ared a thunderstorm,--Henry feared "more
than all the thunder and lightning in the world!" The Earl of Arundel
should have been the cup-bearer; but being too young to discharge the
office, his kinsman the Earl of Surrey officiated for him. The citizens
of Winchester were privileged to cook the banquet; and the Abbot of
Westminster kept every thing straight by sprinkling holy water.

Once more, the banquet over, the King returned into retreat at Merton to
get rid of his additional shortcomings. Never was man so pious as this
Monarch,--if piety consisted of tithing mint, anise, and cummin, and of
neglecting the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith.

It was a sharp frosty morning in February. Margaret, Doucebelle, and
Belasez were at work in the bower, while Father Nicholas was hearing
Marie read Latin in the ante-chamber. The other chaplains were also
present,--Father Warner, who, with Nicholas, belonged to the Earl; and
Father Bruno, the chaplain of the Countess. Also present was Master
Aristoteles, the reverend physician of the household. Fortunately for
herself, Marie was by no means shy, and she feared the face of no human
creature unless it were Father Warner, who, Margaret used to say, had
eyes in the back of his head, and could hear what the cows were thinking
about in the meadow. He was an extremely strict disciplinarian when on
duty, but he never interfered with the proceedings of a brother tutor.

Father Bruno was a new inmate of the household. He had come from
Lincoln, with a recommendation from the recently-appointed Bishop, but
had been there too short a time to show his character, since he was a
silent man, who appeared to see everything and to say nothing.

"Very well, my daughter. Thou hast been a good, attentive maiden this
morning," said Father Nicholas, when the reading was finished.

"Then, Father, will you let me off my sums?" was Marie's quick response.

Marie hated arithmetic, which was Doucebelle's favourite study.

"Nay, my child," said Father Nicholas, in an amused tone; "that is not
my business. Thou must ask Father Warner."

"Please, Father Warner, will you let me off my sums?" pleaded Marie, but
in a more humble style.

"Certainly not, daughter. Fetch them at once."

Marie left the room with a grieved face.

"No news abroad, I suppose, my brethren?" suggested Master Aristoteles,
in his brisk, simple, innocent manner.

"Nay, none but what we all knew