ormerly, he took from his bosom. When he
seemed to think it sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to
the sovereign, who prevented him by saying, "Hold an instant. Thou hast
felt my pulse--let me lay my finger on thine. I too, as becomes a good
knight, know something of thine art."

The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation, and his long, slender
dark fingers were for an instant enclosed, and almost buried, in the
large enfoldment of King Richard's hand.

"His blood beats calm as an infant's," said the King; "so throbs not
theirs who poison princes. De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this
Hakim with honour and safety.--Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin.
Should I die, it is without doubt of his faith; should I live, it will
be to thank him as a warrior would desire to be thanked."

He then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hand, and turning
to the Marquis and the Grand Master--"Mark what I say, and let my royal
brethren pledge me in Cyprus wine, 'To the immortal honour of the first
Crusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem; and
to the shame and eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the
plough on which he hath laid his hand!'"

He drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, and sunk
back, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which were arranged to receive
him. The physician then, with silent but expressive signs, directed
that all should leave the tent excepting himself and De Vaux, whom
no remonstrance could induce to withdraw. The apartment was cleared
accordingly.

CHAPTER X.

And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous.
HENRY IV., PART I.

The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights Templars
stood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this
singular scene had passed, and beheld a strong guard of bills and bows
drawn out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which
might disturb the sleeping monarch. The soldiers wore the downcast,
silent, and sullen looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral,
and stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring
or a sword clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the
tent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the dignitaries
passed through their files, but with the same profound silence.