black with pens and parchment; the red-velveted summoner appeared
to tell his tale; Nigel was led in with archers pressing close
around him; and then, with much calling of old French and much
legal incantation and mystery, the court of the Abbey was open for
business.

It was the sacrist who first advanced to the oaken desk reserved
for the witnesses and expounded in hard, dry, mechanical fashion
the many claims which the House, of Waverley had against the
family of Loring. Some generations back in return for money
advanced or for spiritual favor received the Loring of the day had
admitted that his estate had certain feudal duties toward the
Abbey. The sacrist held up the crackling yellow parchment with
swinging leaden seals on which the claim was based. Amid the
obligations was that of escuage, by which the price of a knight's
fee should be paid every year. No such price had been paid, nor
had any service been done. The accumulated years came now to a
greater sum than the fee simple of the estate. There were other
claims also. The sacrist called for his books, and with thin,
eager forefinger he tracked them down: dues for this, and tailage
for that, so many shillings this year, and so many marks that one.
Some of it occurred before Nigel was born; some of it when he was
but a child. The accounts had been checked and certified by the
sergeant of the law.

Nigel listened to the dread recital, and felt like some young stag
who stands at bay with brave pose and heart of fire, but who sees
himself compassed round and knows clearly that there is no escape.
With his bold young face, his steady blue eyes, and the proud
poise of his head, he was a worthy scion of the old house, and the