mediation from the Blessed Virgin or the Holy Saints.  Love and revere these he might and did; but in the presence of that mighty power of death, in that hour when flesh and heart do fail, he felt as he had felt when he believed his own soul was to be called away —­ when it seemed as though no power could avail to save him from a fearful fate —­ that to God alone must the cry of the suffering soul be raised; that into the Saviour’s hands alone could the departing soul be committed.  He did not speak to others of these thoughts —­ thoughts which in later days came to be branded with the dreaded name of “heresy” —­ but he held them none the less surely in the depths of his own spirit; and now, when all but he would have stood aside with pitiful helplessness, certain that nothing could be done for the dying man in absence of a priest, Raymond strove to lead his thoughts upwards, that though his life had been black and evil, he might still die with his face turned Godwards, with a cry for mercy on his lips.

Nor was this hope in vain; for at the last the old man raised himself with a strength none believed him to possess, and raising his hand he clasped that of Raymond, and said: 

“Raymond de Brocas, I strove to compass thy death, and thou hast come to me in mine hour of need, and spoken words of hope.  If thou canst forgive —­ thou so cruelly treated, so vilely betrayed —­ it may be that the Saviour, whose servant thou art, can forgive yet greater crimes.

“Christ have mercy upon me!  Lord have mercy upon me!  Christ have mercy upon me!  My worldly possessions are fled:  let them go; they are in good hands.  May Christ pardon my sins, and receive me at last to Himself!”

He looked earnestly at Raymond, who understood him, and whispered the last prayers of the Church in his ear.  A look of calm and peace fell upon that wild and rugged face; and drawing one sigh, and slightly turning himself towards his former foe, the old ruler of Saut fell asleep, and died with the two De Brocas brothers standing beside him.

CHAPTER XXXII.  ON THE FIELD OF POITIERS.

The face of the Prince was dark and grave.  He had posted his gallant little army in the strongest position the country afforded; but his men were ill-fed, and though brave as lions and eager for the battle, were but a handful of troops compared with the vast French host opposed to them.

Eight thousand against fifty or even sixty thousand!  Such an inequality might well make the stoutest heart quail.  But there was no fear in young Edward’s eyes, only a glance of stern anxiety slightly dashed with regret; for the concessions just made to the Cardinal de Perigord, who was earnestly striving to arrange terms between the rival armies and so avoid the bloodshed of a battle, went sorely against the grain of the warrior prince, and he was almost disposed to repent that he had been induced to make them.