"
Hereward made an impatient movement. He disliked any word which seemed
likely to soften his own hardness of heart. But he kissed his uncle
lovingly on both cheeks.
"By the by, Martin,--any message from my lady mother?"
"None!"
"Quite right and pious. I am an enemy to Holy Church and therefore to her.
Good night, uncle."
"Hey?" asked Brand; "where is that footman,--Martin you call him? I must
have another word with him."
But Martin was gone.
"No matter. I shall question him sharply enough to-morrow, I warrant."
And Hereward went out to his lodging; while the good Prior went to his
prayers.
When Hereward entered his room, Martin started out of the darkness, and
followed him in. Then he shut to the door carefully, and pulled out a bag.
"There was no message from my lady: but there was this."
The bag was full of money.
"Why did you not tell me of this before?"
"Never show money before a monk."
"Villain! would you mistrust my uncle?"
"Any man with a shaven crown. St. Peter is his God and Lord and
conscience; and if he saw but the shine of a penny, for St. Peter he would
want it."
"And he shall have it," quoth Hereward; and flung out of the room, and
into his uncle's.
"Uncle, I have money. I am come to pay back what I took from the Steward,
and as much more into the bargain.
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