Cavendish asked him so many questions of York, of its monastery, cathedral, neighborhood, palace, castle, and people, that he became convinced he was at York during the time of his master's presence therein. He gave, therefore, implicit credence to the man's words, and intimated to Lord De Freston that he could vouch for the truth of the man's statement. Torches were brought, two men appointed to attend the aged devotee, and to assist his steps, whilst Lord De Freston, Ellen, and Latimer, with Cavendish, prepared to walk through the snow, which had then fallen deep, to the porch of Freston Tower. Old Saracen howled most piteously as the torches passed over the drawbridge, and neither the orders for silence, nor the cheerful call of De Freston, could make him cease his piteous moan, as if he were baying the torches which were accompanying his master to his tomb, instead of the light, airy, lofty, cheerful abode of his hours of meditation, recreation, and study. It was a very unusual thing for his master to proceed by torchlight without his favorite bloodhound, and it might be the being left chained at the castle door at such a time that created Saracen's discomfiture. But his anger at the beggar was sufficient cause for De Freston to decline his services that night. The attendants were ordered to accompany their lord, but the fool would not go. He had other game in view, for, having seen significant but secret glances pass between Abdil Foley and the beggar, he resolved to watch the former, whom he heard say-- 'I must hasten to my son's room for my cloak.' His young son was one of the undergrooms, who slept in the furthest attic, adjoining the unfrequented apartments of the castle. Reuben Styles was suspicious. The moment he heard his speech he bolted off, and took the nearest passage to the back staircase, leaving Abdil to pursue his way through the crowd; one detaining him to congratulate him upon his recovery; another joking him about the fool; another about his possession of a demon, until Reuben had fairly secreted himself beneath one of the groom's beds, before the wretched Abdil came with his lantern into the room. He came, and alone; but breathing hard, and yet listening. His cloak lay upon the bed, and its folds were hanging down even before the face of Reuben Styles; so that he was in some trepidation lest his old foe should catch him alone, and give him an additional punishment for his curiosity. He was surprised the cloak did not move, especially as he knew that Abdil would not like to go across the park alone at night, and friends were fast departing from the hospitable roof. At last he heard him sigh, and speak--