ame the grim sacrist, with demure triumph upon his
downcast features, and at his heels Abbot John himself, slow and
dignified, with pompous walk and solemn, composed face, his iron-beaded
rosary swinging from his waist, his breviary in his hand, and his lips
muttering as he hurried through his office for the day. He knelt at his
high prie-dieu; the brethren, at a signal from the prior, prostrated
themselves upon the floor, and the low deep voices rolled in prayer,
echoed back from the arched and vaulted roof like the wash of waves from
an ocean cavern. Finally the monks resumed their seats; there entered
clerks in seemly black with pens and parchment; the red-velveted
summoner appeared to tell his tale; Nigel was led in with archers
pressing close around him; and then, with much calling of old French and
much legal incantation and mystery, the court of the Abbey was open for
business.

It was the sacrist who first advanced to the oaken desk reserved for the
witnesses and expounded in hard, dry, mechanical fashion the many claims
which the House, of Waverley had against the family of Loring. Some
generations back in return for money advanced or for spiritual favor
received the Loring of the day had admitted that his estate had certain
feudal duties toward the Abbey. The sacrist held up the crackling yellow
parchment with swinging leaden seals on which the claim was based. Amid
the obligations was that of escuage, by which the price of a knight's
fee should be paid every year. No such price had been paid, nor had any
service been done. The accumulated years came now to a greater sum than
the fee simple of the estate. There were other claims also. The sacrist
called for his books, and with thin, eager forefinger he tracked them
down: dues for this, and tailage for that, so many shillings this year,
and so many marks that one. Some of it occurred before Nigel was born;
some of it when he was but a child. The accounts had been checked and
certified by the sergeant of the law.

Nigel listened to the dread recital, and felt like some young stag who
stands at bay with brave pose and heart of fire, but who sees himself
compassed round and knows clearly that there is no escape. With his bold
young face, his steady blue eyes, and the proud poise of his head, he
was a worthy scion of the old house, and the sun, shining through the
high oriel window, and showing up the stained and threadbare condition
of his once rich doublet, seem