“In my younger days, my lord,” answered the Abbot, with the same intrepidity, “a war with England was no such dreaded matter; and not merely a mitred abbot, bound by his rule to show hospitality and afford sanctuary to all, but the poorest Scottish peasant, would have been ashamed to have pleaded fear of England as the reason for shutting his door against a persecuted exile. But in those olden days, the English seldom saw the face of a Scottish nobleman, save through the bars of his visor.”
“Monk!” said the Earl of Morton, sternly, “this insolence will little avail thee; the days are gone by when Rome's priests were permitted to brave noblemen with impunity. Give us up this Piercie Shafton, or by my father's crest I will set thy Abbey in a bright flame!”
“And if thou dost, Lord of Morton, its ruins will tumble above the tombs of thine own ancestors. Be the issue as God wills, the Abbot of Saint Mary's gives up no one whom he hath promised to protect.”
“Abbot!” said Murray, “bethink thee ere we are driven to deal roughly—the hands of these men,” he said, pointing to the soldiers, “will make wild work among shrines and cells, if we are compelled to undertake a search for this Englishman.”
“Ye shall not need,” said a voice from the crowd; and, advancing gracefully before the Earls, the Euphuist flung from him the mantle in which he was muffled. “Via the cloud that shadowed Shafton!” said he; “behold, my lords, the Knight of Wilverton, who spares you the guilt of violence and sacrilege.”
“I protest before God and man against any infraction of the privileges of this house,” said the Abbot, “by an attempt to impose violent hands upon the person of this noble knight. If there be yet spirit in a Scottish Parliament, we will make you hear of this elsewhere, my lords!”
“Spare your threats,” said Murray; “it may be, my purpose with Sir Piercie Shafton is not such as thou dost suppose—Attach him, pursuivant, as our prisoner, rescue or no rescue.”
“I yield myself,” said the Euphuist, “reserving my right to defy my Lord of Murray and my Lord of Morton to single duel, even as one gentleman may demand satisfaction of another.”
“You shall not want those who will answer your challenge, Sir Knight,” replied Morton, “without aspiring to men above thine own degree.”
“And where am I to find these superlative champions,” said the English knight, “whose blood runs more pure than that of Piercie Shafton?”