In a paroxysm of terror, Fenwick again drew himself up in his corner, with a force as if he would have pressed himself through the very wall; his teeth chattered in his head, and he sputtered so vehemently with the alternate corners of his mouth, that his words were unintelligible, except that of “Sathanas,” frequently repeated. The monk relaxed his features, and, with a scornful laugh, and a look of the most sovereign contempt—
“So,” said he, “thou must confess now that I proved thy courage to be in my power. I banished it with a look and a word. But ’tis not with thy courage I have to do at present; ’tis thy cunning I want.”
“Art thou then verily no devil?” demanded the Ancient, doubtingly.
“Tush, fool, I am a poor monk of the order of St. Francis; so calm thy craven fears, and listen to me.” He paused for some moments, to give Fenwick time to recollect himself, and when he saw that the latter had in some degree regained his composure: “Now listen to me, I say. Thou knowest doubtless that the Bishop of Durham came to Norham Castle this morning?” He waited for a reply.
“I did hear so,” answered the Ancient, “when I went down to take food.”
“Knowest thou what he came about?” demanded the Franciscan.
“I know not, I inquired not,” replied the Ancient.
“Then I will tell thee,” proceeded the Franciscan—“Sir Rafe Piersie, brother to the noble Hotspur, has stooped to fix his affection on the Lady Eleanore de Selby; he has deigned to court her for his bride, and has met with ready acceptance from her father. Not sufficiently sensible of this his great condescension, the lady has treated his high offer with neglect—with indifference. Her father, a weak man, though eager for so splendid an alliance, hath allowed himself to be trifled with by the silly girl, who hath done all she could to oppose it, though to the sacrifice of her own happiness. But Sir Rafe Piersie, being too much love-stricken, abandoneth not the demoiselle so easily. He therefore availeth himself of his ally the Bishop of [[50]]Durham, to urge, through him, his suit with the lady, and to endeavour to stir up Sir Walter to a more determined bearing with his daughter, should she continue in her obstinacy. I shall not tell how I know, yet I do know, that the lady treated the proposals of the Bishop, as well as the name and person of the renowned Piersie, with contempt. His efforts to rouse Sir Walter de Selby to the assertion of his rights as a father, have, however, been more successful. The old man, who passionately desireth great connexion, even became irritated against her obstinacy. But Sir Rafe Piersie, wisely considering that a peaceful religious pastor was not the fittest instrument for his purpose, judgeth it right to put hotter and more efficient irons in the work. Unknown to the Bishop, and unknown to every one, therefore, he hath deputed me to seek thee and to urge thee to aid his plans. Now, Master Ancient Fenwick, thou hast the whole intricacies of the affair; thou understandest me, dost thou not?”
The Franciscan paused for a reply, and tried to read the face of him he was addressing; but it was in vain he tried it, for, except when very strongly excited by the passion of fear, or something equally forcible, the features of the Ancient were at all times illegible. After twisting and smacking the alternate corners of his mouth, which was always his prelude to speaking, and which even his actual utterance did not always go much beyond—
“Well,” said he, “and what can I do in this matter? What can magic do in it?”