She had almost forgotten Hugues. Her heart was sad as she thought of
Adhelmar, who must die a shameful death for her sake, and of the love
which she had cast away. Beside it, the Sieur d'Arques' affection showed
somewhat tawdry, and Melite began to reflect that, after all, she had
liked Adhelmar almost as well.

"Sweet," said Adhelmar, "do I not know you to the marrow? You will forget
me utterly, for your heart is very changeable. Ah, Mother of God!"
Adhelmar cried, with a quick lift of speech; "I am afraid to die, for the
harsh dust will shut out the glory of your face, and you will forget!"

"No; ah, no!" Melite whispered, and drew near to him. Adhelmar smiled, a
little wistfully, for he did not believe that she spoke the truth; but it
was good to feel her body close to his, even though he was dying, and he
was content.

But by this time the dawn had come completely, flooding the room with its
first thin radiance, and Melite saw the pallor of his face and so knew
that he was wounded.

"Indeed, yes," said Adhelmar, when she had questioned him, "for my breast
is quite cloven through." And when she disarmed him, Melite found a great
cut in his chest which had bled so much that it was apparent he must die,
whether d'Andreghen and Edward of England would or no.

Melite wept again, and cried, "Why had you not told me of this?"

"To have you heal me, perchance?" said Adhelmar. "Ah, love, is hanging,
then, so sweet a death that I should choose it, rather than to die very