“Alack, alack!” was all Richard could say at the first moment, as he lifted himself up to look again at the first-born of his parents, the head of the brave troop of brethren, the gay, handsome, imperious young Lord de Montfort, whose proud head and gallant bearing he had looked at with a younger brother’s imitative deference. What did he see but a wreck of a man, sitting crouched on the wretched bed, the left arm a mere stump, a bandage where the bright sarcastic eyes used to flash forth their dark fire, deep scars on all the small portion of the face that was visible through the over-grown masses of hair and beard, so plentifully sprinkled with white, that it would have seemed incredible that this man was but eight months older than the Prince, whose rival he had always been in personal beauty and activity. The beautiful child, clasped close to his breast, her face buried on his shoulder under his shaggy locks, was a strange contrast to his appearance, but only added to the look of piteous helplessness and desolation, as she hung upon him in her alarm at the agitation around her. Richard had long been accustomed to think of his brother as dead; but such a spectacle as this was far more terrible to him, and his cheek blanched at the shock, as he gasped again, “Thou here, and thus! thou whom I thought slain!” “Deem me so still,” said his brother, “even as I deem the royal minion dead to me.” “Nay, Henry, thou knowst not.” “Who is present?” interrupted the blind man, raising his head and tossing back his hair with a gesture that for the first time gave Richard a sense that his eldest brother was indeed before him. “Methought I heard another voice.” “I am here, fair son,” replied the old knight, “Father Robert of the Hospital! I will either leave thee, or keep thy secret as though it were thy shrift; but thou art sore spent, and mayst scarce talk more.” “Weariness and pain are past, Father, with my little one again in my bosom,” said Henry; “and there are matters that must be spoken between me and this young brother of mine ere he quits this hut;” and his voice resumed its old authoritative tone towards Richard. “Said you that he had saved my child?” “He drew me from the river, Father,” said Bessee looking up. “There was nothing to stand on, and it was so cold! And he took me in his arms and pulled me out, and put me in a boat; and the lady pulled off my blue coat, and put this one on me. Feel it, Father; oh, so pretty, so warm!” “It was the Princess,” said Richard; but Henry, not noticing, continued, “Thou hast earned my pardon, Richard,” and held out his remaining hand, somewhere towards the height where his brother’s used to be.