"I have nought to do with that, nor have you, Master Miles. It is your duty to obey your father, and not consider questions of State,—how the nation is to be fed."
"Nay, but I may consider how I am myself to be fed by-and-bye, I trow. Of what use is a goodly store of wool if there is no corn to make bread?"
"Corn can be bought in the Low Countries, whither we send our wool; but that is not the question we have to consider, but the signing these parchments for Master Morpeth, who is in haste to take possession."
"I have told you what I think of the matter: that I will not sell my birthright for a sack of wool or gold either. It will be mine own inheritance in a few years' time, and I may then sorely sorrow over it if I should give mine inheritance to a stranger now."
"And is this the answer I am to take to Sir Thomas?" asked the monk.
"Nay, I will talk with my father over the matter, but I shall not alter my present will about it."
"Nay, Sir Thomas will not talk again with thee upon this matter, but he bade me warn you that he should go to Diccon, the blacksmith, without delay," and as he spoke the monk watched Miles closely, to see what effect this threat had upon him.
Try as he would the lad could not keep the look of horror out of his eyes, or his cheeks from paling as he sat and looked at the rolls of parchment, which the monk deliberately put up while he watched the effect of his words upon the lad.
The result seemed to satisfy him, for, with a low chuckle, he said, as he bade Miles good morning, "You will sign these to-morrow."
Miles made no reply to this, but as soon as the monk had left the house, and he saw him striding back to the monastery, he went up to his sister's room—not to trouble her with what had passed—but to have one more talk with her, for when the monk said, "You will send for me again to-morrow," he resolved to go back to Oxford while he was able to do so, for he feared his father might carry out his threat in his anger and disappointment at his refusal to sign the parchments.