"Humph!" said he, "I do not comprehend this," and leading the friar back, still holding him fast by the arm, he suffered him to lift the panniers himself, which he did with good will, and then allowed himself to be led away by the uncourteous seneschal, who said to the pages as he departed, "See to the vile animal!" Without more ado he led the friar in, and pushing him rudely into a small vaulted apartment, he locked first a ponderous iron door, and then a massy wooden one, full of nails, upon him; and, without regarding his complaints or anathemas, or deigning a word in reply to his queries, he left him to his own bitter reflections. The apartment at first appeared to be dark, but on looking about he found that there were two grated loop-holes in it, and by the light from these he soon perceived that there was nothing in the place save the skeleton of a man of uncommon stature and dimensions. The bones were lying flat on the floor, every one in its place exactly as the man had died, and the flesh wasted away from them. No disarrangement had taken place, nor was the smallest joint wanting. This was a petrifying sight to the poor friar, who, crossing himself, and turning from the horrible spectacle, set his nose through the grating and looked out on the fields. The first thing he beheld confounded him more than all he had ever seen in his life. The three devilish pages were tampering with his mule to bring him within the outer gate; but he, in his usual manner, proved as refractory as ever, and laid about him with all his might. On this, the boys in one moment whipped him up in their arms, and ere the friar could draw his breath, far less utter a Pater-Noster, they set him down in the middle of the court, straight before the friar's grating, and tied him to the shaft of a well with a strong rope. The friar said a Benedicite; and, ere he had done, the devilish and provoking imps began to torment the poor mule beyond all sufferance, whipping him round and round the post, and making him fling and jump till the blood and sweat were pouring together from his branded sides, and he was no more able to resent the injuries committed on him. The friar fumed, and threatened, and cursed them in the name of the blessed saints; but they only laughed him to scorn: And when the mule could no longer resent the lash, they brought red-hot spindles and pushed them between his hind-legs, which made him fling and rear till he fell down at the post, and lay groaning, unable any more to move. The thing that provoked the friar worst of all was the sight of the tall seneschal standing looking on, and seeming, by his motions, to be directing the game. Never was such a flood of eastern eloquence heard at Aikwood, as was poured from the small crevice in the bottom of the eastern turret that evening. No one, however, regarded it, or, if they did, it was only to mock or mimic the sublime deprecator.