"
"Have a care, Nigel Loring, have a care!" cried the Abbot, with
finger upraised. "Have you no fears of the law of England?"
"A just law I fear and obey."
"Have you no respect for Holy Church?"
"I respect all that is holy in her. I do not respect those who
grind the poor or steal their neighbor's land."
"Rash man, many a one has been blighted by her ban for less than
you have now said! And yet it is not for us to judge you harshly
this day. You are young and hot words come easily to your lips.
How fares the forester?"
"His hurt is grievous, Father Abbot, but he will live," said a
brother, looking up from the prostrate form. "With a blood-letting
and an electuary, I will warrant him sound within a month."
"Then bear him to the hospital. And now, brother, about this
terrible beast who still gazes and snorts at us over the top of
the wall as though his thoughts of Holy Church were as uncouth as
those of Squire Nigel himself, what are we to do with him?"
"Here is Franklin Aylward," said one of the brethren. "The horse
was his, and doubtless he will take it back to his farm."
But the stout red-faced farmer shook his head at the proposal.
"Not I, in faith!" said he. "The beast hath chased me twice round
the paddock; it has nigh slain my boy Samkin. He would never be
happy till he had ridden it, nor has he ever been happy since.
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