"
He drew out the last notes into one of those querulous cadences, much in
vogue as an _ad libitum_ on all fitting occasions: even the sad features
of the pilgrim were provoked into a smile.
"Art bound for the hall?" again inquired the inquisitive hunchback.
"Yes, friend--whither else? Is it not almous-day, and thinkest thou the
houseless and wandering pilgrim will not share of the largess?"
"Beggars and friars thrive--treason and corruption wed, and these be
their children belike. Hast brought the Lady Mabel her old husband's
bones from heathenrie?--her new one is like to leave her nought else,
poor soul, for her comfort. She'll make her up a saint out o'them."
"If she has gotten another husband," said the pilgrim, "the old one's
bones would have a rare chance of her worship."
The facetious impertinent here gave a sort of incredulous whistle. He
eyed the palmer with a keen and scrutinising glance, but suddenly
relapsing into his accustomed manner, he burst into a wild and
portentous laugh.
"I tell thee, if Sir Osmund catch thee carrying so much as a thumb-nail
of Sir William's carcase, he 'll wring thy neck as wry as the chapel
weathercock.
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