"Not so," replied the hermit, again assuming the attitude of command.
"By the beard of Hugh Lupus, he dieth."
"He doth, but not by thy decree."
"How! methinks the fever of disloyalty hath seized you all: the infection hath so tainted your nature that a skilful leech, whom I employ in cases of emergency, will be of service—my headsman, or hangman, as shall seem most fitting. He dies, I tell thee, though the saints themselves were interceding."
"
I have promised," said the hermit again, with the confidence of careless superiority.
Adam de Dutton, who had hitherto been waiting anxiously for an opportunity to communicate with his lord, now whispered something in his ear.
"How!" said the bewildered chieftain; "'tis said thou wearest the badge of our house, and art thyself under some surreptitious disguise."
"I wear no disguise," returned the hermit calmly; "what thou seest is my badge, and will be, Heaven permitting, until I die."
"Who art thou?"