His lips fell apart,
but no breath issued from them. Except for a slight twitching of the
eyelids, the Bishop's countenance was lifeless.
Startled and greatly alarmed, Hugh looked around for some means whereby
he might summon help, but could see none.
Hastening to the table, he poured wine into the Venetian goblet,
brought it back, and moistened the Bishop's lips. Then kneeling on one
knee loosed the cold fingers from their grip.
Presently the Bishop opened his eyes--no longer points of blue steel,
but soft and dreamy like a mist of bluebells on distant hills. He
looked, with unseeing gaze, into the anxious face on a level with his
own; then turned his eyes slowly upon the ruby goblet which the Knight
had lifted from the floor and was trying to hold to his lips.
Waving it away, the Bishop slipped the finger and thumb of his left
hand into his sash, and drew out a small gold box of exquisite
workmanship, set with emeralds.
At this he gazed for some time, as if uncertain what to do with it;
then touched a spring and as the lid flew open, sat up and took from
the box a tiny white tablet. This he dropped into the wine.
The Knight, watching with anxious eyes, saw it rapidly dissolve as it
sank to the bottom.
But all consciousness of the tablet, the wine, or the kneeling Knight,
appeared to have instantly faded from the Bishop's mind. He lay back
gazing dreamily at a banner which, for no apparent reason, stirred and
wafted to and fro, as it hung from an oaken beam, high up among the
rafters.
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