By my honour, it were sin to doubt his good faith!" "Nevertheless, my lord, it were well to wait the issue of these medicines upon the Scottish squire," said the Lord of Gilsland.

"My own life depends upon it, for worthy were I to die like a dog did I proceed rashly in this matter, and make shipwreck of the weal of Christendom." "I never knew thee before hesitate for fear of life," said Richard upbraidingly.
"Nor would I now, my liege," replied the stout-hearted baron, "save that yours lies at pledge as well as my own." "Well, thou suspicious mortal," answered Richard, "begone then, and watch the progress of this remedy.

I could almost wish it might either cure or kill me, for I am weary of lying here like an ox dying of the murrain, when tambours are beating, horses stamping, and trumpets sounding without." The baron hastily departed, resolved, however, to communicate his errand to some churchman, as he felt something burdened in conscience at the idea of his master being attended by an unbeliever.
The Archbishop of Tyre was the first to whom he confided his doubts, knowing his interest with his master, Richard, who both loved and honoured that sagacious prelate.

The bishop heard the doubts which De Vaux stated, with that acuteness of intelligence which distinguishes the Roman Catholic clergy.

The religious scruples of De Vaux he treated with as much lightness as propriety permitted him to exhibit on such a subject to a layman.
"Mediciners," he said, "like the medicines which they employed, were often useful, though the one were by birth or manners the vilest of humanity, as the others are, in many cases, extracted from the basest materials.