otherwise. Mercy is sure! Hold up the blessed rood--the sign of
grace--you are half a clerk, repeat me some holy psalm or prayer."

Eustace raised the cross hilt of his sword, and with a broken voice,
commenced the _Miserere_. Sir Reginald at first followed it with
his lips, but soon they ceased to move, his head sank back, his
hand fell powerless, and with one long gasping breath his faithful
and noble spirit departed. For several moments Eustace silently
continued to hold the lifeless form in his arms, then raising the
face, he imprinted an earnest kiss on the pale lips, laid the head
reverently on the ground, hung over it for a short space, and at
last, with an effort, passed his hand over his face, and turned
away.

His first look was towards d'Aubricour, who sat resting his head
on his hand, his elbow supported on his knee, while with the other
hand he dashed away his tears. His countenance was deathly pale,
and drops of blood were fast falling from the deep gash in his side.
"O Gaston!" exclaimed Eustace, with a feeling of self-reproach at
having forgotten him, "I fear you are badly wounded!"

"You would think little of it, had you seen more stricken fields,
young Knight," said Gaston, attempting to smile; "I am only spent
with loss of blood. Bring me a draught of water, and I can ride
back to the tent. But look to your prisoner, Sir Eustace."

Eustace turned to see what had become of his illustrious captive,
and saw him at a little distance, speaking to a Knight on horseback.
"Sir Eustace," said Bertrand, stepping towards him, "here is Sir
William Beauchamp, sent by the Prince to inquire for your gallant