“Arise, sir knight: resume your apparel, and give God thanks for your great deliverance.”
A year and more elapsed before the good knight returned from his pilgrimage. His wife welcomed him with smiles and every appearance of pleasure. For a few days the knight concealed his knowledge of his wife’s conduct. At length he summoned all his and her kinsfolk, and they feasted in commemoration of his return from his dangerous pilgrimage.
“Brother,” said the knight during the feast, “how is it that I neither hear nor see aught of Maleficus, the great magician?”
“He disappeared, we know not whither, the very day that you departed for your pilgrimage.”
“And where did he die?” asked the knight, with a look at his wife.
“We know not that he is dead,” replied the guests.
“How should a sorcerer die?” asked the knight’s wife with a sneer.
“If not dead, why did you bury him?” rejoined the knight.
“Bury him! what meanest thou, my lord? I bury him!”
“Yes, you bury him,” said the knight, calmly.