Thou shalt bear thine own name and arms. I will cause a mourning suit to be sent to thee-thou art equally of kin with myself to poor Henry-and shalt mourn him with Edmund and me at the requiem to- morrow. So will it best be manifest to the camp, that we exempt thee from all blame.' Again he was departing, when Richard added-'The archers, my Lord-were it not good to dismiss them?'
'Tush,' said Edward; 'tell me not their names. So soon as the wind veers, they will be beyond Guy's reach; and if I were to stand on my guard against every man who loved thy father better than mine, what good would my life do me? The poor knaves will be true enough when they see a Saracen before them!'
And away went Edward, to be glanced at as he passed through the camp, as a severe, hard, cruel tyrant. Had he only been gay, open-hearted, and careless, he might have hung both the guilty archers, and a dozen innocent ones into the bargain, and yet have never won the character for harshness and unmercifulness that he had acquired even while condoning many a dire offence, simply from his stern gravity, and his punctilious exactitude in matters of discipline. But the evils of a lax and easy-going court had been so fatal, and had produced such suffering, that it was no marvel that he had adopted a rule of iron; and in the pain and distress of seeing his closest friends, the noblest subjects in the realm, pushed into a rebellion where he had himself to maintain his father's cause, and then to watch, without being able to hinder, the mean-spirited revenge of his own partizans, his manner had acquired that silent reserve and coldness which made him feared and hated by the many, while intensely beloved by the few.
