who looked at them curiously.

"Lady Abbess," said Wulf, bowing low, "my name is Wulf D'Arcy. Do
you remember me?"

"Yes. We met in Jerusalem--before the battle of Hattin," she
answered. "Also I know something of your story in this land--a
very strange one."

"This lady," went on Wulf, "is the daughter and heiress of Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, my dead uncle, and in Syria the princess of
Baalbec and the niece of Saladin."

The abbess started, and asked: "Is she, then, of their accursed
faith, as her garb would seem to show?"

"Nay, mother," said Rosamund, "I am a Christian, if a sinful
one, and I come here to seek sanctuary, lest when they know who I
am and he clamours at their gates, my fellow Christians may
surrender me to my uncle, the Sultan."

"Tell me the story," said the abbess; and they told her briefly,
while she listened, amazed. When they had finished, she said:

"Alas! my daughter, how can we save you, whose own lives are at
stake? That belongs to God alone. Still, what we can we will do
gladly, and here, at least, you may rest for some short while. At
the most holy altar of our chapel you shall be given sanctuary,
after which no Christian man dare lay a hand upon you, since to
do so is a sacrilege that would cost him his soul. Moreover, I
counsel that you be enrolled upon our books as a novice, and don
our garb. Nay," she added with a smile, noting the look of alarm
on the face of Wulf, "the lady Rosamund need not wear it always,
unless such should be her wish. Not every novice proceeds to the
final vows."

"Long have I been decked in gold-embroidered silks and priceless
gems," answered Rosamund, "and now I seem to desire that white
robe of yours more than anything on earth."

So they led Rosamund to the chapel, and in sight of all their
order and of priests who had been summoned, at the altar there,
upon that holy spot where they said that once Christ had answered
Pilate, they placed her hand and gave her sanctuary, and threw
over her tired head the white veil of a novice. There, too, Wulf
left her, and riding away, reported himself to Balian of Ibelin,
the elected commander of the city, who was glad enough to welcome
so stout a knight where knights were few.

Oh! weary, weary was that ride of Godwin's beneath the sun,
beneath the stars. Behind him, the brother who had been his
companion and closest friend, and the woman whom he had loved in
vain; and in front, he knew not what. What went he forth t