“In the name of God!” said Cedric, addressing what seemed the spectre of his departed friend, “if thou art mortal, speak!⁠—if a departed spirit, say for what cause thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that can set thy spirit at repose.⁠—Living or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric!”

“I will,” said the spectre, very composedly, “when I have collected 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.”