and cloak was marked on the lapels with a strange scarlet device
shaped like a wedge. Costly lace hung round his shoulders, and
amid its soft folds there smoldered the dull red of a heavy golden
chain. A knight's belt at his waist and a knight's golden spurs
twinkling from his doeskin riding-boots proclaimed his rank, and
on the wrist of his left gauntlet there sat a demure little hooded
falcon of a breed which in itself was a mark of the dignity of the
owner. Of weapons he had none, but a mandolin was slung by a
black silken band over his back, and the high brown end projected
above his shoulder. Such was the man, quaint, critical,
masterful, with a touch of what is formidable behind it, who now
surveyed the opposing groups of armed men and angry monks with an
eye which commanded their attention.

"Excusez!" said he, in a lisping French. "Excusez, mes amis! I
had thought to arouse from prayer or meditation, but never have I
seen such a holy exercise as this under an abbey's roof, with
swords for breviaries and archers for acolytes. I fear that I
have come amiss, and yet I ride on an errand from one who permits
no delay."

The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, had begun to realize
that events had gone a great deal farther than they had intended,
and that without an extreme scandal it was no easy matter for them
to save their dignity and the good name of Waverley. Therefore,
in spite of the debonair, not to say disrespectful, bearing of the
newcomer, they rejoiced at his appearance and intervention.

"I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son," said the prelate. "If
your message deal with a public matter it may be fitly repeated in