watched him day and night, and supplied him with drink and nourishment,
which were brought to him by the widow Ermengarde.

For six days the young Atheling was insensible of everything but his
own sufferings, and gave no indications of consciousness. On the night
of the seventh, as Wilfrid was supporting upon his bosom the head of
his afflicted master, and holding a cup of cooling drink to his parched
lips, he murmured, "Is it you, my faithful Brithric?"

"No," replied the page, "Brithric is not present, neither hath he
entered this chamber, my lord, since the term of your sore sickness
commenced."

"Surely, then, he must himself be sick, perhaps dead," said the prince.

"No," replied Wilfrid, with a smile; "he is only fearful of exposing
himself to the contagion of the fever."

"Who, then, hath nursed and attended upon me so kindly during these
many days of suffering while I have lain here unconscious of everything
around me?"

"Your servant Wilfrid," replied the page.

"And where then are my chamberlains and attendants, by whom I ought to
be surrounded?" asked the prince, raising his languid head from the
bosom of Wilfrid, and looking round the spacious but deserted room of
state, in which he lay.

"They are all overcome by the terrors of the contagion," said Wilfrid.