as! Brother John is dead, and the
holy subprior is dead, and the Devil is loose in the five-virgate
field!"

III. THE YELLOW HORSE OF CROOKSBURY

In those simple times there was a great wonder and mystery in life. Man
walked in fear and solemnity, with Heaven very close above his head,
and Hell below his very feet. God's visible hand was everywhere, in the
rainbow and the comet, in the thunder and the wind. The Devil too raged
openly upon the earth; he skulked behind the hedge-rows in the gloaming;
he laughed loudly in the night-time; he clawed the dying sinner, pounced
on the unbaptized babe, and twisted the limbs of the epileptic. A foul
fiend slunk ever by a man's side and whispered villainies in his ear,
while above him there hovered an angel of grace who pointed to the steep
and narrow track. How could one doubt these things, when Pope and priest
and scholar and King were all united in believing them, with no single
voice of question in the whole wide world?

Every book read, every picture seen, every tale heard from nurse or
mother, all taught the same lesson. And as a man traveled through the
world his faith would grow the firmer, for go where he would there
were the endless shrines of the saints, each with its holy relic in the
center, and around it the tradition of incessant miracles, with stacks
of deserted crutches and silver votive hearts to prove them. At every
turn he was made to feel how thin was the veil, and how easily rent,
which screened him from the awful denizens of the unseen world.

Hence the wild announcement of the frightened monk seemed terrible
rather than incredible to those whom he addressed. The Abbot's ruddy
face paled for a moment, it is true, but he plucked the crucifix from
his desk and rose valiantly to his feet.

"Lead me to him!" said he. "Show me the foul fiend who dares to lay his
grip upon brethren of the holy house of Saint Bernard! Run down to my
chaplain, brother! Bid him bring the exorcist with him, and also the
blessed box of relics, and the bones of Saint James from under the
altar! With these and a contrite and humble heart we may show front to
all the powers of darkness."

But the sacrist was of a more critical turn of mind. He clutched the
monk's arm with a grip which left its five purple spots for many a day
to come.

"Is this the way to enter the Abbot's own chamber, without knock or
reverence, or so much as a 'Pax vobiscum'?" said he sternly. "You were