rust aside,
and through the gap there emerged a strange and whimsical figure, who
from the instant of his appearance dominated both chapter-house and
Abbey, monks, prelates and archers, as if he were their owner and their
master.

He was a man somewhat above middle age, with thin lemon-colored hair, a
curling mustache, a tufted chin of the same hue, and a high craggy face,
all running to a great hook of the nose, like the beak of an eagle. His
skin was tanned a brown-red by much exposure to the wind and sun. In
height he was tall, and his figure was thin and loose-jointed, but
stringy and hard-bitten. One eye was entirely covered by its lid, which
lay flat over an empty socket, but the other danced and sparkled with a
most roguish light, darting here and there with a twinkle of humor and
criticism and intelligence, the whole fire of his soul bursting through
that one narrow cranny.

His dress was as noteworthy as his person. A rich purple doublet and
cloak was marked on the lapels with a strange scarlet device shaped like
a wedge. Costly lace hung round his shoulders, and amid its soft folds
there smoldered the dull red of a heavy golden chain. A knight's belt
at his waist and a knight's golden spurs twinkling from his doeskin
riding-boots proclaimed his rank, and on the wrist of his left gauntlet
there sat a demure little hooded falcon of a breed which in itself was a
mark of the dignity of the owner. Of weapons he had none, but a mandolin
was slung by a black silken band over his back, and the high brown
end projected above his shoulder. Such was the man, quaint, critical,
masterful, with a touch of what is formidable behind it, who now
surveyed the opposing groups of armed men and angry monks with an eye
which commanded their attention.

"Excusez!" said he, in a lisping French. "Excusez, mes amis! I had
thought to arouse from prayer or meditation, but never have I seen
such a holy exercise as this under an abbey's roof, with swords for
breviaries and archers for acolytes. I fear that I have come amiss, and
yet I ride on an errand from one who permits no delay."

The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, had begun to realize that
events had gone a great deal farther than they had intended, and that
without an extreme scandal it was no easy matter for them to save
their dignity and the good name of Waverley. Therefore, in spite of
the debonair, not to say disrespectful, bearing of the newcomer, they
rejoiced at hi