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 wont to be our gentlest novice, of lowly carriage in
chapter, devout in psalmody and strict in the cloister. Pull your
wits together and answer me straightly. In what form has the foul
fiend appeared, and how has he done this grievous scathe to our
brethren? Have you seen him with your own eyes, or do you repeat
from hearsay? Speak, man, or you stand on the penance-stool in
the chapter-house this very hour!"

Thus adjured, the frightened monk grew calmer in his bearing,
though his white lips and his startled eyes, with the gasping of
his breath, told of his inward tremors.

"If it please you, holy father, and you, reverend sacrist, it came
about in this way. James the subprior, and Brother John and I had
spent our day from sext onward on Hankley, cutting bracken for the
cow-houses. We were coming back over the five-virgate field, and
the holy subprior was telling us a saintly tale from the life of
Saint Gregory, when there came a sudden sound like a rushing
torrent, and the foul fiend sprang over the high wall which skirts
the water-meadow and rushed upon us with the speed of the wind.
The lay brother he struck to the ground and trampled into the
mire. Then, seizing the good subprior in his teeth, he rushed
round the field, swinging him as though he were a fardel of old
clothes.