you," the fellow answered, in a wheezing whisper. "I swear
I will. But of your charity, good sir, I beseech you remove your sword.
Your hand might slip, sir," he whined, a wild terror in his eyes.

Where now was the deep bass of his whilom accents? Where now the
grotesque majesty of his bearing, and the impressive gestures that
erstwhile had accompanied his words of denunciation?

"Your hand might slip, sir," he whined again.

"It might--and, by Gad, it shall if I hear more from you. So that you
are discreet and obedient, have no fear of my hand." Then, still keeping
his eye upon the fellow: "Kenneth," he said, "attend to the crop-ear
yonder, he will be recovering. Truss him with the bedclothes, and gag
him with his scarf. See to it, Kenneth, and do it well, but leave his
nostrils free that he may breathe."

Kenneth carried out Galliard's orders swiftly and effectively, what time
Crispin remained standing over the recumbent minister. At length, when
Kenneth announced that it was done, he bade the Puritan rise.

"But have a care," he added, "or you shall taste the joys of the
Paradise you preach of. Come, sir parson; afoot!"

A prey to a fear that compelled unquestioning obedience, the fellow rose
with alacrity.

"Stand there, sir. So," commanded Crispin, his point within an inch of
the man's Geneva bands. "Take your kerchief, Kenneth, and pinion his
wrists behind him."

That done, Crispin bade the lad unbuckle and remove the parson's belt.
Next he ordered that man of texts to be seated upon their only chair,
and with that same belt he commanded Kenneth to strap him to it. When
at length the Puritan was safely bound, Crispin lowered his rapier, and
seated himself upon the table edge beside him.

"Now, sir parson," quoth he, "let us talk a while. At your first outcry
I shall hurry you into that future world whither it is your mission to
guide the souls of others. Maybe you'll find it a better world to preach
of than to inhabit, and so, for your own sake, I make no doubt you
will obey me. To your honour, to your good sense and a parson's natural
horror of a lie, I look for truth in answer to what questions I may
set you. Should I find you deceiving me, sir, I shall see that your
falsehood overtakes you." And eloquently raising his blade, he intimated
the exact course he would adopt. "Now, sir, attend to me. How soon are
our friends likely to discover this topsy-turvydom?"

"When they come for you," answered the