s appearance and intervention.

"I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son," said the prelate. "If your
message deal with a public matter it may be fitly repeated in the
chapter-house; if not I will give you audience in my own chamber; for
it is clear to me that you are a gentle man of blood and coat-armor who
would not lightly break in upon the business of our court--a business
which, as you have remarked, is little welcome to men of peace like
myself and the brethren of the rule of Saint Bernard."

"Pardieu! Father Abbot," said the stranger. "One had but to glance at
you and your men to see that the business was indeed little to your
taste, and it may be even less so when I say that rather than see this
young person in the window, who hath a noble bearing, further molested
by these archers, I will myself adventure my person on his behalf."

The Abbot's smile turned to a frown at these frank words. "It would
become you better, sir, to deliver the message of which you say that you
are the bearer, than to uphold a prisoner against the rightful judgment
of a court."

The stranger swept the court with his questioning eye. "The message is
not for you, good father Abbot. It is for one whom I know not. I have
been to his house, and they have sent me hither. The name is Nigel
Loring."

"It is for me, fair sir."

"I had thought as much. I knew your father, Eustace Loring, and though
he would have made two of you, yet he has left his stamp plain enough
upon your face."

"You know not the truth of this matter," said the Abbot. "If you are
a loyal man, you will stand aside, for this young man hath grievously
offended against the law, and it is for the King's lieges to give us
their support."

"And you have haled him up for judgment," cried the stranger with much
amusement. "It is as though a rookery sat in judgment upon a falcon. I
warrant that you have found it easier to judge than to punish. Let me
tell you, father Abbot, that this standeth not aright. When powers such
as these were given to the like of you, they were given that you might
check a brawling underling or correct a drunken woodman, and not that
you might drag the best blood in England to your bar and set your
archers on him if he questioned your findings."

The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof uttered in so
stern a voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening monks.
"You may perchance find that an Abbey court has more powers than