“Burning’s too good for them; I would give them a taste of something first. As for that young witch up in Holwick, the Devil will be sorry to see her in Hell before her time. If she had lived to grow up, she would have charmed men’s souls to Satan more surely than any siren ever charmed a mariner.” “If we burn the body shall we not save the soul?” said Father Austin. “That doctrine liketh me not; no, Father, methinks in these cases we do but hasten the final judgment.” “Have a care, friend, lest these be heresies also.” “I a heretic! That is a mirthful jest.” Then looking toward Ian he went on,--“As for this fellow, he seems a sickly creature; I reckon by the looks of him that he has not long to live. But it is good for the souls of the faithful that he should blaze to the glory of God rather than die in his bed. Marry, methinks he is like enough to faint even now.” Nothing but Ian Menstrie’s iron will indeed prevented it. The pains shot through his head like knives and his back and joints ached as though red hot with fire, but it was nothing to the anguish of his heart; yet he felt that his only chance was to keep up somehow. He would have died on the rack some five months ago had it not been for his sheer strength of will. He had done it before, he would do it again; he would defy them yet. Great cold beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, but he held himself erect. “Is it Timothy Fenwick’s hostelry you seek, gentlemen?” There was a touch of defiance, even of scorn, in the lordly ring of his voice. Father Austin knew only too well that, clever as he was himself, he was no match for this man, who had beaten him once; “But he shall not escape me this time,” he said to himself, and having already alighted, he followed into the hostelry. “The day is past its prime,” he remarked, “and we have caught our main game. We have come far and there is no haste. We will bide here and rest till Wednesday; the little bird at Holwick will not flutter far, I warrant ye.” It amused Father Austin to have Ian with them at meals to taunt him and to gloat over his own triumph. Ian realised that he would have little chance unless he were well nourished, so he fell in with their scheme and humoured them. At first he would talk brightly to the others and then, as he was an excellent raconteur and had a pretty wit, he made himself such good company that they could ill spare him. He played with Father Austin, assuming an attitude of deference and fear with an anxious desire to please; but if he wanted to retire to rest, he would lead him into an argument and when the father was worsted he would order the guards to take Ian to his room. Again, by extraordinary will power, he would achieve the almost impossible feat of forcing himself to sleep. It was Aline’s only chance, he argued; and in that way he almost miraculously overcame the raging torments of his mind.