ore him. Then he, too, saw
the red sword and stared, first at it and next at the gold cross
in his hand. "My uncle's sword, Rosamund's chain, Rosamund's
cross! Where, then, is Rosamund?"

"Gone! gone! gone!" cried Wulf. "Tell him, priest."

So the chaplain told him all he knew.

"Thus have we kept our oaths," went on Wulf. "Oh, what can we do
now, save die for very shame?"

"Nay," answered Godwin, dreamingly; "we can live on to save her.
See, these are her tokens--the cross for me, the blood-stained
sword for you, and about its hilt the chain, a symbol of her
slavery. Now both of us must bear the cross; both of us must
wield the sword, and both of us must cut the chain, or if we
fail, then die."

"You rave," said Wulf; "and little wonder. Here, drink water.
Would that we had never touched aught else, as she did, and
desired that we should do. What said you of my uncle, priest?
Dead, or only dying? Nay, answer not, let us see. Come, brother."

Now together they ran, or rather reeled, torch in hand, along the
passage.

Wulf saw the bloodstains on the floor and laughed savagely.

"The old man made a good fight," he said, "while, like drunken
brutes, we slept."

They were there, and before them, beneath the white, shroud-like
cloak, lay Sir Andrew, the steel helm on his head, and his face
beneath it even whiter than the cloak.

At the sound of their footsteps he opened his eyes. "At length,
at length," he muttered. "Oh, how many years have I waited for
you? Nay, be silent, for I do not know how long my strength will
last, but listen--kneel down and listen."

So they knelt on either side of him, and in quick, fierce words
he told them all--of the drugging, of the fight, of the long
parley carried on to give the palmer knave time to climb to the
window; of his cowardly blow, and of what chanced afterwards.
Then his strength seemed to fail him, but they poured drink down
his throat, and it came back again.

"Take horse swiftly," he gasped, pausing now and again to rest,
"and rouse the countryside. There is still a chance. Nay, seven
hours have gone by; there is no chance. Their plans were too well
laid; by now they will be at sea. So hear me. Go to Palestine.
There is money for your faring in my chest, but go alone, with no
company, for in time of peace these would betray you. Godwin,
draw off this ring from my finger, and with it as a token, find
out Jebal, the black sheik of the Mountain Tribe at Masyaf on