more consonant-with your duty as an obedient
son of the church to resist his unjust aggression
than to come hither as an ambassador to
maintain his cause."

"Sir Torquil of the Scawr," replied Sir
Reinhold, " is a learned man, though his
studies have been few, and his powers of
reading are of the slightest, like my own.
He hath betaken himself to a science called
theology."

"And therefore he rebels against the
church! Go on."

"He thinks the Pope of Rome a
presumptuous priest."

"And therefore he breaks the heads of the
monks of Strathwoden."

'"He doth not approve of a celibate
clergy."

"And therefore he seizes fifteen hundred
acres of our best land. Saints of old! what
logic is this!"

"And it is our intention to guard and keep
the same, be the acreage more or less, by
sword and shield, horse and spear."

"And all the haughs and broad meadows,"
said the abbot with a sigh, " must go to
reward that evil-doer! Perish the land, so
he gets no benefit from it—yea, let Satan
himself possess the rich holms and swelling
meadows so that that man of Belial is left to
his poverty and pride."

"You speak well and wisely, holy father,"
said Sir Reinhold. " And it was with a
proposition of the sort I came to visit your
reverence this day. I am not Satan. I wish
indeed I were if he is to be put in possession
of the valleys of the Speith. But I am Sir
Reinhold of the greys—by reason of the
colour of my destriers—a devout Christian,
and a true friend of the abbey of Strathwoden;
and am ready to aid you in your
just design of keeping Sir Torquil from
fattening on the results of his own violence.
Give me the broad lands at a peppercorn
rent, with right of purchase when I can pay
you a hundred merks, and Sir Torquil shall
swing from the turret of his own tower
sooner than lay his sacrilegious hands on a
blade of grass or stack of corn that ever
belonged to holy church. If you refuse, we
take the lands to-morrow, and lay claim to
the neighbouring Grange. For Sir Torquil
thinks the cardinals of Rome are insolent
churls"——

"And therefore may justly confiscate the
Lands of a Scottish abbey! Oh, Bridget, what
logic again!"

Sir Reinhold on riding home late that night
was observed to wrap a closely- written
parchment carefully next his breast within his
steel cuirass. He stepped into the hall of the
tower. Sir Torquil was asleep by the side of
the fire. His daughter Sibylla was engaged
at a tambour-frame embroidering a wimple
for the image of St. Bridget.

"I have seen the holy abbot," said Sir
Reinhold, " and you stand in great danger,
Sir Torquil of the Scawr, of encountering the
thunders of the church."

"It's like other thunder," said the old man,
rubbing his eyes, " it turns small-beer sour,
but passes harmless over the ten-bushel malt.
We shall keep the Speith pastures, in spite
of crozier and crown."

"The lands round the Grange are richer
and wider," said Sir Reinhold, quietly.

"But they never were mine, nor my
predecessors'."

"The more reason your successors should
become proprietors of the same."

"But I am satisfied with the Speith," said
Sir Torquil.

"So am I, and with more reason; for the
domain is mine on payment of two peppercorns
at Lady-day and Christmas. No man
shall trespass on my lands; and I warn you,
Sir Torquil, that the Grange, and all its close
fields, and nice fir plantings, and yellow-
roofed cottages, are far more easily obtained
from the gloved fingers of a trembling priest
than my own poor possession, even from so
weak a hand as this."

"The Grange be it, then. Tell our witnesses
they mistook one river for the other:
it was the Woldbeck I meant, and not the
Speith. The thrashing the monks received
to-day will do for one as well as the other;
so my conscience is at rest on that score.
Wine here! and ale!—you must be hot and
hungry. Sit down, Sir Reinhold of the
Speith. To our good father the holy Pope!"

Scotland fell more and more into anarchy
and disorder. There was no law, and little
security for life or land. The church alone
retained some appearance of organisation;
but, unsupported by civil authority, its
influence declined. It spoke more proudly as
its strength decayed. Sir Torquil laid claim
to the Grange, seized the farms, carried off
the crops, and broke the bones of any clerical-
looking gentleman he encountered in the
course of his rides. Some of the monks
retired to the capital, and starved in
Canongate and High Street, instead of in their
ancient cells. Fasting became a much more
real thing than it had ever been before; but
the abbot and some few bolder spirits were
still unsubdued. They hurled an
excommunication at the head of the old knight; and
as the death-agony gives strength unknown
even in youth and health, the blow seemed
overwhelming in the midst of his apparent
success. Excommunication was still a frightful
word, though the power of carrying it out
had vanished from all other parts of the land.
Sir Reinhold was prostrated with terror, aud
preached the most rigid obedience. He grew
a devoted son of the church the moment the
sentence was passed. The weather was cold;
but he threatened death to any servitor who
should have the unchristian wickedness to
kindle a fire for poor old Sir Torquil. Meat
was rigorously refused,—water was not
allowed. Parched with thirst, weakened with