“The vision disappeared, but left me impressed with a sense that it was real and no dream. Hence I dared to return to Malta, and telling my story begged, but begged in vain, to be allowed to carry the sword of the man I had slain through the campaign. “I could not even obtain the sword. It had been sent back to hang by the side of the rusty weapons his ancestors had once borne, in the hall of their distant Chateau de Fievrault. “I returned to Provence, revisited the tomb of my Eveline, saw my boy, sought absolution, made many prayers, but could not shake off the phantom. It was on a Friday I slew my foe, and on each Friday night he appeared. The young Simon de Montfort was about to form another band of crusaders, and he allowed me to accompany him, with the result I have described. During my stay in the monastery at Acre the phantom troubled me not, and as I have already said, I would fain have remained there, but when they heard my tale they bade me return and fulfil my duties to my kindred, and stir up others to come to the aid of the Holy Land, since I was physically incapable of ever bearing arms again. “But I shall even yet fulfil my vow, and the vow of the man I slew, through my boy, when he has gained his spurs. My sinful steps are not permitted to press that soil, once trodden by those blessed feet, nailed for our salvation to the holy rood. Hubert will live and bear the sword of the slain Sieur de Fievrault, _sans peur et sans reproche_. Then I may lay me down in peace and take my rest.” “Will thou not see my husband?” “I cannot reveal myself here in this castle to any one but thee, and as my tormentor pays his visits again, I will betake me to the Priory of Lewes.” “And must thou leave thy ancestral halls, and bury thyself again, my brother?” “I must. My task is done. I came but to feast my eyes with the sight of thee, and to tell thee that thy nephew, the true heir of Walderne, lives, satisfied that thou wilt not now allow him to be defrauded of his rights.” “Why not reveal thyself to my husband?” “I cannot—at least not in this house; but in the morn, after I have parted for Lewes, tell him all.” “And what proofs shall I give if he ask them?” “Let him seek me at Lewes or, better still, refer to Simon de Montfort, who is the guardian of the boy, and has him in safe keeping at Kenilworth.” “Sybil,” cried a voice. “It is my husband. I must go. Farewell, dearly loved, unhappy brother.” And she departed, leaving him alone in the chapel. Hours had passed by, the inmates of the castle at Walderne all slept, still as the sleeping woods around, save only the watchman on the walls, for in those days of nightly rapine and daily violence no castle or house of any pretensions dispensed with such a guard.