At this point he was interrupted by a very dreadful groan from the wounded prisoner, and--"I fear, Captain," he said, "there is one of our prisoners will soon be in stronger keeping than even your fine house and great loyalty can give him. Let us see if anything may be done to lighten his pain." Whereupon His Highness drew near the dying man, who had been moved a little apart from his fellows. Captain Royston and Mr. William Bentinck, who, with displeasure clearly marked upon his countenance, had followed the Prince's words to his host, joined him by the side of the dying man, of whom my view, as I stood modestly behind, was plainer than I could wish. Indeed it was a dreadful sight that I take no pleasure to recall. His Highness, bending down very tenderly, wiped the bloody foam from the tortured lips; the wandering eyes fixed themselves upon the face of the man they had watched to slay, and then: "The priest--the priest!" said the dying man. "Poor fool!" muttered Count Schomberg in French; "he fondly hopes a priest might yet bring him to heaven." "The priest--the priest!" repeated the sufferer, but more faintly. "A priest may at least smooth his passage from earth," said the Prince, very pitifully, when one stepped out from among the prisoners, saying: "I am a priest. If he needs the comfort of the Church----" But the dying man interrupted his words. With a last effort he raised himself a little, and said in a stronger voice, but broken with gasping sobs: "It was the priest--it was he that brought me here--brought me to this. God's curse upon him!" And so he died. But I marked that his eye had not fallen upon him that offered the comforts of religion. This man was tall and dark, of a countenance marked by great nobility, and expressive of a great sorrow, of which I could not readily determine whether the cause were constant or occasional, so suitable did it appear to the lines of a face at once ascetic and severe. There was that in his eyes, dark and deep set, moreover, that drew my gaze in a manner I could by no means account for--which is indeed little wonderful, seeing the man was my mother's son and my father's, and I knew it not. To myself I had just said that the man was not wicked, and but suffered for his evil company, when the Prince addressed him in tones very different from those I had hitherto heard him use: "You keep ill company, Sir Priest," he said.