casual filth dropped from above,
they were the symptoms of a deep internal infection.

As Dr. Layton went on with his tales, gathered and garnered with
devilish adroitness, and presented as convincingly as a clever brain
could do it, the black certainty fell deeper and deeper on Ralph's soul,
and by the time that the priest chuckled for the last time that evening,
and gathered up his papers from the boards where they had fallen one by
one, he had done his work in another soul.

CHAPTER III

A HOUSE OF LADIES

They parted the next day, Dr. Layton to Waverly, where he proposed to
sleep on Saturday night, and Ralph to the convent at Rusper.

He had learnt now how the work was to be done; and he had been equipped
for it in a way that not even Dr. Layton himself suspected; for he had
been set aflame with that filth-fed fire with which so many hearts were
burning at this time. He had all the saint's passion for purity, without
the charity of his holiness.

He had learnt too the technical details of his work--those rough methods
by which men might be coerced, and the high-sounding phrases with which
to gild the coercion. All that morning he had sat side by side with Dr.
Layton in the chapter-house, inspecting the books, comparing the
possessions of the monastery with the inventories of them, examining
witnesses as to the credibility of the lists offered, and making
searching enquiries as to whether any land or plate had been sold. After
that, when a silver relic-case had been added to Dr. Layton's
collection, the Religious and servants and all else who cared to offer
evidence on other matters, were questioned one by one and their answers
entered in a book. Lastly, when the fees for the Visitation had been
collected, arrangements had been made, which in the Visitors' opinion,
would be most serviceable to the carrying out of the injunctions; fresh
officials were appointed to various posts, and the Abbot himself
ordered to go up to London and present himself to Master Cromwell; but
he was furnished with a letter commending his zeal and discretion, for
the Visitors had found that he had done his duty to the buildings and
lands; and stated that they had nothing to complain of except the
poverty of the house.

"And so much for Durford," said Layton genially, as he closed the last
book just before dinner-time, "though it had been better called
Dirtyford." And he chuckled at his humour.

After dinner he had gone out