Yeoland’s hand rested in his, and they stood side by side like two children, looking into each other’s eyes. There was no fear on the girl’s face, nothing but a calm resolve to be worthy of the hour and of her love, that buoyed her like a martyr. The man’s glances were very sad, and she knew well what was in his heart when he looked at her. They had taken their vows, vows that bound them not to survive each other. "Are you afraid, little wife?" "No, I am content." "Strange that we should come to this. My heart grieves for you." "Never grieve for me; I do not fear the unknown." "We shall go out hand in hand." "To the shore of that eternal sea; and I feel no wind, and hear no moaning of the bar." "The stars are above us." "Eternity." "No mere glittering void." "But the face of God." A cannon thundered; a sudden, sullen roar followed, a din of clashing swords, the noise of men struggling in the toils. "They have broken in." Flavian’s grasp tightened on her wrist; his face was rigid, his eyes stern. "Be strong," he said. "I am not afraid." "The Virgin bless you." The uproar increased below. The rebels were storming the stairway; they came up and up like a rising tide in the mazes of a cavern. A wave of struggling figures surged into the hall: men, cursing, stabbing, hewing, writhing on the floor, a tangle of humanity. Flavian’s knights in the hall ranged themselves to hold the door. It was then that Flavian saw his own state armour doing duty in the press, its blazonings marking out the wearer to the swords of Colgran’s men. It was Godamar, Flavian’s esquire, who had stolen his lord’s harness, and now fought in it to decoy death, and perhaps save his master. The mute heroism of the deed drew Flavian from the dais. "I would speak with Godamar," he said. "Do not leave me." "Ah! dear heart; when the last wave gathers I shall be at your side." Yeoland, with her poniard bare in her hand, stood and watched the tragic despair of that last fight, the struggling press of figures at the door--the few holding for a while a mob at bay. Her eyes followed the man in the black harness; she saw him before the tossing thicket of pikes and partisans; she saw his sword dealing out death in that Gehenna of blasphemy and blood. A crash of shattered glass came unheard in the uproar. Men had planted ladders against the wall, and broken in by the oriel; one after another they sprang down into the hall. The first crept round by the wainscotting, climbed the dais, seized Yeoland from behind, and held her fast.