see, they bent over the form of the Outlaw of Torn for the first time.

The Queen gave a little cry as she saw the still, quiet face turned up to

hers.

"Edward !" she whispered.

"Not Edward, Madame," said De Montfort, "but -- "

The King knelt beside the still form, across the breast of which lay the

unconscious body of Bertrade de Montfort. Gently, he lifted her to the

waiting arms of Philip of France, and then the King, with his own hands,

tore off the shirt of mail, and with trembling fingers ripped wide the

tunic where it covered the left breast of the Devil of Torn.

"Oh God !" he cried, and buried his head in his arms.

The Queen had seen also, and with a little moan she sank beside the body of

her second born, crying out:

"Oh Richard, my boy, my boy !" And as she bent still lower to kiss the lily

mark upon the left breast of the son she had not seen to know for over

twenty years, she paused, and with frantic haste she pressed her ear to his

breast.

"He lives !" she almost shrieked. "Quick, Henry, our son lives !"

Bertrade de Montfort had regained consciousness almost before Philip of

France had raised her from the floor, and she stood now, leaning on his

arm, watching with wide, questioning eyes the strange scene being enacted

at her feet.

Slowly, the lids of Norman of Torn lifted with returning consciousness.

Before him, on her knees in the blood spattered rushes of the floor, knelt

Eleanor, Queen of England, alternately chafing and kissing his hands.

A sore wound indeed to have brought on such a wild delirium, thought the

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