Sir Oliver's two younger sons had never been missed; but Edred contrived to slip into the hall, and in passing beside his father's chair to whisper in his ear the four simple words: "Brother Emmanuel is safe!" None heard the whisper, not even Bertram, who was sitting next his father, though he read it in his brother's eye the next moment.
Edred had affected to catch the clasp of his belt against his father's chair as he passed by, and in pausing to free it had bent his head and spoken the brief message.
No change passed over Sir Oliver's face.

Not a creature present observed the trifling by-play.

Wine had circulated freely, and much laughing and talking were going on.

The prior had unbent from his judicial severity, and even the Lord of Mortimer was smiling and bland, although there was something in his aspect that suggested the fierce feline play of a man-eating creature biding its time and toying with its victim.
Just before the close of the feast Sir Oliver rose to his feet.
"My lord prior, and you knights and gentlemen," he said suddenly, addressing all those who sat at the board in one comprehensive glance round the table.

"I have been not a little disturbed and astonished today by hearing that there is ill known of one who has been long a member of my household--Brother Emmanuel--whom the reverend prior himself sent forth to be the instructor of my sons, and who has always comported himself right reverently and seemly in my house.