Lor. Troth, I also made bold to strike up a bargain with him, that, if I escaped with life and plunder, I would present some brother of his order with part of the booty taken from the infidels, to be employed in charitable uses.

Dom. There you hit him; Saint Dominick loves charity exceedingly; that argument never fails with him.

Lor. The spoils were mighty; and I scorn to wrong him of a farthing.  To make short my story; I inquired among the jacobins for an almoner, and the general fame has pointed out your reverence as the worthiest man:—­here are fifty good pieces in this purse.

Dom. How, fifty pieces? ’tis too much, too much in conscience.

Lor. Here, take them, father.

Dom. No, in troth, I dare not; do not tempt me to break my vow of poverty.

Lor. If you are modest, I must force you; for I am strongest.

Dom. Nay, if you compel me, there’s no contending; but, will you set your strength against a decrepit, poor, old man? [Takes the Purse.] As I said, ’tis too great a bounty; but Saint Dominick shall owe you another scape:  I’ll put him in mind of you.

Lor. If you please, father, we will not trouble him ’till the next battle.  But you may do me a greater kindness, by conveying my prayers to a female saint.

Dom. A female saint! good now, good now, how your devotions jump with mine!  I always loved the female saints.

Lor. I mean, a female, mortal, married-woman-saint:  Look upon the superscription of this note; you know Don Gomez’s wife.
                                                [Gives him a Letter.

Dom. Who?  Donna Elvira?  I think I have some reason; I am her ghostly father.

Lor. I have some business of importance with her, which I have communicated in this paper; but her husband is so horribly given to be jealous,—­

Dom. Ho, jealous? he’s the very quintessence of jealousy; he keeps no male creature in his house; and from abroad he lets no man come near her.

Lor. Excepting you, father.

Dom. Me, I grant you; I am her director and her guide in spiritual affairs:  But he has his humours with me too; for t’other day he called me false apostle.

Lor. Did he so? that reflects upon you all; on my word, father, that touches your copy-hold.  If you would do a meritorious action, you might revenge the church’s quarrel.—­My letter, father,—­

Dom. Well, so far as a letter, I will take upon me; for what can I refuse to a man so charitably given?

Lor. If you bring an answer back, that purse in your hand has a twin-brother, as like him as ever he can look; there are fifty pieces lie dormant in it, for more charities.

Dom. That must not be; not a farthing more, upon my priesthood.—­But what may be the purport and meaning of this letter? that, I confess, a little troubles me.