Against the tree leaned Bertric, pale, yet strangely composed; the bitterness of death seemed to be past, so composed were his youthful features. The lips moved in earnest, fervent prayer. Once he glanced with a look of affection, almost of pity, upon Alfgar, and when the latter made the vain attempt to deliver him, he cried, "Do not grieve for me, dear Alfgar, you cannot save me; you have done your best; pray for me, that is all you can do."