“Let us drink, every one of us here, to the noble knight, Sir Andrew D’Arcy, to whom I wish, in the phrase of my own people, that he may live for ever. Drink, friends, drink deep, for never will wine such as this pass your lips again.” Then, lifting his beaker, he appeared to drain it in great gulps—an example which all followed, even Sir Andrew drinking a little from his cup, which was three parts filled with water. There followed a long murmur of satisfaction. “Wine! It is nectar!” said Wulf. “Ay,” put in the chaplain, Matthew; “Adam might have drunk this in the Garden,” while from the lower table came jovial shouts of praise of this smooth, creamlike vintage. Certainly that wine was both rich and strong. Thus, after his sup of it, a veil as it were seemed to fall on the mind of Sir Andrew and to cover it up. It lifted again, and lo! his brain was full of memories and foresights. Circumstances which he had forgotten for many years came back to him altogether, like a crowd of children tumbling out to play. These passed, and he grew suddenly afraid. Yet what had he to fear that night? The gates across the moat were locked and guarded. Trusty men, a score or more of them, ate in his outbuildings within those gates; while others, still more trusted, sat in his hall; and on his right hand and on his left were those two strong and valiant knights, Sir Godwin and Sir Wulf. No, there was nothing to fear—and yet he felt afraid. Suddenly he heard a voice speak. It was Rosamund’s; and she said: “Why is there such silence, father? A while ago I heard the servants and bondsmen carousing in the barn; now they are still as death. Oh, and look! Are all here drunken? Godwin—” But as she spoke Godwin’s head fell forward on the board, while Wulf rose, half drew his sword, then threw his arm about the neck of the priest, and sank with him to the ground. As it was with these, so it seemed with all, for folk rocked to and fro, then sank to sleep, everyone of them, save the merchant Georgios, who rose to call another toast. “Stranger,” said Sir Andrew, in a heavy voice, “your wine is very strong.” “It would seem so, Sir Knight,” he answered; “but I will wake them from their wassail.” Springing from the dais lightly as a cat, he ran down the hall crying, “Air is what they need. Air!” Now coming to the door, he threw it wide open, and drawing a silver whistle from his robe, blew it long and loud. “What,” he laughed, “do they still sleep? Why, then, I must give a toast that will rouse them all,” and seizing a horn mug, he waved it and shouted: “Arouse you, ye drunkards, and drink to the lady Rose of the World, princess of Baalbec, and niece to my royal master, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, who sends me to lead her to him!” “Oh, father,” shrieked Rosamund, “the wine was drugged and we are betrayed!”