the scapular over it, hanging to the ground before and behind. His hood,
Christopher noticed, was creased and flat as if he were accustomed to
sit back at his ease. He wore strong black leather boots that just
showed beneath his habit, and a bunch of keys, duplicates of those of
the camerarius and cook, hung on his right side. He was tonsured
according to the Benedictine pattern, and his lips and cheeks were
clean-shaven.

He noticed presently that Christopher was eyeing hum, and put his hand
in friendly fashion on the young man's knee.

"Yes," he said, smiling, "yours is ready too. Dom Franklin looked it out
to-day, and asked me whether it would be the right size. But of the
boots I am not so sure."

There was a clink and a footstep outside, and the monk glanced out.

"Supper is here," he said, and stood up to look at the table--the
polished clothless top laid ready with a couple of wooden plates and
knives, a pewter tankard, salt-cellar and bread. There was a plain chair
with arms drawn up to it. The rest of the room, which Christopher had
scarcely noticed before, was furnished plainly and efficiently, and had
just that touch of ornament that was intended to distinguish it from a
cell. The floor was strewn with clean rushes; a couple of iron
candlesticks stood on the mantelpiece, and the white walls had one or
two religious objects hanging on them--a wooden crucifix opposite the
table, a framed card bearing an "Image of Pity" with an indulgenced
prayer illuminated beneath, a little statue of St. Pancras on a bracket
over the fire, and a clear-written copy of rules for guests hung by the
low oak door.

Dom Anthony nodded approvingly at the table, took up a knife and rubbed
it delicately on the napkin, and turned round.

"We will look here," he said, and went towards the second door by the
fire. Christopher followed him, and found himself in the bedroom,
furnished with the same simplicity as the other; but with an iron
bedstead in the corner, a kneeling stool beside it, with a little French
silver image of St. Mary over it, and a sprig of dried yew tucked in
behind. A thin leather-bound copy of the Little Office of Our Lady lay
on the sloping desk, with another book or two on the upper slab. Dom
Anthony went to the window and threw that open too.

"Your luggage is unpacked, I see," he said, nodding to the press beside
which lay the two trunks, emptied now by Mr. Morris's careful hands.

"There are some hares,