shadows of coming doom fell
upon his spirit.

Richard watched till dawn. Sometimes he started up to walk to and fro,
beating his bosom, and wringing his hands in agony. Anon he threw
himself prostrate in the stupor of despair. At the first carol of
birds in the forest, sleep surprised his weary senses, and the peace
of the innocent settled upon his features.

Side by side lay the brothers, alike in form, alike even in
feature. But in heart they bore no mark of the resemblance of kindred.
Envy of the elder-born early possessed the soul of Robert, like a base
fiend; first had it driven thence love, and lastly honor.

Does no one seek for the absent lord of the castle, while the weary
hunters return to be his guests? Keeps no one anxious vigil, the
live-long night? The unloving is not loved. But he hath a king beneath
his roof; a king and lords of high degree sit at the morning board,
and shall none but vassals be hospitably proud and busy?

Ladies of rank were there, and among them, pale and silent, sat
Bertha, looking on the king, it seemed, with an upbraiding eye. An
angry gloom sat upon his grimly compressed lips, and sadness was upon
his brow; for kingly power was naught, since remorse could not undo a
wrong done to one who no longer lived, and vengeance could not reach
its absent object. Richard's innocence had come to light, and Robert,
albeit he knew it not, was now the dishonored outlaw.

Ere the clock of the distant minster rung the hour of ten, the royal
cavalcade wound from the gates of the castle. At the same hour Count
Robert awoke, and saw that the sun was already very high. It shone
upon the calm face of Richard, tempered with quivering shadows from
the leafy canopy above.

"Up, brother Richard!" cried the Count; "thou wast ever a sluggard."
And Richard, at his bidding, filled his hunting-pouch with provisions
for the way, and went before, leading the little Northern nag, which
the Count bestrode. He bore himself bravely under the weight of a
rider whose feet nearly grazed the turf on each side.

Slowly they wound through the tangled wood. "Stay, I will lighten thy
burden for thee," said Robert, "if thou hast not left the bottle
behind. Here's to the fair Bertha. What, thou wilt not drink? Then
thou hast resigned her;--she is not worth a thought. Thou wilt not
peril thy life to see her again, the false one who careth not for
thee. Now depart, and when the king's wrath is overpast, I will
beseech hi