His eye, after it had once swept round, rested on a large window, immediately behind the altar. As he regarded it closely, he discerned that, in the centre, on the main bar of the frame, there was a small asp, or brace, by withdrawing which the window could be opened. When he perceived this, he stepped up to the window, and surveyed it more accurately. The result, to his great satisfaction, confirmed his expectations; and on raising his hand to the asp, he was able to throw the window open, and look out. His _reconnoissance_, though it was brief, evidently afforded him considerable pleasure, and he turned away from the window with a bright smile. Meantime, the priest, thinking that his fate was decided, lay trembling on the floor, quite speechless with despair. Bernard’s eye fell upon him as he turned round; but he had no opportunity, if he had been even inclined, to contemplate him long; for just as his glance dropped upon him, a slight knock called him to the chapel-door. Hastily drawing the door open, he found, as he had expected, that the person without was Adam Green. “I have bestowed away the constable,” whispered Adam. “What wouldst thou further?” “Hast thou ever a horse for the priest here?” answered Bernard. “His own is i’ the stable,” replied Adam. “Saddle it quick, then,” said Bernard; “and leave it under the chapel-window.” “Our Lady reward thee!” returned Adam. “I will do ’t.” He entered on the task thereupon. In about a quarter of an hour, he returned, and informed Bernard, who had waited for him in the passage, that the horse was bestowed according to his directions. “Then go thou now, and bring me word how it fares with thy mistress,” said Bernard. “Meantime, I will start the priest.” Without a word more, he broke away, and passed into the chapel. The priest, though still prostrate, looked up as he entered, and Bernard beckoned him to rise. “Come to the window a space,” he said, “and I will show thee somewhat.” The priest, trembling with fear, raised himself up, and followed him to the window. It was still open, and, through the aperture, he descried, at a little distance, on a contiguous lawn, his own horse, saddled for service. “Is that thy horse?” asked Bernard. “It is,” faltered the priest. “I’faith, thou couldst almost mount him from here,” said Bernard. “In a matter of life and death, a man could leap twenty feet, methinks, any day.” “Would I might do it!” cried the priest. He raised his eyes as he spoke, and glanced imploringly in Bernard’s face. “Thou shouldst understand the Word,” said Bernard; “and ’tis now afore thee:--‘And Michal told David, saying, “If thou save not thy life to-night, to-morrow thou shalt be slain.” So Michal let David down through a window; and he went and fled and escaped.’” A light flashed across the mind of the priest, and, as Bernard turned towards the door, his despair subsided.