to make a pilgrimage to Fierbois, and to the shrine of Madame St. Catherine, if she would but aid him.  And, indeed, he was ever a worshipper of St. Catherine, she being the patroness of his own parish kirk, near Bothwell.  None the less, he was overcome and bound, whereon he that had thrown the noose, and was son of the spy whom Michael had hanged, vowed that he would, with his own hands, hang Michael.  No ransom would this manant take, nor would he suffer Michael, as a gentleman of blood and birth, to die by the sword.  So hanged Michael was; doubt not but it was done in the best manner, and there he was left hanging.

Now, that night of Maundy Thursday the cure of Clisson was in his chamber and was about to go to bed.  But as he made ready for bed he heard, from a corner of the chamber, a clear voice saying, “Go forth and cut down the Scots man-at-arms who was hanged, for he yet lives.”

The cure, thinking that he must be half asleep and dreaming, paid no manner of regard to these commands.  Thereon the voice, twice and thrice, spoke aloud, none save the cure being present, and said, “Go forth and cut down the Scots man-at-arms who was hanged, for he yet lives.”

It often so chances that men in religion are more hard of heart to believe than laymen and the simple.  The cure, therefore, having made all due search, and found none living who could have uttered that voice, went not forth himself, but at noon of Good Friday, his service being done, he sent his sexton, as one used not to fear the sight and company of dead men.  The sexton set out, whistling for joy of the slaying of the Scot, but when he came back he was running as fast as he might, and scarce could speak for very fear.  At the last they won from him that he had gone to the tree where the dead Scot was hanging, and first had heard a faint rustle of the boughs.  Not affrighted, the sexton drew out a knife and slit one of Michael’s bare toes, for they had stripped him before they hanged him.  At the touch of the knife the blood came, and the foot gave a kick, whereon the sexton hastened back with these tidings to the cure.  The holy man, therefore, sending for such clergy as he could muster, went at their head, in all his robes canonical, to the wild wood, where they cut Michael down and rubbed his body and poured wine into his throat, so that, at the end of half an hour, he sat up and said, “Pay Waiter Hay the two testers that I owe him.”

Thereon most ran and hid themselves, as if from a spirit of the dead, but the manant, he whose father Michael had hanged, made at him with a sword, and dealt him a great blow, cutting off his ear.  But others who had not fled, and chiefly the cure, held the manant till his hands were bound, that he might not slay one so favoured of Madame St. Catherine.  Not that they knew of Michael’s vow, but it was plain to the cure that the man was under the protection of Heaven.  Michael then, being kindly nursed