The Abbot flushed at the bold words, and bit his lip with
vexation.

It was the sacrist, however, who answered: "It would be more
fitting and more gracious," said he, "if you were to speak to the
holy Father Abbot in a manner suited to his high rank and to the
respect which is due to a Prince of the Church."

The youth turned his bold blue eyes upon the monk, and his
sunburned face darkened with anger. "Were it not for the gown
upon your back, and for your silvering hair, I would answer you in
another fashion," said he. "You are the lean wolf which growls
ever at our door, greedy for the little which hath been left to
us. Say and do what you will with me, but by Saint Paul! if I
find that Dame Ermyntrude is baited by your ravenous pack I will
beat them off with this whip from the little patch which still
remains of all the acres of my fathers."

"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