Prince William, his son, was dead.
The king heard him to the end, with slowly whitening face and
horror-stricken eyes. At the conclusion of the child's narrative the
monarch fell prostrate to the floor, and lay there long like one
stricken with death. The chronicle of this sad tragedy ends in one short
phrase, which is weighty with its burden of grief,--From that day on
King Henry never smiled again!
_A CONTEST FOR A CROWN._
Terrible was the misery of England. Torn between contending factions,
like a deer between snarling wolves, the people suffered martyrdom,
while thieves and assassins, miscalled soldiers, and brigands, miscalled
nobles, ravaged the land and tortured its inhabitants. Outrage was law,
and death the only refuge from barbarity, and at no time in the history
of England did its people endure such misery as in those years of the
loosening of the reins of justice and mercy which began with 1139
A.D.
It was the autumn of the year named. At every port of England bands of
soldiers were landing, with arms and baggage; along every road leading
from the coast bands of soldiers were marching; in every town bands of
soldiers were mustering; here joining in friendly union, there coming
into hostile contact, for they represented rival parties, and were
speeding to the gathering points of their respective leaders.
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