our
sorrows, in some way unforeseen, will bring blessings to our
brethren in the East. But to Saladin say also that whatever his
bigot faith may teach, for Christian and for Paynim there is a
meeting-place beyond the grave. Say that if aught of wrong or
insult is done towards this maiden, I swear by the God who made
us both that there I will hold him to account. Now, since it must
be so, take her and go your way, knowing that my spirit follows
after you and her; yes, and that even in this world she will find
avengers."

"I hear your words, and I will deliver them," answered Hassan.
"More, I believe that they are true, and for the rest you have
the oath of Salah-ed-din--ay, and my oath while she is in my
charge. Therefore, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, forgive us, who are but the
instruments of Allah, and die in peace."

"I, who have so much to be forgiven, forgive you," answered the
old knight slowly.

Then his eyes fixed themselves upon his daughter's face with one
long, searching look, and closed.

"I think that he is dead," said Hassan. "May God, the Merciful
and Compassionate, rest his soul!" And taking a white garment
from the wall, he flung it over him, adding, "Lady, come."

Thrice Rosamund looked at the shrouded figure on the floor; once
she wrung her hands and seemed about to fall. Then, as though a
thought struck her, she lifted her father's sword from where it
lay, and gathering her strength, drew herself up and passed like
a queen down the blood-stained passage and the steps of the
solar. In the hall beneath waited the band of Hassan, who bowed
as she came--a vision of despairing loveliness, that held aloft a
red and naked sword. There, too, lay the drugged men fallen this
way and that, and among them Wulf across the table, and Godwin on
the dais. Rosamund spoke.

"Are these dead or sleeping?"

"Have no fear," answered Hassan. "By my hope of paradise, they do
but sleep, and will awake ere morning."

Rosamund pointed to the renegade Nicholas--he that had struck
down her father from behind--who, an evil look upon his face,
stood apart from the Saracens, holding in his hand a lighted
torch.

"What does this man with the torch?" she asked.

"If you would know, lady," Nicholas answered with a sneer, "I
wait till you are out of it to fire the hall."

"Prince Hassan," said Rosamund, "is this a deed that great
Saladin would wish, to burn drugged men beneath their own roof?
Now, as you shall answer to him, in