"Anselm!" said the saint, a "brother of our order, whose soul Heaven
assoilzie! hath been foully murdered. He had been ignominiously kicked
to the death, Anselm; and there he lieth check-by-jowl with a wretched
carcass, which our sister Bridget has turned out of her cemetery for
unseemly grinning. Arouse thee, Anselm!"

"Ay, so please you, _Sanctssime!_" said the Abbot. "I will order
forthwith that thirty masses be said, thirty _Paters,_ and thirty
_Aves."_

"Thirty fools' heads!" interrupted his patron, who was a little
peppery.

"I will send for bell, book, and candle--"

"Send for an inkhorn, Anselm. Write me now a letter to his Holiness the
Pope in good round terms, and another to the Sheriff, and seize me the
never-enough-to-be anathematized villain who hath done this deed! Hang
him as high as Haman, Anselm!--up with him!--down with his dwelling
place, root and branch, hearth-stone and roof-tree,--down with it all,
and sow the site with salt and sawdust."

St. Austin, it will perceived, was a radical reformer.

"Marry will I," quoth the Abbot, warming with the Saint's eloquence:
"ay, marry will I, and that _instanter_. But there is one thing you have
forgotten most Beatified--the name of the culprit."

"Robert de Shurland."