with some impatience.

"We must be off at once, brother, Hubert and I. The woods are not
over safe after nightfall."

"I must ask thee to spare me my son a while. I would fain make his
further acquaintance."

"Come back with us to Walderne, then. The lad would soon die of the
gloom of a monastery."

"I spent four years in one, and the earl found me alive at the
end," said Hubert.

"Nay, my brother, I may not leave the priory now."

"But how long wilt thou keep the boy?"

"Only till tomorrow."

"Well, I may tarry till tomorrow, but not at the monastery. My old
crony, the De Warrenne up at the castle, will lodge me, and I will
return for the lad after the Chapter Mass, at nine."

Of all forms of architecture the Norman appears to the writer the
most awe inspiring. Its massive round pillars, its bold, but simple
arch, have an effect upon the mind more imposing and solemnising,
if we may coin the word, than the more florid architecture of the
decorated period, which may aptly be described as "Gothic run to
seed." Such a stern and simple structure was the earlier priory
church of Lewes, in the days of which we write.

A little before midnight two forms entered the south transept by a
little wicket door. There was a black darkness over the heavens
that night, and a high wind moaned and shrieked about the upper
turrets of the stately fane. Oh, how solemn was the inner aspect at
that dread hour, lighted only by the seven lamps, which, typical of
the Seven Spirits of God, burned in the choir, pendent from the
roof.

One timorous glance Hubert gave into the dark recesses of the
aisles and transept, into the dim space overhead, as if he almost
expected to hear the flapping of ghostly pinions in the portentous
gloom. A sense of mystery daunted his spirit as he followed his
sire by the light of a feeble lamp, carried in the hand, amidst the
tall columns which rose like tree trunks around, each shaft
appearing to rise farther than the sight could penetrate, ere it
gave birth to the arch from its summit. Dead crusaders lay around
in stone, and strove with grim visage to draw the sword and smite
the worshippers of Mohammed, as if in the very act they had been
petrified by a new Gorgon's head. The steps of the intruders seemed
sacrilegious, breaking the solemn stillness of the night as the
father led the son into the chapel of the patron saint of his order:

Who propped the Virgin in her faint,
The loved Apostle John.