“Son, behold your brother! He is alive, not dead. Give God thanks for it.”
A moment’s silence prevailed. It was as though no words were great enough to sound the deeps of that silence.
Then Fulk was inspired. He crossed the room and stood before Richard’s chair.
“Brother, why should hate live between us? Let us take hands and swear comradeship. Then I will go and trouble you and this land no longer.”
Richard rose slowly, falteringly, his eyes on Fulk’s. The other’s manhood seemed to flow into him. His lips grew firmer, his bearing more steady.
“Brother!”
He bowed his head suddenly, caught at Fulk’s hands, and burst into tears.
Again there was silence, save for the sound of his weeping. They let him weep. Presently he raised his head, and his face had a new nobility.
“I, Richard of England, stand here in my shame. Mother, look on me with pity.”
“Son, there is a new heart in you.”