“No, no! Alas, alas!”
“Hush!” said Fernando. “Come, good Moussa, thou knowest I am to be trusted. Withdraw but for a few minutes.”
“Well—’tisn’t much harm can be done. I’ll get you that draught of water, since a tamer set of birds I never had in cage.” And locking the door behind him, Moussa went out.
“That man is often kind to us,” said Fernando; “but oh, Master Hartsed, what brings you here?”
“I come—I have sought your highness for months—that a word from you might right me. But oh! what are my wrongs to this? Oh, my lord! let me but share your prison, that I may wait on you and tend you. Alas, alas!”
“Nay, nay,” said Fernando, “I have no lack of loving tendance, and to-morrow I hope to be at my work again, for this is but a passing sickness, and at night my poor friends return to me. But when were you at Lisbon? My brothers!—oh, Harry, you come from home?” and the gentle eyes grew wistful, and filled with tears.
“I come not now from Lisbon,” said Harry, “and I know not what is now passing there. My lord, when you were sick formerly, you would sometimes rest on my arm—so—”
“Thanks—thanks!”
The poor prince closed his eyes; the familiar voice and touch, unknown for so long, brought back a dream of home. Could he but sleep so, and know no waking in his dreary prison! It almost seemed for a moment as if, when his eyes opened, he should see Enrique leaning over him, and hear his loving greeting. Ah, never—never! till they met in Paradise! With a great effort he roused himself, for time was passing.
“But these wrongs of which you speak?”