relatives and friends should visit them as they lay in state, and
sprinkle them with drops of holy water, and Richard was now to pay
this token of respect. He trembled a little, and yet it did not seem
quite so dreary, since he should once more look on his father's face,
and he accordingly rode towards the Cathedral. It was then very
unlike what it is now; the walls were very thick, the windows small
and almost buried in heavy carved arches, the columns within were
low, clumsy, and circular, and it was usually so dark that the
vaulting of the roof could scarcely be seen.

Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window,
and when Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thick
candles that always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in the
Chancel stood a double row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet
brilliancy throughout the building, and chiefly on the silver and
gold ornaments of the Altar. Outside these lights knelt a row of
priests in dark garments, their heads bowed over their clasped hands,
and their chanted psalms sounding sweet, and full of soothing music.
Within that guarded space was a bier, and a form lay on it.

Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but he
was obliged to proceed. He dipped his hand in the water of the font,
crossed his brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining drops
on the lifeless figure, and then stood still. There was an
oppression on his breast as if he could neither breathe nor move.

There lay William of the Long Sword, like a good and true Christian
warrior, arrayed in his shining armour, his sword by his side, his
shield on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon his
breast. His ducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, was