"What! Is it thou, De Lisle?" cried the voice of his foe. "Then I am right joyous. Never more shalt thou leave this field. I have sought for thee everywhere to-day. At last my hour hath come." "Ay, and so it hath," said Maurice Woodville, who with a last faint effort, thrust his dagger through the visor of the man-at-arms, and both fell to the ground together. Ralph, still thinking only of his lord, and heeding nothing that concerned himself, turned round to see where he was. In wild despair he leapt from his horse. The Captain of the Wight was down; but over him stood a tall knight, who was defending him against the thrusts and blows of the enemy. Ralph rushed forward, parrying a fierce cut at his exposed head with his wounded left arm, and the Frenchman, seeing no more glory was to be won, turned away to look after their fallen leader. Ralph stooped down over his lord. His head swam, he reeled and fell. All sense left him, and he lay in a dead faint. He must have lain some time unconscious, for when he was recalled to life by some cooling bandage to his head, the sun had sunk, and the pale primrose of the evening sky was fading into the ashy grey of night. There were faint sounds near, voices, and dreary moans, and above, the stars were shining down on that grim scene of woe, as they had shone on thousands before and would shine on thousands after. He listened to the faint voices near. Was he in England? Who were they? "Then I have thy pardon, noble knight? Would to God I could have His too! Ah, evil have been my days, and fierce my life, but from henceforth I vow to humble myself before Him, and lay aside the sword for ever." Ralph listened. Who could it be? A faint voice answered with great difficulty and many pauses. "I thank God I have had this meeting before I die--He hath ever been merciful to me, sinful man that I am--but in no wise hath His mercy been more marvellously proven than in saving me from the sin thou wottest of.--Thou didst her and me cruel wrong. I say no more of that--I thank God I die, and I thank Him all the more in that thou knowest now how guiltless she and I have been. Not of mine own strength did I resist temptation, but, as is written in Holy Writ, ’Noe temptacion hath o’ertaken thee, but what God will withe ye temptacion alsoe makke a waie to escape.’ I am near my end now." The voice became weaker. "I cannot forgather my thoughts. Thou wilt see her. Tell her--ah!--I shall see her too, where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but where we ’are as the angels of God in heaven.’" And the voice, scarcely audible in the last few gasps, ceased for ever. The other voice broke out,--