Not only was he bountiful to lepers, but what with the alms asked of him
and given by a hand that often outran the tongue of need, he gave away a
third of all he had in this way alone. Once at Newark he met a leper and
kissed him. There a most learned Canon from Paris, William de Montibus,
a great master and author, an early Cruden, and the Chancellor of the
Diocese, said to him, "Martin's kiss cleansed the leper." The bishop
answered humbly, "Martin kissed the leper and cured his body, but the
leper's kiss has cured my soul."

Of Hugh's courage several instances are cited (but impossible now to
date). He went several times unarmed against threatening bands of men
who flourished naked swords. In Lincoln Church, in Holland as
aforementioned, and in Northampton, he faced angry clerks and laymen,
knights and men at arms, and burgesses with equal vigour, and
excommunicated them. It is not unlikely that the first was in defence of
the Jews, and the third when he stopped the worship of a thief at the
last place. The second may have been when he placed himself among the
enemies of Longchamp.

He was believed, and he believed himself, to be able to cause death to
those whom he excommunicated. This was so firmly acknowledged that it
saved him in many a severe pinch, and shielded him from indifference,
beggary, and defeat. Many instances are given us, in which misfortune
and death followed upon his censures. If any one likes to plead _post
hoc, non ergo propter hoc_, judgment may go by default; but at any rate
the stories show the life of the time most vividly, and the battle for
righteousness which a good bishop had to wage.

There lived at Cokewald an oldish knight, Thomas de Saleby, whose wife
Agnes was barren. William, his brother, also a knight, but of
Hardredeshill, was the heir to the estate. Dame Agnes detested William
and schemed to disappoint him. She gave out that she was with child.
William disbelieved, consulted friends, but could find no remedy. About
Easter, 1194, the lady affected to be confined. A baby, Grace by name,
was smuggled into the room, and sent back to its mother to be suckled.
Outwitted, William went off in distress to the bishop, who sent for Sir
Thomas, in private, charged him, and tried to make him confess. But he,
"fearing the scoldings of his too tongue-banging wife more than God's
justice, and being, moreover, spell-bound by her viperine hissings,"
affected utter innocence. The bishop plied