The Abbot plucked at his subordinate's sleeve. "Bethink you,
brother sacrist," he whispered, "shall we not have this man's
blood upon our heads?"

"His pride is as stubborn as the horse's, holy father," the
sacrist answered, his gaunt fact breaking into a malicious smile.
"Man or beast, one will break the other and the world will be the
better for it. If you forbid me--"

"Nay, brother, you have bought the horse, and you may have the
bestowal of it."

"Then I give it--hide and hoofs, tail and temper--to Nigel
Loring, and may it be as sweet and as gentle to him as he hath
been to the Abbot of Waverley!"

The sacrist spoke aloud amid the tittering of the monks, for the
man concerned was out of earshot. At the first words which had
shown him the turn which affairs had taken he had run swiftly to
the spot where he had left his pony. From its mouth he removed
the bit and the stout bridle which held it. Then leaving the
creature to nibble the grass by the wayside he sped back whence he
came.

"I take your gift, monk," said he, "though I know well why it is
that you give it. Yet I thank you, for there are two things upon
earth for which I have ever yearned, and which my thin purse could
never buy. The one is a noble horse, such a horse as my father's
son should have betwixt his thighs, and here is the one of all
others which I would have chosen, since some small deed is to be