The monastery; The abbot.

-TH-E- A-BBOT. 380
"Nay, that is a question which it craves time to answer —I have that
inmtter to determine yet," replied the disgraced favourite.
"Nay, nay," said Ralph, " I warrant you it is the same to you which way
you go - my Lady would not dismiss you till she had put some lining into
the pouches of your doublet."
"Sordid slave!" said Roland Graeme, "dost thou think I would have
accepted a boon from one who was giving me over a prey to detraction and
to ruin, at the instigation of a canting priest and a meddling serving-woman?
The bread that I had bought with such an alms would have choked me at
the first mouthful."
Ralph looked at his quondam friend with an air of wonder not unmixed
with contempt. "Well," he said, at length, "no occasion for passioneach man knows his own stomach best-but, were I on a black moor' at
this time of day, not knowing whither I was going, I should be glad to
have a broad piece or two in my pouch, come by them as I could. -But
perhaps you will go with me to my father's -that is, for a night, for tomorrow we expect my uncle Menelaus and all his folk; but, as I said, for
one night "
The cold-blooded limitation of the offered shelter to one night only, and
that tendered most unwillingly, offended the pride of the discarded favourite.
"I would rather sleep on the fresh heather, as I have done many a night
on less occasion," said Roland Grneme, "than in the smoky garret of your
father, that smells of peat smoke and usquebaugh like a Highlander's
plaid."
"You may choose, my master, if you are so nice," replied Ralph Fisher;
" you may be glad to smell a peat-fire, and usquebaugh too, if you journey
long in the fashion you propose. You might have said God-a-mercy for your
proffer, though - it is not every one that will put themselves in the way of
ill-will by harbouring a discarded serving-man."
"Ralph," said Roland Graeme, "I would pray you to remember that I
have switched you before now, and this is the same riding-wand which you
have tasted."
Ralph, who was a thickset clownish figure, arrived at his full strength,
and conscious of the most complete personal superiority, laughed contemptuously at the threats of the slight-made stripling.
" It may be the same wand," he said, " but not the same hand; and that
is as good rhyme as if it were in a ballad. Look you, my Lady's page that
was, when your switch was up, it was no fear of you, but of your betters,
that kept mine down- and I wot not what hinders me from clearing old
scores with this hazel rung, and showing you it was your Lady's livery-coat
which I spared, and not your flesh and blood, Master Roland."
In the midst of his rage, Roland Grieme was just wise enough to see, that
by continuing this altercation, he would subject himself to very rude treatment from the boor, who was so much older and stronger than himself; and
while his antagonist, with a sort of jeering laugh of defiance, seemed to
provoke the contest, he felt the full bitterness of his own degraded condition,
and burst into a passion of tears, which he in vain endeavoured to conceal
with both his hands.
Even the rough churl was moved with the distress of his quondam companion.
"Nay, Master Roland," he said, " I did but as'twere jest with thee - I
would not harm thee, man, were it but for old acquaintance sake. But ever
look to a man's inches ere you talk of switching - why, thine arm, man, is
but like a spindle compared to mine. - But hark, I hear old Adam Woodcock hollowing to his hawk Come along, man, we will have a merry
afternoon, and go jollily to my father's in spite of the peat-smoke and usquebaugh to boot. Maybe we may put you into some honest way of winning
your bread, though it's hard to come by in these broken times."