the two great combatants face each other alone. Their great swords gleam in the air. With feint and thrust, and stroke and skilful parry the champions wage the duel of the giants, till suddenly, in one of those feats of strength and skill that stand out as a marvellous battle-act, the sword of the emperor with a single mighty stroke cleaves through the Saracen's armor-covered body, and the gigantic emir, cut completely in twain, falls bleeding at his conqueror's feet. The Turks break in dismay as their champion falls. Young Baldwin rallies his disordered forces, the war-cries mingle with the trumpet-peal, and, on foot, at the head of their knights, the two kings lead one last charge against the enemy and drive the fleeing host within the city walls. With shouts of victory, the Christian army encamp upon the field their valor has conquered, and Damascus is almost won. Within the city, now filled with fears of plunder and of death, preparations for flight were made, and in the great mosque women and children invoked the aid of Mahomet to shield them from an enemy more relentless than Arab or Saracen--a host whose banner-cry was dark and terrible: "Cursed be he who does not stain his sword with blood." The city seemed doomed to capture. But--"there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." In the camp of the Crusaders the exultant leaders were already quarrelling over whose domain the conquered city should be when once its gates were opened to Christian victors. The Syrian princes, the great lords of the West, the monkish Knights of the Temple and of the Hospital, alike claimed the prize, and the old fable of the hunters who fought for the possession of the lion's skin even before the lion was captured was once more illustrated. For, meantime, in the palace at Damascus, the captive page Renaud stood before the Saracen Prince Anar, and the Prince asked the boy: "As between thine honor and thy head, young Christian, which wouldst thou desire to keep?" "So please your Highness," replied the wise and politic young page, "my honor, if it may be kept with my head; but if not--why then, what were mine honor worth to me without my head?" "Thou art a shrewd young Frank," said the Prince Anar. "But thou mayst keep thy head and, perchance, thine honor too, if that thou canst hold thy ready tongue in check. Bear thou this scroll in secret to the Nazarene whom men do call Bernard, Grand Master of those dogs of Eblis, the Knights of the Temple, and, hark ye, see that no word of this scroll cometh to the young King Baldwin, else shall the bow-strings of my slaves o'ertake thee. Go; thou art free!"