‘Then,’ continued the Doctor, ‘seeing, as Solomon saith, there is no satisfaction under the sun, I grew a little aweary even of this Paradise, so I bade the Devil purvey me more pleasure elsewhere. So he took me up on his back and carried me to Prester John’s land, where he made me to alight in the Empress’s bosom in the form of a rose-petal. I have three daughters who wear their golden crowns yet in that court.’ ‘Meseemeth you have many children,’ said the Bailiff. ‘A few, a few.’ ‘Belike you had something to do with Mistress Catesby’s wench?’ asked the Parson. ‘Ay, ay.’ ‘And with Kate Carrywell?’ said the Bailiff. ‘Ay, ay.’ ‘And with Gilly Hedgerow?’ said the Parson. ‘Ay, ay.’ ‘And with Tib Rushring?’ asked the Bailiff. ‘Ay, ay.’ ‘And with Sim’s wife of the Wry Mouth?’ asked the Parson. ‘Ay, ay.’ ‘As for my wife,’ said the Bailiff in a rage, ‘I defy you or any man to speak ill of her.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ said the Doctor, ‘thy wife is as virtuous as any woman in Christendom, I’ll be bound.’ ‘’Tis well thou sayest so,’ said the Bailiff. ‘Come, Master Bailiff,’ said the Doctor, ‘bear no malice against a man for a little worldly pleasure, which departeth more swiftly than snow at Easter or the shaft from the bow. We are all sinners, all of us. My bolt is shot, my shaft is sped, and this time to-morrow night must I deliver up my soul to the Fiend and his everlasting torments.’ ‘What?’ cried the Parson. ‘Is thy term up? Must the Devil have his own so soon?’ ‘He must, by the Blessed Virgin,’ groaned the Doctor, smiting his forehead and wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. ‘To-morrow at midnight, I am the foul Fiend’s, unless, thou good man of religion, thou canst save me.’ ‘Thou shouldst not have been so ready with other folk’s wenches,’ said the Bailiff resentfully. The Doctor fell on his knees before Sir John and raised his hands in supplication. ‘Holy Father,’ he cried, ‘save me, save me, save me! Reverend priest, blessed clerk, devise some sacred sleight to save a miserable, wretched, damned soul.’ Round tears fell from Sir John’s eyes and tumbled over his cassock. ‘My poor son,’ he quavered in a voice broken by sobs, ‘thou shalt have a good two quart or more of holy water.’ ‘An ocean of holy water would not save me,’ groaned the Doctor. ‘The Fiend would dry it all up with one blast from his foul, hot mouth.’ ‘My son, my son; what shall I say? I will give thee the Blessed Host to hold between thy teeth all night.’ ‘Holy Father, this is a full terrible and mighty Fiend. He would bear me away in spite of the Host and but beat me the more fiercely therefore in Hell-flames.’ ‘I have heard,’ said the Parson, ‘that the Devil may not come into a holy and sanctified place.’ The Doctor leapt to his feet, clasped the Parson around the neck and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Oh wise and sagacious Father,’ he cried. ‘Thou hast saved me, thou hast saved me.’ ‘That I have,’ said the Parson, ‘but, but----’