"Show me that judgment," he said slowly.

"It is not yet engrossed, my son. Within ten days or so I hope----But
you seem faint. The warmth of this room after the cold outer air,
perhaps. Drink a cup of our poor wine," and at a motion of his hand
one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the
long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.

He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the
silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered
it with the wood-tongs.

"It seems that you priests are my heirs," said Sir John in a new, quiet
voice, "or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be
short. I'll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned. Hearken
now, Sir Abbot. I believe little of this tale, though doubtless by
bribes and other means you have done your best to harm me behind my back
up yonder in London. Well, to-morrow at the dawn, come fair weather or
come foul, I ride through the snows to London, where I too have friends,
and we will see, we will see. You are a clever man, Abbot Maldon, and
I know that you need money, or its worth, to pay your men-at-arms and
satisfy the great costs at which you live--and there are our famous
jewels--yes, yes, the old Crusader jewels. Therefore you have sought to
rob me, whom you ever hated, and perchance Cromwell has listened to your
tale. Perchance, fool priest," he added slowly, "he had it in his mind
to fat this Church goose of yours with my meal before he wrings its neck
and cooks it."

At these words the Abbot started for the first time, and even the two
impassive chaplains glanced at each other.