Presently, of the four only Christopher was left upon his feet.

Swords and spears smote upon his armour, but he did not fall; it was those in front of him who fell.

A great fellow with an axe got behind him and struck with all his might upon his helm.

The sword dropped from Harflete's hand; slowly he turned about, looked upward, then stretched out his arms and fell heavily to earth.
The Abbot leapt from his horse and ran to him, kneeling at his side.
"Dead!" he cried, and began to shrive his passing soul, or so it seemed.
"Dead," repeated Emlyn, "and a gallant death!" "Dead!" wailed Cicely, in so terrible a voice that all below heard it.
"Dead, dead!" and sank senseless on Emlyn's breast.
At that moment the rest of the roof fell in, hiding the tower in spouts and veils of flame.

Here they might not stay if they would live.