‘I wish thou hadst taken thy Devil to another town,’ quoth the Bailiff to the Doctor, ‘or thou hadst considered all this before gadding about to wenches on Turkey carpets. Well, well, I would, by Our Lady, I were a man of better life.’ III It was very dark in the priest’s little room. Right patiently had the Bailiff done his best to keep the fire in a blaze, blowing till his cheeks had well-nigh burst and his beard had singed itself on the hot coals, but, despite his efforts, it had sunk down into a mass of glowing, weakly flickering embers. The oil-lamp gave out an uncertain light, no moon or solitary star shone through the narrow window. The silence was complete, save for the occasional stirring of a mouse, the crackling of the embers, and the soughing of the wind round the house. In one corner, with the faint light of the lamp cast carefully upon it, lay the man of straw, habited in the scarlet cloak and hood of the Doctor. Sir John and the Bailiff were on their knees with their backs to the wall and their hands upraised to Heaven. The Bailiff ever and anon, as often as he heard a little noise, glanced fearfully round about. Sir John prayed on in a low and tremulous tone. ‘Prithee, cease not,’ whispered the Bailiff anxiously, as the Parson cleared his throat, ‘cease not.’ ‘For the love of Heaven, sprinkle the holy water,’ returned the priest. ‘More, more, all round, all round.’ ‘Curse them again, good Father, curse them again,’ muttered the Bailiff, sprinkling holy water with a subdued vigour from a large bucket, which stood by his side. ‘By the authority of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,’ recommenced the priest, ‘and of Our Lady, Saint Mary, God’s Mother of Heaven, and all other Virgins, and of Saint Michael and all other Angels, and of Saint Peter and all other Apostles, of Saint Nicholas and all other Confessors, and of all other Saints of Heaven----Blessed Mary, didst thou not hear that?’ ‘Yea, ah, nay; ’twas but the wind. Curse them again; to it heartily, Sir John,’ replied the Bailiff, ‘Mother of God, how thick and fast do I remember my old sins, this night.’ The priest continued his exorcism. ‘We accurse and ban and depart from this holy place, and damn into the everlasting pains of hell all devils, fiends, warlocks, witches, fairies, and goblins, whatsoever and of what degree, whether of the air above or of the earth beneath or of the waters under the earth. We accurse--Oh Mary, ’tis he----’ ‘Help, help! O Mary, aid us,’ cried the Bailiff. The wind dropped suddenly and there was silence again. Sir John supported his trembling body on the quaking body of the Bailiff, and quavered forth once more: