"Eustace Lynwood, brother to this Knight," said Eustace, raising
his visor, and panting for breath.

"You need but a few years to nerve your arm. But rest a while, you
are almost spent," said the prisoner, in a kind tone of patronage,
as he looked at the youthful face of his captor, which in a second
had varied from deep crimson to deadly paleness.

"My brother! my brother!" was all Eustace's answer, as he threw
himself on the grass beside Gaston, who, though bleeding fast,
had raised his master's head, and freed him from his helmet; but
his eyes were still closed, and the wound ghastly, for such had
been the force of the blow, that the shoulder was well-nigh
severed from the collarbone. "Reginald! O brother, look up!"
cried Eustace. "O Gaston, does he live?"

"I have crossed swords with him before," said the prisoner. "I
grieve for the mishap." Then, as the soldiers crowded round, he
waved them off with a gesture of command, which they instinctively
obeyed. "Back, clowns, give him air. And here--one of you--bring
some water from the river. There, he shows signs of life."

As he spoke, the clattering of horses' feet was heard--all made
way, and there rode along the bank of the river a band of Spaniards,
headed by Pedro himself, his sword, from hilt to point, streaming
with blood, and his countenance ferocious as that of a tiger. "Where
is he?" was his cry; "where is the traitor Enrique? I will send him
to join the rest of the brood. Where has he hidden himself?"