Arrived in the house, the two knights elect were taken to a room where their hair was cut and their chins were shaved by a barber who awaited them.  Then, under the guidance of two old knights named Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, they were conducted to baths surrounded with rich cloths.  Into these, having been undressed by the squires, they entered and bathed themselves, while Sir Anthony and Sir Roger spoke to them through the cloths of the high duties of their vocation, ending by pouring water over them, and signing their bare bodies with the sign of the Cross.  Next they were dressed again, and preceded by minstrels, led to the church, at the porch of which they and their esquires were given wine to drink.

Here, in the presence of all the company, they were clothed first in white tunics, to signify the whiteness of their hearts; next in red robes, symbolical of the blood they might be called upon to shed for Christ; and lastly, in long black cloaks, emblems of the death that must be endured by all.  This done, their armour was brought in and piled before them upon the steps of the altar, and the congregation departed homeward, leaving them with their esquires and the priest to spend the long winter night in orisons and prayers.

Long, indeed, it was, in that lonesome, holy place, lit only by a lamp which swung before the altar.  Wulf prayed and prayed until he could pray no more, then fell into a half dreamful state that was haunted by the face of Rosamund, where even her face should have been forgotten.  Godwin, his elbow resting against the tomb that hid his father’s heart, prayed also, until even his earnestness was outworn, and he began to wonder about many things.

That dream of his, for instance, in his sickness, when he had seemed to be dead, and what might be the true duty of man.  To be brave and upright?  Surely.  To fight for the Cross of Christ against the Saracen?  Surely, if the chance came his way.  What more?  To abandon the world and to spend his life muttering prayers like those priests in the darkness behind him?  Could that be needful or of service to God or man?  To man, perhaps, because such folk tended the sick and fed the poor.  But to God?  Was he not sent into the world to bear his part in the world—­to live his full life?  This would mean a half-life—­one into which no woman might enter, to which no child might be added, since to monks and even to certain brotherhoods, all these things, which Nature decreed and Heaven had sanctified, were deadly sin.

It would mean, for instance, that he must think no more of Rosamund.  Could he do this for the sake of the welfare of his soul in some future state?