He stood, looking earnestly up as the Prince moved from his place, without a glance towards him. The next moment Raynald’s kind hand was on his shoulder, and his voice saying, “Well fought, brother, a brave stroke! Come with me, thou art hurt.” “Would it were to the death!” murmured Richard dreamily, as Raynald, throwing his arm round him, led him away; but before they had reached the tent there was a plunging rush and scampering behind them, and John of Dunster came dashing up. “I knew it! I knew it!” he cried. “I knew he would overset spiteful Hamlyn! Hurrah! They can’t keep me away now, Richard—now the judgment of Heaven has gone for you!” Richard smiled, and put his gauntleted hand caressingly on the boy’s shoulder. “I was afraid,” added John, “that you would think me like the rest of them. Miscreants, all! Not one would shout for you—you, the victor! They don’t heed the judgment of Heaven one jot. And that’s what they call being warriors of the Cross! If the Prince were a true-born Englishman, he would be ashamed of himself. But never heed, Richard. Why don’t you speak to me? Are you angered that I told of the letter? Indeed, I never guessed—” “Hush, varlet,” said Sir Raynald, “see you not that he has neither breath nor voice to speak? If you wish to do him a service, hie to our tents—down yonder, to the east, where you see the eight-pointed cross—” “I know, Sir,” said John, perfectly civil on hearing accents as English as his own. “And bring up Brother Bartlemy, he is a better infirmarer than I. Bid him from me bring his salves and bandages.” Richard was barely conscious when he reached the tent, as much from rigid fasting and sleeplessness as from the actual loss of blood. His friend disarmed him tenderly, and revived him with bread and wine, silencing a half-murmured scruple about Lenten diet with the dispensation due to sickness. The wound was not likely to be serious or disabling, and the cares of the Hospitalier and his infirmarer had presently set their patient so much at ease that he dropped into a sound sleep, having scarcely said a word, beyond a few faintly uttered thanks, since he had fought the combat.