with some
difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty baron,
who returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thy penitents, father," said the latter, "have made a long [v]shrift.
It is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make.
Hast thou prepared them for death?"

"I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command,
"expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they
had fallen."

"How now, sir friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, me thinks,
smacks of the rude Saxon tongue?"

"I was bred in the convent of Saint Withold of Burton," answered Cedric.

"Ay," said the baron; "it had been better for thee to have been a
Norman, and better for my purpose, too; but need has no choice of
messengers. That Saint Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nest worth the
harrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon
as little as the mail-coat."

"God's will be done!" returned Cedric, in a voice tremulous with
passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.

"I see," he said, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in thy
refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office and
thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of
proof."

"Speak your commands," replied Cedric, with suppressed emotion.

"Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the
postern."

As he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus
schooled him in the part which he desired he should act.

"Thou seest, sir friar, yon herd of Saxon swine who have dared to
environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them whatever thou hast a mind
of the weakness of this [v]fortalice, or aught else that can detain
them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear this scroll--but
soft--canst thou read, sir priest?"

"Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my [v]breviary; and then I know
the characters because I have the holy service by heart, praised be
Saint Withold!"

"The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this scroll to the
castle of Philip de [v]Malvoisin; say it cometh from me and is written
by the Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it
to York with all speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to
doubt nothing he shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement.
Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by