had spared the face, and the light shone full on the closed
eyes and the calm, sleeping mouth. Isobel moved a little nearer, trying
to spell out the half-effaced letters of the inscription. She knew the
story of how the pagan Norsemen had sacked the abbey, and had murdered
the abbot on the steps of the altar, where he had remained alone to pray
when his monks had fled to safety; but the words were in Latin, and she
could not read them.

"For all the saints who from their labours rest," chanted the choir
softly, the music of their voices mingling strangely with the shouts of
the children at play which rose up from the beach below.

"He looks as though he were resting," thought Isobel; "not dead--only
just sleeping until he was wanted again. I suppose he's one of the
'saints in light' now. What a long, long time it is since he lived here!
I wonder if he knows they built a church and called it St. Alcuin's
after him."

"Here's the verger coming," whispered Belle, pulling at her hand. "I
think we'd better go."

"Let us sit down; shall we?" said Isobel, when they were out in the
glare of the sunshine once more on the broad flagged path which led from
the church door to the steps looking down on to the sea.

"Not here, though," replied Belle; "I don't like gravestones--they make
me feel horrid and creepy."

"Under the lich-gate, then," suggested Isobel. "It'll be cooler, for
it's in the shade, and there's a seat, too."

"What a simply broiling day!" said Belle, settling herself as
luxuriously as possible in the corner, and pulling off her hat to fan
her hot face. "I don't like such heat as this; it takes my hair out of
curl," tenderly twisting one of her flaxen ringlets into its proper
orthodox droop.

"It's jolly here. We get a little wind, and we can watch everything all
round," said Isobel, sitting with her chin in her hands, and gazing over
the water to where the herring fleet was tacking back to the harbour.

The children could scarcely have chosen a sweeter spot to rest. Below
them lay the sea, a broad flat expanse of blue, getting a little hazy
gray on the horizon, and with a greenish ripple where it neared the
rocks, upon which its waves were always dashing with a dull, booming
sound.

The old town, with its red roofs and poppy-filled gardens, made such a
spot of brightness against the blue sea that it suggested the brilliant
colouring of a foreign port, all the more so in contrast to the gray
tower of th