All at once he started up, and striking a cymbal with a little silver hammer, he waited till the summons was answered by his servant Miles, who came in sleepily rubbing his eyes, that he might be sufficiently awake to answer his master.
The friar sat earnestly regarding Miles, till he had rubbed and stretched himself awake.
“Are you ready to do me a great service, Miles?” he asked at length, when the serving-man’s attention had been riveted by his own fixed gaze.
“Anything which thou canst ask, good master,” returned Miles. “Except it be to go on errands to the Evil One. That I would rather excuse myself from.”
“Such service as I require has no such conditions. Listen, Miles. Thou seest the head yonder?”
Miles looked cautiously over his shoulder at the awful presence, and nodded assent.
“Thou knowest that for nine and thirty nights Friar Bungay and I have watched, by day and night, waiting to hear that which soon or late its lips are sure to utter. If it should speak, and its speech be unheeded, woe betide the makers, and woe betide our hopes of encircling our fair country with a wall which will make her forever invincible. To-night I have waited for Friar
