Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. "His brother sits in the

seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race, the race of Ulfgar of

Middleham; but what Norman lord doth not the same? This Prior is, they

say, a free and jovial priest, who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn

better than bell and book: Good; let him come, he shall be welcome. How

named ye the Templar?"

"Brian de Bois-Guilbert."

"Bois-Guilbert," said Cedric, still in the musing, half-arguing tone,

which the habit of living among dependants had accustomed him to employ,

and which resembled a man who talks to himself rather than to those

around him--"Bois-Guilbert? that name has been spread wide both for

good and evil. They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;

but stained with their usual vices, pride, arrogance, cruelty, and

voluptuousness; a hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear of earth,

nor awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have returned from

Palestine.--Well; it is but for one night; he shall be welcome

too.--Oswald, broach the oldest wine-cask; place the best mead, the

mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparkling cider, the most

odoriferous pigments, upon the board; fill the largest horns [13]

--Templars and Abbots love good wines and good measure.--Elgitha, let

thy Lady Rowena, know we shall not this night expect her in the hall,

unless such be her especial pleasure."

"But it will be her especial pleasure," answered Elgitha, with great

readiness, "for she is ever desirous to hear the latest news from

Palestine."

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty resentment; but

Rowena, and whatever belonged to her, were privileged and secure from

his anger. He only replied, "Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy

discretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure.

Here, at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a princess."

Elgitha left the apartment.

"Palestine!" repeated the Saxon; "Palestine! how many ears are turned

to the tales which dissolute crusaders, or hypocritical pilgrims, bring

from that fatal land! I too might ask--I too might enquire--I too might

listen with a beating heart to fables which the wily strollers devise

to cheat us into hospitality--but no--The son who has disobeyed me is no

longer mine; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than for that

of the most worthless among the millions that ever shaped the cross on

their shoulder, rushed into excess and blood-guiltiness, and called it

an accomplishment of the will of God."




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