Abbot—You mean he instigated this attack?
Father Benedict—
(At the door, buckling his cloak about him.)
Go your way; I go mine.
Abbot— I don't believe it.
I don't believe it. It smacks too like the charge
That he called you a dog. If you can prove
That any word of his caused Jardin's death,
I will attend to him.
Father Benedict—By cursing me.
Abbot—You know why I—
Father Benedict— You needn't apologize.
Abbot—You, Benedict, not I, are needing grace.
You have assailed a child of God, and you
Know what our Lord said: "'Twere better a mill-stone
Were hanged about his neck and he were flung
Into the sea, than offend one of these."
You even seemed to take delight, to relish
Harrowing his soul up with the hunter's dream
And breaching it for horror to peep through.
Father Benedict—You wait.