"The solitude was not _this_ solitude then."

"O no, it was very wild."

"These were Augustine canons, were they not?"

"Who?"

"The monks of this priory."

"I am sure I don't know. I forget. What was the difference?"

"You know there were many orders of religious houses. The Augustines
were less severe in their rule, and more genial in their allowed way of
life, than most of the others?"

"What was their rule?"

"Beginning with discontent of the world, you know, they went on with
the principle that nothing worldly was good."

"Well, isn't that the principle of all religious people now?"

"I like violets"--said the young man, smiling again.

"But do tell me, what did those old monks do? What was their 'rule?' I
don't know anything about it, nor about them."

"Another old discontented soldier, who founded an abbey in Wales, is
said by the historian to have dismissed all his former companions, and
devoted himself to God. For his military belt, he tied a rope about his
waist; instead of fine linen he put on haircloth. And it is recorded of
him, that the massive suit of armour which he had been used to wear in
battle, to protect him against the arrows and spears and axes of the
enemy, he put on now and wore as a defence against the wiles and
assaults of the devil--and wore it till it rusted away with age."

"Poor old soul!" said Eleanor.

"Does that meet your ideas of a religious life?"

Eleanor laughed, but answered by another question. "Was _that_ the rule
of all the Augustine monks?"

"It gives the key to it. Is that your notion of a religious life? You
don't answer me."

"Well," said Eleanor laughing again, "_it gives the key to it_, as you
say. I do not suppose you wear a suit of armour to protect yourself."

"I beg your pardon. I do."

"_Armour?_" said Eleanor, looking incredulous. But her friend fairly
burst into a little laugh at that.

"Are you rested?" said he.

And Eleanor got up, feeling a little indignant and a little curious.
Strolling towards the ruins, however, there was too much to start
conversation and too much to give delight, to permit either silence or
pique to last.

"Isn't it beautiful!" burst from both at once.

"How exquisite that ivy is, climbing up that old tower!"

"And what a pity it is crumbling away so!" said Eleanor. "See that
nearer angle--it is breaking down fast. I wish it would stay as it is."

"Nothing will do that for you. What is all that collection of