“I know not.  But hasten, I beseech thee.  Thy questions over, we may make merry together.  Nothing less than a full flagon and a prime haunch will suffice.”

Ralph rubbed his hands at the bare idea of these prospective dainties.

“Wilt thou now disclose the name of thy master?”

“No,” said Ralph; “and now for dinner.”

“Prythee, in what haste?” returned Paslew, with a grin of cruel and malicious irony.  “There be some slight preliminaries to adjust,—­something to season thy haunch and whet thine appetite.”  He stamped with his foot, and the two attendants entered, bearing instruments of uncouth and horrid appearance.

“Thou mayest spare my bones and thy gimcracks.  With all thy screwing, thou canst not yet squeeze raindrops from the rock.”

“I cry thee favour.  Thou hast dared the stroke,—­thou hast courted the vengeance thou wouldest withstand, but thou shalt yield or break.  Seize him.”

“Stand back, caitiffs!” said Ralph, with a look of deep and unutterable scorn.  “But to thee!—­words would fail to express my contempt, my derision, my defiance of thy puny power!  Read, and skulk back to thy cell!”

He drew from his doublet a small roll of parchment, which Paslew, with unfeigned astonishment and vexation, recognised as a safe warranty from the Archbishop of York, wherein the bearer, under whatever manner or distinction he might choose to adopt, was charged with a secret mission from the leaders of the “Pilgrimage” touching the success and wellbeing of the Catholic faith, and the prosperity of the Holy Church.  All abbots, priests, and others, being true sons of the Church, were called on to aid and comfort him in the due exercise of his mission, to furnish him with a safe passage, and to obey his bidding without let or question.

“Herein fail not at your peril!” said Ralph, eyeing the abbot with a glance of cool and deliberate scorn.

“Why was not this protection from his grace given to me before?” inquired Paslew, beseechingly.

“That thy deceit and double-dealing-might be the more manifest.  Yesternight thou didst refuse thine aid until the beacon of insurrection should be kindled.  When kindled, and upon thine own ground, too, still thou holdest back!  But think not to escape!—­Think not to watch in safety whilst others work.  Whoever wins in this perilous game, thou wilt lose.  Marked out for destruction, thine own policy will betray thee.  Choose thee one party, and thou hast yet one chance of safety.  But double-dealers, such as thou, do ever tumble into the trap baited by their own cunning.”

“Will his Grace of York expect my presence at the camp?”

“It is needful thou make thy peace either with him or with the king,” said Ralph:  “yet am I bold to tell thee, that with Harry thine hope of reconciliation is past.  The news, ere this, hath reached Norfolk’s ear, and the beacon-light of Pendle, the first blaze and signal of the insurrection, denounces the Abbot of Whalley as a ringleader, and as having first kindled the torch of rebellion.”