honest peasant in his way, to whom the mask of sanctity was very irksome, and the great ecclesiastic, and the uses to which the monastery was put, had alike cruelly gone against his simple instincts of a just life.
"You must not question me, my son; I know nothing—nothing save to obey the little I am ever told."
"What are you told of this captive, then?"
"That she is a sceptic and a revolutionist; a very evil and fatal woman."
"And his Holiness of Villaflor, out of his divine love, wishes to reclaim her into the bosom of the Church!"
The words were hot and acrid as they were hurled through his set teeth: it was all he could do to keep any chain on them.
The Umbrian wineed under their sting.
"Surely, my son. It would be well that she should be reclaimed. But, of a truth"
"What? Can a priest speak truth?"
"Hush, my son; you must not be so bitter upon the appointed of God. I was going to say"—the monk played restlessly with the savoury bones he had been crunching, and the colour burnt in his yellow cheek, as his voice sank low, and his eyes glanced
