Sir Ralph reluctantly quitted his betrothed:  he made his escape moreover from the baron and the chaplain, who prayed his further tarrying, to share in another flagon of Rhenish about to be produced.  The horse and dog were at the porch, and, in a few minutes, the knight had passed the drawbridge, and was in the same fair road again.

“I have known Sir Ralph from his birth,” observed the baron to the chaplain, “and I love him as my own son.  The king may well come here to see him wedded; for he has not a nobler, braver, or more generous knight within his realm.”

“Truly, Sir Baron, he is endowed with much excellence,” replied the priest; “I do greatly admire his strong denunciation against the Templars and other warlike orders, who tolerate the protracted existence of that band of murderers in the past who have their daggers ever pointed against the sons of the Church.  Sir Ralph speaks on this subject like a true soldier of the Cross.”

“Very true,” retorted the baron, “yet I wish our chevaliers would cease to think of foreign broils and questions, and attend to affairs at home.  This Rhenish is perfect:  after all, wine is the only thing really good that originates beyond our seas.”

Their discourse had scarcely proceeded farther, when it was suddenly interrupted by the loud howling and barking of a dog.  The baron and the chaplain started up.  “It is Leo, Sir Ralph’s dog,” exclaimed the former, “what in God’s name can be the matter?” and the two rushed out.

The Lady Alianore, at her orisons above, heard the same terrible howl and bark.  She instantly descended to the courtyard; as she came there, the outer gate was opened, and Leo, the knight’s dog, flew past the wardour, and ran to the feet of the lady.  The animal’s mouth was blood-stained, and his glaring eye-balls and ruffled crest showed the extent of his fury and despair.

“Something dreadful has happened to Sir Ralph,” she cried, and urged by the dog, who had seized her robe, she hurried through the gate, and crossed the drawbridge, with a rapidity those who followed could not arrest.

When the baron, his chaplain, and his domestics had proceeded a little beyond a quarter of a mile upon the road, a fearful sight met their view.

The knight lay dead upon the green sward by the side of the highway; a poignard which had effected the mortal wound, still rested fixed into his back.  His body was locked fast in the embrace of the Lady Alianore, who lay senseless upon it:  the dog stood by, howling piteously.  No trace could be discovered of who had done the deed.  No proof was there beyond the dagger itself, which was of Oriental fashion, and bore the inscription in Latin Hoc propter verba tua; naught beyond that and another circumstance, which went to show that the knight had been slain by an eastern enemy.  The dog, as he re-entered the castle, called attention to some pieces of blood-stained rag, which, from their appearance, had dropped from his mouth; one of these, the innermost, was in texture and pattern evidently part of a Syrian garment.