I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord
abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest,
such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt
monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.

"Audience of the holy father--and to-night?" repeated the seneschal,
with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged
with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst
catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."

"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and
death to many holy men."

"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the
abbot now--with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal,"
the fellow muttered under his breath.

As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of
a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed
his journey as he saw my evident distress.

"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.

"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he
should know without delay."

"What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes.

I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say
no more.

"Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go
whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy
business."

"Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me
with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey."

"So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the
stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him.

He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around
my lord abbot.

"Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by
the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec.

"This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of
Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad
tale with him, or I am mistaken."

I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his
plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his
hand, begged that I might speak on.

"Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy
story."

"Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I,
though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey."

"Then how darest th