“Ill, very ill, Sir. Whether the horse’s feet hurt his old wound, or whether it be the loss of the child, he hath done nought but moan and rave, and lie as one dead ever since they brought him home. He is lying in one of the dead swoons now! It were not well that the child saw him.”
But Bessee, awakening with a cry of joy, saw her borne, and struggled to go to her father, whose name she called on with all her might, disregarding the caresses of the old woman, and the endeavour made by Richard to restrain without alarming her, while Sir Robert went into the hut to endeavour to restore the sufferer.
Suddenly a cry broke from within; and Richard, turning at the voice, beheld the blind man sitting up on his pallet with arms outstretched. “My child!—My Father! hast thou brought her to visit me in limbo?” he cried.
“He raves!” said Richard, using his strength to withhold the child, who broke out into a shriek.
“Nay, nay! she doth not abide here!” he exclaimed. “Her spirit is pure! My sins are not visited on her beyond the grave!”
“Thou art on the earthly side of the grave still, my son,” said Sir Robert, at the same time as Bessee sprang from Richard, and nestled on his breast, clinging to his neck.
“My babe—my Bessee!” he exclaimed, gathering her close to him. “Living, living, indeed! Yet how may it be! Surely this is the other world. That voice sounds not among the living!”
“It is the voice of the youth who saved thy child,” said the Grand Prior.
“Speak again! Let him speak again!” implored the beggar.
“Can I do aught for you, good man?” asked Richard.