North-country breed, shaggy, and in size not much greater than a
stag-hound. Robert viewed him with surprise, and it seemed with
derision.

"Despise not him who is able to bear thee out of the wood," said
Richard. "Thou art faint; here is wine, and of no mean vintage."

Robert drank from the earthen bottle, and his eye grew brighter, yet
looked it not the more lovingly on Richard. He ate right gladly of the
store of the landless and penniless,--dried venison and oaten
bread,--and was refreshed, yet thanked him not. Richard gave fragments
to the neighing steed. He ate no morsel himself, nor tasted the
wine. His heart was full to bursting.

"Tell me of home,--of--of our father," he said, at last, with deep,
strong sobs.

"On the morrow, on the morrow," said Robert, disposing himself for
sleep. "Thou wilt hear soon enough."

But Richard seized him wildly by the shoulder, and bade him tell the
worst.

"Nay, then, if thou _wilt_ know, he is dead. I, thy younger brother,
am now thy superior."

"For that I care not. As well thou, as I, to sit in my father's
seat. But oh! left he no blessing for me? Did he not at the last
believe me the victim of calumny?--Alas! No word? Not one dying
thought of Richard?"