'Warm some of this wine and give it to my son,' he said to the keeper of the hut; 'then undress him, wrap him warmly, and make him sleep before the fire.'
'You are hurt, you are ill!' moaned Bela. 'I came to find you to take you back. Our mother has never been the same;—she has never smiled——'
'Hush!' said Sabran, almost sternly. 'Do not speak of your mother before these men, her servants. You came to seek me, my poor little boy? That was good of you, and it was good to remember me. It is three years——'
Bela clung to him and put his lips to his father's ear, that the men might not hear.
'The others have always prayed for you,' he murmured, 'because we were all told. But me, I have loved you always. I have never thought of anything else. And I have tried to be good, oh! I have tried!'
A great suffering came on his father's face as he heard the innocent words, and a great tenderness.
'When I am dead, as I shall be so soon, will he remember, too?' he thought.
Aloud he said:
'My child, it is very sweet to me to hear your voice again. But if you love me now, obey me. You will have fever and ague if you do not drink some warm wine, let yourself be undressed, and lie down before the fire. Do not be afraid. You will see me when you awake. I shall not stir.'
He thought as he spoke: