But now what had been dim, like a shadow in a mirror, was as clear as the colours in a painted psaltery.
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem," he sighed, as his King was wont to sigh.

For he was crossing the ramparts of the secret city.
He tried to take the ring from his finger that he might bury it, for it irked him that his father's jewel should fall to his enemies.

But the wound had swollen his left hand, and he could not move the ring.
He was looking westward, for that way lay the Holy Places, and likewise Alix and Picardy.

His minutes were few now, for he heard the bridles of the guards, as they closed in to carry him to his last fight....

He had with him a fragment of rye-cake and beside him on the ridge was a little spring.