_To the right of the table, in a square, high-backed chair with animal-feet, sits the Abbot in a black gown, bareheaded. His feet, which are under the table, are cased in slippers of sheep-skin with the white fleece still upon it. From his right hand, which hangs beside his chair, a scroll of parchment trails upon the floor. Farther back, upon the opposite side of the table, stands the Priest, his left hand resting upon the back of a chair the front legs of which are raised a few inches from the floor. At the further end of the table Oswald is standing with his finger wiping away the tears that trinkle down his cheeks._
_Thunder is heard intermittently, and from time to time the_ _windows are shaken by the violence of the wind._
FATHER BENEDICT-- (_White with wrath, turning to the Abbot._) Endorse this, Father?
ABBOT--_Ira_, Benedict, _altis urbibus_ _Causa cur perirent_. Let him explain.
FATHER BENEDICT--I say, do you endorse this?
ABBOT--I endorse nothing till I hear both sides.
FATHER BENEDICT--You think I'd sit down with these things spread here, (_With a wave toward the manuscripts._) And Christ thrust yonder in the little niche? Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.
ABBOT-- Yet You seem to have forgotten what #agapaô# means, As found in that third chapter of St. John.
(_He lays his parchment upon the table and reaches over and takes a book from the pile at his right._)
FATHER BENEDICT--Not while I have in mind the first Psalm.
ABBOT-- (_Turning over the leaves of the book._) If You thought more of the Gospels--
FATHER BENEDICT---(_Sarcastically._) As heathens do.
ABBOT--What is it to be a heathen? Is it not To act unchristlike?
FATHER BENEDICT-- What is it to be a dog?
OSWALD--I did not say that Father was a--
FATHER BENEDICT-- What! Just now you did confess--
OSWALD-- I said you spoke-- _Spoke_ as hunters--
ABBOT-- Benedict! Be circumspect, lest in your anger you Bay at him and turn that which you do scorn.
FATHER BENEDICT--I scorn the imputation which his pride Popped at me. As though all the saints in heaven Bowed down to him because the other night--
ABBOT-- And, therefore, Wisdom doth bid you keep an open ear And leave the scroll of judgment still unsealed. For how shall Mercy find the iron leaf? Will Heaven's book be open if we close Ours? When men cry to us, if we shut our ears, We shut out Heaven's whispers. Oh, nothing--Of all the deeds men do that vex the sky--Nothing so rankles in the heart of God As to see lips, fresh come from prayer for grace, Refusing justice.