trust that the pardon that takes away the sin of the world, will take away mine. Grant me Absolution.’ He was with us when, ere dawn, such of us as still lived met for our last mass in our beautiful chapel. He went forth with us to the wall. By and by, the command was given that we should make a sally upon the enemy’s camp. We went back for the last time to our house to fetch our horses; I knew there could be no return, and went for one last look into our chapel, and at Richard’s tomb. Upon it lay the knight, horribly scathed with Greek fire—he had dragged him there to die. He was dead, but his looks were upward; his face was as calm as Richard’s was, my Lord, when we laid him down by the fountain. And now his message, my Lord. He bade me say, if I survived the siege, that he had often cursed you for the worse revenge of letting him live to his remorse—now he blessed you for sparing him to repent.” “And Richard’s grave has passed to the Infidels!” said Edward, after a long silence. “Even as the graves of our brethren—the holiest Grave of all,” said the Knight Hospitalier. “Cheer up and hope, Father,” said the King. “Let me see peace and order at home, and we will win back Acre, ay and Jerusalem, from the Infidels. Alas! our young hopes and joys may never return; but, home purified, then may God bless our arms beneath the Cross.” * * * * * Fifteen years more, and in the beautiful Westminster Abbey, amid the gorgeous tombs, there stood four sorrowful figures. A sturdy knight, with bowed head and mournful look, carefully guided a white-haired, white-bearded old man, while a beautiful matronly lady was handed by her tall handsome son. Among the richly inlaid shrines and monuments, they sought out one the latest of all, but consisting of one enormous block of stone, with no ornament save one slender band of inscription. “Ah!” said the knight, “well do I remember the shipping of that stone from Acre, little guessing its purpose!” “Then it is indeed a stone from the ruined Temple of Jerusalem,” said the lady. “Read the inscription, my Son.” The young man read and translated— “Edwardus Primus. Malleus Scotorum Pactum serva. Edward the First. The Hammer of the Scots. Keep covenant.” “It was scarce worth while to bring a stone from Jerusalem, to mark it with ‘the Hammer of the Scots!’” said the lady. “Alas, my cousin Edward!” sighed the beggar. “Ever with a great scheme, ever going earnestly on to its fulfilment; with a mind too far above those of other men to be understood or loved as thou shouldst have been! Alack, that the Scottish temptation came between thee and the brightness of thy glory! Art thou indeed gone—like Richard—to Jerusalem; and shall I yet follow thee there? Let us pray for the peace of his soul, children; for a greater and better man lies here than England knows or heeds.” FOOTNOTES {100} Psalm cxxvi. 6, 7.