wit I've
feigned to be for years. Moreover, I had a good horse and a heavy axe,
and there are still true hearts round Blossholme; the dead men that lie
yonder show it. Heaven has still its angels on the earth, though they
wear strange shapes. There stands one of them, and there another,"
and he pointed first to the fat and pompous Visitor, and next to the
dishevelled Prioress, adding: "And now, Sir Commissioner, for all that
I have done in the cause of justice I ask pardon of you who wear the
King's grace and majesty as I wore old Nick's horns and hoofs, since
otherwise the Abbot and his hired butchers, who hold themselves masters
of King and people, will murder me for this as they have done by better
men. Therefore pardon, your Mightiness, pardon," and he kneeled down
before him.

"You have it, Bolle; in the King's name you have it," replied Legh, who
was more flattered by the titles and attributes poured upon him by the
cunning Thomas than a closer consideration might have warranted. "For
all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his
Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal
or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you
in writing. Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan's plumes no more
lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.
Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon. I have somewhat to say to him."

Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see. The
guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all
ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.

"The knave has given us the slip," bellowed the Commissioner, who was
purple with rage. "Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall
be your warrant. Draw the wood. I'll to the Abbey, where perchance the
fox has gone to earth. Five golden crowns to the man who nets the slimy
traitor."

Now every one, burning with zeal to show their loyalty and to win the
crowns, scattered on the search, so that presently the three "witches,"
Thomas Bolle, Mother Matilda, and the nuns, were left standing almost
alone and staring at each other and the dead and wounded men who lay
about.

"Let us to the Priory," said Mother Matilda, "for by the sun I judge
that it is time for evening prayer, and there seem to be none to hinder
us."

Thomas went to her horse, which grazed close at hand, and led it up.

"Nay, good friend," she exclaimed, wi