XXVI.

“Ah! noble sir,” young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid, “This man knows much—perchance e’en more Than he could learn by holy lore. Still to himself he’s muttering, And shrinks as at some unseen thing. Last night we listened at his cell; Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, He murmured on till morn, howe’er No living mortal could be near. Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, As other voices spoke again. I cannot tell—I like it not— Friar John hath told us it is wrote, No conscience clear, and void of wrong, Can rest awake, and pray so long. Himself still sleeps before his beads Have marked ten aves, and two creeds.”