CHAPTER XXIX,
A WOUNDED PILGRIM.

T was long ere Walter Espec, struck down wounded
and bleeding at Mansourah, recovered possession
of his faculties sufficiently to recall the scenes through
which he had passed or even to understand what was
taking place around him. As time passed over,
however, consciousness returned; and he one day
became aware that he was stretched on a bed in a
chamber somewhat luxuriously furnished, and tended
by a woman advanced in years, who wore a gown of
russet, and a wimple which gave her a conventual
appearance.

Walter raised his head, and was about to speak,
when she suddenly left the room, and the squire was
left to guess, as he best might, where and under whose
care hewas. He attempted to rise; but the effort was
in vain. He put his hand to his head; but he found
that his long locks of fair hair were gone. He tried
to remember how he had got there; but, try as he
might, his memory would not bring him farther down
the stream of time, than the hour in which he fell
at Mansourah. All the rest was a blank or a feverish
dream of being rowed on ariver by Saracen boatmen,