So he ordered the two villains to get ready their instruments, and follow him to the dungeon.
“Stay here,” said he, as they reached the young prince’s door, “while I enter alone and prepare him for his fate.”
So those two set down their fire and the red-hot irons, and waited outside for their summons.
When Hubert entered the dungeon, the poor boy was just waking from a sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, being dazzled by the light which Hubert carried in his hand.
“You are welcome,” said he (for Arthur, with so few to love him, loved even his surly, though not unkind, jailor). “I have been in my dreams away in merry England, where I thought I was living in a beautiful palace, with food and servants, and rich clothing, and that there was a crown on my head. And so it shall be some day, Hubert, when I get my rights; and then because you have not been as unkind to me as some in my adversity, you shall be a great and rich man. But why look you so solemn? What ails you?”
The warden stood silent for some moments before he spoke, and then his voice was thick and hoarse.
“Prince,” he said, “take your last look on the light, for you may never see it again.”
The boy sprang from his bed, and seized Hubert by the knees.
“What! Are they going to kill me? Must they take away my life?”
“Not so,” said Hubert; “it is not thy life that is required, but thine eyes.” And as he spoke he stamped on the floor, as the signal to those two who waited without to enter.