Then he stood erect--a grim, austere figure, hard features, hollow
eyes, half-shrouded within his cowl.
He looked with sinister disapproval at the distant table, laden with
fruit and flagons; at the Bishop and the Knight, now sitting nigh to
one another; the Bishop in his chair of state facing the door, the
Knight, on a high-backed seat at the Bishop's right hand, half-way
round the table.
"Holly and Mistletoe," muttered the Chaplain, as he closed the great
door.
"Yea, verily! Mistletoe and Holly," he repeated, as he strode to his
cell. "The Reverend Father sups with the World, and indulges the
Flesh. Methinks the Devil cannot be far off."
Nor was he.
He was very near.
He had looked over the Chaplain's shoulder as he made his false
obeisance in the doorway.
But he liked not the pure white of the Knight's dress, and he feared
the clear light in the Prelate's eyes. So, when the Chaplain closed
the door, the Devil stayed on the outside, and now walked beside the
Chaplain along the passage leading to his cell.
There is no surer way of securing the company of the Devil, than to
make sure he is at that moment busy with another--particularly if that
other chance to be the most saintly man you know, and merely
displeasing to you, at the moment, because he hath not bidden you to
sup with him. The Devil and the Chaplain made a night of it.
The Bishop's gentle "_Benedicite_" spread white wings and flew, like an
affrighted dove, over the head of the bowing Chaplain, into the chill
passage beyond.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141