ion that had come to him not more
than an hour ago while he kept watch upon the mountain top. At
first one or two of the barons seemed disposed to laugh, but when
they looked at Godwin's high and spiritual face, their laughter
died away, for it did not seem wonderful to them that such a man
should see visions. Indeed, as the tale of the rocky hill and the
dead who were stretched upon it went on, they grew white with
fear, and whitest of them all was the king, Guy of Lusignan.

"Is all this true, Sir Godwin?" he asked, when the bishop had
finished.

"It is true, my lord king," answered Godwin.

"His word is not enough," broke in the Master of the Templars.
"Let him swear to it on the Holy Rood, knowing that if he lies it
will blast his soul to all eternity." And the council muttered,
"Ay, let him swear."

Now there was an annexe to the tent, rudely furnished as a
chapel, and at the end of this annexe a tall, veiled object.
Rufinus, the bishop of Acre, who was clad in the armour of a
knight, went to the object, and drawing the veil, revealed a
broken, blackened cross, set around with jewels, that stood
about the height of a man above the ground, for all the
lower part was gone.

At the sight of it Godwin and every man present there fell upon
his knees, for since St. Helena found it, over seven centuries
before, this had been accounted the most precious relic in all
Christendom; the very wood upon which the Saviour suffered, as,
indeed, it may have been.

Millions had worshipped it, tens of thousands had died for it,
and now, in the hour of this great struggle between Christ and
the false prophet it was brought from its shrine that the host
which escorted it might prove invincible in battle. Soldiers who
fought around the very Cross could not be defeated, they said,
for, if need were, legions of angels would come to aid them.

Godwin and Wulf stared at the relic with wonder, fear, and
adoration. There were the nail marks, there was the place where
the scroll of Pilate had been affixed above the holy head--almost
could they seem to see that Form divine and dying.

"Now," broke in the voice of the Master of the Templars, "let Sir
Godwin D'Arcy swear to the truth of his tale upon this Rood."

Rising from his knees Godwin advanced to the Cross, and laying
his hand upon the wood, said: "Upon the very Rood I swear that
not much more than an hour ago I saw the vision which has been
told to the king's highness and to