illed the goblet up with water. At
length, when all was ready, Georgios charged, or seemed to
charge, his own horn, and, lifting it, said:

"Let us drink, everyone of us here, to the noble knight, Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, to whom I wish, in the phrase of my own people,
that he may live for ever. Drink, friends, drink deep, for never
will wine such as this pass your lips again."

Then, lifting his beaker, he appeared to drain it in great
gulps--an example which all followed, even Sir Andrew drinking a
little from his cup, which was three parts filled with water.
There followed a long murmur of satisfaction.

"Wine! It is nectar!" said Wulf.

"Ay," put in the chaplain, Matthew; "Adam might have drunk this
in the Garden," while from the lower table came jovial shouts of
praise of this smooth, creamlike vintage.

Certainly that wine was both rich and strong. Thus, after his sup
of it, a veil as it were seemed to fall on the mind of Sir Andrew
and to cover it up. It lifted again, and lo! his brain was full
of memories and foresights. Circumstances which he had forgotten
for many years came back to him altogether, like a crowd of
children tumbling out to play. These passed, and he grew suddenly
afraid. Yet what had he to fear that night? The gates across the
moat were locked and guarded. Trusty men, a score or more of
them, ate in his outbuildings within those gates; while others,
still more trusted, sat in his hall; and on his right hand and on
his left were those two strong and valiant knights, Sir Godwin
and Sir Wulf. No, there was nothing to fear--and yet he felt
afraid. Suddenly he heard a voice speak. It was Rosamund's; and
she said:

"Why is there such silence, father? A while ago I heard the
servants and bondsmen carousing in the barn; now they are still
as death. Oh, and look! Are all here drunken? Godwin--"

But as she spoke Godwin's head fell forward on the board, while
Wulf rose, half drew his sword, then threw his arm about the neck
of the priest, and sank with him to the ground. As it was with
these, so it seemed with all, for folk rocked to and fro, then
sank to sleep, everyone of them, save the merchant Georgios, who
rose to call another toast.

"Stranger," said Sir Andrew, in a heavy voice, "your wine is very
strong."

"It would seem so, Sir Knight," he answered; "but I will wake them
from their wassail." Springing from the dais lightly as a cat, he
ran down the hall crying, "Air is what they need. Ai