“Seize him!” said Father Anselm. “He outrages Mother Church.”
The vassals closed up behind young Geoffrey, who was pinioned in a second. He struggled with them till the veins stood out in his forehead in blue knots; but, after all, one young man of twenty is not much among a band of stout yeomen; and they all fell in a heap on the floor, pulling and tugging at Geoffrey, who had blacked several eyes, and done in a general way as much damage as he possibly could under the circumstances.
But Elaine noticed one singular occurrence. Not a monk had moved to seize the young man, except one, who rushed forward, and was stopped, as though struck to stone, by Father Anselm’s saying to him in a terrible undertone, “Hubert!”
Simply that word, spoken quickly; but not before this Hubert had brushed against her so that she was aware that there was something very hard and metallic underneath his gray gown. She betrayed no sign of knowledge or surprise on her face, however, but affected to be absorbed wholly in the fortunes of young Geoffrey, whom she saw collared and summarily put into a cage-like prison whose front was thick iron bars, and whose depth was in the vast outer wall of the Monastery, with a little window at the rear, covered with snow. The spring-lock of the gate shut upon him.
“And now,” said Father Anselm, as the Monastery bell sounded once more, “if our guests will follow us, the mid-day meal awaits us below. We will deal with this hot-head later,” he added, pointing to the prisoner.
So they slowly went out, leaving Geoffrey alone with his thoughts.
