“Hey—what?—but this may be all of a piece with the beginning of thy tale, which we know was false as hell,” replied the Wolfe.
“Nay, we do indeed know so much as that thou didst never save her,” cried the Franciscan; “we do know right well how she was saved; yea, and we do know, moreover, that thou didst seize her as she did pass through the Chapel, and thou wert heard with her in the garden. Tell me speedily whither didst thou carry her, and where is she now?”
“Ay, where is she now,” cried the Wolfe; “out with the truth, if thou wouldst escape hanging. Be assured that every false word thou mayest utter shall be proved against thee; so see that thou dost speak truth.”
“Have mercy on me, father,” cried the wretched Sir Andrew Stewart, throwing himself from his horse, and dropping on his knees between the Wolfe and the Franciscan; “have mercy on me, and I will tell thee all the truth. To my shame I do confess that vanity and the fear of my father’s wrath against [[569]]my cowardice did prompt me to utter that which was false; and——”
“Ha! where is she, then, villain?” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him.
“Distraction! where hast thou concealed her?” cried the Franciscan.
“Verily, I know nothing of her,” said the knight.
“Wretch, dost thou return to thy falsehood?” cried the Franciscan.
“Nay, what I say in this respect is most true,” said Sir Andrew Stewart; “it was in saying that I did rescue the Lady Beatrice that I spake falsely. I was too much daunted by the fierceness of the flames to venture aloft; but having been once upon a time a guest in the Maison Dieu, I well knew its various passages, one of which did lead from the bottom of the main staircase of the building directly into the Chapel, whence I was aware that a retreat into the garden was easy. As I entered the Chapel I beheld one of the sisterhood of the Maison Dieu hobbling away with the Lady Beatrice. Mine ancient passion returned upon me, and——”
“Villain! thou didst carry her off,” cried the Franciscan, interrupting him.