And when the other dogs arrived at the spot, which was deluged in gore, after the wont of their race they would follow the scent no farther.

Meanwhile our little party of five rescued captives went joyfully forward with renewed hope, until midday, when they found a cool spot by the side of the streams leading to the waters of Merom—­the head waters of the Jordan.  And there, under a date tree which afforded them food, they watched in turn until the sun was low; after which they renewed their journey.

Soon they left the smaller lake behind, and followed the waters of the Upper Jordan to the Sea of Galilee, skirting its western shore, so rich in sacred memories, with the ruins of Capernaum, Chorazin, Bethsaida, Magdala, and other cities, long ago trodden:  By those sacred feet once nailed, For our salvation, to the bitter rood.

In the evening they rested amidst the ruins of Enon, near Salim; and on the morrow resumed their course, avoiding the great towns; begging bread in the villages—­a boon readily granted.  And in the evening they saw the promontory of Carmel, and reached the Hospital of Saint John of Acre, where Hubert’s father, Sir Roger, had been restored to health and life.

Sir Hugh de Revel, Grand Master of the Order of Saint John, heard of the arrival of five Christian fugitives, escaped from the palace of the “Old Man of the Mountain,” and naturally curiosity led him to interrogate them.  To his astonishment he found one of them a knight like himself, and, to his further surprise, recognised the son of an old acquaintance, Sir Roger of Walderne.

All was well now.

“Thou must perforce fulfil thy pilgrimage, although thou hast lost the sword which was to have been taken to the Holy Sepulchre.”

“My brother,” said the prior then present, “dost thou remember that a party of pilgrims arrived here a year since, who said that, in the gorges of Lebanon, they had come upon the scene of a recent conflict, and found a broken sword, which they brought with them and left here?”

“Bring it hither, Raymond,” said Sir Hugh to a sprightly page.

It was brought, and to his joy Hubert recognised the sword of the Sieur de Fievrault, which he had broken on a Moslem’s skull in the desperate fight wherein he was taken prisoner.  With what joy did he receive it!  He could now discharge his father’s delegated duty.

“Rest here awhile, and when thy strength is fully restored, start with better omens on thy journey to Jerusalem.”

Oh, the rest of the next few days in that glorious hospital, with its deep shady cloisters, with its massive walls and its beauteous chapel, wherein, on the following day, which was Sunday, as Hubert was told, for he had long since lost count of time, he returned thanks to God for his preservation, and took part once more in the worship of a Christian congregation, and knelt before a Christian altar.  The walls of that chapel were of almost as many precious stones as Saint John enumerates in describing the New Jerusalem.  Its rich colouring, its dim religious light, its devout psalmody; oh, how soothing to the wearied spirit.