Just then some one uttered an exclamation and pointed to the shadow of the trees where a strange form was moving. Another moment and it came out into the light. One more and all that multitude scattered like frightened sheep, rushing this way and that; yes, even the horses took the bits between their teeth and bolted. For there, visible to all, Satan himself strolled towards them. On his head were horns, behind his back hung down a tail, his body was shaggy like a beast’s, and his face hideous and of many colours, while in his hand he held a pronged fork with a long handle. This way and that rushed the throng, only the Commissioner, who had dismounted, stood still, perhaps because he was too afraid to stir, and with him the women and some of the nuns, including the Prioress, who fell upon their knees and began to utter prayers. On came the dreadful thing till it reached the King’s Visitor, bowing to him and bellowing like a bull, then very deliberately untied some strings and let its horrid garb fall off, revealing the person of Thomas Bolle! “What means this mummery, knave?” gasped Dr. Legh. “Mummery do you call it, sir?” answered Thomas with a grin. “Well, if so, ‘tis on the faith of such mummery that priests burn women in merry England. Come, good people, come,” he roared in his great voice, “come, see Satan in the flesh. Here are his horns,” and he held them up, “once they grew upon the head of Widow Johnson’s billy-goat. Here’s his tail, many a fly has it flicked off the belly of an Abbey cow. Here’s his ugly mug, begotten of parchment and the paint-box. Here’s his dreadful fork that drives the damned to some hotter corner; it has been death to whole stones of eels down in the marsh-fleet yonder. I have some hell-fire too among the bag of tricks; you’ll make the best of brimstone and a little oil dried out upon the hearth. Come, see the devil all complete and naught to pay.” Back trooped the crowd a little fearfully, taking the properties which he held, and handling them, till first one and then all of them began to laugh. “Laugh not,” shouted Bolle. “Is it a matter of laughter that noble ladies and others whose lives are as dear to some,” and he glanced at Emlyn, “should grill like herrings because a poor fool walks about clad in skins to keep out the cold and frighten villains? Hark you, I played this trick. I am Beelzebub, also the ghost of Sir John Foterell. I entered the Priory chapel by a passage that I know, and saved yonder babe from murder and scared the murderess down to hell; yes, from the sham devil to the true. Why did I do it? Well, to protect the innocent and scourge the wicked in his pride. But the wicked seized the innocent and the innocent said nothing, fearing lest I should suffer with them, and----O God, you know the rest!