the hazels, and watch while my father stalked up
through the meadow, caught and belaboured the poachers. My derisive
young laughter seemed now to howl and shriek through the rigging. So I
vowed that if the storm abated and we came safe to port, the monks
should be given that meadow. Upon which the storm did abate, and to
port we came--and what my father will say, I know not! Fearing
vexation to you, my lord, from this untoward delay, on landing I rode
as fast as mine own good horse could carry me. Am I in time?"

The Bishop smiled as he looked into the blue eyes and open countenance
of young Roger de Berchelai, a youth wholly devoted to his service.
Here was another who remembered in pictures, and Symon of Worcester
loved the gallop, and rush, and breeze of the sea, which had swept
through the chamber, in the eager young voice of his envoy.

"Yes, my son," said the Bishop. "You have returned, not merely in
time, but with two days to spare. Was there ever fleeter messenger!
Indeed my choice was well made and my trust well placed. Now you must
sup and then take a much-needed rest, dear lad; and to-morrow tell me
if you had need to spend more than I gave you."

Raising his voice, the Bishop called his Chaplain; whereupon that
sinister figure at once appeared in the doorway.

The Bishop gave orders concerning the entertaining of the young Esquire
of Berchelai; then added; "And let the chapel be lighted, Father
Benedict. So soon as the aurora appears in the east, I shall celebrate
mass, in thanksgiving for the blessing of a letter from the Holy
Father, and for the safe return of my messenger. I shall not need your
presence nor that of any of the brethren, save those whose watch it
chances to be. . . . _Benedicite_."

"_Deus_," responded Father Benedict, bowing low.

Young Roger, gay and glad, knelt and kissed the Bishop's ring; then,
rising, flung back a strand of fair hair which fell over his forehead,
and said: "A bath, my lord, would be even more welcome than supper and
bed. It shames me to have come in such travel-stained plight into your
presence, and that of this noble knight," with a bow to Hugh d'Argent.

"Nay," said Hugh, smiling in friendly response. "Travel-stains gained
in such fashion, are more to be desired than silks and fine linen. I
would I could go to rest this night knowing I had accomplished as much."

"Go and have thy bath, boy," said the Bishop. "This will give my monks
time to ti