ime and clove his helm so that the blood poured down into his
eyes and blinded him.

Back reeled Acour, back to the very edge of the grave, and stood there
swaying to and fro. At the sight of his helplessness Hugh's fury seemed
to leave him. His lifted sword sank downward.

"Let God deal with you, knave," he said, "for I cannot."

For a while there was silence. There they stood and stared at the
smitten man waiting the end, whatever it might be. They all stared save
Murgh, who fixed his stony eyes upon the sky.

Presently it came. The sword, falling from Acour's hand into the grave,
rested there point upward. With a last effort he drew his dagger.
Dashing the blood from his eyes, he hurled it with all his dying
strength, not at Hugh, but at Red Eve. Past her ear it hissed, severing
a little tress of her long hair, which floated down on to the snow.

Then Acour threw his arms wide and fell backward--fell backward and
vanished in the grave.

Dick ran to look. There he lay dead, pierced through back and bosom by
the point of his own sword.

For one brief flash of time a black dove-shaped bird was seen hovering
round the head of Murgh.

"Finished!" said Dick straightening himself. "Well, I had hoped to see a
better fight, but cowards die as cowards live."

Leaning on Red Eve's shoulder Sir Andrew limped to the side of the
grave. They both looked down on that which lay therein.

"Daughter," said the old man, "through many dangers it has come about
as I foretold. The bond that in your drugged sleep bound you to this
highborn knave is severed by God's sword of death. Christ have pity on
his sinful soul. Now, Sir Hugh de Cressi, come hither and be swift, for
my time is short."

Hugh obeyed, and at a sign took Eve by the hand. Then, speaking very
low and as quickly as he might for all his life was draining from him
through the red wound in his side, the old priest spoke the hallowed
words that bound these two together till death should part them. Yes,
there by the graveside, over the body of the dead Acour, there in the
red light of the morning, amidst the lonely snows, was celebrated the
strangest marriage the world has ever seen. In nature's church it was
celebrated, with the grim, grey Archer for a clerk, and Death's own
fearful minister for congregation.

It was done and with uplifted, trembling hands Sir Andrew blessed them
both--them and the fruit of their bodies which was to be. He blessed
them in the name