Within ten days or so I hope----But you seem faint.

The warmth of this room after the cold outer air, perhaps.

Drink a cup of our poor wine," and at a motion of his hand one of the chaplains stepped to the sideboard, filled a goblet from the long-necked flask that stood there, and brought it to Sir John.
He took it as one that knows not what he does, then suddenly threw the silver cup and its contents into the fire, whence a chaplain recovered it with the wood-tongs.
"It seems that you priests are my heirs," said Sir John in a new, quiet voice, "or so you say; and, if that is so, my life is likely to be short.

I'll not drink your wine, lest it should be poisoned.

Hearken now, Sir Abbot.