Hazardous as his situation was, the Varangian looked up, and was so struck with the wild and terrified expression which the creature had assumed, and the strife between curiosity and terror which its grotesque features exhibited, that he could not help bursting into a fit of laughter. "Sylvan is among those," said Hereward, "who would rather hold the candle to a dance so formidable than join in it himself." "Is there then," said Count Robert, "any absolute necessity that thou and I perform this dance at all?" "None but our own pleasure," answered Hereward; "for I suspect there is not between us any legitimate cause of quarrel demanding to be fought out in such a place, and before such a spectator. Thou art, if I mistake not, the bold Frank, who was yesternight imprisoned in this place with, a tiger, chained within no distant spring of his bed?" "I am," answered the Count. "And where is the animal who was opposed to thee?" "He lies yonder," answered the Count, "never again to be the object of more terror than the deer whom he may have preyed on in his day." He pointed to the body of the tiger, which Hereward examined by the light of the dark lantern already mentioned. "And this, then, was thy handiwork?" said the wondering Anglo-Saxon. "Sooth to say it was," answered the Count, with indifference. "And thou hast slain my comrade of this strange watch?" said the Varangian. "Mortally wounded him at the least," said Count Robert. "With your patience, I will be beholden to you for a moment's truce, while I examine his wound," said Hereward. "Assuredly," answered the Count; "blighted be the arm which strikes a foul blow at an open antagonist!" Without demanding further security, the Varangian quitted his posture of defence and precaution, and set himself, by the assistance of the dark lantern, to examine the wound of the first warder who appeared on the field, who seemed, by his Roman military dress, to be a soldier of the bands called Immortals. Pie found him in the death-agony, but still able to speak. "So, Varangian, thou art come at last,--and is it to thy sloth or treachery that I am to impute my fate?--Nay, answer me not!--The stranger struck me over the collar-bone--had we lived long together, or met often, I had done the like by thee, to wipe out the memory of certain transactions at the Golden Gate.--I know the use of the knife too well to doubt the effect of a blow aimed over the collar-bone by so strong a hand--I feel it coming. The Immortal, so called, becomes now, if priests say true, an immortal indeed, and Sebastes of Mytilene's bow is broken ere his quiver is half emptied." The robber Greek sunk back in Hereward's arms, and closed his life with a groan, which was the last sound he uttered. The Varangian laid the body at length on the dungeon floor.