“Then,” proceeded Eustace, “bear the news of our case—­that we have been betrayed—­that Clisson will be on us immediately—­that we will do all that man can do to hold out till succour can come, which I pray the Prince to send us.”

“Take care to whom he addresses himself,” said Gaston.  “To some our strait will be welcome news.”

“True,” said Eustace.  “Do thy best to see Sir John Chandos, or, if he be not at the court, prefer thy suit to the Prince himself—­to any save the Earl of Pembroke.  Or if thou couldst see little Arthur, it might be best of all.  Dost understand my orders, John?”

“Ay, Sir,” said Ingram, shaking his great head, while the tears still flowed down his cheeks; “but to see you in this case!”

“Think not of that, kind John,” said Eustace; “death must come sooner or later, and a sword-cut is the end for a Knight.”

“You will not, shall not die, Sir Eustace!” cried Gaston.  “Your wounds—­”

“I know not, Gaston; but the point is now, not of saving my life, but the Castle.  Speed, speed, Ingram!  Tell the Prince, if this Castle be taken, it opens the way to Bordeaux itself.  Tell him how many brave men it contains, and say to him that I pray him not to deem that Eustace Lynwood hath disgraced his knighthood.  Tell Arthur, too, to bear me sometimes in mind, and never forget the line he comes of.  Fare thee well, good John!”

“Let me but hear that I have your forgiveness, Sir Knight.”

“You have it, as freely as I hope for mercy.  One thing more:  should you see Leonard Ashton, let him know that I bear him no ill-will, and pray him not to leave the fair fame of his old comrade foully stained.  Farewell:  here is my hand—­do not take it as scorn that it is my left —­my right I cannot move—­”

The yeoman still stood in a sort of trance, gazing at him, as if unable to tear himself away.

“See him off, Gaston,” said the Knight; “then have the walls properly manned—­all is in your hands.”

Gaston obeyed, hurrying him to the gate, and giving him more hope of Sir Eustace’s recovery than he felt; for he knew that nothing but the prospect of saving him was likely to inspire the yeoman with either speed or pertinacity enough to be of use.  He fondly patted Brigliador, who turned his neck in amaze at finding it was not his master who mounted him, and having watched them for a moment, he turned to look round the court, which was empty, save for the bodies of those whom he had slain in his furious onset.  He next repaired to the hall, where he found the greater part of the men loitering about and exchanging different reports of strange events which had taken place:—­“He can’t be a wizard, for certain,” said one, “or he never would be in this case, unless his bargain was up.”

“It were shame not to stand by him now in the face of the enemy,” said another.  “How bold he spoke, weak and wounded as he was!”