friar, appropriating the
portion of pasty which Sir Ralph had left.

"The earl is a worthy peer," said the tall friar whom we have already
mentioned in the chapel scene, "and the best marksman in England."

"Why this is flat treason, brother Michael," said the little round
friar, "to call an attainted traitor a worthy peer."

"I pledge you," said brother Michael. The little friar smiled and filled
his cup. "He will draw the long bow," pursued brother Michael, "with any
bold yeoman among them all."

"Don't talk of the long bow," said the abbot, who had the sound of the
arrow still whizzing in his ear: "what have we pillars of the faith to
do with the long bow?"

"Be that as it may," said Sir Ralph, "he is an outlaw from this moment."

"So much the worse for the law then," said brother Michael. "The law
will have a heavier miss of him than he will have of the law. He will
strike as much venison as ever, and more of other game. I know what I
say: but basta: Let us drink."

"What other game?" said the little friar. "I hope he won't poach among
our partridges."

"Poach! not he," said brother Michael: "if he wants your partridges,
he will strike them under your nose (here's to you), and drag your
trout-stream for you on a Thursday evening."

"Monstrous! and starve us on fast-day," said the little friar.

"But that is not the game I mean," said brother Michael.

"Surely, son Michael," said the abbot, "you do not mean to insinuate
that the noble earl will turn freebooter?"

"A man must live," said brother Michael, "earl or no. If the law takes
his rents and beeves without his consent, he must take beeves and rents
where he can get them without the consent of the law. This is the lex
talionis."

"Truly," said Sir Ralph, "I am sorry for the damsel: she seems fond of
this wild runagate."

"A mad girl, a mad girl," said the little friar.

"How a mad girl?" said brother Michael. "Has she not beauty, grace, wit,
sense, discretion, dexterity, learning, and valour?"

"Learning!" exclaimed the little friar; "what has a woman to do with
learning? And valour! who ever heard a woman commended for valour?
Meekness and mildness, and softness, and gentleness, and tenderness, and
humility, and obedience to her husband, and faith in her confessor,
and domesticity, or, as learned doctors call it, the faculty of
stayathomeitiveness, and embroidery, and music, and pickling, and
preserving, and the whole complex and multiplex de