It did not stir; he heard no footsteps; nothing broke that utter silence.

He turned again and stared about him.

Something glinted on the ground yonder, towards the end of the vault, just where he had knelt before the executioner.

A shape lay there; doubtless it was Masouda, imprisoned and asleep.
"Masouda," he said, and the sounding echoes from the arched walls answered back, "Masouda!" He must awaken her; there was no choice.

Yes, it was she, asleep, and she still wore the royal robes of Rosamund, and a clasp of Rosamund's still glittered on her breast.
How sound Masouda slept! Would she never wake?
He knelt down beside her and put out his hand to lift the long hair that hid her face.
Now it touched her, and lo! the head fell over.
Then, with horror in his heart, Godwin held down the lamp and looked.