"
As the last words fell in solemn utterance from the Bishop's lips, the
silence without was broken by the loud clanging of the outer bell;
followed by hurrying feet in the courtyard below, the flare of torches
shining up upon the casements, and the unbarring of the gate.
"It must be close on midnight," said Hugh d'Argent; "a strange hour for
an arrival."
The banqueting hall, on the upper floor of the Palace, had casements at
the extreme end, facing the door, which gave upon the courtyard.
The Knight walked over to one of these casements standing open, kneeled
upon the high window-seat, and looked down.
"A horseman has ridden in," he said, "and ridden fast. His steed is
flecked with foam, and stands with spreading nostrils, panting. . . .
The rider has passed within. . . . Your men, my lord, are leading away
the steed." The Knight returned to his place. "Brave beast! Methinks
they would do well to mix his warm mash with ale."
Symon of Worcester made no reply.
He sat erect, with folded hands, a slight flush upon his cheeks,
listening for footsteps which must be drawing near.
They came.
The door, at the far end of the hall, opened.
The gaunt Chaplain stood in the archway, making obeisance.
"Well?" said the Bishop, dispensing with the usual formalities.
"My lord, your messenger has returned, and requests an audience without
delay."
"Bid him enter," said the Bishop, gripping the arms of the chair, and
leaning forward.
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