row--'neath the tree! O master, dead men are we,
'tis Tostig come to drag us back to hell with him!" And crouching on
his knees, Roger fell to desperate prayers.

Then Beltane turned whither Roger's shaking finger had pointed, and
strode beneath the great tree. And peering up through the dark, he
presently espied a shadowy thing that moved amid a gloom of leaves and
branches; and, beholding what it was, he drew sword and smote high
above his head.

Something thudded heavily upon the grass and lay there, mute and rigid,
while Beltane, leaning upon his sword, stared down at that fell shape,
and breathing the noxious reek of it, was seized of trembling horror;
nevertheless he stooped, and reaching out a hand of loathing in the
dimness, found the cord whereby it had swung and dragged the rigid,
weighty thing out into the radiance of the moon until he could see a
pallid face twisted and distorted by sharp and cruel death. Now in this
moment Roger sware a fierce, great oath, and forthwith kicked those
stiffened limbs.

"Ha!" cried he, "methought 'twas Tostig his ghost come for to drag us
down into yon accursed pool--and 'tis naught but the traitor-rogue
Gurth!"

"And dead, Roger!"

"Forsooth, he's dead enough, master--faugh!"

"And it availeth nothing to kick a dead man, Roger."

"Yet was he an arrant knave, master."

"And hath paid for his knavery, methinks!"

"A very rogue! a traitor! a rogue of rogues, master!"

"Then hath he the more need of our prayers, Roger."

"Prayers! How, lord, would'st pray for--this?"

"Nay, Roger, but thou shalt, since thou art potent in prayer these
days." So saying, Beltane knelt upon the sward and folded reverent
hands; whereupon Roger, somewhat abashed, having set his sword upright
in the ling as was his custom, presently knelt likewise, and clearing
his throat, spake aloud in this fashion:

"Holy Saint Cuthbert, thou see'st here all that is left of one that in
life was a filthy, lewd, and traitorous knave, insomuch that he hath,
methinks, died of roguery. Now, most blessed saint, do thy best for the
knavish soul of him, intercede on his behalf that he may suffer no more
than he should. And this is the prayer of me, Black Roger, that has
been a vile sinner as I have told thee, though traitor to no man, I
praise God. But, most blessed and right potent saint, while I am at the
ears of thee, fain would I crave thy aid on matter of vasty weight and
import. To wit, good saint: let