'Except the fair young gentleman,' added True-man, 'and he is a
Christian, or as good.'
'He is a prince,' said Freeman, reproachfully. 'Have I not told you so
twenty times? He is what they call in this country a Hameer, and lives
in a castle, where he wanted my lord to visit him. I only wish he had
gone with my lord to Mount Siny; I think it would have come to more
good.'
'He has been very attentive to my lord all the time,' said Trueman;
'indeed, he has never quitted my lord night or day; and only left his
side when we heard the caravan had returned.'
'I have seen him,' said Baroni; 'and now let us enter the tent.'
Upon the divan, his head supported by many cushions, clad in a Syrian
robe of the young Emir, and partly covered with a Bedouin cloak,
lay Tancred, deadly pale, his eyes open and fixed, and apparently
unconscious of their presence. He was lying on his back, gazing on the
roof of the tent, and was motionless. Fakredeen had raised his wounded
arm, which had fallen from the couch, and had supported it with a pile
made of cloaks and pillows. The countenance of Tancred was much changed
since Baroni last beheld him; it was greatly attenuated, but the eyes
glittered with an unearthly fire.
'We don't think he has ever slept,' said Freeman, in a whisper.
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