"If 'tis a matter of wit and industry, thou canst not fail," Harry says. "For thou lack'st not either."

He wriggles over again so that he can sit up properly. "Warmer? --ay, a touch, perhaps. I rode, and felt it little. The prince is back." This casually, as if an aspect of the weather: the breeze is high, the rain has stopped, the prince is here.