Montjoy sat brooding. His guests watched him. Presently he spoke. “Two days ago, returning from hawking in Long Fields, I met a man who had sat and woven baskets from his youth because he could not walk, being smitten in both feet. He was walking, he was skipping and running. ‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ he kept crying out, and those with him cried, ‘Saint Leofric! Saint Leofric!’ I halted one of them. ‘The right hand and arm--the right hand and arm that were found, lord! He touched but the little finger--and look how he leaps and runs!’” The Abbot groaned. “I rode on farther and I met a stream of folk on their way to the bridge. They had made themselves into a procession and were chanting. I remember easily and I can almost give you their chant. It ran something like this.” He began to chant, but not loudly. “‘They were found through a dream, They were shown to Brother Paul, A saintly monk, Where they rested Under a stone In a place prepared of old In Saint Leofric’s great church! The white bones, The right arm and the right hand, Miraculous! In the monk’s dream They shone through the stone Making a pool of light. Saint Leofric painted in the window Came down and kneeled over it.’” Again the Abbot groaned. “So saith Hugh!” “‘Good Prior Hugh made to dig. There in sweet earth, In spices and linen, The right hand and arm At last! Yea, it shineth forth-- Saint Leofric smileth in his window!’” The Abbot groaned the third time. “Sathanas smileth!” “‘Now are the bones together, They shine with a sunny light, Working miracles!-- From the four corners come The sick and the sorrowful--’” “Aye! Bringing gifts!” “‘Saint Leofric’s name is in all mouths, His glory encreaseth over Silver Cross!’” “I should not have said it--I should not have said it!” cried the Abbot. “But with the inconstant and weak generality it doth! What is it this part England rings with--yea, that the rest of England begins to learn? Do we not hear that a pilgrimage comes from London itself? _The missing bones of Saint Leofric have been found!_” “And have they not?” said Montjoy. There followed a pause. A log cracked and fell upon the hearth. Light and shadow leaped about the room. The Prior spoke. “It is a matter of observation,” he said, and seemed to study his ring, “that there are cases when acts belief as belief, whether it be correctly addressed to a reality or squandered before a falsity.” “I have met that witch,” answered Montjoy, “and she palsies me!” He went to the window and stood looking out at the moon-silvered town and river. Presently back he came. “Against what or whom do you shake a lance? If it be against a saint and his true miracles, I lay the quarrel down--” Abbot Mark spoke weightily. “And so should I, Montjoy, and so should I! But if it be against falsity? If it be against Hugh and his frauds?” “Prove that!”