''
``Be silent, priest!'' answered the desperate
woman; ``speak not to me the words of thy white
book. Elspat's kindred were of those who crossed
themselves and knelt when the sacring bell was
rung; and she knows that atonement can be made
on the altar for deeds done in the field. Elspat
had once flocks and herds, goats upon the cliffs,
and cattle in the strath. She wore gold around
her neck and on her hair---thick twists as those
worn by the heroes of old. All these would she
have resigned to the priest---all these; and if he
wished for the ornaments of a gentle lady, or the
sporran of a high chief, though they had been great
as Macallanmore himself, MacTavish Mhor would
have procured them if Elspat had promised them.
Elspat is now poor, and has nothing to give. But
the Black Abbot of Inchaffray would have bidden
her scourge her shoulders, and macerate her feet
by pilgrimage, and he would have granted his pardon
to her when he saw that her blood had flowed,
and that her flesh had been torn. These were the
priests who had indeed power even with the most
powerful---they threatened the great men of the
earth with the word of their mouth, the sentence
of their book, the blaze of their torch, the sound
of their sacring bell.
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