Yes, the Holy Sepulchre might not be recovered and reached by the English army, but it might still be remembered, and therein be laid down all struggles of the will, all rebellious agony, at the being misunderstood, misused, vituperated, all suffering might there be offered up; nor could the most ignominious death stand between him and the thought of that Holy Tomb, and of the joy beyond.—Son of a man who, sorely tried, had drawn his sword against his king, brother of wilful murderers, perhaps to die innocent was the best fate he could hope; and in accordance with the doctrine of his time, he hoped that his death might serve as a part of a sacrifice for the family guilt. Nay, the Prince gone, wherefore should he wish to live? “Don’t you see? The Prince’s signet! He said I should bring him! Clown that thou art, hast no eyes nor ears? What, don’t you know me? I am the young lord of Dunster, the Prince’s foot-page. It is his command.” And amid some perplexed mutterings from the guard, little John of Dunster burst into the tent. “Up, up,” he cried, “you are to come to the Prince instantly.” “How fares he?”—Richard’s one question of the day. “Sorely ill at ease,” said the boy, “but he wants you, he calls for you, and no one would tell him where you were, so I spoke out at last, and he bade me take his ring and bring you, for ’tis his pleasure. Come now, for the Earl of Lancaster and Hamlyn are gone to take the Princess to Acre, and my Lord of Gloucester has taken his red head off to sleep, and no one is there but old Raymond and some of the grooms. “The Princess gone!” “Ay, and Dame Idonea with her. So we shall hear no more of King Cœur de Lion. Hamlyn swears she was on his crusade. Do you think she was, Richard? nobody knows how old she is.” Richard was a great deal too anxious to ask questions himself, to be able to answer this query. And as the yeomen let him pass them, only begging him to bear him out with the Princes, he hastily gathered from the boy all that he could tell. The Prince had, it appeared, been in a most suffering state from pain and fever all the night and the ensuing day, and had hardly noticed any one but his devoted wife, who had attended him unremittingly, until with the cooler air of evening she saw him slightly revived, but was herself so completely spent, and so unwell, as to be incapable of opposing his decision that she should at once be carried into the city to receive the succours her state demanded. When she was gone, Edward, who had perhaps sought to spare her the sight of his last agony, had roused himself to make his will, and choose protectors for his father and young children; and it was after this that his inquiries became urgent for Richard de Montfort. He was at length answered by the indignant little foot-page; and greatly resenting the action of the council, he had, as John said, “frowned and spoken like himself,” and sent the little fellow in quest of the young esquire.