But amidst the intoxication of the scene his mind continually wandered to the sombre forests, the blackened marsh, the Dismal Swamp, and his desolated home; and he would almost have given his very soul to stand face to face, foot to foot, with his youthful rival, sword in hand, with none to interfere between them, and so to end the long suspense.
While some such dream was floating before his imagination, and its details were painted vivid as life upon the retina of the mind, a quiet voice, but one not without some authority, whispered in his ears:
"My son, I would fain ask thee of a youth in whom I am somewhat interested, and who is, I am told, yet alive, risen, as it were, from the dead--Wilfred of Aescendune."
Etienne's face would have made a fine study for a painter, as he encountered the gaze of Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances.
The bishop drew the youth gently into a deep embrasure, where a curtain before the opening veiled a window seat, for the feast was now over, and the guests were mingling in general conversation.
"Father," said Etienne "am I, whom he has made an orphan, a fit witness?"
"My son," said Geoffrey, "I respect an orphan's feelings, yet in justice to the lad whom, as thou sayest, I once befriended, I must ask a few questions. He appeared to me naturally affectionate and ingenuous--one who would love those who treated him well, but who would grievously resent scorn and contempt; tell me honestly, didst thou receive him as a brother, as thou wert bound to do, considering the alliance between thy father and his mother, or didst thou regard him simply as thy rival?"
Etienne hesitated.
"My son, thou cravest knighthood; the true knight is bound to speak the truth."
"I own, father, that I felt him my rival."