It was very dark in the priest’s little room. Right patiently had the
Bailiff done his best to keep the fire in a blaze, blowing till his
cheeks had well-nigh burst and his beard had singed itself on the
hot coals, but, despite his efforts, it had sunk down into a mass of
glowing, weakly flickering embers. The oil-lamp gave out an uncertain
light, no moon or solitary star shone through the narrow window. The
silence was complete, save for the occasional stirring of a mouse, the
crackling of the embers, and the soughing of the wind round the house.
In one corner, with the faint light of the lamp cast carefully upon
it, lay the man of straw, habited in the scarlet cloak and hood of the
Doctor.
Sir John and the Bailiff were on their knees with their backs to the
wall and their hands upraised to Heaven. The Bailiff ever and anon, as
often as he heard a little noise, glanced fearfully round about. Sir
John prayed on in a low and tremulous tone.
‘Prithee, cease not,’ whispered the Bailiff anxiously, as the Parson
cleared his throat, ‘cease not.’
‘For the love of Heaven, sprinkle the holy water,’ returned the priest.
‘More, more, all round, all round.’
‘Curse them again, good Father, curse them again,’ muttered the
Bailiff, sprinkling holy water with a subdued vigour from a large
bucket, which stood by his side.
‘By the authority of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,’
recommenced the priest, ‘and of Our Lady, Saint Mary, God’s Mother
of Heaven, and all other Virgins, and of Saint Michael and all other
Angels, and of Saint Peter and all other Apostles, of Saint Nicholas
and all other Confessors, and of all other Saints of Heaven----Blessed
Mary, didst thou not hear that?’
‘Yea, ah, nay; ’twas but the wind. Curse them again; to it heartily,
Sir John,’ replied the Bailiff, ‘Mother of God, how thick and fast do I
remember my old sins, this night.’
The priest continued his exorcism.
‘We accurse and ban and depart from this holy place, and damn into
the everlasting pains of hell all devils, fiends, warlocks, witches,
fairies, and goblins, whatsoever and of what degree, whether of the
air above or of the earth beneath or of the waters under the earth. We
accurse--Oh Mary, ’tis he----’
‘Help, help! O Mary, aid us,’ cried the Bailiff.
The wind dropped suddenly and there was silence again. Sir John
supported his trembling body on the quaking body of the Bailiff, and
quavered forth once more:
‘We accurse thee within and without, going or staying, in wood, in
water, or in field. Accurse them, Father and Son and Holy Ghost;
accurse them Angels and Archangels and all the Nine Orders of Heaven;
accurse them, Patriarchs, Prophets and Apostles and all God’s disciples
and all Holy Innocents, Martyrs, Confessors and Virgins, Monks, Canons,
Hermits, Priests and Clerks.’
By this time Priest and Bailiff clung together in mortal terror. Their
teeth chattered, their knees turned to water under them, their bones
were loosened, a clammy sweat bathed them both, their hair stood on end.
‘Curse, Sir John, curse, for God’s sake, or we are lost,’ gasped the
Bailiff.
‘_Fiat, fiat, Domine_,’ groaned the Parson.
The next moment the door was flung suddenly open, a thunderbolt from
the darkness hurtled across the room and upset the oil-lamp, a nauseous
smell of burning filled the air, smoke and flames leapt up to the
ceiling from the straw figure in the corner. Ten thousand devils seemed
to belabour the Priest and the Bailiff, countless stout blows were
showered on their bodies, countless buffets were bestowed on pate and
back and midriff until they roared and shrieked again. Then suddenly
the blows ceased and they were left in darkness and silence once more.
‘Ugh,’ groaned the Bailiff as he came to himself, ‘I am a mass of
bruises. Never will I speak evil of the Devil again; he hath broken my
back, I think.’
‘Oh Mary,’ moaned the Priest, ‘I ache all over; ’twas a heavy-handed
Devil, or a legion of them at least.’
‘I wish, by Our Lady,’ quoth the Bailiff savagely, ‘the Devil would
exercise a little discretion and know his own from others. _We_ haven’t
sold our souls to him, _we_ haven’t spent his gold and had his pretty
wenches. Methinks thou chosest a mighty inapt prayer, Sir John, that we
caught such a shrewd beating.’
‘It might have been worse but for our prayers,’ replied the Parson.
‘It could not have been much worse,’ said the Bailiff. ‘This meaneth a
leech and bed for a week for me; Devil-watching is no fit pastime for a
man of my years. Who next selleth himself to the Devil will get no help
of me, I promise thee.’
‘Canst creep to the fire and light the lamp?’ moaned Sir John. ‘The
cursed Devils have beaten me so I cannot move a limb.’
The Bailiff crawled to the fire and re-lit the smouldering lamp and
piled light wood on the fire.
Satan had not been deceived, and had not carried off the man of straw.
Nevertheless he had grievously and spitefully used him by fire.
‘Lo, the power of the Fiend,’ said Sir John, displaying the effigy’s
entrails all blackened and charred. ‘Yet doubt not the Doctor hath
safely defied him in the inviolable sanctity of the blessed Saint
Osbert.’
The Bailiff grunted and tenderly handled his posterior. ‘Then would God
I had been in his place and he in mine,’ he said.
‘If thou wilt reach to yonder shelf,’ said the Parson, ‘thou wilt find
a pot of ointment. Let us anoint each other’s bruises and rest, as we
may till morning, when we will go greet the Doctor, whose soul we have
this night most indubitably saved.’