the eight watchers expected.

Though late in November, the day had been unusually fine, and, in
consequence, the whole hilly ranges around were clearly discernible, but
now the shades of evening were fast drawing on.

"Night is approaching," cried the tall man in the velvet mantle,
impatiently; "and still the signal comes not. Wherefore this delay? Can
Norfolk have accepted our conditions? Impossible. The last messenger
from our camp at Scawsby Lees brought word that the duke's sole terms
would be the king's pardon to the whole insurgent army, provided they at
once dispersed--except ten persons, six named and four unnamed."

"And were you amongst those named, lord abbot?" demanded one of the
monks.

"John Paslew, Abbot of Whalley, it was said, headed the list," replied
the other, with a bitter smile. "Next came William Trafford, Abbot of
Salley. Next Adam Sudbury, Abbot of Jervaux. Then our leader, Robert
Aske. Then John Eastgate, Monk of Whalley--"

"How, lord abbot!" exclaimed the monk. "Was my name mentioned?"

"It was," rejoined the abbot. "And that of William Haydocke, also Monk
of Whalley, closed the list."

"The unrelenting tyrant!" muttered the other monk. "But these terms
could not be accepted?"

"Assuredly not," replied Paslew; "they were rejected with scorn. But the
negotiations were continued by Sir Ralph Ellerker and Sir Robert Bowas,
who were to claim on our part a free pardon for all; the establishment
of a Parliament and courts of justice at York; the restoration of the
Princess Mary to the succession; the Pope to his jurisdiction; and our
brethren to their houses. But such conditions will never be granted.
With my consent no armistice should have been agreed to. We are sure to
lose by the delay. But I was overruled by the Archbishop of York and the
Lord Darcy. Their voices prevailed against the Abbot of Whalley--or, if
it please you, the Earl of Poverty."

"It is the assumption of that derisive title which has drawn upon you
the full force of the king's resentment, lord abbot," observed Father
Eastgate.

"It may be," replied the abbot. "I took it in mockery of Cromwell and
the ecclesiastical commissioners, and I rejoice that they have felt the
sting. The Abbot of Barlings called himself Captain Cobbler, because, as
he affirmed, the state wanted mending like old shoon. And is not my
title equally well chosen? Is not the Church smitten with poverty? Have
not ten thousand of our brethren been