Wendot had lost the sturdiness of figure, the brown colouring, and the strength of limb which had distinguished him in old days from Griffeth.  A striking likeness had always existed between the brothers, whose features were almost identical, and whose height and contours were the same.  Now that illness had sharpened the outlines of Wendot’s face, had reduced his fine proportions, and had given to him something of the hollow-eyed wistfulness of expression which Griffeth had so long worn, this likeness became so remarkable that few in the castle knew one brother from the other.  Knowing this, they both answered indifferently to the name of either, and any change of personality would be managed without exciting the smallest fear of remark.

Wendot had been perplexed at times by the persistence with which he had been addressed as Griffeth, even when he was certain that the speaker was one of the few who knew him and his brother apart; but he had not troubled his head much over the matter until this day, when Alphonso had openly spoken to him of the plan that was in their minds, and had bidden him prepare for a secret flight from the castle, promising that there should be no ardent search after him, as Wendot, and not Griffeth, was the culprit who had fallen under the royal displeasure, and the king would care little for the escape of the younger brother so long as he held the ex-Lord of Dynevor in his own safe keeping.

Wendot’s indignant refusal to leave his brother and make good his own escape showed Alphonso how little he realized Griffeth’s condition, and with gentle sympathy, but with candour and frankness, he explained to the elder brother how short would be the period of Griffeth’s captivity —­ how soon and how complete the release for which he was patiently and happily waiting.

Wendot gave a great start as the meaning of Alphonso’s words first broke upon him, and then he buried his face in his hands, and sat motionless, neither answering nor moving.  Alphonso looked at him, and by-and-by put out his own wasted hand and laid it upon Wendot’s knee.

“Does it seem a sad thing to thee, Wendot?  Believe me, there is no sadness for Griffeth in the thought.  Nay, is it not a blessed thing to know that soon, very soon, we shall be free of this weary burden of pain and sickness and weakness, and laying all aside will pass away to the land of which the seer of old foretold that ’the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.’  Thou knowest not, perhaps, the sweetness of those words, but I know it well, and Griffeth likewise.

“Nay, Wendot, thou must learn not to grudge him the rest and the bliss of yon bright land.  In this world he could look for nothing save wearing weakness and lingering pain.  Thou shouldst be glad that the fiat has gone forth, and that the end may not be far off —­ the end of trouble and sorrow; for of the glory that shall follow there shall be no end.”