Again, the blast brayed forth a louder and more impatient summons,
startling the echoes from their midnight slumber, while the deep woods
answered from a thousand unseen recesses.
"Hang thee for a saucy loon, whoever thou be! I'll warrant thee as much
impudence in thy face as wind i' thy muzzle," said the disturbed
seneschal. "Tarry a while, Hugo; ope not the gate without a parley,
despite the knave's untimely summons."
Oliver, hobbling onward, reached the wicket, just then occupied by
Hugo's broad and curious face prying out cautiously into the misty and
unintelligible void, without being a whit the wiser for his scrutiny.
"What a plague do ye keep honest men a-waiting for at the gate," said a
gruff voice from the pitchy darkness without, "in a night that would
make a soul wish for a dip into purgatory, just by way of a warming?"
"Hush," said Oliver, who was a true son of the Church, and moreover,
being fresh from the services appointed for the recovery of poor souls
from this untoward place, felt the remark of the stranger as peculiarly
impious and full of blasphemy--"Hush! thou bold-faced scorner, and learn
to furbish thy wit from some other armoury; we like not such unholy
jests--firebrands thrown in sport! Thy business, friend?"
"Open the gate, good master priest-poke," said the other, in a tone of
authority.
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