keep of a castle, and it was thither that Richard was
turning his horse, when the Count of Harcourt said, "Nay, my Lord, to the
Church of our Lady." {7}

It was then considered a duty to be paid to the deceased, that their
relatives and friends should visit them as they lay in state, and
sprinkle them with drops of holy water, and Richard was now to pay this
token of respect. He trembled a little, and yet it did not seem quite so
dreary, since he should once more look on his father's face, and he
accordingly rode towards the Cathedral. It was then very unlike what it
is now; the walls were very thick, the windows small and almost buried in
heavy carved arches, the columns within were low, clumsy, and circular,
and it was usually so dark that the vaulting of the roof could scarcely
be seen.

Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window, and
when Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thick candles
that always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in the Chancel stood a
double row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet brilliancy
throughout the building, and chiefly on the silver and gold ornaments of
the Altar. Outside these lights knelt a row of priests in dark garments,
their heads bowed over their clasped hands, and their chanted psalms
sounding sweet, and full of soothing music. Within that guarded space
was a bier, and a form lay on it.

Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but he was
obliged to proceed. He dipped his hand in the water of the font, crossed
his brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining drops on the
lifeless figure, and then stood still. There was an oppression on his
breast as if he could neither breathe nor move.

There lay William of the Long Sword, like a good and true Christian
warrior, arrayed in his shining armour, his sword by his side, his shield
on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon his breast. His
ducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, was round his
shoulders, and, instead of a helmet, his coronet was on his head; but, in
contrast with this rich array, over the collar of the hauberk, was folded
the edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Duke had worn beneath his
robes, unknown to all, until his corpse was disrobed of his blood-stained
garments. His face looked full of calm, solemn peace, as if he had
gently fallen asleep, and was only awaiting the great call to awaken.
There w