e of my life," said Eustace, scarcely
able to speak.

"I know it," said Reginald, and making an effort to raise his voice, he
continued, "Bear witness, all of you, that I leave my son in the
wardship of the King, and of my brother, Sir Eustace Lynwood. And,"
added he, earnestly, "beware of Fulk Clarenham. Commend me to my sweet
Eleanor; tell her she is the last, as the first in my thoughts." Then,
after a pause, "Is Gaston here?"

"Yes, Sir Reginald," said Gaston, leaning over him, and pressing the
hand which he feebly raised.

"Gaston, farewell, and thanks to you for your true and loving service.
Eustace will find wherewith to recompense you in some sort, in my chest
at Bordeaux, and my brave Lances likewise. And, Gaston, go not back to
the courses and comrades whence I took you. On the word of a dying man,
it will be better for you when you are in this case. Leonard, strive
to be a true and brave man, though I may not fulfil your father's
trust. Eustace--my eyes grow dim--is this you supporting my head--are
these your tears? Weep not for me, brother. Save for my poor Eleanor,
I would not have it otherwise. Mercy is sure! Hold up the blessed
rood--the sign of grace--you are half a clerk, repeat me some holy
psalm or prayer."

Eustace raised the cross hilt of his sword, and with a broken voice,
commenced the _Miserere_. Sir Reginald at first followed it with his
lips, but soon they ceased to move, his head sank back, his hand fell
powerless, and with one long gasping breath his faithful and noble
spirit departed. For several moments Eustace silently continued to
hold the lifeless form in his arms, then raising the face, he imprinted
an earnest kiss on the pale lips, laid the head reverently on the
ground, hung over it for a short space, and at last, with an effort,
passed his hand over his face, and turned away.

His first look was towards d'Aubricour, who sat resting his head on his
hand, his elbow supported on his knee, while with the other hand he
dashed away his tears. His countenance was deathly pale, and drops of
blood were fast falling from the deep gash in his side. "O Gaston!"
exclaimed Eustace, with a feeling of self-reproach at having forgotten
him, "I fear you are badly wounded!"

"You would think little of it, had you seen more stricken fields, young
Knight," said Gaston, attempting to smile; "I am only spent with loss
of blood. Bring me a draught of water, and I can ride back to the
ten