“My father—my father!” he said. “He forgave—he hated blood; Simon, didst but know—” “I see,” said Simon impatiently, “that Heaven and earth alike are set against my purpose. Fear not for his days, Richard, they are safe from me, and here is my hand upon it.” The tone was sullen and grudging, and Richard looked scarcely comforted; but the Prince was in haste that he should be succoured at once, and even while receiving Simon’s unwilling hand, said, “We lose time. Speed near enough to the Spital to be heard, and shout for aid. Then seek thine own safety. I will say no more of thy share in this matter.” Simon lingered one moment. “Boy,” he said, “I told thee thou wast over like him. Live, live if thou canst! Alas! I had thought to make surer work this time; but thou dost pardon me the mischance?” “More than pardon—thank thee—since he is safe,” whispered Richard, and as Simon bent over him the boy crossed his brow, and returned a look of absolute joy. Simon sped away; and the Prince, when left alone with Richard, put no restraint upon the warmth of his feelings, and his tears fell fast and freely. “Boy, boy,” he said; “I little thought thou wast to bear what was meant for me!” And then, with tenderness that would have seemed foreign to his nature, he inquired into the pain that Richard was suffering, tried to make his position more easy, and lamented that he could not venture to draw out the weapon until the leeches should come. “It has been my best hope,” said Richard; “and now that it should have been thus. With your goodness I have nothing—nothing to wish. Sir Raynald will be here—I have only my charge for Henry to give him—and poor Leonillo!” “I will bear thy charges to Henry,” said the Prince. “Nor shall he think thou didst betray his secret. I will watch over him so far as he will let me, and do all I may for his child. Yet it may be thou wilt still return. I hear the stir in the House. They will be here anon. Thou must live, Richard, my friend, where I have few friends. I thought to have knighted thee, boy, when thou hadst won fame. Oh, would that I had shown thee more of my love while it was time!” “All, all I hoped or longed for I have,” murmured Richard. “If you see Henry, my Lord, bear him my greetings—and to poor Adam—yea, and my mother. Oh! would that I could make them all know your kindness and my joy—that it should be thus!” By this time the whole Hospital was astir, and the knights and lay brethren came flocking out in consternation and dread of finding their royal host himself murdered within their cloisters.