“Forgive me, Godwin, but such is the fortune of love and war. Grudge it not to me, for when I am sped tonight this Luck—and all that hangs to it—will be yours.” So that strange scene ended. The afternoon drew towards evening, and Godwin stood before Saladin in his private chamber. “What seek you now?” said the Sultan sternly. “A boon,” answered Godwin. “My brother is doomed to die before nightfall. I ask to die instead of him.” “Why, Sir Godwin?” “For two reasons, sire. As you learned to-day, at length the riddle is answered. It is Wulf who is beloved of the lady Rosamund, and therefore to kill him would be a crime. Further, it is I and not he whom the eunuch heard bargaining with the captain Abdullah in the tent—I swear it. Take your vengeance upon me, and let him go to fulfil his fate.” Saladin pulled at his beard, then answered: “If this is to be so, time is short, Sir Godwin. What farewells have you to make? You say that you would speak with my niece Rosamund? Nay, the princess you shall not see, and indeed cannot, for she lies swooning in her chamber. Do you desire to meet your brother for the last time?” “No, sire, for then he might learn the truth and—” “Refuse this sacrifice, Sir Godwin, which perchance will be scarcely to his liking.” “I wish to say good-bye to Masouda, she who is waiting woman to the princess.” “That you cannot do, for, know, I mistrust this Masouda, and believe that she was at the bottom of your plot. I have dismissed her from the person of the princess and from my camp, which she is to leave—if she has not already left—with some Arabs who are her kin. Had it not been for her services in the land of the Assassins and afterwards, I should have put her to death.” “Then,” said Godwin with a sigh, “I desire only to see Egbert the bishop, that he may shrive me according to our faith and make note of my last wishes.” “Good; he shall be sent to you. I accept your statement that you are the guilty man and not Sir Wulf, and take your life for his. Leave me now, who have greater matters on my mind. The guard will seek you at the appointed time.” Godwin bowed and walked away with a steady step while Saladin, looking after him, muttered: “The world could ill spare so brave and good a man.” Two hours later guards summoned Godwin from the place where he was prisoned, and, accompanied by the old bishop who had shriven him, he passed its door with a happy countenance, such as a bridegroom might have worn. In a fashion, indeed, he was happy, whose troubles were done with, who had few sins to mourn, whose faith was the faith of a child, and who laid down his life for his friend and brother. They took him to a vault of the great house where Saladin was lodged—a large, rough place, lit with torches, in which waited the headsman and his assistants. Presently Saladin entered, and, looking at him curiously, said: “Are you still of the same mind, Sir Godwin?” “I am.”