too high, I am a
poor man."

They laughed immoderately.

"We have borrowed a hint from the outlaws, and unless thy brethren
pay for thee soon, we will send thy worthless body to them in
installments, first one ear, then the other, and so on."

"Our Lady help me!"

"Brother, be patient. Heaven will help us, since there is no help
in man," said Martin. "And now, Drogo, whom I knew so well of old,
and in whom I see little change, what is thy charge against me?"

"A very serious one, brother Martin, and one I grieve to bring
against such an eloquent preacher of the Gospel, but my conscience
compels me."

"Thy conscience!"

"Yes, I can afford to keep one as well as thou. Dost thou think
thou art the only creature who has a soul to be saved?"

"Go on without further blasphemies."

"Well then, I grieve to say that it is my painful duty to arrest
thee on a charge of murder."

"Of murder!" cried all three.

"Yes, of the murder of his aunt, the late lamented Lady of
Walderne."

"Good heavens!" cried the knight and mayor.

"Oh heaven and earth, this slander hear!" said Martin.

"Do not swear, it misbecomes a friar."

"Thou didst murder her thyself."

"Nay: who gave her the sleeping draught the last night? I have just
discovered that it contained poison supplied by the old witch who
lived here, and whom I have duly punished by fire. But whose hand,
administered it?"

Martin turned pale.

"I ask," continued Drogo, "who gave her the draught?"

"It was I, but who poisoned it?"

"Satan knows best, but thou hast owned it.

"I call thee to witness, most valiant knight, and thee, O Mayor of
Hamelsham, that you both hear him--confitentem mum, as Father
Edmund used to say at Kenilworth.

"Ah, I have him on the hip. Away with them to Walderne: the deepest
dungeon for the poisoner."

Chapter 22: A Medieval Tyrant.

Drogo did not venture to bring in his prisoners by the light of
day, for although he had collected together a large flock of black
sheep, yet did he not dare openly to consign a preaching friar to
those dungeons of his.

The men he had with him on the spot were certain lewd fellows of
the baser sort, distinguished even in Walderne Castle for their
wickedness; yet even they had their superstitions, and imagined it
would bring bad luck to arrest the ecclesiastic, travelling in the
garb of his order.

But Drogo's will was law, and they obeyed. They detained the
prisoners in an outlying farm