"Hugues," said he, "do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence take ship for England."
He would have none of Hugues' thanks; instead, he turned and left Hugues to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain at him. Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang.
Sang Adhelmar: "D'Andreghen in Normandy Went forth to slay mine enemy; But as he went Lord God for me wrought marvellously; "Wherefore, I may call and cry That am now about to die, 'I am content!'
"Domine! Domine! Gratias accipe! Et meum animum Recipe in coelum!"
6. They Kiss at Parting
When he had come to Puysange, Adhelmar climbed the stairs of the White Turret,--slowly, for he was growing very feeble now,--and so came again to Mélite crouching among the burned-out candles in the slate-colored twilight which heralded dawn.
"He is safe," said Adhelmar. He told Mélite how Hugues was rescued and shipped to England, and how, if she would, she might straightway follow him in a fishing-boat. "For there is likely to be ugly work at Puysange," Adhelmar said, "when the marshal comes. And he will come."
"But what will you do now, my cousin?" asked Mélite.
"Holy Ouen!" said Adhelmar; "since I needs must die, I will die in France, not in the cold land of England."
"Die!" cried Mélite. "Are you hurt so sorely, then?"
He grinned like a death's-head. "My injuries are not incurable," said he, "yet must I die very quickly, for all that. The English King will hang me if I go thither, as he has sworn to do these eight years, because of that matter of Almerigo di Pavia: and if I stay in France, I must hang because of this night's work."
Mélite wept. "O God! O God!" she quavered, two or three times, like one hurt in the throat. "And you have done this for me! Is there no way to save you, Adhelmar?" she pleaded, with wide, frightened eyes that were like a child's.
"None," said Adhelmar. He took both her hands in his, very tenderly. "Ah, my sweet," said he, "must I, whose grave is already digged, waste breath upon this idle talk of kingdoms and the squabbling men who rule them? I have but a brief while to live, and I wish to forget that there is aught else in the world save you, and that I love you. Do not weep, Mélite! In a little time you will forget me and be happy with this Hugues whom you love; and I?--ah, my sweet, I think that even in my grave I shall dream of you and of your great beauty and of the exceeding love that I bore you in the old days."