"Bid him come in," was the reply, and the sumner or summoner entered, a stout, good-natured looking man, whose air and complexion savored more of the alehouse than of the church. Father Barnaby opened the letter which was presented to him, and as he did so a look of intense vexation and annoyance passed over his face. He crushed the letter in his hand, and then as if recollecting himself, he smoothed it out once more and restored it to the cover. The prior cast an inquiring glance at him. "It is from the bishop himself," said Father Barnaby, in a low tone. "The peevish old man hath taken great umbrage at my proceeding in this matter without consulting him, and requires me to send young Lucas at once to him, that he or his chaplain may examine him in person." "Umph!" returned the prior, evidently not at all sorry to be rid of his own share in the business. "So much the better. We shall be well rid of him. But had you not consulted the bishop, brother?" "Not I! I never thought of him. My powers were held from the cardinal, you know, and the bishop hath lately been so infirm and so careless of anything which went on—" "Nevertheless, I think it was taking a good deal on yourself," said the prior, evidently not ill-pleased at Father Barnaby's discomfiture. "The bishop is the bishop, so long as he is alive, and we must not ignore him. What are your orders concerning the prisoner, Master Sumner?" "My orders are to carry him back with me that his lordship may examine him," returned the sumner somewhat bluntly. "I would lose no time, so please you, for the days are short. We will but wait to refresh ourselves and our beasts and then ride forth without delay. I have a spare horse for the young man." "It is well," said Father Barnaby. "The bishop's order shall be obeyed. How he will answer the matter to the cardinal, is his concern, not mine." "Exactly so," returned the sumner, who seemed to have scant reverence for the monk. "In an hour, then, we set forth." It was something more than an hour, however, before the sumner was ready to set forth, and then it was observed by some persons that his rubicund face was redder than ever, and that his speech was something thick. It was also said that the sumner was met at the tavern where he had stopped by a strange gentleman, who had professed an acquaintance with his brother in London, and who was very free in treating him and his attendants, to both ale and strong waters. There was quite a crowd around the convent gates as they issued forth, and Jack found himself jostled almost off his feet. In the press, he suddenly felt a hand laid heavily on his shoulder. Somebody pushed a well-filled purse into his hand, and whispered in his ear— "Treat the men well, have your wits about you, and when you hear the owls hoot, keep a good lookout."