m still on the water, so that he
grows blind to the treacherous currents that eddy where all looks
placid to the careless eye, let him beware!

Sir Francis came in front of the cage where sat young Geoffrey inside,
on the floor. The knight had put his head down between his knees, and
seemed doleful enough.

"Aha!" thought Sir Francis, giving the motionless figure a dark look,
"my hawk is moulting. We need scarcely put a hood on such a tersel."

Next he looked at the shut door of the closet, and a shaft of alarm
shot through him to see the keys hanging for anybody to make use of
them that pleased. He thought of Elaine, and her leaving the table
without his seeing her go. What if she had paid this room a visit?

"Perhaps that bird with head under wing in there," he mused, looking
once more at Geoffrey, "is not the simple-witted nestling he looks. My
son!" he called.

But the youth did not care to talk, and so showed no sign.

"My son, peace be with you!" repeated Father Anselm, coming to the
bars and wearing a benevolent mien.

Geoffrey remained quite still.

"If repentance for thy presumption hath visited thee----" went on the
Father.

"Hypocrite!" was the word that jumped to the youth's lips; but
fortunately he stopped in time, and only moved his legs with some
impatience.

"I perceive with pain, my son," said Father Anselm, "that repentance
hath not yet visited thee. Well, 'twill come. And that's a blessing
too," he added, sighing very piously.

"He plays a part pretty well," thought Geoffrey as he listened. "So
will I." Then he raised his head.

"How long am I to stay in this place?" he inquired, taking a tone of
sullen humour, such as he thought would fit a prisoner.

"Certainly until thy present unbridled state of sin is purged out of
thee," replied the Father.

"Under such a dose as thou art," Geoffrey remarked, "that will be
soon."

"This is vain talk, my son," said the Abbot. "Were I of the children
of this world, my righteous indignation----"

"Pooh!" said Geoffrey.

"----would light on thee heavily. But we who have renounced the world
and its rottenness" (here his voice fell into a manner of chanting)
"make a holiday of forgiving injuries, and find a pleasure even in
pain."

"Open this door then," Geoffrey answered, "and I'll provide thee with
a whole week of joy."

"Nay," said Father Anselm, "I had never gathered from thy face that
thou wert such a knave."

"At least in the matter