"And there'll be delicate necks to prick to-night! Lord, I think I hear them squeal! You don't need it, sir ?" he continued, again proffering the whetstone.

"No?
Then I'll give my blade another whet, in the name of our Lady, the Saints, and good Father Pezelay!" "Ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon.

"May I die if I do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of my hands!" "And toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone.

"And toe of my feet! A full score!" "'Tis according to your sins!" the other, who had something of the air of a Churchman, answered.

"The more heretics killed, the more sins forgiven.