‘How lies he?’ were his first words; the other’s face grew fearful.

‘Eh, I know not,’ he said, shuddering.  ‘I have not seen him.’  Now, he must have been in Fontevrault for a day or more.

‘Why not?’ asked Richard; and John stretched out his arms again.

‘Oh, brother, I waited for you!’ he cried, then added lower, ’I could not face him alone.’  This was perfectly evident, or he would never have said it.

‘Pish!’ said King Richard, that is no way to mend matters.  But it is written, “They shall look on him whom they pierced.”  Come you in.’  He mounted the steps to his brother’s level; and men saw that he was nearly a hand taller, though John was a fine tall man.

‘With you, Richard, with you—­but never without you!’ said John, in a hush, rolling his eyes about.  Richard, taking no notice, bid them set open the doors.  This was done:  the chill taint of the dark, of wax and damp and death came out.  John shivered, but King Richard left him to shiver, and passed out of the sun into the echoing nave.  Lightly and fiercely he went in, like a brave man who is fretful until he meets his danger’s face; and John caught at his wrist, and went tiptoe after him.  All the rest, Poictevins and Frenchmen together, followed in a pack; then the two bishops vested.

At the far end of the church, beyond the great Rood, they saw the candles flare about a bier.  Before that was a little white altar with a priest saying his mass in a whisper.  The high altar was all dark, and behind a screen in the north transept the nuns were singing the Office for the Dead.  King Richard pushed on quickly, the others trooping behind.  There in the midst of all this chilly state, grim and sour-faced, as he had always been, but now as unconcerned as all the dead are, lay the empty majesty of England, careless (as it seemed) of the full majesty; and dead Anjou a stranger to the living.

It was not so altogether, if we are to believe those who saw it.  The hatred of the dead is a fearful thing:  of that which followed be God the only judge, and I not even the reporter.  Milo saw it, and Milo (who got some comfort out of it at last) shall tell you the tale; ‘for I know,’ says he, ’that in the end the hidden things are to be made plain, and even so, things which then I guessed darkly have since been opened out to my understanding.  Behold!’ he goes on, ’I tell you a mystery.  Lightly and adventuring came King Richard to his dead father, and Count John dragging behind him like a load of care.  Reverently he knelt him down beside the bier, prayed for a little, then, looking up, touched the grey old face.  Before God, I say, it was the act of a boy.  But slowly, slowly, we who watched quaking saw a black stream well at the nostril of the dead, and slowly drag a snake’s way down the jaw:  a sight to shake those fraught with God—­and what to men in their trespasses?  But while all the others fell back gasping, or whispering