he dignitaries
thereof. They go about setting men by the ears, bringing down to the
minds of the commoner sort high matters that are not meet for such to
handle, and inciting them to chatter and gabble over holy things in
unseemly wise. Whereso they preach, 'tis said, the very women will
leave their distaffs, and begin to talk of sacred matter--most
unbecoming and scandalous it is! I avise you, my son, to have none ado
with such, and to keep to the wholesome direction of your own priest,
which shall be far more to your profit."

"I cry you mercy, reverend Father! Truly it was not of mine own motion
that I asked the same. 'Twas a woman did excite me thereto, seeing--"

"That may I well believe," said the Abbot, contemptuously. "Women be
ever at the bottom of every ill thing under the sun."

Poor man! he knew nothing about them. How could he, when he was taught
that they were unclean creatures with whom it was defilement to
converse? And he could not remember his mother--the one womanly memory
which might have saved him from the delusion.

Sir Godfrey, in his earnest anxiety to get out of the scrape into which
Perrote had brought him, hastily introduced a fresh topic as the easiest
means of doing so.

"Trust me, holy Father, I will suffer nought harmful to enter my doors,
nor any man disapproved by your Lordship. Is there news abroad, may man
wit?"

"Ay, we had last night an holy palmer in our abbey," responded the
Abbot, with a calmer brow. "He left us this morrow on his way to
Jesmond. You wist, doubtless, that my Lord of York is departed?"

"No, verily--my Lord of York! Is yet any successor appointed?"

"Ay, so 'tis said--Father Neville, as men say."

Amphillis looked up with some interest, on hearing her own name.

"Who is he, this Father Neville?"

"Soothly, who is he?" repeated the Abbot, with evident irritation.
"Brother to my Lord Neville of Raby; but what hath he done, trow, to be
advanced thus without merit unto the second mitre in the realm? Some
meaner bishop, or worthy abbot, should have been far fitter for the
preferment."

"The worthy Abbot of Darley in especial!" whispered Agatha in the ear of
Amphillis.

"What manner of man is he, holy Father, by your leave?"

"One of these new sectaries," replied the Abbot, irascibly. "A man that
favours the poor priests of whom you spake, and swears by the Rector of
Ludgarshall, this Wycliffe, that maketh all this bruit. Prithee, who is