Madame," he said, "or never would my sword have been
bared in other service than thine. If thou canst forgive me, Madame,
never can I forgive myself."

"Take it not so hard, my son," said Eleanor of England. "It be no fault
of thine, and there be nothing to forgive; only happiness and rejoicing
should we feel, now that thou be found again."

"Forgiveness!" said a man's voice behind them. "Forsooth, it be we
that should ask forgiveness; hunting down our own son with swords and
halters.

"Any but a fool might have known that it was no base-born knave who sent
the King's army back, naked, to the King, and rammed the King's message
down his messenger's throat.

"By all the saints, Richard, thou be every inch a King's son, an' though
we made sour faces at the time, we be all the prouder of thee now."

The Queen and the outlaw had turned at the first words to see the King
standing behind them, and now Norman of Torn rose, half smiling, and
greeted his father.

"They be sorry jokes, Sire," he said. "Methinks it had been better had
Richard remained lost. It will do the honor of the Plantagenets but
little good to acknowledge the Outlaw of Torn as a prince of the blood."

But they would not have it so, and it remained for a later King of
England to wipe the great name from the pages of history--perhaps a
jealous king.

Presently the King and Queen, adding their pleas to those of the
chirurgeon, prevailed upon him to lie down once more, and when he had
done so they left him, that he might sleep again; but no sooner had the
door closed behind them than he arose and left the apartment by another
exit.

It was by chance that, in a deep set window, he found her for whom he
was searching. She sat looking wistfully into space, an expression half
sad upon her beautiful face. She did not see him as he approached, and
he stood there for several moments watching her dear profile, and the
rising and falling of her bosom over that true and loyal heart that
had beaten so proudly against all the power of a mighty throne for the
despised Outlaw of Torn.

He did not speak, but presently that strange, subtle sixth sense which
warns us that we are not alone, though our eyes see not nor our ears
hear, caused her to turn.

With a little cry she arose, and then, curtsying low after the manner of
the court, said:

"What would My Lord Richard, Prince of England, of his poor subject?"
And then, more gravely, "My Lord, I have been raised