e
his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and
appear to be busy with his devotions.

His mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. Three of the
soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them
quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt
that they had done so by Sir Oliver's command. Here, then, he was
trapped. Here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow
of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in
the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before
his eyes.

But, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built
himself up in patience to await the issue.

CHAPTER IV

IN THE ABBEY CHURCH

In Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were kept up all night without
cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon
the bell.

Rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. There he lay, meanwhile, as they had
arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes
staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain
him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning.

Once only, in the course of the hours, Sir Oliver leaned across to his
captive.

"Richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, I will certify, on
my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. Sinful in the eye of
Heaven I do declare myself; but sinful as against you I am not, neither
have been ever."

"My father," returned Dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, I
design nothing; but as for your innocence, I may not forget that ye
cleared yourself but lamely."

"A man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest. "He may be set
blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope. So it was with
me. I did decoy your father to his death; but as Heaven sees us in this
sacred place, I knew not what I did."

"It may be," returned Dick. "But see what a strange web ye have woven,
that I should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge;
that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. Methinks,
if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would
neither thus fear nor thus detest me. And now to your prayers. I do obey
you, since needs must; but I will not be burthened with your company."

The priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad
into some sentiment of pity, and he