"
"Therefore," said the stern monk, "it is the order of the holy
father Abbot that you sleep this night in the Abbey cell, and that
to-morrow you be brought before him at the court held in the
chapter-house so that you receive the fit punishment for this and
the many other violent and froward deeds which you have wrought
upon the servants of Holy Church. Enough is now said, worthy
master summoner. Archers, remove your prisoner!"
As Nigel was lifted up by four stout archers, the Dame Ermyntrude
would have rushed to his aid, but the sacrist thrust her back.
"Stand off, proud woman! Let the law take its course, and learn
to humble your heart before the power of Holy Church. Has your
life not taught its lesson, you, whose horn was exalted among the
highest and will soon not have a roof above your gray hairs?
Stand back, I say, lest I lay a curse upon you!"
The old dame flamed suddenly into white wrath as she stood before
the angry monk: "Listen to me while I lay a curse upon you and
yours!" she cried as she raised her shriveled arms and blighted
him with her flashing eyes--
"As you have done to the house of Loring, so may God do to you,
until your power is swept from the land of England, and of your
great Abbey of Waverley there is nothing left but a pile of gray
stones in a green meadow! I see it! I see it! With my old eyes
I see it! From scullion to Abbot and from cellar to tower, may
Waverley and all within it droop and wither from this night on!"
The monk, hard as he was, quailed before the frantic figure and
the bitter, burning words.
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