Master Mark insinuated himself through the doorway and, shutting the door behind him with exceeding great quietness, shuffled into the room. ‘Sit down, my Master,’ quoth Will courteously, ‘though why thou thus honourest my poor dwelling, I cannot tell, since I have no need or mind to go a-borrowing again.’ Master Mark subsided heavily upon a chair, blew a great sigh of relief from his gross carcass, and blinked ponderingly at the fire with his beady black eyes. Then he turned to William and, with his harsh voice for the nonce tuned to entreaty, said, ‘Good Master William Mason, I know thou hast a mild and compassionate heart, albeit thou art fond of quips and laughter.’ ‘Yea, I am a mild man,’ quoth William, ‘as mild as curds and whey.’ ‘Yea, yea, and so say all men, so therefore when my friends and I took counsel together.’ ‘_Thy_ friends. Prithee, and who are they?’ ‘Why, Master Luke and Master Philip and Master----’ ‘Ay, now I take thee, the Apostles?’ ‘Ay, so men blasphemously miscall us, who are indeed good Christian men. When we had taken thought together, it seemed best to us all, seeing that thou wert a man with bowels of compassion, that one of us should come and tell thee that we cast ourselves utterly on thy misericord and mercy.’ ‘“Mercy?” “Misericord?” Master Mark, thou jestest. Are ye not rich? Have ye not gold? Have ye not houses? Have ye not lands? Who are ye, to cast yourselves on the mercy of a poor fellow that lives by the sweat of his brow?’ ‘Ah, sir, jest not with miserable and broken men, that are as worms under thy heel. Hast thou not wrought satirical sculptures of us over the Church porch, and filled the dead stones with a devilish cunning and malice, that they lie, as it were, in wait, to precipitate themselves upon us when we pass underneath, so that we are afeared for our lives to fulfil our pious desires and devoirs to Holy Church, which we duly owe as Christian men?’ Master Mark snuffled in his nose and rubbed his dirty sleeve across his gingery eyebrows. ‘“Christian men”?’ said Will. ‘I had thought ye were Jews.’ ‘Nay, gentle Master Will, no Jews, but as good Christians as any in Roodborough. Yea, and have not thy sculptures brought upon us the hatred and contempt of the whole town, so that we daily go in fear of violence even to murder? Ay, and besides; whereas we dare not for thy spiteful carvings go to Church to Mass or Confession, do not the people say openly that we are heretics and Jews, and threaten to present us to the Archdeacon that we may be delivered to the torment and the fire?’ ‘’Twas the finger of God that hurled the stone on the head of old Master Matthew, and none can stand before His wrath. Thou wert best, Master Mark, to get to thy prayers, for I doubt whether thou wilt live over long.’