“O children, grieve not for me, for though this body suffer a little, my soul doth sit serene.  What though I stand in bonds, yet doth my soul go free.  Though they burn my flesh to ashes yet doth my soul live on forever.  So grieve not your hearts for me, my children, and, for yourselves, though ye be afflicted even as I—­fear ye nothing—­since I, that ye all do know for a truthful man, do tell ye ’tis none so hard to die if that our hearts be clean.  What though ye suffer the grievous horror of a prison?  Within the dark ye shall find God.  Thus I amid the dreadful gloom of my deep dungeon did lie within the arms of God, nothing fearing.  So, when the fire shall sear me, though this my flesh may groan, God shall reach down to me through smoke and flame and lift my soul beyond.  O be ye therefore comforted, my children:  though each must die, yet to the pure in heart death is none so hard—­”

Thus spake Friar Martin, shivering in his bonds, what time the crowd rocked and swayed, sobbing aloud and groaning; whereat Sir Gui’s pikemen made lusty play with their spear-shafts.

Then spake Beltane, whispering, to Roger, who, sweating with impatience, groaned and stared and gnawed upon his fingers: 

“Away, Roger!” And on the instant Roger had turned, and with brawny shoulders stooped, drove through the swaying press and was gone.

Now with every moment the temper of the crowd grew more threatening; voices shouted, fists were clenched, and the scowling pike-men, plying vicious spear-butts, cursed, and questioned each other aloud:  “Why tarries Sir Gui?”

Hereupon a country fellow hard by took up the question: 

“Sir Gui!” he shouted, “Why cometh not Sir Gui?”

“Aye!” cried others, “where tarries Sir Gui?” “Why doth he keep us?” “Where tarries Sir Gui?”

“Here!” roared a voice deep and harsh, “Way—­make way!” And suddenly high above the swaying crowd rose the head and shoulders of a man, a mighty man in the dusty habit of a miller, upon whose low-drawn hood and be-floured smock were great gouts and stains evil and dark; and now, beholding what manner of stains these were, all men fell silent and blenched from his path.  Thus amid a lane of pallid faces that stared and shrank away, the tall miller came unto the wondering pike-men —­burst their ranks and leapt upon the dais where stood the gilded chair.

“Ho! soldiers and men-at-arms—­good people of Belsaye—­call ye for Gui in sooth? hunger ye for sight of Bloody Gui of Allerdale in faith?  Why then—­behold!” and from under his be-dabbled smock he drew forth a head, pale as to cheek and hair, whose wide eyes stared blindly as it dangled in his hairy hand; and now, staring up at this awful, sightless thing—­that brow at whose frown a city had trembled, those pallid lips that had smiled, and smiling, doomed men and women to torment and death—­a hush fell on Belsaye and no man spoke or stirred.

Then, while all folk stood thus, rigid and at gaze, a wild cry was heard, shivering the stillness and smiting all hearts with sudden dread:—­