"Yes, my lord junker will now assuredly be converted, pious Sir Abbot," answered Pallé, thrusting a large piece of meat into his mouth, by which he was hindered from continuing his speech. "To judge from the build of Sir Pallé's person, _he_ stands most in need of refreshment and rest," said Brock, with significance. "According to his assurance, there is now the best understanding between the junker and his brother." "Ay, indeed! hum! well, then! It is good assuredly that brothers should be united, provided it be in that which is right," said the prelate, and broke off the conversation. Little was now said, and that only on indifferent topics. Sir Pallé's gormandising appetite perceptibly decreased at the cautious pause in the conversation, and at the sight of the fugitive in the monk's cloak, who had remained silently sitting at that end of the table which was least lighted up, and who kept his scrutinising eyes fixed upon him. As no one either ate or drank any more, the abbot folded his hands and muttered a Latin prayer; after which he rang a little silver hand-bell, and Pater master-of-the-household entered. "This knight desires instantly to retire to rest," said the abbot, pointing to Pallé; "perhaps you will go with him as his contubernalis over yonder." As he said this, he winked at Sir Papæ, and the taciturn knight immediately accompanied Sir Pallé and the master of the household across the court yard of the monastery to the guesthouse, which was situated apart. As soon as the abbot was alone with Brock and the disguised fugitive, he gave them a mysterious nod and arose. He took the lamp in his hand, and opened a private door in the refectory which led to a long vaulted passage. He went on before, and they followed him in silence through the passage, and up a winding stair to the library of the monastery and the prelate's private chamber; he opened all the doors himself, and locked them carefully behind him. Sir Pallé's indolence and love of good cheer seemed to be contending with curiosity and repressed alarm. "Whom take you yon sharp-eyed fugitive to be, Sir Papæ?" he asked his silent travelling companion, as soon as the monk had shown them to their sleeping apartment and departed. "I care not who he is," said the knight sullenly, and took off his vest. "It is assuredly one of the outlaws," continued Pallé, anxiously. "Truly it is strange to have sat at table, and now to sleep under the same roof with such a fellow. It might get wind one day, and waken suspicion."