After all Richard’s exertions that evening, it was no wonder that the morning found him fast asleep at the unexampled hour of eight! His wakening was a strange one. His little fellow-page was standing beside him with a strange frightened yet important air. “What is the matter, John? It is late? Is the Prince gone to Mass? Has he missed me?” cried Richard, starting up in dismay, for unpunctuality was a great offence with Edward. “He is gone to Mass,” said John, “but, before he comes back,” he came near and lowered his voice, “Hob Longbow sent me to say you had better flee.” “Flee! Boy, why should I flee? Are _your_ senses fleeing?” “O Richard,” cried John, his face clearing up, “then it is not true! You are not one of the traitor Montforts!” “If I were a hundred Montforts, what has that to do with it?” “Then all is well,” exclaimed the boy. “I said you were no such thing! I’ll tell Hob he lied in his throat.” “If he said I was a traitor, verily he did; but as to being a Montfort—But, how now, John, what means all this?” “Then it is so! O Richard, Richard, you cannot be one of them! You cannot have written that letter to warn them to murder Prince Henry.” “To murder Prince Henry!” Richard stood transfixed. “Not the Prince’s little son!” “Oh no, Prince Henry of Almayne! At Viterbo! Hamlyn de Valence saw it. He is come back. It was in the Cathedral. O Richard—at the elevation of the Host! Guy and Simon de Montfort fell on him, stabbed him to the heart, and rushed out. Then they came back again, and dragged him by the hair of his head into the mire, and shouted that so their father had been dragged through the streets of Evesham. And then they went off to the Maremma! And,” continued the boy breathlessly, “Hob Long-bow is on guard, and he bade me tell you, that for love of your father he will let you pass; and then you can hide; if only you can go ere the Prince comes forth.” “Hide! Wherefore should I hide? This is most horrible, but it is no deed of mine!” said Richard. “Who dares to think it is?” “Then you are none of them! You had no part in it! I shall tell Hob he is a villain—” “Stay,” said Richard, laying a detaining hand on the boy. “Why does Hob think me in danger? Is anything stirring against me?” “They all—all of poor Prince Henry’s meiné, that are come back with Hamlyn—say that you are a Montfort too, and—oh! do not look so fierce!—that you sent a letter to warn your brethren where to meet, and fall on the Prince. And the murderers being fled, they are keen to have your life; and, Richard, you know I saw you write the letter.” “That you saw me write a letter, is as certain as that my name is Montfort,” said Richard, “but I am not therefore leagued with traitors or murderers! In the church, saidst thou? Oh, well that the Prince forbade me to visit Guy!” “Then you will not flee?” “No, forsooth. I will stay and prove my innocence.” “But you are a Montfort! And I saw you write the letter.”