crushed me in his
great sinewy clenched hands as I stood there before him. His face was
scarlet that before was only red. Great black veins started up upon his
forehead, and his round blue eyes were straining out of the flesh in
which they were enclosed.

I stood firm before him, and humbly showed him that the second scroll
fell out of the first. Then he turned suddenly upon his heel and went
towards the window, and looking forth upon the bay below in a few
moments calmed himself, read what was writ on the first scroll, and with
an air of unconcern tossed them to a corner of the table.

"Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?" he said at length.

"Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither."

"And thou didst well to do that," he said, "for here is a matter
dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger. Your good abbot hath done
well to send me this letter by thee."

I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to
know what could be in the second scroll to move him so.

"May I return with your grace's greeting or other message to my lord?" I
said.

"Ay, and by word of mouth," he said. "We exiled men well-nigh forget to
write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk. Tell the abbot
the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this
paper--this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses
thus to strike the fallen. Canst thou carry that."

I said I could, but I thought that there was an ill lie behind his
words.

"Hist, good lad, what is thy name?" said he.

"Nigel de Bessin, nephew of the Vicomte of St. Sauveur," I answered.

He pondered and gazed at me curiously. "Ay, well I knew thy grandsire,
the old vicomte," said he. "And thine uncle has had of me other gifts
than shriving."

Now it came into my heart to ask him of my father, since he knew my
grandsire and my uncle; so I said boldly--

"And didst thou know my father?"

"Ay, I knew him--I knew him," said he; "but what do they tell thee of
him?"

"Nothing, in sooth, my lord," I answered; "and bid me wait till my
pupilage is over."

"Then I may tell thee naught more than thou knowest, save that we were
good friends. Thou wilt not long be bearing missives for your abbot, if
thou art like thy sires. Thou art soon for Normandy?"

I wished not to unfold my purpose to this man, so I simply bowed, and
prepared to go with due courtesy. Now, as I knelt upon one knee, he
laid