Chapter 7

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
Cleanse the foul bosom of the perilous stuff
That weighs upon the heart.
MACBETH.

What betwixt cold and fright the afflicted Sacristan stood before his
Superior, propped on the friendly arm of the convent miller, drenched
with water, and scarce able to utter a syllable.

After various attempts to speak, the first words he uttered were,

"Swim we merrily--the moon shines bright."

"Swim we merrily!" retorted the Abbot, indignantly; "a merry night
have ye chosen for swimming, and a becoming salutation to your
Superior!"

"Our brother is bewildered," said Eustace;--"speak, Father Philip, how
is it with you?"

"Good luck to your fishing,"

continued the Sacristan, making a most dolorous attempt at the tune of
his strange companion.

"Good luck to your fishing!" repeated the Abbot, still more surprised
than displeased; "by my halidome he is drunken with wine, and comes to
our presence with his jolly catches in his throat! If bread and water
can cure this folly--"

"With your pardon, venerable father," said the Sub-Prior, "of water
our brother has had enough; and methinks, the confusion of his eye, is
rather that of terror, than of aught unbecoming his profession. Where
did you find him, Hob Miller?"

"An it please your reverence, I did but go to shut the sluice of the
mill--and as I was going to shut the sluice, I heard something groan
near to me; but judging it was one of Giles Fletcher's hogs--for so
please you he never shuts his gate--I caught up my lever, and was
about--Saint Mary forgive me!--to strike where I heard the sound,
when, as the saints would have it, I heard the second groan just like
that of a living man. So I called up my knaves, and found the Father
Sacristan lying wet and senseless under the wall of our kiln. So soon
as we brought him to himself a bit, he prayed to be brought to your
reverence, but I doubt me his wits have gone a bell-wavering by the
road. It was but now that he spoke in somewhat better form."

"Well!" said Brother Eustace, "thou hast done well, Hob Miller; only
begone now, and remember a second time to pause, ere you strike in the
dark."

"Please your reverence, it shall be a lesson to me," said the miller,
"not to mistake a holy man for a hog again, so long as I live." And,
making a bow, with profound humility, the miller withdrew.

"And now that this churl is gone, Father Philip," said Eustace, "wilt
thou tell our venerable Superior what ails thee? art thou _vino
gravatus,_ man? if so