more honest sort, mayhap, though I do not lift two fingers of my right
hand and say, 'Benedicite, my son,' and 'Your sins are forgiven you';
and just now the God of both of us plays His tune in me, and I will tell
you what it is. I stand near to death, but you stand not far from the
gallows. I'll die an honest man; you will die like a dog, false to
everything, and afterwards let your beads and your masses and your
saints help you if they can. We'll talk it over when we meet again
elsewhere. And now, my Lord Abbot, lead me to your gate, remembering
that I follow with my sword. Jeffrey, set those carrion crow in front of
you, and watch them well. My Lord Abbot, I am your servant; march!"



CHAPTER II

THE MURDER BY THE MERE

For a while Sir John and his retainer rode in silence. Then he laughed
loudly.

"Jeffrey," he called, "that was a near touch. Sir Priest was minded to
stick his Spanish pick-tooth between our ribs, and shrive us afterwards,
as we lay dying, to salve his conscience."

"Yes, master; only, being reasonable, he remembered that English swords
have a longer reach, and that his bullies are in the Ford ale-house
seeing the Old Year out, and so put it off. Master, I have always told
you that old October of yours is too strong to drink at noon. It should
be saved till bed-time."