sign of the Cross. Next they were dressed again, and preceded by
minstrels, led to the church, at the porch of which they and
their esquires were given wine to drink.

Here, in the presence of all the company, they were clothed first
in white tunics, to signify the whiteness of their hearts; next
in red robes, symbolical of the blood they might be called upon
to shed for Christ; and lastly, in long black cloaks, emblems of
the death that must be endured by all. This done, their armour
was brought in and piled before them upon the steps of the altar,
and the congregation departed homeward, leaving them with their
esquires and the priest to spend the long winter night in orisons
and prayers.

Long, indeed, it was, in that lonesome, holy place, lit only by a
lamp which swung before the altar. Wulf prayed and prayed until
he could pray no more, then fell into a half dreamful state that
was haunted by the face of Rosamund, where even her face should
have been forgotten. Godwin, his elbow resting against the tomb
that hid his father's heart, prayed also, until even his
earnestness was outworn, and he began to wonder about many
things.

That dream of his, for instance, in his sickness, when he had
seemed to be dead, and what might be the true duty of man. To be
brave and upright? Surely. To fight for the Cross of Christ
against the Saracen? Surely, if the chance came his way. What
more? To abandon the world and to spend his life muttering
prayers like those priests in the darkness behind him? Could that
be needful or of service to God or man? To man, perhaps, because