But as she spoke Godwin’s head fell forward on the board, while Wulf rose, half drew his sword, then threw his arm about the neck of the priest, and sank with him to the ground.  As it was with these, so it seemed with all, for folk rocked to and fro, then sank to sleep, everyone of them, save the merchant Georgios, who rose to call another toast.

“Stranger,” said Sir Andrew, in a heavy voice, “your wine is very strong.”

“It would seem so, Sir Knight,” he answered; “but I will wake them from their wassail.”  Springing from the dais lightly as a cat, he ran down the hall crying, “Air is what they need.  Air!” Now coming to the door, he threw it wide open, and drawing a silver whistle from his robe, blew it long and loud.  “What,” he laughed, “do they still sleep?  Why, then, I must give a toast that will rouse them all,” and seizing a horn mug, he waved it and shouted: 

“Arouse you, ye drunkards, and drink to the lady Rose of the World, princess of Baalbec, and niece to my royal master, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, who sends me to lead her to him!”

“Oh, father,” shrieked Rosamund, “the wine was drugged and we are betrayed!”

As the words passed her lips there rose a sound of running feet, and through the open door at the far end of the hall burst in a score or over of armed men.  Then at last Sir Andrew saw and understood.

With a roar of rage like that of a wounded lion, he seized his daughter and dragged her back with him down the passage into the solar where a fire burned and lights had been lit ready for their retiring, flinging to and bolting the door behind them.

“Swift!” he said, as he tore his gown from him, “there is no escape, but at least I can die fighting for you.  Give me my mail.”

She snatched his hauberk from the wall, and while they thundered at the door, did it on to him—­ay, and his steel helm also, and gave him his long sword and his shield.

“Now,” he said, “help me.”  And they thrust the oak table forward, and overset it in front of the door, throwing the chairs and stools on either side, that men might stumble on them.

“There is a bow,” he said, “and you can use it as I have taught you.  Get to one side and out of reach of the sword sweeps, and shoot past me as they rush; it may stay one of them.  Oh, that Godwin and Wulf were here, and we would still teach these Paynim dogs a lesson!”

Rosamund made no answer but there came into her mind a vision of the agony of Godwin and of Wulf should they ever wake again to learn what had chanced to her and them.  She looked round.  Against the wall stood a little desk, at which Godwin was wont to write, and on it lay pen and parchment.  She seized them, and as the door gave slowly inwards, scrawled: 

“Follow me to Saladin.  In that hope I live on.—­Rosamund.”