t, no tongue less free than my warrior
minstrel's could have so shocked our ears. Excuse his bold theme, for
the sake of his bold heart, I pray thee; and since I know well" (here the
Duke's face grew grave and anxious) "that nought save urgent and weighty
news from my stormy realm could have brought over this rhyming petrel,
permit the officer behind me to lead hither a bird, I fear, of omen as
well as of song."

"Whatever pleases thee, pleases me," said Edward, drily; and he gave the
order to the attendant. In a few moments, up the space in the hall,
between either table, came the large stride of the famous minstrel,
preceded by the officer and followed by the ecclesiastic. The hoods of
both were now thrown back, and discovered countenances in strange
contrast, but each equally worthy of the attention it provoked. The face
of the minstrel was open and sunny as the day; and that of the priest,
dark and close as night. Thick curls of deep auburn (the most common
colour for the locks of the Norman) wreathed in careless disorder round
Taillefer's massive unwrinkled brow. His eye, of light hazel, was bold
and joyous; mirth, though sarcastic and sly, mantled round his lips. His
whole presence was at once engaging and heroic.

On the other hand, the priest's cheek was dark and sallow; his features
singularly delicate and refined; his forehead high, but somewhat narrow,
and crossed with lines of thought; his mien composed, modest, but not
without calm self-confidence. Amongst that assembly of soldiers,
noiseless, self-collected, and conscious of his surpassing power over
swords and mail, moved the SCHOLAR.

William's keen eye rested on the priest with some surprise, not unmixed
with pride and ire; but first addressing Taillefer, who now gained the
foot of the dais, he said, with a familiarity almost fond:

"Now, by're Lady, if thou bringest not ill news, thy gay face, man, is
pleasanter to mine eyes that thy rough song to my ears. Kneel,
Taillefer, kneel to King Edward, and with more address, rogue, than our
unlucky countryman to King Charles."

But Edward, as ill-liking the form of the giant as the subject of his
lay, said, pushing back his seat as far as he could:

"Nay, nay, we excuse thee, we excuse thee, tall man." Nevertheless, the
minstrel still knelt, and so, with a look of profound humility, did the
priest. Then both slowly rose, and at a sign from the Duke, passed to
the other side of the table, stand