ered upon thy last day of life--a day whose sun
thou'lt never see. But five hours more are left thee."

"And it is to tell me this that you have awakened me?" demanded Galliard
in such a voice that he of the cloak recoiled a step, as if he thought
a blow must follow. "Out on you for an unmannerly cur to break upon a
gentleman's repose."

"I come," returned the other in his droning voice, "to call upon thee to
repent."

"Plague me not," answered Crispin, with a yawn. "I would sleep."

"Soundly enough shalt thou sleep in a few hours' time. Bethink thee,
miserable sinner, of thy soul."

"Sir," cried the Tavern Knight, "I am a man of marvellous short
endurance. But mark you this your ways to heaven are not my ways.
Indeed, if heaven be peopled by such croaking things as you, I shall be
thankful to escape it. So go, my friend, ere I become discourteous."

The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his lanthorn
upon the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards the low ceiling of
the chamber.

"Vouchsafe, O Lord," he prayed, "to touch yet the callous heart of this
obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured and blasphemous
malignant, whose--"

He got no further. Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh countenance
thrust into the very face of the minister; his eyes ablaze.

"Out!" he thundered, pointing to the door. "Out! Begone! I would not
be guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in petticoats. But go
whilst I can bethink me of it! Go--take your prayers to hell."

The minister fell back before that blaze of passion. For a second he
appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, who stood behind
in silence. But the lad's Presbyterian rearing had taught him to hate a
sectarian as he would a papist or as he would the devil, and he did no
more than echo Galliard's words--though in a gentler key.

"I pray you go," he said. "But if you would perform an act of charity,
leave your lanthorn. It will be dark enough hereafter."

The minister looked keenly at the boy, and won over by the humility
of his tone, he set the lanthorn on the table. Then moving towards the
door, he stopped and addressed himself to Crispin.

"I go since you oppose with violence my ministrations. But I shall pray
for you, and I will return anon, when perchance your heart shall be
softened by the near imminence of your end."

"Sir," quoth Crispin wearily, "you would outtalk a woman."

"I've done, I've done,"