t the man, that this
crowd follows after!" Henry spoke of the danger from his sons if he
should quit his dominions. "No wonder," was the parting taunt of
Heraclius; "from the devil they came, and to the devil they will go."

But Henry was never to come back to England. One day in June a certain
Walter of the royal household was terrified by a vision of St. Thomas,
who appeared bearing a shining sword which he declared had been newly
forged to pierce through the king himself. Walter hurried to the chapel,
where Henry was at mass, to tell his tale. Three times the king bent
before the altar and signed himself devoutly as though he prayed to the
Lord, and then passed to his council chamber. The next day he called
Walter to his presence, and sadly shaking his head, spoke with deep
sighs, "Walter, Walter, I have felt how cruelly thy sword can strike,
for we have lost Chateauroux!" War had in fact broken out in Aquitaine.
Toulouse had risen against Richard. Philip, in violation of his treaty,
invaded Berri and marched into Auvergne. Hastily gathering an army,
Henry crossed to France in a terrible storm. He met Philip at Gisors on
the 30th of September, but after three days' bitter strife the kings
parted. In November they met again at Bonmoulins in the presence of the
Archbishop of Reims, and a great multitude of courtiers and knights.
Richard, outraged by the rumour that Henry proposed to give Aquitaine to
John, turned suddenly to Philip, while the people crowded round wondering,
ungirt his sword, and stretched out his hands to do homage to him for all
his father's lands from the Channel to the Pyrenees. His unhappy father
started back, stunned by this new calamity, "for he had not forgotten the
evil which Henry his son had done to him with the help of King Louis, and
this Philip was yet worse than his father Louis." As father and son fell
apart the people rushed together, while at the tumult the outer ring of
soldiers laid their hands upon their swords, and thus Philip and Richard
went out together, leaving Henry alone.

A great solitude had indeed fallen on the old king. His wife was still
guarded as a prisoner. Two of his sons had died traitors to their
father. A third was in open rebellion. All his daughters were in far-off
lands, and one of them was soon to die. Only one son remained to him of
all his household, and to him Henry now clung with a great love--the
fierce tenacity of an affection that knew no other hope. Th