The Outlaw of Torn

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Page 147

lost and is found
again be always the best beloved.

Toward morning, Norman of Torn fell into a quiet and natural sleep;
the fever and delirium had succumbed before his perfect health and
iron constitution. The chirurgeon turned to the Queen and Bertrade de
Montfort.

"You had best retire, ladies," he said, "and rest. The Prince will
live."

Late that afternoon he awoke, and no amount of persuasion or commands on
the part of the King's chirurgeon could restrain him from arising.

"I beseech thee to lie quiet, My Lord Prince," urged the chirurgeon.

"Why call thou me prince?" asked Norman of Torn.

"There be one without whose right it be to explain that to thee,"
replied the chirurgeon, "and when thou be clothed, if rise thou wilt,
thou mayst see her, My Lord."

The chirurgeon aided him to dress and, opening the door, he spoke to a
sentry who stood just without. The sentry transmitted the message to a
young squire who was waiting there, and presently the door was thrown
open again from without, and a voice announced:

"Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Norman of Torn looked up in unfeigned surprise, and then there came back
to him the scene in the Queen's apartment the night before. It was all a
sore perplexity to him; he could not fathom it, nor did he attempt to.

And now, as in a dream, he saw the Queen of England coming toward him
across the small room, her arms outstretched; her beautiful face radiant
with happiness and love.

"Richard, my son!" exclaimed Eleanor, coming to him and taking his face
in her hands and kissing him.

"Madame!" exclaimed the surprised man. "Be all the world gone crazy?"

And then she told him the strange story of the little lost prince of
England.

When she had finished, he knelt at her feet, taking her hand in his and
raising it to his lips.

"I did not know, Madame," he said, "or never would my sword have been
bared in other service than thine. If thou canst forgive me, Madame,
never can I forgive myself."

"Take it not so hard, my son," said Eleanor of England. "It be no fault
of thine, and there be nothing to forgive; only happiness and rejoicing
should we feel, now that thou be found again."

"Forgiveness!" said a man's voice behind them. "Forsooth, it be we
that should ask forgiveness; hunting down our own son with swords and
halters.

"Any but a fool might have known that it was no base-born knave who sent
the King's army back, naked, to the King, and rammed the King's message
down his messenger's throat.

"By all

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