At length the hour of noon arrived; she had taken care to provide, under pretence of her own wishes, which the pantler seemed disposed to indulge, such articles of food as could be the most easily conveyed to the unhappy captive.

She whispered to intimate her presence; there was no answer; she spoke louder, still there was silence.
"He sleeps," she muttered these words half aloud, and with a shuddering which was succeeded by a start and a scream, when a voice replied behind her: "Yes, he sleeps; but it is for ever." She looked round.

Sir John Ramorny stood behind her in complete armour, but the visor of his helmet was up, and displayed a countenance more resembling one about to die than to fight.

He spoke with a grave tone, something between that of a calm observer of an interesting event and of one who is an agent and partaker in it.
"Catharine," he said, "all is true which I tell you.

He is dead.