"
"Besides," said the sacrist, "sentence is passed by the Abbey
court, and there is an end of its honor and good name if it be not
upheld."
"Brother sacrist," said the Abbot angrily, "methinks you show
overmuch zeal in this case, and certes, we are well able to uphold
the dignity and honor of the Abbey court without any rede of
thine. As to you, worthy summoner, you will give your opinion
when we crave for it, and not before, or you may yourself get some
touch of the power of our tribunal. But your case hath been
tried, Squire Loring, and judgment given. I have no more to say."
He motioned with his hand, and an archer laid his grip upon the
shoulder of the prisoner. But that rough plebeian touch woke
every passion of revolt in Nigel's spirit. Of all his high line
of ancestors, was there one who had been subjected to such
ignominy as this? Would they not have preferred death? And
should he be the first to lower their spirit or their traditions?
With a quick, lithe movement, he slipped under the arm of the
archer, and plucked the short, straight sword from the soldier's
side as he did so. The next instant he had wedged himself into
the recess of one of the narrow windows, and there were his pale
set face, his burning eyes, and his ready blade turned upon the
assembly.
"By Saint Paul!" said he, "I never thought to find honorable
advancement under the roof of an abbey, but perchance there may,
be some room for it ere you hale me to your prison.
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