“It is but a slight boon, after all,” said the sheriff, “and one which may be conceded;” and as he spoke he wrote a few lines on a slip of parchment. “They will give you admission for half-an-hour, if you show them this at the gateway.”
“May I not stay longer?”
“It would not be kind to those who are to die; they need their time to make their peace with God.”
“That is already made, your worship.”
“I trust so,” said the sheriff, with a sad faint smile at the boy’s earnestness.
“Who art thou, my lad?” he said.
“The Abbot’s adopted son.”
“But who were your real parents?”
“I know not.”