"I will await him here," said the newcomer, dismounting and leading his steed to a small plot of pasture, where the grass was tall and untrodden. Then, spent as he was, he requested food and drink, and as he joined the band of outlaws, listening to their jokes and banter, he thought he could discern among them many a one whom Fate had, like himself, buffeted into a life, not of his forming, not of his choice. CHAPTER V THE ABBEY OF FARFA The great vaults of the Abbey of Farfa resounded with glee and merriment. Before a low, massive stone table, resembling a druidical altar, surrounded by giant casks filled with the choicest wines of Italy, Greece and Spain, there sat the Duke of Spoleto and the Abbot Hilarius, discoursing largely upon the vanities of the world, and touching incidentally upon questions pertaining to the welfare of Church and State. A single cresset shed an unsteady light over the twain, while a lean, cadaverous friar glided noiselessly in and out the transepts, obsequiously replenishing the beverage as it disappeared with astounding swiftness in the feasters' capacious stomachs. And each time he replenished the vessels, he refilled his own with grim impartiality, watching the Abbot and his guest from a low settle in a dark recess. The vault was of singular construction and considerable extent. The roof was of solid stone masonry and rose in a wide semicircular arch to the height of about twelve feet, measured from the centre of the ceiling to the ground floor. The transepts were divided by obtusely pointed arches, resting on slender granite pillars, and the intervening space was filled up with drinking vessels of every conceivable shape and size. The Abbot of Farfa was a discriminating drinker, boasting of an ancestral thirst of uncommonly high degree, the legacy of a Teutonic ancestor who had served the Church with much credit in his time. They had been carousing since sunset. The spectral custodian had refilled the tankards with amber liquid. Thereof the Abbot sipped understandingly. "Lacrymae Christi," he turned to the duke. "Vestrae salubritati bibo!" The duke raised his goblet. "Waes Hael!" and he drained its contents with a huge gulp. "I would chant twenty psalms for that beverage," he mused after a while. The Abbot suggested "Attendite Populi!"--"It is one of the longest," he said, with meaning. "Don't trifle with a thirsty belly," growled the duke. "In these troublous times it behooves men to be circumspect!" "Probatum est," said the Abbot. "It is a noble vocation! Jubilate Deo!" And he raised his goblet. The Duke of Spoleto laid a heavy hand upon his arm. "It is a Vigil of the Church!" The Abbot gave himself absolution on account of the great company. "There's no fast on the drink!" he said with meaning. "Nor is there better wine between here and Salamanca!" The duke regarded his host out of half-shut watery eyes. "My own choice is Chianti!" "A difference of five years in purgatory!"