The lady, finding that her serving-woman did not return, was astonished that she should remain so long with the friar, and said to the other—­

“Go and see why your fellow-servant does not come back.”

The woman went, and as soon as the good father saw her, he drew her aside into a corner and did to her as he had done to her companion.  Then, finding himself alone in the house, he came to the lady, and told her that he had long been in love with her, and that the hour was now come when she must yield him obedience.

The lady, who had never suspected aught of this, replied—­

“I am sure, father, that were I so evilly inclined, you would be the first to cast a stone at me.”

“Come out into the courtyard,” returned the monk, “and you will see what I have done.”

When she beheld the two women and the man lying dead, she was so terrified that she stood like a statue, without uttering a word.  The villain, who did not seek merely an hour’s delight, would not take her by force, but forthwith said to her—­

“Mistress, be not afraid; you are in the hands of him who, of all living men, loves you the most.”

So saying, he took off his long robe, beneath which he wore a shorter one, which he gave to the lady, telling her that if she did not take it, she should be numbered with those whom she saw lying lifeless before her eyes.

More dead than alive already, the lady resolved to feign obedience, both to save her life, and to gain time, as she hoped, for her husband’s return.  At the command of the friar, she set herself to put off her head-dress as slowly as she was able; and when this was done, the friar, heedless of the beauty of her hair, quickly cut it off.  Then he caused her to take off all her clothes except her chemise, and dressed her in the smaller robe he had worn, he himself resuming the other, which he was wont to wear; then he departed thence with all imaginable speed, taking with him the little friar he had coveted so long.

But God, who pities the innocent in affliction, beheld the tears of this unhappy lady, and it so happened that her husband, having arranged matters more speedily than he had expected, was now returning home by the same road by which she herself was departing.  However, when the friar perceived him in the distance, he said to the lady—­

“I see your husband coming this way.  I know that if you look at him he will try to take you out of my hands.  Go, then, before me, and turn not your head in his direction; for, if you make the faintest sign, my dagger will be in your throat before he can deliver you.”

As he was speaking, the gentleman came up, and asked him whence he was coming.

“From your house,” replied the other, “where I left my lady in good health, and waiting for you.”

The gentleman passed on without observing his wife, but a servant who was with him, and who had always been wont to foregather with one of the friar’s comrades named Brother John, began to call to his mistress, thinking, indeed, that she was this Brother John.  The poor woman, who durst not turn her eyes in the direction of her husband, answered not a word.  The servant, however, wishing to see her face, crossed the road, and the lady, still without making any reply, signed to him with her eyes, which were full of tears.