day when he had slain Sir Casper de Fievrault, for never had that
day passed unmarked, never did his conscience fail to record his
adversary's dying day. It was strange that, in those fighting days,
a man should feel the death of a foe so keenly, and Sir Roger had
slain many in fair fight. But this particular case was exceptional.
It had been on a day of solemn truce that, maddened by a real or
supposed insult, he had forced his foe to fight, and met objections
by a blow. And they were both sworn soldiers of the Cross, pledged
not to engage in a less holy warfare. Thence the remorse and the
dread penalty; under such an one many a man has sunk to the grave
{33}. Therefore, as we have said, he dreaded the advent of the
fatal day.

It came, and Sir Roger faced the ordeal alone in his cell, when,
lo! in the dead hour of the night, his tormentor appeared, but no
longer armed with his terrors. His face was changed, his features
resigned and peaceful.

"I come but to bid thee farewell, for so long as thou art in the
flesh. Thy son has fulfilled thy vow. He has placed my sword on the
altar of the Holy Sepulchre, and I am released. Thou hast thy
reward and my forgiveness. May we meet where strife is no more! Him
thou shalt yet see in the flesh, as thy reward."

And he disappeared.

Was it a dream? Well, if so, it gave the father not merely hope but
certainty. He was happy at last, and waited patiently the
fulfilment of the vision.