osborne's
paramount influence with the council, that he had often owed their
submission to his wishes, and their contributions to his wars. In the
very tempest of his wrath, he felt that the blow belonged to strike on
that bold head would shiver his ducal throne to the dust. Be felt too,
that awful indeed was that power of the Church which could thus turn
against him the heart of his truest knight: and he began (for with all
his outward frankness his temper was suspicious) to wrong the
great-souled noble by the thought that he might already be won over by
the enemies whom Mauger had arrayed against his nuptials. Therefore,
with one of those rare and mighty efforts of that dissimulation which
debased his character, but achieved his fortunes, he cleared his brow of
its dark cloud, and said in a low voice, that was not without its pathos:

"Had an angel from heaven forewarned me that William Fitzosborne would
speak thus to his kinsman and brother in arms, in the hour of need and
the agony of passion, I would have disbelieved him. Let it pass----"

But ere the last word was out of his lips, Fitzosborne had fallen on his
knees before the Duke, and, clasping his hand, exclaimed, while the tears
rolled down his swarthy cheek, "Pardon, pardon, my liege! when thou
speakest thus my heart melts. What thou willest, that will I! Church or
Pope, no matter. Send me to Flanders; I will bring back thy bride."

The slight smile that curved William's lip, showed that he was scarce
worthy of that sublime weakness in his friend. But he cordially pressed
the hand that grasped his own, and said, "Rise; thus should brother speak
to brother." Then--for his wrath was only concealed, not stifled, and
yearned for its vent--his eye fell upon the delicate and thoughtful face
of the priest, who had watched this short and stormy conference in
profound silence, despite Taillefer's whispers to him to interrupt the
dispute. "So, priest," he said, "I remember me that when Mauger before
let loose his rebellious tongue thou didst lend thy pedant learning to
eke out his brainless treason. Methought that I then banished thee my
realm?"

"Not so, Count and Seigneur," answered the ecclesiastic, with a grave but
arch smile on his lip; "let me remind thee, that to speed me back to my
native land thou didst graciously send me a horse, halting on three legs,
and all lame on the fourth. Thus mounted, I met thee on my road. I
saluted thee; so did the