f the Court of Common Pleas at Westminster, and the
students who were candidates for the privilege of pleading therein,
as a most desirable retreat, and interest was made with the Earl of
Lancaster, the king's first cousin, who had claimed the forfeited
property of the monks by escheat, as the immediate lord of the fee,
for a lodging in the Temple, and they first gained a footing there as
his lessees.

Above all, the church with its round tower-like roof was very dear to
Mike and John, and they often spoke of the splendid spectacle of the
religious warriors marching in procession, their white tunics with
red crosses, their black and white banner called Beauseant. It is
seen on the circular panels of the vaulting of the side aisles, and
on either side the letters BEAUSEANT. There stands the church of the
proud Templars, a round tower-like church, fitting symbol of those
soldier monks, at the west end of a square church, the square church
engrafted upon the circular so as to form one beautiful fabric. The
young men lingered around the time-worn porch, lovely with foliated
columns, strange with figures in prayer, and figures holding scrolls.
And often without formulating their intentions in words they entered
the church. Beneath the groined ribs of the circular tower lie the
mail-clad effigies of the knights, and through beautiful gracefulness
of grouped pillars the painted panes shed bright glow upon the
tesselated pavement. The young men passed beneath the pointed arches
and waited, their eyes raised to the celestial blueness of the
thirteenth-century window, and then in silence stole back whither the
knights sleep so grimly, with hands clasped on their breasts and
their long swords.

And seeing himself in those times, clad in armour, a knight Templar
walking in procession in that very church, John recited a verse of
Tennyson's _Sir Galahad_--

"Sometimes on lonely mountain meres
I find a magic bark;
I leap on board; no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail;
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars."

"Oh! very beautiful. 'On sleeping wings they sail.' Say it again."

John repeated the stanza, his eyes fixed upon the knight.

M