"Our vengeance slumbereth not," said the chief; "the sentence is gone
forth, and he dies ere sunset."
"Not so," replied the hermit, again assuming the attitude of command.
"By the beard of Hugh Lupus, he dieth."
"He doth, but not by thy decree."
"How! methinks the fever of disloyalty hath seized you all: the
infection hath so tainted your nature that a skilful leech, whom I
employ in cases of emergency, will be of service--my headsman, or
hangman, as shall seem most fitting. He dies, I tell thee, though the
saints themselves were interceding."
"I have promised," said the hermit again, with the confidence of
careless superiority.
Adam de Dutton, who had hitherto been waiting anxiously for an
opportunity to communicate with his lord, now whispered something in his
ear.
"How!" said the bewildered chieftain; "'tis said thou wearest the badge
of our house, and art thyself under some surreptitious disguise."
"I wear no disguise," returned the hermit calmly; "what thou seest is my
badge, and will be, Heaven permitting, until I die."
"Who art thou?"
"A sinful mortal like thyself; but worn down with long vigils and
maceration.
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