"May God have mercy on all dying souls!" murmured the dim shadow as it bent over the pale face of Lord Woodville; and Ralph could have sobbed aloud in anguish of heart as he felt his lord was dead. "Oh, help me! help me! Master Lisle!" cried the agonised voice of the other stranger, shivering with cold and pain of heart. "Undo his helm or he will die, an he be not gone already," and a piteous sob of utter woe broke from the crouching figure. Ralph, thinking only of his sorrow, did not notice the keen grief of the other, but he hastened up nevertheless, and speedily undid the helm. "Oh, father! father!" sobbed the shivering voice; "speak, father!" But no sound came from the set mouth, and the child broke out into piteous distress, sobbing and choking as though her heart would break. Ralph was touched. Even in his own stony sorrow he felt for the poor child. "Nay, nay, he may not be dead," he said, trying to comfort her. "See, he moves!" he cried, noticing a quiver of the gauntleted hand. "Let me look, my son," said the gentle voice of the other stranger. "Go thou, catch yonder horse; thy lord lives, and will recover." "Will he?" cried Ralph joyously, springing up and going in search of the horses, which, well trained as they were, were standing under the shelter of the thorn-bush out of the fast-driving snow. When he returned leading the two horses, he was delighted to find Lord Woodville sitting up. "My fair boy," said the Captain of the Wight, in a faint voice, "thou must help me on to my charger and lead me home. I have been hard stricken, albeit the wound is not mortal. But before thou aidest me, see to the state of Sir George Lisle: I would be loth he should die." Lord Woodville spoke with difficulty, and paused between his words. Ralph did as he was told, and found the two shrouded figures still bending over the inanimate knight. "The Lord Woodville hath sent me to make inquiry of the knight--how fareth he?" "Make answer that he is sore stricken, and in parlous case; but an we may get him to a place of shelter, he may do well." Ralph returned and reported the message. "Is there no other horse but mine? If not, take mine and leave me here," said Lord Woodville simply. He had drawn his sword, and was holding it by the blade before him. The sword thus held had all the proportions of a Latin cross. "’Thou shalt love thine enemies. Do good to those who hate thee,’" murmured the wounded Captain of the Wight. "My lord, there is the knight’s own horse, or he can have mine." "Haste thee, then! gentle youth, for his wounds and mine are growing stiff, and there is need of shelter," faintly gasped the wounded Captain.