The Abbot himself seemed at a stand; he felt no fear, but he was sensible of the danger of expressing his rising indignation, which he was scarcely able to suppress. He made a gesture with his hand as if commanding silence, which was at first only replied to by redoubled shouts, and peals of wild laughter. When, however, the same motion, and as nearly in the same manner, had been made by Howleglas, it was immediately obeyed by his riotous companions, who expected fresh food for mirth in the conversation betwixt the real and mock Abbot, having no small confidence in the vulgar wit and impudence of their leader. Accordingly, they began to shout, “To it, fathers—to it I”—“Fight monk, fight madcap—Abbot against Abbot is fair play, and so is reason against unreason, and malice against monkery!”
“Silence, my mates!” said Howleglas; “cannot two learned Fathers of the Church hold communion together, but you must come here with your bear-garden whoop and hollo, as if you were hounding forth a mastiff upon a mad bull? I say silence! and let this learned Father and me confer, touching matters affecting our mutual state and authority.”
“My children”—said Father Ambrose.
“My children too,—and happy children they are!” said his burlesque counterpart; “many a wise child knows not its own father, and it is well they have two to choose betwixt.”
“If thou hast aught in thee, save scoffing and ribaldry,” said the real Abbot, “permit me, for thine own soul's sake, to speak a few words to these misguided men.”
“Aught in me but scoffing, sayest thou?” retorted the Abbot of Unreason; “why, reverend brother, I have all that becomes mine office at this time a-day—I have beef, ale, and brandy-wine, with other condiments not worth mentioning; and for speaking, man—why, speak away, and we will have turn about, like honest fellows.”
During this discussion the wrath of Magdalen Graeme had risen to the uttermost; she approached the Abbot, and placing herself by his side, said in a low and yet distinct tone-“Wake and arouse thee, Father—the sword of Saint Peter is in thy hand—strike and avenge Saint Peter's patrimony!—Bind them in the chains which, being riveted by the church on earth, are riveted in Heaven—”
“Peace, sister!” said the Abbot; “let not their madness destroy our discretion—I pray thee, peace, and let me do mine office. It is the first, peradventure it may be the last time, I shall be called on to discharge it.”
“Nay, my holy brother!” said Howleglas, “I rede you, take the holy sister's advice—never throve convent without woman's counsel.”
“Peace, vain man!” said the Abbot; “and you, my brethren—”