nt, saying that
he had done his best. Ralph answered courteously; and the other went on
immediately, standing deferentially before the chair where Ralph was
seated, and fingering his cross.

"I hope, Mr. Torridon, that it will be you who will visit us; you have
found us all unprepared, and you know that we are doing our best to keep
our Rule. I hope you found nothing that was not to your liking."

Ralph bowed and smiled.

"I would sooner that it were you," went on the Abbot, "and not another
that visited us. Dr. Layton--"

He stopped abruptly, embarrassed.

"You have heard something of him?" questioned Ralph.

"I know nothing against him," said the other hastily, "except that they
say that he is sharp with us poor monks. I fear he would find a great
deal here not to his taste. My authority has been so much weakened of
late; I have some discontented brethren--not more than one or two, Mr.
Torridon--and they have learned that they will be able to appeal now to
the King's Grace, and get themselves set free; and they have ruined the
discipline of the house. I do not wish to hide anything, sir, you see;
but I am terribly afraid that Dr. Layton may be displeased."

"I am very sorry, my lord," said Ralph, "but I fear I shall not be
coming here again."

The Abbot's face fell.

"But you will speak for us, sir, to Dr. Layton? I heard you say you
would be seeing him to-night."

Ralph promised to do his best, and was overwhelmed with thanks.

He could not help realising some of the pathos of the situation as he
rode on through the rain to Durford. It was plain that a wave of terror
and apprehensiveness was running through the Religious Houses, and that
it brought with it inevitable disorder. Lives that would have been
serene and contented under other circumstances were thrown off their
balance by the rumours of disturbance, and authority was weakened. If
the Rule was hard of observance in tranquil times, it was infinitely
harder when doors of escape presented themselves on all sides.

And yet he was impatient too. Passive or wavering characters irritated
his own strong temperament, and he felt a kind of anger against the
Abbot and his feeble appeal. Surely men who had nothing else to do might
manage to keep their own subjects in order, and a weak crying for pity
was in itself an argument against their competence. And meanwhile, if he
had known it, he would have been still more incensed, for as he rode on
down towards