"Here is Father Sebastian," cried the Prior. "He will go with you. Father Sebastian, there is fresh trouble. Antonio has heard soldiers. Meet them at the gate. Tell them of the Abbot's illness. Take them to the guest-house. Say I will speak to them there. Run!" Antonio gathered up his habit and sped off like a hare. But at the entrance of an avenue flanked by giant camellias he halted, suddenly remorseful. Sebastian overtook him. "Don't wait for me. Run on," he panted. Antonio plunged into the dark tunnel. Before he had run half its length the cracked bell at the monastery gate broke into an insolent din. Where the camellias ended he slackened pace and allowed his habit to fall once more in dignified amplitude to his feet. Meanwhile somebody was noisily clanking the scabbard of a sword against the iron bars of the gate. He drew nearer and made out a throng of cloaked men on little white horses. "We demand entrance," piped a weak voice, as a trooper flashed the light of a lantern through the bars into Antonio's face. "If you are Miguelistas," returned Antonio, "I must refuse." "Miguelistas?" squeaked the weak voice. "Miguelistas! If we were Miguelistas you would make us welcome like the traitors you are. Miguelistas! We are no Miguelistas. Open in the name of the Queen." "Why?" asked Father Sebastian quietly, as he took his place at Antonio's side. The beam of the lantern searched Father Sebastian's face also. Then the weak voice began again. But it was immediately drowned by the strong and hearty tones of an officer, who plucked the lantern out of the soldier's hand and held it close to his own face so that he could be seen while he was speaking. "Your Reverences," he said, "we ask pardon. But we must enter. We are simply doing our duty. Your Reverences have not heard of the decrees." "Your Excellency is wrong," answered Father Sebastian. "We have studied them all. The military orders are suppressed; but ours is not a military order. The smaller monasteries are to be closed; but this is not one of the smaller monasteries. What have the decrees to do with us?" "Everything," retorted the weak voice in triumph. The officer turned in his saddle and held the lantern up so as to exhibit a squat, blonde, elderly man, clinging precariously to a thick-legged horse. "Yes, everything. The new decree is only forty-eight hours old. All the orders are suppressed. All of them, big and little. All of them, in all Portugal. All of them, bag and baggage, root and branch, lock, stock and barrel. It was high time. Here is the decree in my hand. Open the gates before we smash them down." "If this is true," flung back Antonio in an outburst of indignation, "the Government has broken its word. But I don't believe it. Your decree is a forgery. You have come here to cheat and rob us. You have come--" "Be silent, Father Antonio," said Father Sebastian. "Help me draw the bolt. Leave this affair to me."