lanch.

"_Ma foi!_" exclaimed Brother Hilario, "has the Englishman not yet had
enough! I have heard of how these islanders drink, but this passes
credit."

"Ay, it cowes Kirkcaldy!" cried Rollo. "He is indeed a maisterfu'
drinker, this Englishman!"

"What?" queried the Frenchman, still mystified, and moving towards the
decanters. "Does he want more wine? How much would satisfy him, think
you?"

"I could take somewhere about sixty thousand gallons at present, and as
much more in a week or two!" said Mortimer, pulling out his pocket-book.

The Frenchman looked at Rollo for enlightenment. Our insular measures of
capacity were naturally strange to him.

"About twenty thousand _arrobas_ at present might satisfy him, he says,
but he would like more in a week or two!"

Monsieur Etienne de Saint Pierre fell back, lax with astonishment.

"_Mon Dieu!_" he cried, "I never believed it before, but I see now it is
true. An Englishman bathes himself, and drinks the contents of his bath
when he is finished. It is that he may be ready for the twenty thousand
_arrobas_ of Priorato! But you are pleased to jest, gentlemen, is it not
so?"

The matter was explained.

"I can arrange that with my uncle," said Etienne, as soon as he fully
understood John Mortimer's purpose; "I understand something about wines,
for I grow some square leagues of vines on my lands in France. Moreover,
I will see to it that your friend does not pay too high a price for the
Priorato! And now for the relics! We have already wasted too much time."

He rang the bell and called in the abbot's confessor.

Father Anselmo was a gaunt, severe man, of more than the average height,
with black hair streaked with grey, and fixed and stony eyes. With him
there appeared a younger and more jovial monk, with small eyes that
perpetually twinkled, and a smile that seemed to catch itself up as with
a click each time that the stern gaze of Father Anselmo turned his way.
This monk was evidently only a novice, or a lay brother on his
probation, for he wore the lesser habit and carried in his hand a great
bunch of keys, which he tinkled freely, as if in that silent place he
took a certain pleasure in the sound.

Father Anselmo gazed with severe disapproval upon the rich appointments
of the abbot's table, and austerely refused for himself and his
companion any refreshment beyond a glass of cold water.

But on the other hand the eyes of the keybearer perused with evident
l