But Wendot broke in hoarsely and impetuously.

“If he must die, let him at least die in freedom, with the old hills around him; let him be laid to rest beneath their shadow.  You say that he might well escape; that no cry would be made after him so long as I were in the king’s safe keeping.  Let him then fly.  Let him fly to Llewelyn and Arthyn.  They will give him tendance and a home.  He shall not die in prison, away from all that he holds dear.  I cannot brook the thought!”

“Nay, Wendot,” answered Alphonso with a kindling smile, “thou needest not grieve for thy brother because that he is here.  Ask him —­ take it not from my lips; but I will tell thee this, that where thou art and where I am is the place where Griffeth would fain end his days.  Ah! thou canst not understand, good youth, how when the great and wonderful call comes for the human soul, how lightly press the fetters of the flesh; how small these things of time and place appear that erst have been of such moment.  Griffeth and I are treading the same path at the same time, and I think not even the offer of a free pardon and unfettered liberty would draw him from my side.

“Moreover, Wendot, he could not take the journey of which thou speakest.  The keen autumn air, which will give thee strength and vigour, would but lay him low on the bed from which he would never rise.  His heart is here with me.  Think not that thou art wronging him in taking his name.  The one load lying now upon his heart is the thought that he is leaving thee in captivity.  Let him but know that thou art free —­ that he has been thy helper in thy flight —­ and he will have nought left to wish for in this world.  His soul will be at peace.”

Wendot rose and paced through the chamber, and then returned to the side of the prince.  His face betrayed many conflicting emotions.  He spoke with bitterness and impetuosity.

“And what good is life to me if I take you at your word and fly this spot?  Have I not lost all that makes life worth living?  My lands given to my traitorous kinsman; the brother who has been more to me than life lying in a foreign grave.  What use is life to one so lonely and bereft?  Where should I fly? what should I do?  I have never lived alone.  I have always had another to live for and to love.  Methinks death would be the better thing than such a loveless life.”

“And why should thy life be loveless, Wendot?” asked Alphonso, with kindling eyes and a brightening smile.  “Dost not thou know? —­ does not thine own heart tell thee that one faithful heart beats for thee and thee alone?  Have I not seen thee with her times and again?  Have not your eyes told eloquent secrets —­ though I know not what your lips have said —­”

Wendot’s face was all in a glow, but he broke in hastily: