A deadly silence fell as these startling words were pronounced; for his manner up to now had been conciliatory and almost apologetic.  But he went on imperturbably.

“I am quite sure that Almighty God knows His business better than you or I, Mr. Miggers; and if He cannot take care of Uncle John without the aid of masses or dirges sung by fat-bellied monks—­”

He stopped abruptly, and a squirt of laughter burst from the butcher.

“Well, this is my opinion,” went on Ralph, “if you wish to know it.  I do not think, or suspect, as some of you do—­but I know—­as you will allow presently that I do, when I tell you who I am—­I know that these houses of which we have been speaking, are nothing better than wasps’-nests.  The fellows look holy enough in their liveries, they make a deal of buzz, they go to and fro as if on business; but they make no honey that is worth your while or mine to take.  There is but one thing that they have in their holes that is worth anything:  and that is their jewels and their gold, and the lead on their churches and the bells in their towers.  And all that, by the Grace of God we will soon have out of them.”

There was a faint murmur of mingled applause and dissent.  Mr. Miggers stared vacant-faced at this preposterous stranger, and set his mug resolutely down as a preparation for addressing him, but he had no opportunity.  Ralph was warmed now by his own eloquence, and swept on.

“You think I do not know of what I am speaking?  Well, I have a brother a monk at Lewes, and a sister a nun at Rusper; and I have been brought up in this religion until I am weary of it.  My sister—­well, she is like other maidens of her kind—­not a word to speak of any matter but our Lady and the Saints and how many candles Saint Christopher likes.  And my brother!—­Well, we can leave that.

“I know these houses as none of you know them; I know how much wine they drink, how much they charge for their masses, how much treasonable chatter they carry on in private—­I know their lives as I know my own; and I know that they are rotten and useless altogether.  They may give a plateful or two in charity and a mug of beer; they gorge ten dishes themselves, and swill a hogshead.  They give a penny to the poor man, and keep twenty nobles for themselves.  They take field after field, house after house; turn the farmer into the beggar, and the beggar into their bedesman.  And, by God!  I say that the sooner King Henry gets rid of the crew, the better for you and me!”

Ralph snapped out the last words, and stared insolently down on the gaping faces.  Then he finished, standing by the door as he did so, with his hand on the latch.

“If you would know how I know all this, I will tell you.  My name is Torridon, of Overfield; and I am one of the King’s Visitors.  Good-night, gentlemen.”

There was the silence of the grave within, as Ralph went upstairs smiling to himself.