Felice had borne him, named Raynburn, he had never seen; nor, as it
befell, did he ever see his son. For Raynburn in his childhood had been
stolen away by Saracens and carried to a far heathen country, where King
Aragus brought him up and made him first his page, then chamberlain, and
as he grew to manhood, knighted him. And now he fought the battles of
King Aragus with a strong arm like his father Guy's, neither could any
endure against his spear. But all these years Felice had passed in
prayer and charity, entertaining pilgrims and tired wayfarers, and
comforting the sick and the distressed. And it was so that Sir Guy, all
travel-worn and with his pilgrim's staff in hand, came to her house and
craved an alms. She took him in and washed his feet and ministered to
him, asking oftentimes if in his travels he had seen her lord Sir Guy.
But when he watched her gentleness to the poor and to the children at
her gate, he feared to break in upon her holy life, and so refrained
himself before her and would not reveal himself, but with a heavy heart
came out from the lady's door and gat him to a hermit's cell. There he
abode in fasting and in penitence many weeks, till feeling his end draw
near, he took the ring from his finger and sent it by a herdsman to
Felice. "Where got you this token?" cried Felice, all trembling with her
wonderment and fear. "From a poor beggar-man that lives in yonder cell,"
the herdsman answered. "From a beggar? Nay, but from a kingly man," said
Felice, "for he is my husband, Guy of Warwick!" and gave the herdsman a
hundred marks. Then she hasted and came to Sir Guy in his hermit's cell,
and for a long space they wept in each other's arms and neither spake a
word.

Weaker and fainter waxed Sir Guy. In a little while he died, and Felice
closed his tired eyes. Fifteen weary days she lingered sore in grief,
and then God's angel came and closed her own.