The sight of the sack gave me a thrill I cannot describe. Something cold and sharp ran in my veins, and I nearly cried out. The next thing of which I was aware was the smiling and sinister countenance of the Englishman as he crept through the hole. Considering his bulk it was surprising that he could squeeze so noiselessly through such a little space. And in the same moment we heard a second sentinel coming round the pavilion. I could hardly tell what happened, it was all so quick and so horrible. In a dull bewilderment I watched Sir Richard Pendragon creep through the hole, and then as the oncoming sentinel caught a view of the sack and the corpse of his fallen comrade he uttered a cry. But in so doing he spoke for the last time. With incredible swiftness and dexterity the unlucky wretch was slain. “Now there is that third poor soul,” said the Englishman in a hushed voice. “Do you abide here, good friends, for honest Dickon, while that good mother’s son relieves the poor soldier of his necessity.” Taking the dagger in his teeth, he began to crawl on his belly round the corner of the pavilion. While he was gone upon this errand, which, however ruthless in its character, was yet highly politic in its intention, both the Count of Nullepart and myself derived satisfaction from some tokens of animation which proceeded from the interior of the bag. “Mon Dieu!” said the Count of Nullepart, laughing softly, “is it not well, my dear, that you and I are spared that abominable crime of regicide, which all the best authors are agreed doth stink so particularly in the nostrils of Heaven?” “It is very well, most virtuous Count of Nullepart,” said I, fetching a deep sigh of relief. Yet it was not given to me, reader, to embellish this solemn occasion with any great depth of philosophy. Pearls of wisdom have to be delved for in the inner nature; and at this moment, notwithstanding that it was great with destiny, there was not time to seek them, for hardly had I spoken ere Sir Richard Pendragon, standing upon his two legs and strutting like a turkey, and bearing his dagger in his right hand, came round the corner of the pavilion of the great Castilian prince. In his good pleasure he waved the weapon above his head and smiled down upon the Count of Nullepart and myself in a manner of the gravest amiability. “Stand you now upon your ten toes, my dear and good brothers,” said he. “Go ye not upon your bellies no more. Prithee walk no more like the crawling serpent, which is the symbol of deceit and devious courses. My dear and good brothers, I would have you proceed upon your flat feet under our chaste lady the moon. For that third poor soul is delivered of his need. ’A sweated as ’a felt the stroke, but by his eyes I could read that his passing was worthy.”