He rose at that, and drew his dagger from the sheath. I laid aside my doublet, and he followed my example, but his hands moved listlessly and his fingers bungled at the fastenings. I waited for him in some wonder, it not being like him to come tardily to such pastime.

He came at length, slowly and with an uncertain step, and we stood together on the scarlet cloak. I raised my left arm and he raised his, and we locked hands. There was no strength in his clasp; his hand lay within mine cold and languid. “Art ready?” I demanded.

“Yea,” he answered in a strange voice, “but I would that she did not stand there with her head upon your breast� . I too loved thee, Jocelyn, — Jocelyn lying dead in the forest!”

I struck at