breath, and when you give me time--Alive, saidst thou?--I am as much
alive as he can be who has fed on bread and water for three days, which
seem three ages--Yes, bread and water, Father Cedric! By Heaven, and all
saints in it, better food hath not passed my weasand for three livelong
days, and by God's providence it is that I am now here to tell it."

"Why, noble Athelstane," said the Black Knight, "I myself saw you struck
down by the fierce Templar towards the end of the storm at Torquilstone,
and as I thought, and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven through the
teeth."

"You thought amiss, Sir Knight," said Athelstane, "and Wamba lied. My
teeth are in good order, and that my supper shall presently find--No
thanks to the Templar though, whose sword turned in his hand, so that
the blade struck me flatlings, being averted by the handle of the good
mace with which I warded the blow; had my steel-cap been on, I had not
valued it a rush, and had dealt him such a counter-buff as would have
spoilt his retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, but
unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down and slaughtered
above me, so that I never recovered my senses until I found myself in
a coffin--(an open one, by good luck)--placed before the altar of the
church of Saint Edmund's. I sneezed repeatedly--groaned--awakened and
would have arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror, came
running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and no way pleased to find
the man alive, whose heirs they had proposed themselves to be. I asked
for wine--they gave me some, but it must have been highly medicated, for
I slept yet more deeply than before, and wakened not for many hours. I
found my arms swathed down--my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache
at the very remembrance--the place was utterly dark--the oubliette, as
I suppose, of their accursed convent, and from the close, stifled,
damp smell, I conceive it is also used for a place of sepulture. I had
strange thoughts of what had befallen me, when the door of my dungeon
creaked, and two villain monks entered. They would have persuaded me I
was in purgatory, but I knew too well the pursy short-breathed voice of
the Father Abbot.--Saint Jeremy! how different from that tone with which
he used to ask me for another slice of the haunch!--the dog has feasted
with me from Christmas to Twelfth-night."

"Have patience, noble Athelstane," said the King, "take breath--tell
your s