k, would have
accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his
ear.

"All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns."

"Thou art mad to say so," replied the knight.

"It is all in a light flame on the western side," returned
Bois-Guilbert. "I have striven in vain to extinguish it."

"What is to be done?" cried De Bracy. "I vow to Saint Nicholas of
Limoges a candlestick of pure gold--"

"Spare thy vow," said the Templar, "and mark me. Lead thy men down, as
if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open. There are but two men who
occupy the float; fling them into the moat and push across to the
barbican. I will charge from the main gate and attack the barbican on
the outside. If we can regain that post, we shall defend ourselves until
we are relieved or, at least, until they grant us fair quarter."

"It is well thought upon," replied De Bracy; "I will play my part."

De Bracy hastily drew his men together and rushed down to the
postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. Scarce was
this done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his
way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost
instantly fell, and the rest gave way, notwithstanding all their
leader's efforts to stop them.

"Dogs!" cried De Bracy; "will ye let two men win our only pass for
safety?"

"He is the devil!" replied a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the
blows of their sable antagonist.

"And if he be the devil," said De Bracy, "would you fly from him into
the mouth of hell? The castle burns behind us, villains! Let despair
give you courage, or let me forward. I will cope with this champion
myself."

And well and chivalrously did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had
acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passages
in which the two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand rang
with the furious blows they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword,
the Black Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Norman received a
blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield,
descended yet with such violence on his crest that he measured his
length on the paved floor.

"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Knight, stooping over him and
holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which
knights despatched their enemies; "yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue
or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man. Speak!"

The