"The Abbot would not hurt us. It is that gray lean wolf of a
sacrist who hungers for our land. Let him do his worst. I fear
him not."

"He has such an engine at his back, Nigel, that even the bravest
must fear him. The ban which blasts a man's soul is in the
keeping of his church, and what have we to place against it? I
pray you to speak him fair, Nigel."

"Nay, dear lady, it is both my duty and my pleasure to do what you
bid me; but I would die ere I ask as a favor that which we can
claim as a right. Never can I cast my eyes from yonder window
that I do not see the swelling down-lands and the rich meadows,
glade and dingle, copse and wood, which have been ours since
Norman-William gave them to that Loring who bore his shield at
Senlac. Now, by trick and fraud, they have passed away from us,
and many a franklin is a richer man than I; but never shall it be
said that I saved the rest by bending my neck to their yoke. Let
them do their worst, and let me endure it or fight it as best I
may."

The old lady sighed and shook her head. "You speak as a Loring
should, and yet I fear that some great trouble will befall us.
But let us talk no more of such matters, since we cannot mend
them. Where is your citole, Nigel? Will you not play and sing to
me?"

The gentleman of those days could scarce read and write; but he
spoke in two languages, played at least one musical instrument as
a matter of course, and possessed a number of other