Now go, go, I tell you I must write.

Come back in an hour, and I will give you money for your faring, also my secret messages." Brother Martin bowed and went.
"A dangerous man," muttered the Abbot, as the door closed on him; "too honest for our game, and too much an Englishman.

That native spirit peeps beneath his cowl; a monk should have no country and no kin.

Well, he will learn a trick or two in Spain, and I'll make sure they keep him there a while.

Now for my letters," and he sat down at the rude table and began to write.
Half-an-hour later the door opened and Martin entered.
"What is it now ?" asked the Abbot testily.