Enter ECDO (dressed as a pilgrim ; his face so shrouded that only his beard appears. He carries in his hand his lute, on which he strikes a few notes be/ore sjieaking). Your pardon, Sir, that thus so Into I come With twang of Into !—My wont is on tho strings To herald my approach, and eke the chords To touch when forth I wander on my way. [Short pause, during which MOLAY observes him with close attention. Permit me to sit down, for I have gone Par in my pilgrimage of ninety years (sits down). MOLAV. Right willingly ! But say, how did you gain Admission here so late ? EUDO. I played without, First, yonder on the wall. A friendly porter There opened mo tho door, and quietly I glided through and on. MOLAY. YOU glided fast, I' faith !—A moment hence you had just reached The Cross-vault, and already are you here ! EUDO. That is my manner ! MOLAY. Did no one of my guard Arrest your steps ? ECDO. No—men are never wont To stop me on my way. MoLAY (with increasing astonishment). Who aro you, then ? ECDO. A poor hard, I, who in tho holy wars Fought, as men fight, and now, in his old age, 20G THE TEMPLARS IX CTPRUl [ACT V.