CHAPTER IX.
THE PRINCESS BERENGARIA.
One night it chanced that Cuthbert was late in his return to camp, and his road took him through a portion of the French encampment; the night was dark, and Cuthbert presently completely lost all idea as to his bearings.

Presently he nearly ran against a tent; he made his way to the entrance in order to crave directions as to his way--for it was a wet night; the rain was pouring in torrents, and few were about of whom he could demand the way--and, as he was about to draw aside the hangings, he heard words said in a passionate voice which caused him to withdraw his hand suddenly.
"I tell you," said a voice, "I would rather drive a dagger myself into her heart than allow our own princess to be insulted by this hot-headed island dog." "It is sad indeed," said another, but in a calmer smoother tone, "that the success of a great expedition like this, which has for its object the recovery of the holy sepulcher from the infidels, should be wrecked by the headstrong fancies of one man.

It is even, as is told by the old Grecian poet, as when Helen caused a great war between people of that nation." "I know nothing," another voice said, "either of Helen or the Greeks, or of their poets.

They are a shifty race, and I can believe aught that is bad of them.

But touching this princess of Navarre, I agree with our friend, it would be a righteous deed to poniard her, and so to remove the cause of dispute between the two kings, and, indeed, the two nations.