“Drogo de Harengod,” said the earl, “I should have doubted of God’s justice, had the ordeal to which thou didst appeal gone otherwise. But since yesterday the right has been made yet more clear. Dost thou know yon verdurer?”
Drogo looked at the man.
“My lord,” he said. “I accept the decision of the combat. Let me go from Kenilworth.”
“What, without reparation?”
“I have my punishment to bear in expulsion from this place”—(“if punishment it be,” he muttered)—“as for my soi-disant cousin, it will be an evil day for him when he crosses my path elsewhere.”
The earl stood astonished at his audacity.
“Thou perjured wretch!” he said. “Thou perverter by bribes! thou liar and false accuser! GO, amidst the contempt and scorn of all who know thee.”
And, amidst the hisses of his late companions, Drogo left Kenilworth for ever—expelled.
Chapter [11]: The Early Franciscans.
We are afraid that some of our youthful readers will wonder what cause Martin had for such extreme self reproach, and why he should make such a serious matter of a little dissipation—such as we described in our former chapter.