The next day was that fixed for the payment of the loan to the abbot of St. Mary's. Abbot and prior waited in hope and excitement. If the cash was not paid by night a rich estate would fall into their hands. The knight must pay to the last farthing, or be beggared. As they sat awaiting the cellarer burst in upon them, full of exultation. "He is dead or hanged!" he cried. "We shall have our four hundred pounds many times over." With them were the high-justice of England and the sheriff of the shire, brought there to give the proceeding the warrant of legality. Time was passing, an hour or two more would end the knight's grace, only a narrow space of time lay between him and beggary. The justice had just turned with congratulations to the abbot, when, to the discomfiture of the churchmen, the debtor, Sir Richard of the Lee, appeared at the gate of the abbey, and made his way into the hall. Yet he was shabbily clad; his face was sombre; there seemed little occasion for alarm. There seemed none when he began to speak. "Sir Abbot," he said, "I come to hold my day." "Hast thou brought my pay?" asked the abbot. "Not one penny," answered the knight. "Thou art a shrewd debtor," declared the abbot, with a look of satisfaction. "Sir Justice, drink to me. What brings you here then, sirrah, if you fetch no money?" "To pray your grace for a longer day," said Sir Richard, humbly. "Your day is ended; not an hour more do you get," cried the abbot. Sir Richard now appealed to the justice for relief, and after him to the sheriff, but to both in vain. Then, turning to the abbot again, he offered to be his servant, and work for him till the four hundred pounds were earned, if he would take pity on him. This appeal was lost on the merciless churchman. In the end hot words passed, and the abbot angrily exclaimed,-- "Out of my hall, thou false knight! Speed thee out, sirrah!" "Abbot, thou liest, I was never false to my word," said Sir Richard, proudly. "You lack courtesy, to suffer a knight to kneel and beg so long. I am a true knight and a true man, as all who have seen me in tournament or battle will say." "What more will you give the knight for a full release?" asked the justice. "If you give nothing, you will never hold his lands in peace." "A hundred pounds," said the abbot. "Give him two," said the justice. "Not so," cried the knight. "If you make it a thousand more, not a foot of my land shall you ever hold. You have outwitted yourself, master abbot, by your greed." Sir Richard's humility was gone; his voice was clear and proud; the churchmen trembled, here was a new tone. Turning to a table, the knight took a bag from under his cloak, and shook out of it on to the board a ringing heap of gold. "Here is the gold you lent me, Sir Abbot," he cried. "Count it. You will find it four hundred pounds to the penny. Had you been courteous, I would have been generous. As it is, I pay not a penny over my due."