Sir Eustace carried him through the inner gate and up to the boy's own
room, and laid him down on his bed, then silently he went out again and
crossed the court to the keep. Dame Margaret was seeing to the wounded
being laid on the straw in the lower room, and did not notice him until he
touched her. She turned sharply round, his face was sufficient to tell her
the truth. She gave a low cry and stepped back a pace, and he moved
forwards and drew her to him.

"Love," he said tenderly, "God has taken him. He was fitter for heaven
than any of us; he was too gentle for this rough world of ours. We shall
mourn for him, but with him it is well."

Dame Margaret laid her head on his shoulder, and burst into a passion of
tears. Sir Eustace let her weep for a time, then he whispered:

"You must be brave, my love. There will be other mourners here for their
dear ones who have died fighting for us; they will need your comfort. A
Villeroy could not die better than doing his duty. It was not by man's
hand that he fell, but God took him. His foot slipped in running down the
stair from the wall, and he must assuredly have died without a pang. Take
the priest with you; I will see to the wounded here. Father Gregory," he
went on, raising his voice, "Dame Margaret has more need of you at the
present moment than have these brave fellows. A grievous misfortune has
befallen us. My son is dead; he fell while doing his duty. Do you take her
to his room; I give her to your charge for the present. I have my work to
do, and will see that your patients are well cared for."

There was a murmur of surprise and regret from the wounded and those who
had brought them in. The poor lad had been a general favourite in the
castle for his gentle and pleasant ways with all, though many a time the