“And who art thou, friend, that hast such a greedy appetite for men’s names, thou canst not rest a-bed for the craving of thy stomach?”

“I am the abbot, and thou a prisoner in this good house.  Fearful odds, methinks, for the strife.”

“Now hark thee, most reverend abbot, my name thou knowest at a peradventure:  but for the name of my master, as thou callest him, seeing it be a notable secret, thou mightest as well go ask his goshawk yonder, who, I guess, continues an unworthy prisoner as well as myself.”

“I’ll have the truth wrung from thy tongue.  Thumbscrews and iron mittens will not be denied so easily.”

“Humph!” said Ralph; “these be rare things for cracking the shell; but, for all that, I wot they’ll not get at the kernel.”

“What! defiest thou my power?—­in my own custody too?” Paslew grew pale with anger; but the impolicy of this proceeding soon suggested itself to his wary, though at times impetuous, temper.  Yet the stubborn disposition of his prisoner resisted alike his cajolements and his threats.

In vain were offers of reward multiplied; nor bribe nor entreaty could avail.  Paslew then left him, threatening to extract by force what milder measures had failed to elicit.  He had that morning despatched a messenger to the rebel chiefs at Doncaster with an explanation of the accident, likewise with an assurance of his good wishes to the cause; but still he delayed to go in person, or to send his quota of levies.

True, however, to his threats, if not to his promises, towards the close of the day he again visited the dungeon.  He was accompanied by two grim attendants, whom he ordered to wait outside until their services should be required.

Ralph was striding lustily, and with evident impatience, over the damp floor; yet he scarcely seemed to notice the entrance of the abbot.

“How now!—­Hast had aught, by way of special discovery, touching the name thou hadst forgotten this morning?”

“Yes, I have had a notable discovery therein,” said Ralph, still holding on his pace diagonally, as heretofore.

“And may we graciously participate in the result?  Doubtless ’tis a comfortable and happy revelation,” said the abbot.

“’Tis to beware of three most unlucky things, persons, or properties, I trow,—­to wit, a parson’s maid, a prior’s sow, and an abbot’s dinner.”

“And what lack they in thy honest esteem?”

“A parson’s maid lacks honesty,—­a prior’s sow a litter,—­and an abbot’s dinner lacks me!”

“Or, rather, thou lackest it.”

“Why, troth, I am not over-nice in the disposition of vain words; nor should I be over-nice in the disposal of some light scraps from your reverence’s buttery.”

“Thou hast not dined?”

“Peradventure not at thy cost.”

“Perchance an empty stomach may be the more apt to yield.  A full belly makes a stout heart.”