ns. He opened the door of the place, and holding on
to it lest the rough, wintry gale should tear it from its frail hinges,
shouted aloud for Brother Martin, one of his chaplains.

Presently Martin arrived, emerging from the cattleshed, a lantern in his
hand--a tall, thin man, with perplexed and melancholy eyes, long nose,
and a clever face--and, bowing, asked his superior's pleasure.

"My pleasure, Brother," answered the Abbot, "is that you shut the door
and keep out the wind, for this accursed climate is killing me. Yes,
make up the fire if you can, but the wood is too wet to burn; also it
smokes. There, what did I tell you? If this goes on we shall be hams
by to-morrow morning. Let it be, for, after all, we have seen enough of
fires to-night, and sit down to a cup of wine--nay, I forgot, you drink
but water--well, then, to a bite of bread and meat."

"I thank you, my Lord Abbot," answered Martin, "but I may not touch
flesh; this is Friday."

"Friday or no we have touched flesh--the flesh of men--up at the Towers
yonder this night," answered the Abbot, with an uneasy laugh. "Still,
obey your conscience, Brother, and eat bread. Soon it will be midnight,
and the meat can follow."

The lean monk bowed, and, taking a hunch of bread, began to bite at it,
for he was almost starving.

"Have you come from watching by the body of that bloody and rebellious
man who has worked us so much harm and loss?" asked the Abbot presently.

The secretary nodded, then swallowing a crust, said--

"Aye, I have been praying over him and the others. At least he was
brave, and it must be hard to see one's new-wed wife burn like a witch.
Also, now that I come to study the matter, I know not what his sin was
who did but fight bravely when he was attacked. For without doubt the
marriage is good, and whether he should have waited to ask your leave
to make it is a point that might be debated through every court in
Christendom."

The Abbot frowned, not appreciating this open and judicial tone in
matters that touched him so nearly.

"You have honoured me of late by choosing me as one of your confessors,
though I think you do not tell me everything, my Lord Abbot; therefore I
bare my mind to you," continued Brother Martin apologetically.

"Speak on then, man. What do you mean?"

"I mean that I do not like this business," he answered slowly, in the
intervals of munching at his bread. "You had a quarrel with Sir John
Foterell about those la