“Nay, father; let them be my prisoners, I pray,” cried Alphonso, with unwonted energy and animation.  “Thou hast granted me their lives; grant me the keeping of their persons too.  Nay, think not that I will connive at their escape.  Give whatsoever charge thou wilt concerning the safety of their persons to those who guard us in our daily life, but let me have them as gentlemen of mine own.  Call them prisoners an you will, but let their imprisonment be light —­ let me enjoy their company.  Thou knowest that Britton is fretting for a freer life, and that I see little of him now.  I have often longed for a companion to share my solitary hours.  Give me Griffeth and Wendot.  They have the royal blood of Wales flowing in their veins, and methinks they love me even as I love them.  And, father, Griffeth has not many months, methinks, to live; and I know so well all he suffers that my heart goes out to him.  He has the love of books that I have, and we have so many thoughts which none seem to understand save our two selves.  And he and Wendot are as one.  It would be cruelty such as thou wouldst not inflict to separate them whilst one has so short a time to live.  Give me them for mine own attendants, and bid the servants guard them as best pleaseth thee.  Sweet father, I have not asked many boons of thee.  Grant me this one, I pray thee, for my heart is verily set on it.”

There was something in this appeal, something in the look upon Alphonso’s face, something in the very words he had used, that made it impossible to his father to refuse him.  Blind his eyes as he would to the truth, he was haunted by a terrible fear that the life of his only son was surely slipping away.  Alphonso did not often speak of his health, and the hint just dropped struck chill upon the father’s heart.  Passing his hand across his face to conceal the sudden spasm of pain that contracted it, he rose hastily from his chair, and said: 

“Give thine own orders concerning these youths.  I leave them in thy hands.  Make of them what it pleaseth thee.  Only let them understand that charge will be given to the custodians of the castle, and of whatever place they visit in the future, that they are prisoners at the king’s pleasure, and that any attempt at escape will be punished with instant and rigorous captivity.”

“So be it,” answered Alphonso, with brightening eyes.  “I thank thee, father, for the boon.  Thou shalt never have cause to repent it.”

CHAPTER XI.  THE KING’S CLEMENCY.

“Unhand me, sir.  How dare you thus insult me?  Let go my hand, or I summon help instantly.  I am come to seek the king.  Will you raise a tumult within hearing of his private apartments?  Unhand me, I say,” and Arthyn’s cheeks flamed dangerously, whilst her eyes flashed fire.