The Wolfe of Badenoch was too much unhinged in temper, by the visit of the Franciscan monk, to be in a humour to prolong the feast.
“Caitiff! carrion! corby!” cried he after he was gone; “the red fiend swallow me, but the bold Bishop shall bide for the return of his messenger. Ho! bring me that stoup, knave.” [[247]]
He put the stoup of Rhenish to his head, and quaffing a potent draught from it, set it down on the table with a violent crash, and calling out, “Lights there—lights for the apartments,” he broke up the feast.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which?
Sir Patrick Hepborne went to his room, determined to leave Lochyndorbe next day, to proceed to Tarnawa; so calling Maurice de Grey and Mortimer Sang, and intimating his intention to both of them, he dismissed them for the night and retired to his repose.
A little past midnight, however, he was suddenly awakened by the page, who came rushing into his apartment in a state of intense apprehension, and sunk into a chair, overcome by his terrors.
“Holy St. Baldrid,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, “what hath befallen thee, Maurice? And of what art thou afraid? Speak, I beseech thee, and tell me the cause of this strange alarm?”
“Oh, Sir Knight,” cried the boy, pale as ashes and ready to faint, “the friar—the monk—the Franciscan! I was telling my beads by my lamp, as is my custom, being about to undress to go to bed, when one of the doors of my chamber opened slowly, and the figure of the Franciscan stood before me. My blood ran cold when I saw him, for methought murder was in his eye, and I fancied I saw the hilt of a poinard glittering from his bosom. I waited not to hear him speak, but snatching up my lamp, rushed through the farther door-way, and fled hither for succour.”