rmour, hurried to his tent.

"The glory of this day is marred indeed," he said to the wounded knight,
"if I am to lose you, Sir Walter."

"I fear that it must even be so, my lord," the dying earl said. "I am
glad that I have seen this day, for never did I think to witness such
feats as those which your Majesty has performed; and though the crusade
has failed, and the Holy City remains in the hands of the infidel, yet
assuredly no shadow of disgrace has fallen upon the English arms, and,
indeed, great glory has accrued to us. Whatever may be said of the Great
Crusade, it will, at least, be allowed by all men, and for all time, that
had the princes and soldiers of other nations done as your Majesty and
your followers have done, the holy city would have fallen into our hands
within a month of our putting foot upon the soil. Your Majesty, I have a
boon to ask."

"You have but to name it, Sir Walter, and it is yours."

"Sir Cuthbert, here," he said, pointing to the young knight, who was
sorrowfully kneeling by his bedside, "is as a son to me. The relationship
by blood is but slight, but by affection it is as close as though he were
mine own. I have, as your Majesty knows, no male heirs, and my daughter
is but young, and will now be a royal ward. I beseech your Majesty to
bestow her in marriage, when the time comes, upon Sir Cuthbert. They have
known each other as children, and the union will bring happiness,
methinks, to both, as well as strength and protection to her; and
further, if it might be, I would fain that you should bestow upon him my
title and dignity."

"It shall be so," the king said. "When your eyes are closed, Sir Walter,
Sir Cuthbert shall be Earl of Evesham, and, when the time comes, the
husband of your daughter."

Cuthbert was too overwhelmed with grief to feel a shadow of exaltation at
the gracious intimation of the king; although, even then, a thought of
future happiness in the care of the fair young lady Margaret passed
before his mind. For the last time the king gave his hand to his faithful
servant, who pressed it to his lips, and a few minutes afterwards
breathed his last.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN ALPINE STORM.

The tremendous exertions which King Richard had made told upon him, and
attacks of fever succeeded each other at short intervals. This, however,
mattered the less, since negotiations were now proceeding between him and
Saladin. It was impossible, with the slight means at his dispo