of bushes, in which lay a newly slain body,
which seemed to be that of Lionel. Seeing this, Bors broke into such
grief that he fell to the earth in a swoon, and long lay there. When he
recovered he said, sadly,--

"Dear brother, I would have rescued you had not a higher duty called me.
But since we are thus parted, joy shall never again enter my desolate
heart. I can now but say, be He whom I have taken for my master my help
and comfort."

Thus grieving, he took up the body in his arms, and put it upon his
saddle-bow. Then he said to his companion,--

"Can you tell me of some chapel, where I may bury this body?"

"Come with me. There is one near by."

[Illustration: AN OLD AND HALF-RUINED CHAPEL.]

They rode forward till they came in sight of a tower, beside which was
an old and half-ruined chapel. Here they alighted, and placed the corpse
in a tomb of marble.

"We will leave him here," said the good man, "and seek shelter for the
night. To-morrow we will return and perform the services for the dead."

"Are you a priest?" asked Bors.

"Yes," he answered.

"Then you may be able to interpret a dream that came to me last night."

Thereupon he told his dream of the birds, and that of the flowers.

"I can interpret the vision of the birds now," said the priest. "The
rest must wait till later. The white bird is the emblem of a rich and
fair lady, who loves you deeply, and will die for love if you pity her
not. I counsel you, therefore, not to refuse her, for this I shall tell
you, that if you return not her love, your cousin Lancelot, the best of
knights, shall die. Men will call you a man-slayer, both of your brother
Lionel and your cousin Lancelot, since you might have saved them both
easily if you would. You rescued a maiden who was naught to you, and let
your brother perish. Which, think you, was your greater duty?"

"I did what I thought my duty," said Bors.

"At any rate, bear this in mind, you will be in sad fault if you suffer
your cousin Lancelot to die for an idle scruple."

"I should be sad, indeed," said Bors. "Rather would I die ten times over
than see my cousin Lancelot perish through fault of mine."

"The choice lies in your hand," said the priest. "It is for you to
decide."

As he spoke they came in front of a fair-showing tower and manor-house,
where were knights and ladies, who welcomed Bors warmly. When he was
disarmed there was brought him a mantle furred with ermine. Then he was
led