his own lands into the clutches of rascally friars, for the sake of hunting in other men’s grounds, and feasting vagabonds that wear Lincoln green, and would have flung away mine into the bargain if he had had my daughter? What do you mean by great wrong?”      

       “True,” said the friar, “great right, I meant.”      

       “Right!” exclaimed the baron: “what right has any man to do my daughter right but myself? What right has any man to drive my daughter’s bridegroom out of the chapel in the middle of the marriage ceremony, and turn all our merry faces into green wounds and bloody coxcombs, and then come and tell me he has done us great right?”      

       “True,” said the friar: “he has done neither right nor wrong.”      

       “But he has,” said the baron, “he has done both, and I will maintain it with my glove.”      

       “It shall not need,” said Sir Ralph; “I will concede any thing in honour.”      

       “And I,” said the baron, “will concede nothing in honour: I will concede nothing in honour to any man.”      

       “Neither will I, Lord Fitzwater,” said Sir Ralph, “in that sense: but hear me. I was commissioned by the king to apprehend the Earl of Huntingdon. I brought with me a party of soldiers, picked and tried men, knowing that he would not lightly yield. I sent my lieutenant with a detachment to surprise the earl’s castle in his absence, and laid my measures for intercepting him on the way to his intended nuptials; but he seems to have had intimation of this part of my plan, for he brought with him a large armed retinue, and took a circuitous route, which made him, I believe, somewhat later than his appointed hour. When the lapse of time showed me that he had taken another track, I pursued him to the chapel; and I would have awaited the close of the ceremony, if I had thought that either yourself or your daughter would have felt desirous that she should have been the bride of an outlaw.”      

       “Who said, sir,” cried the baron, “that we were desirous of any such thing? But truly, sir, if I had a mind to the devil for a son-in-law, I would fain see the man that should venture to interfere.”      

       “That would I,” said the friar; “for I have undertaken to make her renounce the 

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