r desire
through blood and think it honour, would she not have left her
rival to her doom, seeing that oaths do not hold beyond the
grave?

An answer came into the heart of Godwin, at the very thought of
which he turned pale and trembled. His brother was also sworn to
Rosamund, and she in her soul must be sworn to one of them. Was
it not to Wulf, Wulf who was handsomer and more strong than he,
to Wulf, the conqueror of Lozelle? Had Rosamund told Masouda
this? Nay, surely not.

Yet women can read each other's hearts, piercing veils through
which no man may see, and perchance Masouda had read the heart of
Rosamund. She stood behind her during the dreadful duel at the
gate, and watched her face when Wulf's death seemed sure; she
might have heard words that broke in agony from her lips in those
moments of torment.

Oh, without doubt it was so, and Masouda had protected Rosamund
because she knew that her love was for Wulf and not for him. The
thought was very bitter, and in its pain Godwin groaned aloud,
while a fierce jealousy of the brave and handsome knight who
slept at his side, dreaming, doubtless, of the fame that he had
won and the reward by which it would be crowned, gripped his
vitals like the icy hand of death. Then Godwin remembered the
oath that they two had sworn far away in the Priory at Stangate,
and the love passing the love of woman which he bore towards this
brother, and the duty of a Christian warrior whereto he was
vowed, and hiding his face in his pillow he prayed for strength.

It would seem that it came to him--at least, when he lifted his
head again the jealousy was gone, and only the great grief
remained. Fear remained also--for what of Masouda? How should he
deal with her? He was certain that this was no fancy which would
pass--until her life passed with it, and, beautiful as she was,
and noble as she was, he did not wish her love. He could find no
answer to these questions, save this--that things must go on as
they were decreed. For himself, he, Godwin, would strive to do
his duty, to keep his hands clean, and await the end, whatever
that might be.

Wulf woke up, stretched his arms, exclaimed because that action
hurt him, grumbled at the brightness of the light upon his eyes,
and said that he was very hungry. Then he arose, and with the
help of Godwin, dressed himself, but not in his armour. Here,
with the yellow-coated soldiers of Saladin, grave-faced and
watchful, pacing before their do