``Nay, by St Mary, brother Brian, you must not think you are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanders love not blows, save those of holy Church, who chasteneth whom she loveth.
``I would soon have beat him into courtesy,'' observed Brian; ``I am accustomed to deal with such spirits: Our Turkish you shall soon be judge; and if the purity of her complexion, and the majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, do not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound's paradise, I am an infidel, and no true son of the church.''
``To the right,'' said Brian, ``to the best of my remembrance.''
At length Brian remarked, what had at first escaped him in the twilight; ``Here is some one either asleep, or lying dead at the foot of this cross Hugo, stir him with the but-end of thy lance.'' This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaiming in good French, ``Whosoever thou art, it is discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.''
In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the Second's time your forefather Brian
was summoned to Westminster to attend the great Council there.
Then Sir Brian
de les Isles and Grummore Grummorsum, knights of the castle, encountered with Sir Aglovale and Sir Tor, and Sir Tor smote down Sir Grummore Grummorsum to the earth.