The last words had come very slowly; there came no more. There was a little flutter of her breast and lips when she turned in her sleep. Richard sat a long time; his hands—great clumsy hands—now on her hair, now on her forehead, now on her neck. What had he done so pleasing to Heaven that he had been possessed of this—of this! The events of the past night buzzed about him—the shadow of death in so many forms!—how unreal the horrors seemed as they flitted by! He knew he ought to lay Mary's head upon the grass and relieve Musa's watch. But his eyes also were very heavy. He could not bring himself to disturb that crown of hair. The ravine and the trees grew dim. At last Richard thought he was back in St. Julien a-hunting, only the dogs were pulling down Harun, the Ismaelian, in place of a stag. This also passed away; he seemed drifting onward, onward,—until he heard a voice close by:—
"Wallah! How beautiful she is, and how she loves him!"
Richard raised his head. Musa was standing beside him; the sunbeams were slanting from the west.
"Holy cross!" exclaimed the Norman; "the day is sped. I have slept through all. And Duke Godfrey?" Musa smiled.
"Look!" The good Duke was still in the sleep of the righteous.
"You have been sole sentinel. Why did you not wake us?" cried Richard. Musa again laughed.
"If I can wield no cudgels of marble, I have a manner of strength. Many a night long at Cordova I have counted the hours over my books. My fellows said, 'Musa is like Allah; he never sleeps.' No foe in sight; no need of haste."
There was a stir on Richard's lap; the long lashes unclosed.
"Have I slept very long?" said the Greek, with a pretty sigh.
"None too long," answered the Spaniard. "I have made bow and arrows, and killed two desert partridges. Let us sup and be off."