“Pass round the flagon!  Let the wassail begin!” shouted the jovial Percy Du Bois.

Joan retired to her chamber with her maids, and the revel began.  The board groaned with the good cheer, and as the wine flowed more freely, the constant potations of the generous liquor began to have its effect upon the hilarity of the guests.  They began to display unusual license, in their songs and conversation.  Broad jests went round, and the hall commenced resounding with the shouts of an incipient revel.  Seizing a flagon of foaming Burgundy, the knight of the gold embroidered pourpoint quaffed it to the lovely Joan Du Bois.  The health was received with a general uproar of approval, and wassail was drunk to many other fair dames, by the rest of the revellers.

“’Destruction and death to the cowardly Templar, who battles against defenceless maids and unhorsed knights!”

As the palmer uttered this, he turned to see if all were emptying their flagons.  Every one except the proud knight had quaffed his goblet to the dregs with peculiar satisfaction, and a yell of approbation.  His stood untasted upon the board, and his eyes glared fiercely upon the palmer as their gazes met.

“Knew you personally this Knight Templar of whom you speak?” he asked.

“I did,” replied the pilgrim, “and I owe him a debt which Heaven will yet afford me the means of repaying!”

The scowl upon the other’s brow became more savage and lowering.  He moved his position, and placing himself by the palmer’s side, uttered in a low tone in his ear: 

“Conrad D’Amboise, I know you, in spite of your disguise!  Beware how you interfere with me or mine!”

Without waiting for a reply, he strode haughtily from the hall.

The revel was long protracted.  At length the effect of the frequent libations began to show itself, and one by one the wassailers dropped unconsciously upon their benches, or staggering left the apartment for their own chambers, until the palmer, who was Conrad D’Amboise in disguise, remained the sole sensible occupant of the banquet hall.  He sat silent and thoughtful, by the reeking board, listening to the murmur of the wind, as it sighed among the boughs of the trees in the adjacent forest of Ardennes.  His mind was dwelling upon the events of the evening-the fierce demeanor of the knight-his insolent defiance-and his marked penchant for the lovely and sole heiress of the honors of the house of Du Bois.  The hall was silent, not a sound broke the solemn stillness.  The lamps gave forth a flickering light, and the vapor of the spilled wine poured up from the steaming table, and diffused itself throughout the room.  Suddenly the harsh creaking of iron was borne audibly to his cars.  The disguised knight was on his feet in an instant.  He listened, and the same rough, grating noise was heard again distinctly—­apparently issuing from the corridor which led to the outer portal.  Conrad divested himself of his palmer’s gown, and drawing his sword, opened the door of the banqueting-hall, and stood in the corridor.  Cautiously he proceeded, and silently, until on arriving within a few yards of the castle entrance, the cause of the grating sounds which he had heard was apparent to him.