d Peter, with some presence of mind. "What if our
'master hath a mind to steal a piece of doe venison out of the Bishop's
parks here, without our good dame's knowledge? And is it for thee or me
to be a spy on him?"

"That will not I," answered the other, "though I would not have thought
of his turning deer stealer at his years. Sapperment--what a shy fairy
it is! See how she crouches down on yonder seat, behind folks' backs, to
escape the gaze of the Marckers.--But hold, hold, what are they about to
do with the poor old Bishop?"

As he spoke, the Bishop of Liege, Louis of Bourbon, was dragged into the
hall of his own palace by the brutal soldiery. The dishevelled state
of his hair, beard, and attire bore witness to the ill treatment he had
already received, and some of his sacerdotal robes, hastily flung over
him, appeared to have been put on in scorn and ridicule of his quality
and character. By good fortune, as Quentin was compelled to think it,
the Countess Isabelle, whose feelings at seeing her protector in such an
extremity might have betrayed her own secret and compromised her safety,
was so situated as neither to hear nor see what was about to take place,
and Durward sedulously interposed his own person before her, so as to
keep her from observing alike and from observation.

The scene which followed was short and fearful. When the unhappy Prelate
was brought before the footstool of the savage leader, although in
former life only remarkable for his easy and good natured temper, he
showed in this extremity a sense of his dignity and noble blood,
well becoming the high race from which he was descended. His look was
composed and undismayed, his gesture, when the rude hands which dragged
him forward were unloosed, was noble, and at the same time resigned,
somewhat between the bearing of a feudal noble and of a Christian martyr
and so much was even De la Marck himself staggered by the firm demeanour
of his prisoner and recollection of the early benefits he had received
from him, that he seemed irresolute, cast down his eyes, and it was not
until he had emptied a large goblet of wine, that, resuming his haughty
insolence of look and manner, he thus addressed his unfortunate captive.

"Louis of Bourbon," said the truculent soldier, drawing hard his breath,
clenching 'his hands, setting his teeth, and using the other mechanical
actions to rouse up and sustain his native ferocity of temper, "I sought
your friendship, a