e betrayed the Englishman, and it was not until the
following reign that Edward the First, by himself adopting that
designation as the proudest he could claim, redeemed it from being,
as it had been since the Conquest, a term of opprobrium and
reproach.

The day always began at Kenilworth Castle with an early mass in the
chapel at sunrise; then, unless it were a hunting morning, the
whole bevy of pages was handed over to the chaplain for a few brief
hours of study, for the earl was himself a literary man, and would
fain have all under him instructed in the rudiments of learning
{7}.

Hubert did not show to advantage, for he regarded all such studies
as a degrading remnant of his life at Michelham, yet none could
read and write so well as he amongst the pages, and he had his
Latin declensions and conjugations well by heart, while he could
read and interpret in good Norman French, or indifferent English,
the Gospels in the large illuminated Missal; but the silly lad was
actually ashamed of this, and would have bartered it all for the
emptiest success in the tilt yard.

On the contrary, little Martin, who could not yet read a line, was
throwing the whole deep earnestness of an active intellect into the
work.

"Courage! little friend," said the chaplain, "and thou wilt do as
well as the wisest here, only be not impatient or discouraged."

And to Hubert he said one day:

"This hardly represents your best work, my son, you did better even
yesterday."

Hubert tossed his head.

"Martin cares only for books--I want to learn better things; he may
be a monk, I will be a soldier."

His literary acquirements, unusual in the time, increased his
influence and reputation.

"And dost thou know," said a deep voice, "what is the first duty of
a soldier?"

It was the stern figure of the earl who stood unobserved in the
doorway of the library.

Hubert hung his head.

"Obedience!"

"And know this," added the speaker, "that learning distinguishes
the man from the brute, as religion distinguishes him from the
devil."

The two medieval boys, with the story of whose lives this veracious
chronicle concerns itself, were indeed singularly unlike in their
tastes and dispositions.

Martin seemed destined by nature for the life of the cloister, the
home of learning and contemplation in those days, wherein alone
were libraries to be found, and peaceful hours to devote to their
perusal. He learned his lessons with such avidity