Richard, as with bare feet and ashes whitening his dark locks he knelt on the cold stones of the dark Norman church at Trapani, wept hot and bitter tears of humiliation over the family crimes that had brought them so low; prayed in an agony for repentance for his brothers; and for himself, some opening for expiating their sin against at least the generous royal family. “O! could I but die for my Prince, and know that he forgave and they repented!” Only when on his way back to the camp was he sensible of the murmurs of censure at his hypocrisy in joining the penitential procession at all. Dame Idonea, in a complete suit of sackcloth, was informing her friends that she had made a vow not to wash her face till the whole adder brood of Montfort had been crushed; and that she trusted to see the beginning of justice done to-morrow. She had offered a candle to St. James to that effect, hoping to induce him to turn away his patronage from the family. Every one, knight or squire, shrank away from Richard, if he did but look towards them; and he was seriously discomfited by the difficulty of obtaining a godfather for the combat. No one chose even to be asked, lest they might be suspected of approving of the murder of Prince Henry; and the unhappy page re-entered his tent with the most desolate sense of being abandoned by heaven and man. Fastened upon the pole of the tent by an arrowhead, a small scroll of parchment met his eyes. He read in English—“A steed and a lance are ready for the lioncel who would rather avenge his father than lick the tyrant’s feet. A guide awaits thee.” Some weeks since, this might have been a tempting summons; but now the sickening sense of the sacrilegious murder, and of the life of outlawry utterly unrestrained, passed over Richard. Yet, if he should not accept the offer, what was before him? A shameful death, perhaps; if he failed in the ordeal, disgrace, captivity, or expulsion; if he succeeded, bondage and distrust for ever. Some new accusation! some deeper fall! There was a low growl from Leonillo; the hangings of the tent were raised, and an archer bending his head said, “A word with you, Sir.” “Who art thou?” demanded Richard. “Hob Longbow, Sir. Remember you not old passages—in the forest, there—and Master Adam?” Richard did remember the archer in the days of his outlaw life, in a very different capacity.