“You err⁠—you err,”⁠—said the Templar, hastily, “if you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose or agency.⁠—Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, above common sense, above me, and above the hundreds of our Order, who think and feel as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of his opinions and actions?”

“Yet,” said Rebecca, “you sat a judge upon me, innocent⁠—most innocent⁠—as you knew me to be⁠—you concurred in my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment.”

“Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. “No race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an adverse wind.”