, looking at him, said
to Martin--

"You gave orders for this Harflete's burial, did you not?"

The monk nodded.

"Then have you told any that he needs no grave at present?"

"No one except yourself."

The Abbot thought a while, rubbing his shaven chin.

"I think the funeral should go forward," he said presently. "Look not
so frightened; I do not purpose to inter him living. But there is a dead
man lying in that shed, Andrew Woods, my servant, the Scotch soldier
whom Harflete slew. He has no friends here to claim him, and these two
were of much the same height and breadth. Shrouded in a blanket, none
would know one body from the other, and it will be thought that Andrew
was buried with the rest. Let him be promoted in his death, and fill a
knight's grave."

"To what purpose would you play so unholy a trick, which must, moreover,
be discovered in a day, seeing that Sir Christopher lives?" asked
Martin, staring at him.

"For a very good purpose, my friend. It is well that Sir Christopher
Harflete should seem to die, who, if he is known to be alive, has
powerful kin in the south who will bring much trouble on us."

"Do you mean----? If so, before God I will have no hand in it."

"I said--seem to die. Where are your wits to-night?" answered the Abbot,
with irritation. "Sir Christopher travels with you to Spain as our
sick Brother Luiz, who, like myself, is of that country, and desires to
return there, as we know, but is too ill to do so. You will nurse him,
and on the ship he will die or recover, as God wills. If he recovers our
Brotherhood will show him hospitality at Seville, notwithstanding his
crimes, and by the time that he reaches England again, which may not
be for a long while, men will have forgotten all this fray in a greater
that draws on. Nor will he be harmed, seeing that the lady whom he
pretends to have married is dead beyond a doubt, as you can tell him
should he find his understanding."

"A strange game," muttered Martin.

"Strange or no, it is my game which I must play. Therefore question not,
but be obedient, and silent also, on your oath," replied the Abbot in
a cold, hard voice. "That covered litter which was brought here for the
wounded is in the next chamber. Wrap this man in blankets and a monk's
robe, and we will place him in it. Then let him be borne to Blossholme
as one of the dead by brethren who will ask no questions, and ere dawn
on to the ship _Great Yarmouth_, if he still lives