"We know well enough," said the fellow with an evil chuckle, "that you have a fair daughter here. I am going to pay off old scores."
If Magyari had not been well in the brother's grip, he would have gone for the wretch. Every fibre of his body was shivering with rage.
Only the brother remained calm and smiling. Joining his hands together, he made a little mill with the aid of his two thumbs.
"Wait, my dear son, cannot we come to some agreement. You know very well that my money is concealed in barrels, but so well hidden is it that none besides myself know where it is. Even if you turned this monastery upside down you would not find it. You may also have heard that once upon a time there lived a kind of men called martyrs, who let themselves be boiled in oil, or roasted on red-hot fires, or torn in pieces by wild beasts, without saying a word which might hurt their souls. Well, that is the sort of man I am. If I make up my mind to hold my tongue, you might tear me to bits inch by inch with burning tweezers, and you would get not a word nor a penny out of me. Now 'tis for you to choose. Will you carry off the money and leave the poor women-folk alone, or will you lay your hands on the down-trodden, lame, halt, consumptive beggar-women, whom you will find here, and not see a farthing? Which is it to be?"
The four robbers whispered together. No doubt they said something to this effect: only let the pater produce his money, and then it will be an easy thing for us to take back our given word and satisfy our hearts' desires. They signified that they would stand by the money.
"Look now! you are good men," said the father, "take these two torches and come with me to the cellar and go through my treasures, only you must do none any harm."
"A little less jaw, please," growled Kökényesdi. "Two go in front with the torches, and Brother Gregory between you. I'll follow after; the magister can remain behind to look after the other parson. Whoever speaks a word or makes a signal, I'll bring my axe down on his head—forward!"
And so it was. Two of the robbers went in front with torches; after them came the brother with Kökényesdi at his heels with a drawn dagger in his hand; last of all marched Magyari, whom Master Szénasi held by the collar at arm's-length, threatening him at the same time with a flashing axe.
Thus they descended to the cellar. The good father, with timid humility, hid his head in his hood and looked neither to the left nor to the right.
The cellar was provided with a large, double, iron trap-door. After drawing out its massive bolts, the worthy brother raised one of its flaps, bidding them lower the torches for his convenience.