Then he began to speak.

“Now, sir,” he said roughly, “my lord King is at the point of death, and I am here to examine you.  What is it that you have done to his grace?”

Now Master Richard knew that the King could not die, else where were the passion he was to undergo?  And if the officer could lie in this matter, why should he not lie in other matters?

“Where is your authority,” he said “to examine me?”

“What sir! do you question that?  You shall see my authority by and bye.”

“I am willing to answer you as one man to another” said Master Richard softly, “but not to plead, until I have seen your authority.”

“Oh! you are willing to answer!” said the officer, smiling like an angry dog.  “Very well, then.  What have you done to his grace?”

“I have done nothing,” said Master Richard, “save give the message that our Lord bade me give.”

Master-Lieutenant laughed short and sharp at that, and the two men that held Master Richard laughed with him. (The other two men were gone to the other end of the hall, and Master Richard could not see what they were doing.)

“Oho!” said the officer, “that is all that you have done to his grace!  I would advise you, sir, not to play the fool with me.  We know very well what you have done; but we would know from you how and when you did it.”

Master Richard said nothing to that.  He felt very light in the head, what with his wounds and the bad air, and the strangeness of the position.  He knew that he was smiling, but he could not prevent it.  His smiling angered the man.

“You dare smile at me, sir!” he cried.  “I will teach you to smile!”—­and he struck the table with his hand, so that the ink-horn danced upon it.

“I cannot help smiling,” said Master Richard.  “I think I am faint, sir.”

One of the men shook him by the arm, and Master Richard’s sense came back a little.

When he could see again clearly (for just now the face of the officer and the woodwork behind him swam like images seen in water), Master-Lieutenant had a little bottle in his hand.  He bade Master Richard look upon it and asked him what it was.

“I think it to be my Quinte Essence” said Master Richard.

“You acknowledge that then!” cries the man.  “And what is Quinte Essence?”

“It is distilled of blood” said Master Richard.

The officer set the bottle down again upon the table.

“Now sir” he said, “that is enough to cast you.  None who was a Christian man would have such a thing.  Say paternoster.” [This seems to have been one of the tests in trials for witchcraft.]

“Paternoster ...” began Master Richard.