a situation which none could
have foreseen. Fetch him hither, then."

Steps sounded outside but went unheeded at the moment.

"Surely," said Sir John, "we have been trifled with by liars long
enough!"

The door was flung open, and the lean black figure of the surgeon made
its appearance.

"Sir John!" he called urgently, breaking without ceremony into the
proceedings, and never heeding Lord Henry's scowl. "Master Tressilian
has recovered consciousness. He is asking for you and for his brother.
Quick, sirs! He is sinking fast."

CHAPTER XXVI. THE JUDGMENT

To that cabin below the whole company repaired in all speed in the
surgeon's wake, Sir Oliver coming last between his guards. They
assembled about the couch where Lionel lay, leaden-hued of face, his
breathing laboured, his eyes dull and glazing.

Sir John ran to him, went down upon one knee to put loving arms about
that chilling clay, and very gently raised him in them, and held him so
resting against his breast.

"Lionel!" he cried in stricken accents. And then as if thoughts of
vengeance were to soothe and comfort his sinking friend's last moments,
he added: "We have the villain fast."

Very slowly and with obvious effort Lionel turned his head to the right,
and his dull eyes went beyond Sir John and made quest in the ranks of
those that stood about him.

"Oliver?" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Where is Oliver?"

"There is not the need to distress you...." Sir John was beginning, when
Lionel interrupted him.

"Wait!" he commanded in a louder tone. "Is Oliver safe?"

"I am here," said Sir Oliver's deep voice, and those who stood between
him and his brother drew aside that they might cease from screening him.

Lionel looked at him for a long moment in silence, sitting up a little.
Then he sank back again slowly against Sir John's breast.

"God has been merciful to me a sinner," he said, "since He accords me the
means to make amends, tardily though it be."

Then he struggled up again, and held out his arms to Sir Oliver, and his
voice came in a great pleading cry. "Noll! My brother! Forgive!"

Oliver advanced, none hindering until, with his hands still pinioned
behind him he stood towering there above his brother, so tall that his
turban brushed the low ceiling of the cabin. His countenance was stern
and grim.

"What is it that you ask me to forgive?" he asked. Lionel struggled to
answer, and sank back again into Sir John's arms, fighting