“The devil,” said the Preceptor, “I think, possessed you both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if not continence? Did I not tell you that there were enough willing Christian damsels to be met with, who would think it sin to refuse so brave a knight le don d’amoureux merci, and you must needs anchor your affection on a wilful, obstinate Jewess! By the mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains she hath cast a spell over you.”

“Lucas Beaumanoir!” said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully. “Are these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast thou suffered the dotard to learn that Rebecca is in the Preceptory?”

“How could I help it?” said the Preceptor. “I neglected nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only can tell. But I have turned the matter as I could; you are safe if you renounce Rebecca. You are pitied—the victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer as such.”

“She shall not, by Heaven!” said Bois-Guilbert.

“By Heaven, she must and will!” said Malvoisin.

“Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights Templars; and thou knowest he hath both the power and will to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose.”

“Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever existed?” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apartment.

“What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoisin calmly; “but I know well, that in this our day, clergy and laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry amen to the Grand Master’s sentence.”

“I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “Albert, thou art my friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I will transport her to some place of greater security and secrecy.”

“I cannot, if I would,” replied the Preceptor; “the mansion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and others who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, brother, I would not embark with you in this matter, even if I could hope to bring my bark to haven. I have risked enough already for your sake. I have no mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, or even to lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose chase, and fly your hawk at some other game. Think, Bois-Guilbert, thy present rank, thy future honours, all depend on thy place in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere perversely to thy passion for this Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. He is jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his trembling gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him. When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine own humour.”

“Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “thou art a cold-blooded—”

“Friend,” said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse word—“a cold-blooded friend I am, and, therefore, more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst not save Rebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst but perish with her. Go hie thee to the Grand Master—throw thyself at his feet, and tell him—”

“Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard’s very beard will I say—”