Bromeholm!" he cried, "I had as soon put my hand
down a fox's earth to drag up a vixen from her cubs."

"Standoff!" said Nigel curtly. "I would not hurt you; but by Saint Paul!
I will not be handled, or some one will be hurt in the handling."

So fierce was his eye and so menacing his blade as he crouched in the
narrow bay of the window that the little knot of archers were at a loss
what to do. The Abbot had forced his way through the crowd and stood,
purple with outraged dignity, at their side.

"He is outside the law," said he. "He hath shed blood in a court of
justice, and for such a sin there is no forgiveness. I will not have my
court so flouted and set at naught. He who draws the sword, by the sword
also let him perish. Forester Hugh lay a shaft to your bow!"

The man, who was one of the Abbey's lay servants, put his weight upon
his long bow and slipped the loose end of the string into the upper
notch. Then, drawing one of the terrible three-foot arrows, steel-tipped
and gaudily winged, from his waist, he laid it to the string.

"Now draw your bow and hold it ready!" cried the furious Abbot. "Squire
Nigel, it is not for Holy Church to shed blood, but there is naught but
violence which will prevail against the violent, and on your head be the
sin. Cast down the sword which you hold in your hand!"

"Will you give me freedom to leave your Abbey?"

"When you have abided your sentence and purged your sin."

"Then I had rather die where I stand than give up my sword."

A dangerous flame lit in the Abbot's eyes. He came of a fighting Norman
stock, like so many of those fierce prelates who, bearing a mace lest
they should be guilty of effusion of blood, led their troops into
battle, ever remembering that it was one of their own cloth and dignity
who, crosier in hand, had turned the long-drawn bloody day of Hastings.
The soft accent of the churchman was gone and it was the hard voice of a
soldier which said--

"One minute I give you, and no more. Then when I cry 'Loose!' drive me
an arrow through his body."

The shaft was fitted, the bow was bent, and the stern eyes of the
woodman were fixed on his mark. Slowly the minute passed, while Nigel
breathed a prayer to his three soldier saints, not that they should save
his body in this life, but that they should have a kindly care for his
soul in the next. Some thought of a fierce wildcat sally crossed his
mind, but once out of his corner he was lost indeed. Yet at t