It was a long letter, and couched in vague terms, but its substance was this.

That whereas the peace of England and of King John's possessions in France was constantly being disturbed by the partisans of the young Prince Arthur, desiring to see him king instead of his uncle, and taking up arms to enforce their claim, it was necessary, in order to put an end to this rebellion, that the young prince should be rendered unfit for governing; and as no people would be likely to choose a blind boy for their king, Hubert de Burgh was instructed to have Arthur's eyes put out; and the two men who had arrived with the king's messenger were come, so the letter said, to carry out this design.
Hubert de Burgh said nothing as he put by the letter, and dismissed his three visitors from his presence.

Cruel man as he had been, his heart had still some pity left, and he shrank from obeying his master by so brutal an act of cruelty upon the innocent boy in his charge.
However, the order of the king was peremptory; and if the deed must be done, thought he, the sooner the better.
So he ordered the two villains to get ready their instruments, and follow him to the dungeon.
"Stay here," said he, as they reached the young prince's door, "while I enter alone and prepare him for his fate." So those two set down their fire and the red-hot irons, and waited outside for their summons.
When Hubert entered the dungeon, the poor boy was just waking from a sleep.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, being dazzled by the light which Hubert carried in his hand.
"You are welcome," said he (for Arthur, with so few to love him, loved even his surly, though not unkind, jailor).

"I have been in my dreams away in merry England, where I thought I was living in a beautiful palace, with food and servants, and rich clothing, and that there was a crown on my head.