his eye glanced round him with
a gleam which said more plainly than words that there could be no tame
acceptance of such a doom. Twice he tried to speak, and twice his anger
and his shame held the words in his throat.

"I am no subject of yours, proud Abbot!" he cried at last. "My house has
ever been vavasor to the King. I deny the power of you and your court to
lay sentence upon me. Punish these your own monks, who whimper at your
frown, but do not dare to lay your hand upon him who fears you not, for
he is a free man, and the peer of any save only the King himself."

The Abbot seemed for an instant taken aback by these bold words, and by
the high and strenuous voice in which they were uttered. But the sterner
sacrist came as ever to stiffen his will. He held up the old parchment
in his hand.

"The Lorings were indeed vavasors to the King," said he; "but here is
the very seal of Eustace Loring which shows that he made himself vassal
to the Abbey and held his land from it."

"Because he was gentle," cried Nigel, "because he had no thought of
trick or guile."

"Nay!" said the summoner. "If my voice may be heard, father Abbot, upon
a point of the law, it is of no weight what the causes may have been why
a deed is subscribed, signed or confirmed, but a court is concerned only
with the terms, articles, covenants and contracts of the said deed."

"Besides," said the sacrist, "sentence is passed by the Abbey court, and
there is an end of its honor and good name if it be not upheld."

"Brother sacrist," said the Abbot angrily, "methinks you show overmuch
zeal in this case, and certes, we are well able to uphold the dignity
and honor of the Abbey court without any rede of thine. As to you,
worthy summoner, you will give your opinion when we crave for it, and
not before, or you may yourself get some touch of the power of our
tribunal. But your case hath been tried, Squire Loring, and judgment
given. I have no more to say."

He motioned with his hand, and an archer laid his grip upon the shoulder
of the prisoner. But that rough plebeian touch woke every passion of
revolt in Nigel's spirit. Of all his high line of ancestors, was there
one who had been subjected to such ignominy as this? Would they not have
preferred death? And should he be the first to lower their spirit or
their traditions? With a quick, lithe movement, he slipped under the arm
of the archer, and plucked the short, straight sword from the soldier's
side