Then he told of the blows that followed, and of his last that wounded Lozelle, shearing through his mail and felling him as an ox is felled by the butcher: How also, when he sprang forward to kill him, this mighty and brutal man had prayed for mercy, prayed it in the name of Christ and of their own mother, whom as a child he knew in Essex: How he could not slaughter him, being helpless, but turned away, saying that he left him to be dealt with by Al-je-bal, whereupon this traitorous dog sprang up and strove to knife him. He told also of their last fearful struggle, and how, shaken as he was by the blow upon his back, although the point of the dagger had not pierced his mail, he strove with Lozelle, man to man; till at length his youth, great natural strength, and the skill he had in wrestling, learnt in many a village bout at home, enabled him to prevail, and, while they hung together on the perilous edge of the gulf, to free his right hand, draw his poniard, and make an end. “Yet,” added Wulf, “never shall I forget the look of that man’s eyes as he fell backwards, or the whistling scream which came from his pierced throat.” “At least there is a rogue the less in the world, although he was a brave one in his own knavish fashion,” answered Godwin. “Moreover, my brother,” he added, placing his arm about Wulf’s neck, “I am glad it fell to you to fight him, for at the last grip your might overcame, where I, who am not so strong, should have failed. Further, I think you did well to show mercy, as a good knight should; that thereby you have gained great honour, and that if his spirit can see through the darkness, our dead uncle is proud of you now, as I am, my brother.” “I thank you,” replied Wulf simply; “but, in this hour of torment, who can think of such things as honour gained?” Then, lest he should grow stiff, who was sorely bruised beneath his mail, they began to walk up and down the cave from where the horses stood to where the two dead Assassins lay by the door, the faint light gleaming upon their stern, dark features. Ill company they seemed in that silent, lonely place. The time crept on; the moon sank towards the mountains. “What if they do not come?” asked Wulf. “Let us wait to think of it till dawn,” answered Godwin. Again they walked the length of the cave and back. “How can they come, the door being barred?” asked Wulf. “How did Masouda come and go?” answered Godwin. “Oh, question me no more; it is in the hand of God.” “Look,” said Wulf, in a whisper. “Who stand yonder at the end of the cave—there by the dead men?” “Their spirits, perchance,” answered Godwin, drawing his sword and leaning forward. Then he looked, and true enough there stood two figures faintly outlined in the gloom. They glided towards them, and now the level moonlight shone upon their white robes and gleamed in the gems they wore. “I cannot see them,” said a voice. “Oh, those dead soldiers—what do they portend?”