The Firebrand

ed with "his uncle," the abbot, that most wise, l

of Castle Blair in the land of the Scots. It wa

esiastic upon transubstantiation, consubstantiation, and all the other "ations" of his creed. But the Ab

uncle's ecclesiastical learning, and that wise prelate twirled his thumbs about each other and discoursed at large, his shrewd unfathomable grey eyes now fixed on one and

is guests. Course after course was brought in, discussed, and removed. The Abbot, Don Baltasar Varela, himself ate little. He watched his guests' appetites, ho

rt of his attention was given to the young man, Rollo Blair, and that the Prior, with a g

erb! This fellow is the man we want, i

y to the bright volatile countenance of his nephew Etienne, Count of Saint Pierre-though, as we know, in so doing he did much injustice to t

quently) but one of Abbot Baltasar's eyelids qui

His vocabulary expanded, and as he had learned his Castilian in strange places, his occasional freedom of expression bore somewhat he

f his thumb indicated that the doors were to be closed, and turned again to

the historical-and, al

blade than any ever forged at Toledo-as I, Rollo Blair, stand r

n my only razor, which is an infernally bad pie

nder of my life I have resolved to devote to cont

ned upon him

he world"-he queried-

its vanities!" he agreed

rtyr to monarchial principles flushed visibly. He was afraid of what the mad Scot might say next. But at that very moment of danger Rollo curbed his

ints will serve you from this day forth, most gentle penitent. Why, man, you should go straight to Cologne.

you may keep these friends of yours in company. When you are weary, touch this bell, and Father Anselmo, my confessor, will show you the treasures and reliquaries of the Abbey-the former, alas! now scanty, since the visit of your compatriots, Messire Etienne, wh

table, the bursting figs, the bunches of pur

said, and went out with bowed h

he wine!" cried John Mortimer, suddenly reme

glishman not yet had enough! I have heard of how

d Rollo. "He is indeed a maist

and moving towards the decanters. "Does he want

lons at present, and as much more in a week or t

ightenment. Our insular measures of c

sent might satisfy him, he says, but

int Pierre fell back,

s himself, and drinks the contents of his bath when he is finished. It is that he may be ready f

er was e

something about wines, for I grow some square leagues of vines on my lands in France. Moreover, I will see to it that yo

and called in the

ll eyes that perpetually twinkled, and a smile that seemed to catch itself up as with a click each time that the stern gaze of Father Anselmo turned his way. This monk was evidently only a novice, or

intments of the abbot's table, and austerely refused for himsel

cot, being restrained by no scruples, religious or otherwise, passed him first of all a glass of wine behind his superior's

A plate of grapes, half a dozen pears, a loaf of wheaten bread, all were passed to him on

tered Rollo; "I believe that, swollen as he is, he

test, Father Anselmo had gathered his robes ascetically about him, a