"Come hither, friend Dargavel,--for so I believe them callest thyself,"--said Roland, filling a wooden bicker from the large pot of mulled wine; "is it thus thou stealest away without bidding adieu to me, who am thy host; for thou knowest that I command all here while within the walls. Come, drink with us, friend; 'tis a bad maxim to ride with a fasting stomach, so thou art welcome to a share of this posset, which has simmered overnight by the fire. Dost thou hear me, fellow? Art thou deaf?" Birrel's visage turned deadly pale, and a perspiration suffused the roots of his hair and matted beard. "I never drink aught that is stronger than water--never, at any time," said he, with a quavering voice. "This is false," said Leslie; "for I saw thee dipping thy moustaches, yea, and thy whole beard, in the demi-john last night." "True--but in the morning I never drink either ale, wine, or usquebaugh--never, sir knights--wi' mony gude thanks for your courtesie?" "Tarry with us, friend; be not in a hurry," said Roland--at a sign from whom Lintstock placed himself in the doorway--"of what, in the devil's name, does thy morning draught usually consist?" "Milk," replied Birrel, becoming blanched with fear, and looking round for some friendly hole wherein to hide himself. "A very hermit in temperance! I regret that, in consequence of all the cattle having escaped, we cannot accommodate you, my pretty man, with a draught of your favourite beverage. But hark you, sir," said Roland, unsheathing his formidable sword; "thou seest this blade?--well, if thou dost not drain this cup of wine to the bottom, I will pass this weapon to the hilt--yea, sirrah, to the very hilt, through thy body!" "Of all the sights of horror and disgust," says a popular writer, "villany transformed at the death-hour into its natural character and original of cowardice, is among the most appalling." The witch-finder trembled in every limb, and seemed frozen to stone by this command. "Ha! thou unfanged reptile, so we have thee by the throat?" cried Roland, withdrawing his keen, sharp weapon for the death-thrust; "off with it, to the dregs--yea, to the very dregs?" The tongue of Birrel clove to his palate, for the fear of death and love of life were strong in his breast; he had dropped ten grains into the goblet--and he remembered the words of his master, that _each grain_ was the life of a man. He gasped for breath, but could only utter inarticulate murmurs. He turned towards the doorway, and there stood Lintstock with his eye full of ferocity and his axe uplifted. "Harkee, hound! dost thou hear me?" said Vipont, spurning him with his foot. "Oh, Sir Roland, have mercy, have mercy! The servant is not responsible for what he does by the orders of his master?" "A pleasant rascal this!" said Leslie. "So thou hast a master, eh?" Birrel stammered, and paused; for, villain as he was, he meant not to betray Redhall.