"'Come with us, you pretty young maid; Come to the convent with us. Neither gold will you want for, Nor eke silver coin.' 'May it please, Sires, your graces, Not I will join you in your ride,' Said young Katelik. 'I fear your swords, That hang by your sides. No, Sires, I shall not, nor can I go with you. Too wicked the tales that one hears about you.' "'Come with us, come to the convent, young maid. Feel not alarmed about us.' 'No, I shall not proceed to the convent. Seven young maids of the fields Once went there, 'tis said; Seven handsome maids, ripe for their nuptials they were. Yet they never came out from the convent again.' "'If seven young maids,' cried up Gonthram of Plouernel, One of the three monks in red, 'If seven young maids went in, You, pretty maid, the eighth will be.' With this she was seized, And pulled up on horseback; With this the three rode to the convent in hot haste, The maid laid across the saddle, And gagged to smother her cries." "Oh, the poor dear girl!" exclaimed Jeanike, clasping her hands. "And what is to become of her in that convent of the red monks?" "You will learn presently, my lassy," answered Gildas with a sigh; and he proceeded with his recitation: "Seven months later, or eight, Or perhaps even more, Great was the dilemma of the monks in their Abbey, 'What, brothers,' they said, 'Shall with this girl now be done?' 'Let us bury her, to-night let us bury her, At the foot of the main altar. None of her folks will there seek to find her.'" "Great God!" cried Jeanike. "They must have killed her, those bandit monks, and were in a hurry to rid themselves of the body." "I tell you once more, my lassy, these people with helmets and swords are always up to some mischief or other," remarked Gildas dogmatically; and he proceeded: "Lo, toward night-fall the vault of heaven is rent. Rain, wind, hail; thunder the most frightful cracks the air. A poor knight, his clothes drenched with rain, Looks about for asylum, Arrives at the church-door of the Abbey. He peeps through the key-hole. He sees a small taper burning; He sees monks digging at the foot of the altar; He sees the young girl lying prostrate, Her little bare feet tied together; He hears her, desolate, moaning, lamenting, Begging for mercy. "'Oh, Sires,' she cried, 'for our dear Lord's sake, Let me live. I shall wander about in the dark by night; By day I shall hide.' The taper went out. But the knight, he budged not away from the door, And he heard the voice of the young girl Imploring from the depth of the grave, And praying: _'Pray give me some oil, and baptismal For the babe I carry with me!_'