ourage friends to our rescue; your
remaining here would ruin us all."

"And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?" asked Cedric,
looking at the jester.

"Prospect indeed!" echoed Wamba. "Let me tell you that when you fill my
cloak you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men are there
without, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool's
cap was a [v]casque, and my [v]bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see
what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I
fear they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And so
farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let
my [v]coxcomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood in memory that I flung away
my life for my master--like a faithful fool!"

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest
and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.

"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affection
have honor upon earth. But that I trust I shall find the means of saving
Rowena and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst
not overbear me in this matter."

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck
Cedric.

"I know no language but my own and a few words of their mincing Norman.
How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"

"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba: "_Pax vobiscum_ will
answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, _Pax
vobiscum_ carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a
broomstick to a witch or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a
deep, grave tone,--_Pax vobiscum_!--it is irresistible. Watch and ward,
knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I
think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be
doubted they may, I will try its weight."

"If such prove the case," said his master, "my religious orders are soon
taken. _Pax vobiscum_! I trust I shall remember the password. Noble
Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make
amends for a weaker head. I will save you, or return and die with you.
Farewell."

"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true part
of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition and presently
found himself in the presence of Front-de-Boeuf. The Saxon,