saw not, he cared not, but struck right and left, till the piteous
cries for mercy, in familiar tones, made some impression, and he
paused, as did his companions, while, in a tone of rage and anguish,
he demanded, "Where is Sir Eustace?"

"Ah! Master d'Aubricour, 'twas not me, 'twas the traitor, Sanchez--
'twas Tristan," was the answer. "Oh, mercy, for our blessed Lady's
sake!"

"No mercy, dogs! till ye have shown me Sir Eustace in life and limb."

"Alas! alas! Master d'Aubricour!" This cry arose from some of the
English; and Gaston, springing towards the bartizan, beheld the
senseless form of his beloved Knight lying stretched in a pool of
his own blood! Pouring out lamentations in the passionate terms of
the South, tearing his hair at having been beguiled into leaving the
Castle, and vowing the most desperate vengeance against Clarenham
and his accomplices, he lifted his master from the ground, and, as
he did so, he fancied he felt a slight movement of the chest, and a
faint moan fell upon his ear.

What recked Gaston that the Castle was but half taken, that enemies
were around on every side? He saw only, heard only, thought only,
of Sir Eustace! What was life or death, prosperity or adversity,
save as shared with him! He lifted the Knight in his arms, and,
hurrying up the stone steps, placed him on his couch.

"Bring water! bring wine!" he shouted as he crossed the hall. A
horse-boy followed with a pitcher of water, and Gaston, unfastening
the collar of his doublet, raised his head, held his face towards