The tent was nearly dark, and Richard could only see the outline of the tall form laid prostrate, but the voice he had feared never to hear again, spoke, though slowly and wearily, and a hand was held out. “Welcome, cousin,” he said. “Poor boy, they must needs have at thee ere the breath was out of my body; but for that, at least, they shall wait, and longer if my word and will can avail after I am gone. What has given them occasion against thee, Richard?” “Alas! my Lord, you are too ill at ease to vex yourself with my matters.” “Nay, but I must see thee righted, Richard; there are services for thee to do to me. Hark thee! I have bequeathed thee thy mother’s lands at Odiham, which my father gave to me. So mayest thou do for Henry whate’er he will brook,” he added, with a languid smile, holding Richard’s hand in such a manner as to impress that though his words came very tardily, he did not mean to be interrupted. “Methinks Henry will not grudge a kindly thought and a few prayers for his old comrade. And, Richard, strive to be near my poor boys; strive that they be bred in strict self-rule, and let them hear of the purposes thy father left to me: I think thou knowst them or canst divine them better than any other near me. Thou _shall_ be with them if—if Heaven and the blessed Saints bear my sweet wife through this trouble. She will love and trust thee.” Edward’s voice broke down in a half-strangled sob between grief and pain; he could not contemplate the thought of his wife, and weakness had broken down much of his power over himself. He did not speak at once, or invite an answer; and when he did, his words were an exclamation of despairing weariness at the trumpet of a gnat that hovered above him. Richard presently understood that the thin goats’ hair curtains which even the crusaders had learnt to adopt from their Oriental neighbours as protections against these enemies, being continually disarranged to give the Prince drink or to put cool applications to his wound, the winged foes were sure to enter, and with their exasperating hum further destroy all chance of rest. The Prince had not slept since he had been wounded, and was well-nigh distraught with wakefulness, and with the continual suffering, which was only diminished at the first moment that a cold lotion touched his arm. The Hospitaliers had sent in some ice from Mount Hermon, but no one knew how to apply it, and even Dame Idonea had despised it.