"Traitor, I warned thee beforetime. Now will I unrobe thy villany to its very nakedness."
The hermit, thrusting one hand beneath the garment of his victim, drew forth the real deed, which had been dexterously exchanged by the wily priest for his own fraudulent imposture. He then loosened his grasp, and placed the real instrument in the hands of the baron.
"'Tis a forgery—- a base disposal of my rights," roared out the infuriate and detected hypocrite.
But Roger de Lacy immediately saw that the deed was to a similar purport with the copy which had been sent by some unknown hand, immediately on the death of the testator, to Halton Castle.
With a look of devouring and terrible indignation he cried out—
"Though thou wert the holy pontiff himself, and all the terrors of the Church were at thy command, thou shouldst not escape my vengeance, thou daring priest! To the Furca!—his offence is repugnant to my nostrils—'tis rank with treason!"
"Hold!" cried the mysterious hermit; "I have promised him protection, nor shall the promise be foregone."
"Thou!" cried the warrior, with unfeigned astonishment; "and who art thou that seemest here the arbiter of destiny, whether good or evil?"
"A sinful but heaven-destined man," replied the hermit, meekly.
"Our vengeance slumbereth not," said the chief; "the sentence is gone forth, and he dies ere sunset."