"Also our gold monstrance," the low, even tones persisted, "our Limoges triptych, our two chalices with the great rubies, our Saint Jerome in the Wilderness, painted on wood by Gran Vasco, our five silver reliquaries, the seven-branched candlestick from Venice, our illuminated Conferences of the Solitaries of Cassian, and all our plate and vestments? We saved them from the French, burying them in the woods; and Father Leo was shot because he would not reveal the hiding-place. What about these things? Will they be respected? Will they be honorably preserved in our Portuguese cathedrals and parish churches? No doubt his Excellency does not know: but, I repeat, he can assure us that he will not lay a finger upon them for his own profit?" Every face turned towards the Viscount of Ponte Quebrada. Fifty eyes seemed to be boring like fifty white-hot gimlets into his most secret thoughts. He pulled himself together for a final attempt at bullying bluster. "I have been insulted enough!" he screamed. "You are suppressed. That's enough. You're suppressed, and you ought to have been suppressed long ago. You are the Queen's enemies. You've given shelter to every traitor that knocked at your door." "This latest war, thank God, almost passed us by," said the Prior, stepping forward. "While it lasted we gave shelter to five combatants only. Two were Dom Miguel's, three were the Queen's. They were all wounded. If they came here wounded again we should once more take them in." "My questions have not been answered," interrupted the Abbot's clear, small voice. "And they shan't be," retorted the Viscount, who had regained his courage. "And hark you all, you are on sufferance here. Keep civil tongues in your heads and clear out quietly. We have the right to pitch you out into the road." "I think not," the Abbot answered. "The decree speaks of to-morrow noon. We shall remain here until that hour; and perhaps longer. Meanwhile your Excellency has time to answer my questions. Our own answer turns upon his." "I am afraid, my Lord Abbot, there is only one answer possible," said the captain. "By noon this house must be empty, save for the guard." "And if we resist?" The captain meditated before he replied in grave tones: "Your Reverences will not resist. Your Reverences will protest and bow, without disgrace, to superior force. And if any injustice has been done, the Queen, or the judges in Lisbon, or the ministers, or the Parliament must be moved to put it right." "And in the meantime," said the Abbot, "what will become of this consecrated place, and of its sacred belongings? We have an inventory of every valuable thing. If we go at noon will your Excellencies sign a copy of it, to remain in our hands?" "They are not yours," squeaked the Viscount in greedy ire as he saw the loot slipping out of his hands. "All the things are Portugal's."