Ralph listened. Who could it be?
A faint voice answered with great difficulty and many pauses.
"I thank God I have had this meeting before I die--He hath ever been merciful to me, sinful man that I am--but in no wise hath His mercy been more marvellously proven than in saving me from the sin thou wottest of.--Thou didst her and me cruel wrong. I say no more of that--I thank God I die, and I thank Him all the more in that thou knowest now how guiltless she and I have been. Not of mine own strength did I resist temptation, but, as is written in Holy Writ, 'Noe temptacion hath o'ertaken thee, but what God will withe ye temptacion alsoe makke a waie to escape.' I am near my end now." The voice became weaker. "I cannot forgather my thoughts. Thou wilt see her. Tell her--ah!--I shall see her too, where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but where we 'are as the angels of God in heaven.'" And the voice, scarcely audible in the last few gasps, ceased for ever.
The other voice broke out,--
"Ah, Sir Edward Woodville, noble Captain, gentle knight, how thou wert head of all Christian knights, and now thou liest dead! Ever wast thou the pattern of all true knights. The courtliest wast thou, that ever bare shield, the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse. Ever wast thou the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. The meekest and the gentlest that ever loved woman. The sternest to thy mortal foe that ever laid spear in rest. And now thou art dead! And I live. Ah, me. What dolour and grief is this; that I could not give my life for thy life! Ah, sinful man that I am. How shall I atone for my evil life? How dolorous hath been this day. And the departing out of this world of all this meynie of joyous and gentle men!"
Ralph listened, as in a dream. The voices ceased, and the whirr of a night-jar hummed above the low wail of the deserted battle-field. The faint sound of inarticulate pain rose and sank on the gentle night breeze. The still air seemed to vibrate with pain.
Presently a soft hand touched his brow. He looked round. A slight form was bending over him, and a gentle voice murmured,--"'Tis a friend; but speak no word, there is yet danger around."
Ralph lay still, his senses had not yet recovered their usual vigour. He liked lying still, as the balmy night air of midsummer fanned his brow, watching the solemn stars blinking down, and the flitting bats as they flickered to and fro. He felt desperately thirsty, and turned his head to see if the mysterious figure were near.
"Father!--father!--ah me, how dolorous is the time! Father, shall we not get hence? Alack! he heareth not! Father! the night grows damp, thy wounds will stiffen. Alack! alack! he heedeth not!"
Again all was silent over that dismal scene. The heaps of dead men glinted in the starlight, and the night wind stirred the torn and tattered tabards till they rustled in the wind.