"Oh, what can we do now, save die for very shame ?" "Nay," answered Godwin, dreamingly; "we can live on to save her.
See, these are her tokens--the cross for me, the blood-stained sword for you, and about its hilt the chain, a symbol of her slavery.

Now both of us must bear the cross; both of us must wield the sword, and both of us must cut the chain, or if we fail, then die." "You rave," said Wulf; "and little wonder.

Here, drink water.
Would that we had never touched aught else, as she did, and desired that we should do.

What said you of my uncle, priest?
Dead, or only dying?
Nay, answer not, let us see.

Come, brother." Now together they ran, or rather reeled, torch in hand, along the passage.
Wulf saw the bloodstains on the floor and laughed savagely.
"The old man made a good fight," he said, "while, like drunken brutes, we slept." They were there, and before them, beneath the white, shroud-like cloak, lay Sir Andrew, the steel helm on his head, and his face beneath it even whiter than the cloak.
At the sound of their footsteps he opened his eyes.