The brethren stood awhile bewildered, for it is a strange thing thus to come back from death to life.  Each of them had made sure that he must die within some few minutes, and pass through the blackness which walls man in, to find he knew not what.  And now, behold! the road that led to that blackness turned again at its very edge, and ran forward through the familiar things of earth to some end unknown.  They were brave, both of them, and accustomed to face death daily, as in such a place and time all men must be; moreover, they had been shriven, and looked to see the gates of Paradise open on their newborn sight.

Yet, since no man loves that journey, it was very sweet to know it done with for a while, and that they still might hope to dwell in this world for many years.  Little wonder, then, that their brains swam, and their eyes grew dim, as they passed from the shadow to the light again.  It was Wulf who spoke the first.

“A noble deed, Godwin, yet one for which I should not have thanked you had it been accomplished, who then must have lived on by grace of your sacrifice.  Sultan, we are grateful for your boon of life, though had you shed this innocent blood surely it would have stained your soul.  May we bid farewell to our cousin Rosamund before we ride?”

“Nay,” answered Saladin; “Sir Godwin has done that already—­let it serve for both.  To-morrow she shall learn the truth of the story.  Now go, and return no more.”

“That must be as fate wills,” answered Godwin, and they bowed and went.

Outside that gloomy place of death their swords were given them, and two good horses, which they mounted.  Hence guides led them to the embassy from Jerusalem that was already in the saddle, who were very glad to welcome two such knights to their company.  Then, having bid farewell to the bishop Egbert, who wept for joy at their escape, escorted for a while by Saladin’s soldiers, they rode away from Ascalon at the fall of night.

Soon they had told each other all there was to tell.  When he heard of the woe of Rosamund Wulf well-nigh shed tears.

“We have our lives,” he said, “but how shall we save her?  While Masouda stayed with her there was some hope, but now I can see none.”

“There is none, except in God,” answered Godwin, “Who can do all things—­even free Rosamund and make her your wife.  Also, if Masouda is at liberty, we shall hear from her ere long; so let us keep a good heart.”

But though he spoke thus, the soul of Godwin was oppressed with a fear which he could not understand.  It seemed as though some great terror came very close to him, or to one who was near and dear.  Deeper and deeper he sank into that pit of dread of he knew not what, until at length he could have cried aloud, and his brow was bathed with a sweat of anguish.  Wulf saw his face in the moonlight, and asked: 

“What ails you, Godwin?  Have you some secret wound?”