To all that he said, the seneschal grinned a smile of grim disdain, and motioned to the pages to redouble their sport, which they did, till, as said, the poor animal could furnish them with no more. The friar now beheld a joyful sight through the twilight, the rest of his companions coming on foot towards the gate. They had gathered together at the mill, about a mile to the eastward of the castle, and made another attempt to approach it on horseback; but their efforts were vain; not a steed would come one step farther than just in view of it; so they agreed to put their horses up at the mill, leaving them in charge of the miller and his two sons, and to proceed on foot to the castle, to join their mysterious associate the friar, whose magical might some of them began to dread, and others to trust. Gourlay beheld them approaching as well as did the friar, and again waited on the great Master with awe and trembling. "I pray thee, mighty Master, to forgive me," said he, "but too true is it that the wretched pedagogue has said,--for here come a body of the warden's friends, with swords in their hands, and one beautiful human thing in their company." "And what then?" said Michael, in a stern, hollow voice. The seneschal trembled. "I--I--only want to know how they are to be received," said he. "Received?" cried the Master, raising his voice to a pitch that made the old wretch shrink as it were within himself. "Received? As spies should, to be sure. Begone!" Gourlay ran cowering toward the door. "Stop.--Come back here. What forces are in the castle?" "What forces? Hem! Great Master, you only know." "Any things of flesh, I inquire?" "No, not one; if you except the old witch Henbane. Oh! I beg your pardon, great and honoured master! I meant your worthy and respectable housekeeper." Michael gave three gentle tramps with his heel, and in one moment the three pages in black livery, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were at his knee. "Work, Master, work. What work now?" said they all in one breath. "Give your master there a toasting for his insolence," said Michael. The pages giggled for joy; the seneschal kneeled and roared out for mercy, and, as a motive for granting it to him, said the strangers were at the gate. The pages had already laid their fangs on him; but the Master, on the arrival of the strangers being brought to his mind, ordered the imps to desist. This they did on the instant; but, without delay, rushed on Michael himself, as if they would tear him to pieces. He threatened, cursed, and dared them to touch him; but they seemed nothing daunted by all he said, but danced around him with demoniac gestures, crying still out with one voice:-- "Work, Master, work; work we need; Work for the living, or for the dead: Since we are called, work we will have, For the master, or for the slave. Work, Master, work. What work now?"