"My master bid me be secret," said the squire; on which the Grand Master pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force. The Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the Hermit of Engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession. "What means this, Marquis?" said the Grand Master, "up, for shame--or, if you must needs confess, am not I here?" "I have confessed to you too often already," replied Conrade, with a pale cheek and a faltering voice. "For God's sake, Grand Master, begone, and let me unfold my conscience to this holy man." "In what is he holier than I am?" said the Grand Master.--"Hermit, prophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou excellest me?" "Bold and bad man," replied the Hermit, "know that I am like the latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail others, though alas! it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron stanchions, which neither receive light themselves, nor communicate it to any one." "Prate not to me, but depart from this tent," said the Grand Master; "the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be to me, for I part not from his side." "Is this _your_ pleasure?" said the Hermit to Conrade; "for think not I will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my assistance." "Alas!" said Conrade irresolutely, "what would you have me say? Farewell for a while--we will speak anon." "O, procrastination!" exclaimed the Hermit, "thou art a soul-murderer!--Unhappy man, farewell; not for a while, but until we both shall meet--no matter where.--And for thee," he added, turning to the Grand Master, "TREMBLE!" "Tremble!" replied the Templar contemptuously, "I cannot if I would." The Hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent. "Come! to this gear hastily," said the Grand Master, "since thou wilt needs go through the foolery.--Hark thee--I think I know most of thy frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which may be somewhat a long one, and begin with the absolution. What signifies counting the spots of dirt that we are about to wash from our hands?" "Knowing what thou art thyself," said Conrade, "it is blasphemous to speak of pardoning another." "That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis," said the Templar; "thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. The absolution of the wicked priest is as effectual as if he were himself a saint; otherwise,--God help the poor penitent! What wounded man inquires whether the surgeon that tents his gashes have clean hands or not?--Come, shall we to this toy?" "No," said Conrade, "I will rather die unconfessed than mock the sacrament." "Come, noble Marquis," said the Templar, "rouse up your courage, and speak not thus. In an hour's time thou shalt stand victorious in the lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a valiant knight."