But the cries and entreaties of the helpless and beautiful prince
prevailed. Hubert wavered and hesitated; he bade the men advance, and
then bade them withhold; he looked at the prince, and he looked at the
glowing irons; he pushed the suppliant from him, and then suffered him
to cling to him. The executioners themselves were moved to pity, and
lay down their instruments. Finally, with a mighty effort, the warden
yielded, and said, "Retire, men, and take with you your tools, till I
require you." Then turning to Arthur, he said, "Prince, thou shalt keep
thy sight and thy life while I am by to protect thee." And the rough
hand of the old warrior stroked the hair of the weeping boy as it might
have been his own son's.

The answer that Hubert de Burgh sent back that day by the king's
messenger was an earnest appeal for mercy on behalf of his young and now
beloved charge.

But King John was a stranger to all feelings of pity, and his vengeance
was quick and dreadful. Foiled of his cruel design upon the eyesight of
his hapless nephew, he determined now to have his life. So he ordered
him to be removed from Falaise, and the custody of the humane De Burgh,
to the castle of Rouen, under whose walls flowed the waters of the River
Seine. But the prince did not remain long there. One night a jailor
entered his dungeon, and, waking him from his sleep, ordered him to
follow him. The boy obeyed in silence, as the jailor conducted him down
the winding staircase which led to the foot of the tower, beside which
the Seine flowed. A boat was waiting at the bottom, in which sat two
men. The torch of the jailor cast a sudden glare over the dark waters,
and by its light Arthur recognised, with horror and despair, in one of
the two the cruel features of his Uncle John. It was useless for him to
pray and entreat; it was useless for him to struggle or cry out. They
dragged him into the boat, and held him fast as she drifted under the
shadow of those gloomy walls into mid stream. What happened then no one
can tell; but had any listened that still, dark night, they might have
heard a boy's wild cry across the waters, and then a dull, heavy
splash--and that was all.

The story is that of those two, King John with his own hand did the foul
deed. However that may be, Arthur of Brittany was never even heard of
more.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

RICHARD THE SECOND, THE BOY WHO QUELLED A TUMULT.

A vast, disorderly rabble thronged th