"That does not sound like confidence in victory," Terence remarked.
"Quite the other way, sir. I should say that after all their bragging
every man in the place is in a blue funk."
A great many people, especially women with children, were making their way
across the bridge. About nine o'clock a little knot of five or six men,
following a tall figure, passed them.
"That is the bishop," Terence whispered, and in pursuance of the orders
that he had previously given them, the two men followed him as he fell in
at a short distance behind the group. These turned off from the main road
and took one that led up to the Serra Convent, standing on the crest of a
rugged hill. As soon as they had passed beyond the houses at the foot of
the hill, and the road was altogether deserted, Terence said to the men:
"Now is our time. Do you take the attendants; I will manage the bishop."
They moved forward quickly and silently until they were close to the
group, then they dashed forward. As the startled attendants turned round
the troopers fell upon them, and with heavy blows from their fists knocked
them to the ground like nine-pins. The bishop turned round and shouted:
"Villains, I am the bishop!"
"I know that!" Terence exclaimed, and sprang at him.
The prelate reeled and fell. Terence threw himself upon him, and seizing
his hand wrested from it the episcopal ring.
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