Earl had shown no interest whatever in Margaret
and her troubles. Father Warner despised all human affections of
whatever kind, with the intensity of a nature at once cold and narrow.
Father Nicholas was of a far kindlier disposition, but he was completely
engrossed with another subject. Alchemy was reviving. The endless
search for the philosopher's stone, the elixir of life, and other
equally desirable and unattainable objects, had once more begun to
engage the energies of scientific men. The real end which they were
approaching was the invention of gunpowder, which can hardly be termed a
blessing to the world at large. But Father Nicholas fell into the
snare, and was soon absolutely convinced that only one ingredient was
wanting to enable him to discover the elixir of life. That one
ingredient, of priceless value, remains undiscovered in the nineteenth
century.

Yet one thing must be said for these medieval philosophers,--that except
in the way of spending money, they injured none but themselves. Their
search for the secret of life did not involve the wanton torture of
helpless creatures, nor did their boasted knowledge lead them to the
idiotic conclusion that they were the descendants of a jelly-fish.

Oh, this much-extolled, wise, learned, supercilious Nineteenth Century!
Is it so very much the superior of all its predecessors, as it
complacently assumes to be?

King Alexander of Scotland married his second wife in the May of 1239,
to the great satisfaction of his sisters. The Countess of Kent thought
that such news as this really ought to make Margaret cheer up: and she
was rather perplexed (which Doucebelle was not by any means) at the
discovery that all the gossip on that subject seemed only to increase
her sadness. An eclipse of the sun, which occurred on the third of
June, alarmed the Countess considerably. Some dreadful news might
reasonably be expected after that. But no worse occurrence (from her
point of view) happened than the birth of a Prince--afterwards to be
Edward the First, who has been termed "the greatest of all the
Plantagenets."

The occasion of the royal christening was eagerly seized upon, as a
delightful expedient for the replenishing of his exhausted treasury, by
the King who might not inappropriately be termed the least of the
Plantagenets. Messengers were sent with tidings of the auspicious event
to all the peers, and if the gifts with which they returned laden were
not of