“I have not begun it yet,” replied Richard.  “But pay attention, and you shall hear what occurred.  When I rushed forth, the monk had already gained the entrance-hall.  No one was within it at the time, all the serving-men being busied here with the feasting.  I summoned him to stay, but he answered not, and, still grimly regarding me, glided towards the outer door, which (I know not by what chance) stood open, and passing through it, closed it upon me.  This delayed me a moment; and when I got out, he had already descended the steps, and was moving towards the garden.  It was bright moonlight, so I could see him distinctly.  And mark this, Nicholas—­the two great blood-hounds were running about at large in the court-yard, but they slunk off, as if alarmed at his appearance.  The monk had now gained the garden, and was shaping his course swiftly towards the ruined Conventual Church.  Determined to overtake him, I quickened my pace; but he gained the old fane before me, and threaded the broken aisles with noiseless celerity.  In the choir he paused and confronted me.  When within a few yards of him, I paused, arrested by his fixed and terrible gaze.  Nicholas, his look froze my blood.  I would have spoken, but I could not.  My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth for very fear.  Before I could shake off this apprehension the figure raised its hand menacingly thrice, and passed into the Lacy Chapel.  As soon as he was gone my courage returned, and I followed.  The little chapel was brilliantly illuminated by the moon; but it was empty.  I could only see the white monument of Sir Henry de Lacy glistening in the pale radiance.”

“I must take a cup of wine after this horrific relation,” said Nicholas, replenishing his goblet.  “It has chilled my blood, as the monk’s icy gaze froze yours.  Body o’ me! but this is strange indeed.  Another oath.  Lord help me!—­I shall never get rid of the infernal—­I mean, the evil habit.  Will you not pledge me, Dick?”

The young man shook his head.

“You are wrong,” pursued Nicholas,—­“decidedly wrong.  Wine gladdeneth the heart of man, and restoreth courage.  A short while ago I was downcast as you, melancholy as an owl, and timorous as a kid, but now I am resolute as an eagle, stout of heart, and cheerful of spirit; and all owing to a cup of wine.  Try the remedy, Dick, and get rid of your gloom.  You look like a death’s-head at a festival.  What if you have stumbled on an ill-omened grave!  What if you have been banned by a witch!  What if you have stood face to face with the devil—­or a ghost!  Heed them not!  Drink, and set care at defiance.  And, not to gainsay my own counsel, I shall fill my cup again.  For, in good sooth, this is rare clary, Dick; and, talking of wine, you should taste some of the wonderful Rhenish found in the abbot’s cellar by our ancestor, Richard Assheton—­a century old if it be a day, and yet cordial and corroborative as ever.  Those monks were lusty tipplers, Dick.