"And then," said Dennis, "we move to our death!--May God forgive our sins!--But--" "But what?" said Berenger; "something sticks in thy mind that should have vent." "My young lady, your daughter the Lady Eveline--" "I have told her what is to be. She shall remain in the castle, where I will leave a few chosen veterans, with you, Dennis, to command them. In twenty-four hours the siege will be relieved, and we have defended it longer with a slighter garrison. Then to her aunt, the Abbess of the Benedictine sisters--thou, Dennis, wilt see her placed there in honour and safety, and my sister will care for her future provision as her wisdom shall determine." "_I_ leave you at this pinch!" said Dennis Morolt, bursting into tears --"_I_ shut myself up within walls, when my master rides to his last of battles!--_I_ become esquire to a lady, even though it be to the Lady Eveline, when he lies dead under his shield!--Raymond Berenger, is it for this that I have buckled thy armour so often?" The tears gushed from the old warrior's eyes as fast as from those of a girl who weeps for her lover; and Raymond, taking him kindly by the hand, said, in a soothing tone, "Do not think, my good old servant, that, were honour to be won, I would drive thee from my side. But this is a wild and an inconsiderate deed, to which my fate or my folly has bound me. I die to save my name from dishonour; but, alas! I must leave on my memory the charge of imprudence." "Let me share your imprudence, my dearest master," said Dennis Morolt, earnestly--"the poor esquire has no business to be thought wiser than his master. In many a battle my valour derived some little fame from partaking in thee deeds which won your renown-- deny me not the right to share in that blame which your temerity may incur; let them not say, that so rash was his action, even his old esquire was not permitted to partake in it! I am part of yourself--it is murder to every man whom you take with you, if you leave me behind." "Dennis," said Berenger, "you make me feel yet more bitterly the folly I have yielded to. I. would grant you the boon you ask, sad as it is--But my daughter--" "Sir Knight," said the Fleming, who had listened to this dialogue with somewhat less than his usual apathy, "it is not my purpose this day to leave this castle; now, if you could trust my troth to do what a plain man may for the protection of my Lady Eveline--" "How, sirrah!" said Raymond; "you do not propose to leave the castle? Who gives you right to propose or dispose in the case, until my pleasure is known?"