H. C. Bailey

“ The provost's men came to lay hands on him, and he watched them come; then as one touched him his eyes fell again on the dead, and on a sudden he tottered and fell forward on his face, with his arms wide-spread, and he lay on the ground like a cross. A silence fell on all. Slowly the provost came forward and bent over him. For a long time he knelt, loosing Sir Albert's armour. The steel clashed faintly as he moved it, and at last he let Sir Albert fall again on his face. His eyes were big with wonder as he rose.
"My lord, my lord," he stammered, "the man is dead!" ”

“ So he held her while Harry the page came ever slowly forward, hiding the silver hilt of his dagger with his hand. With a shriek she woke from her pain.
"Murderer!" she cried. "Murderer! Ah! foul as the fiend!" and she struck his face with her open hand. A swift scurry of feet was behind her; with his little dagger the page sprang at Sir Albert's neck and struck. But the dagger broke on the mail, and Sir Albert dashed him heavily to the ground. ”

“ The men who had served the Lord of Abinger took vantage in every turn and twist of the hills. For Dick wood-ward knew every crease of the downs as a child knows his mother's breast. So they rode on, up and over the crest, and down on the westward side, heading ever for Cobham and Silvermere. And Albert's men toiled after them.
But Sir Albert stood by the gateway, leaning his head against it, and still he looked at the dead. One of the women who crept near, as women will, to watch, tells that his breath came hard, that he seemed to mutter to himself. ”

“ Harry told the story on his knees; told how, for love of his friend's wife, Albert of Shere had slain his friend, and how the lady was dead by her own hand. And as he told it the King's face blanched and his dark eyes shot forth fire. Men say that he thought the while of his own wife, the fair Queen Eleanor, who sucked the poison from his wound away in the Holy Land. Harry ended his tale and Bertram stepped forward quickly. ”

“ The page laughed, too.
"Call quits, Bertram," he cried, as he rose on his elbow. He rubbed his ribs. "Heaven save the man you wrestle with in three years' time!"
Bertram scratched his head.
"Now, Harry, there was a message I had," he said thoughtfully. "Oh, aye! The Lady Rosamund would have you come quickly. Sir Albert of Shere, our friend the Weasel, has come a-visiting."
Harry's heavy brow wrinkled. "The fiend take Albert of Shere!" he muttered. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1961, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 61 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”