g his
arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of
the post ordered four men to accompany him to the church.

"Let him not slip, my lads," he said. "Bring him to Sir Oliver, on your
lives!"

The door was then opened; one of the men took Dick by either arm,
another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the
arrow on the string, brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded
through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the
scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the
abbey church.

At the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter
they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered
with the snow; and it was not until Dick's conductors had exchanged a
word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the
nave of the sacred edifice.

The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar,
and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private
chapels of illustrious families. In the midst of the choir the dead spy
lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier.

A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures
knelt in the stalls of the choir; and on the steps of the high altar a
priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass.

Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming
down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the
nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him
to the church. Out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke
in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge empty building caught up
their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles.

"A monk!" returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the
report of the archer. "My brother, I looked not for your coming," he
added, turning to young Shelton. "In all civility, who are ye? and at
whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?"

Dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to Sir Oliver to move a
pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done
so, "I cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said. "My life is in your
hands."

Sir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a
space he was silent.

"Richard," he said, "what brings you here, I know not; but I much
misdoubt it to be evil. Nevertheless, for t