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."

The chapter-house was in an uproar. Never in the long and
decorous history of the Abbey had such a scene been witnessed
within its walls. The monks themselves seemed for an instant to
be infected by this spirit of daring revolt. Their own lifelong
fetters hung more loosely as they viewed this unheard-of defiance
of authority. They broke from their seats on either side and
huddled half-scared, half-fascinated, in a large half-circle round
the defiant captive, chattering, pointing, grimacing, a scandal
for all time. Scourges should fall and penance be done for many a
long week before the shadow of that day should pass from Waverley.
But meanwhile there was no effort to bring them back to their
rule. Everything was chaos and disorder. The Abbot had left his