within its bounds," said the Abbot. "If the subprior and Brother
John be indeed dead, then it would seem that if the horse be not
the Devil he is at least the Devil's instrument."

"Horse or Devil, holy father, I heard him shout with joy as he
trampled upon Brother John, and had you seen him tossing the
subprior as a dog shakes a rat you would perchance have felt even
as I did."

"Come then," cried the Abbot, "let us see with our own eyes what
evil has been done."

And the three monks hurried down the stair which led to the
cloisters.

They had no sooner descended than their more pressing fears were
set at rest, for at that very moment, limping, disheveled and
mud-stained, the two sufferers were being led in amid a crowd of
sympathizing brethren. Shouts and cries from outside showed,
however, that some further drama was in progress, and both Abbot
and sacrist hastened onward as fast as the dignity of their office
would permit, until they had passed the gates and gained the wall
of the meadow. Looking over it, a remarkable sight presented
itself to their eyes.

Fetlock deep in the lush grass there stood a magnificent horse,
such a horse as a sculptor or a soldier might thrill to see. His
color was a light chestnut, with mane and tail of a more tawny
tint. Seventeen hands high, with a barrel and haunches which
bespoke tremendous strength, he fined down to the most delicate