“If such prove the case,” said the master, “my religious orders are soon taken⁠—Pax vobiscum. I trust I shall remember the password.⁠—Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head⁠—I will save you, or return and die with you. The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave who risked himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can prevent it.⁠—Farewell.”

“Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; “remember it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any.”

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember pax vobiscum.”

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of that spell which his Jester had recommended as omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, by which he endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a female form.