"You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little
lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley
oaks. These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose. My forester is
a rogue. They have scared or bribed him, and he shall hang for it."

"First prove the crime, master, which won't be easy; then talk of
hanging, which only kings and abbots, 'with right of gallows,' can do at
will. Ah! you speak truth," he added in a changed voice; "it is a lovely
chamber, though not good enough for the holy man who dwells in it,
since such a saint should have a silver shrine like him before the altar
yonder, as doubtless he will do when ere long he is old bones," and,
as though by chance, he trod upon his lord's foot, which was somewhat
gouty.

Round came Sir John like the Blossholme weathercock on a gusty day.

"Clumsy toad!" he yelled, then paused, for there within the arras, that
had been lifted silently, stood a tall, tonsured figure clothed in rich
furs, and behind him two other figures, also tonsured, in simple black
robes. It was the Abbot with his chaplains.

"Benedicite!" said the Abbot in his soft, foreign voice, lifting the two
fingers of his right hand in blessing.

"Good-day," answered Sir John, while his retainer bowed his head and
crossed himself. "Why do you steal upon a man like a thief in the night,
holy Father?" he added irritably.

"That is how we are told judgment shall come, my son," answered the
Abbot, smiling; "and in truth there seems some need of it. We heard loud