“And now, my son, art thou not a priest yet?  I would fain make confession of my sins.”

“God will accept the will for the deed.  He is not limited to earthly means; and if thou truly repent of thy sins for the love of the Crucified, and believest in Him, all will be well.”

For Martin feared that there would be no time to fetch a priest, or he would not have questioned the universal precept of the church of his day; while his own faith led him to see clearly that God’s mercy was not limited by the accidental omission of the outward ordinance.

“I sent for Sir Richard {36}, the parish priest of Walderne, ere we left the castle, and he is doubtless on his way with the Viaticum,” said Kynewulf.

And while they yet spake the priest arrived, and the dying man received with simple faith the last sacraments of the Church.  After this his people gathered round him.

“Tell them,” he said, in stammering tones, for the speech was failing, “what I have said.  With thy friend in the castle, and thou in the greenwood, there will be peace.”

Martin turned to the silent outlaws who stood by, and repeated his words.  They listened in silence.  The prospect was not new to them, for Martin’s long labours had not been in vain; but while Drogo was at Walderne, and the royal party triumphant, it seemed useless to hope for its realisation.  Now things had changed, and there was hope that the breach would be healed.

“His last prayer was for peace,” said Grimbeard.  “Should not mine be the same?  Oh, God, save my country, grant it the blessing of peace, and forgive a poor erring man, who sees, too late, that he has been fighting against Thy dispensation, for he can now say ’Thy will be done.’”

These were his last words, and although we have related them as if spoken connectedly, they were really only uttered in broken gasps.  The end came; the widow turned aside from the bed after closing the eyes.

“Martin,” she said, “thou alone art left to me.”

And she fell on his neck and wept.

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From the grave to the gay, from a death to a wedding, such is life.  The same bell which tolls dolorously at a burial clangs in company with its fellows at a marriage on the next day.  So the world goes on.

The scene was the priory of Saint Pancras at Lewes, where so lately the feeble old king had held his court.  Now with his brave son he had gone into honourable captivity, for it was little better, and the followers of Earl Simon filled the place.

Before the high altar stood a youthful pair; Hubert of Walderne, now to be known as Radulphus, or Ralph; and Alicia de Grey, who had been sheltered from ill and Drogo as one of the handmaidens of the Countess Eleanor, in keeping for her true love.

The good prior, Foville, performed the ceremony and celebrated the mass Pro sponso et sponsa.  The father, the happy and glad father, stood by, now fully delivered from his ghostly tormentor, his fondest wish on earth achieved.  Earl Simon gave the bride away, while Martin stood by, so happy.