Lanfranc gazed fixedly at him, and seemed to strive to read his character in his face.

“Pax tibi, frater; I perceive thou art of our order.  At what monastery hast thou made thy profession?”

“At the priory of St. Wilfred, Aescendune,” said Father Kenelm, for it was he, as he bent the knee to the primate.

“A pious and learned home, doubtless, but its fame has not reached my ears.”

“But it has mine,” said Geoffrey, who started and listened with great attention.

“It was founded and enriched by Offa, thane of that domain, in the year of grace 940, and burnt in the second year of our misery, now three years agone.  In its place stood for a short time the priory of St. Denys.”

“Thou mayest well say ‘stood,’” interrupted Geoffrey, “for I hear that it has also been destroyed by fire.”

“By fire also?” said the astonished Lanfranc.

“It is a sad and tragical story,” replied Geoffrey, “and it would weary you and sadden me to relate it now.  Bloodshed and all the horrors of midnight rapine and warfare are mingled in it, and there is a deep mystery yet unsolved.  Tell me, my brother, wert thou an inmate of St. Wilfred’s priory when it was so mysteriously destroyed?”

“I was.”

“And how didst thou escape?”

“Our prior, the sainted Elphege, despatched me to some of our poor flock, who had taken refuge in the woods, that I might commit one deeply loved to their care.”

“His name?”

“Wilfred of Aescendune.  It is on his behalf that I have sought his grace the new archbishop, led by his reputation for charity and justice, but hardly expecting to meet any one here who knew the story of our misfortunes and wrongs.”

“Thou wilt wonder less, perhaps, if thou lookest at me a little more closely.  Dost thou not remember Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, who married Winifred of Aescendune to Hugo de Malville?”

“I do, indeed; and marvel, my lord,” said he, “that I recognised thee not at once; I bear a letter for thee written by hands long since ashes—­by our good Prior Elphege, the night before the monastery was burned.”

“Tell me, my brother,” said Geoffrey, as he took the letter, “dost thou know who burnt the monastery?”

“I do.”

“Who, then?  All the world names the youth thou didst save.”

“Who would accuse the lamb of devouring the wolf?  Hugo, sometime baron of Aescendune, did the accursed deed.”

“Canst thou prove it?”

“When thou hast read the letter, I have yet another document for thee.  I had brought both here to submit to my lord of Canterbury.”

It was startling to watch Geoffrey as he read the parchment, the very hairs of his head seemed to erect themselves, and his colour changed from pale to red, from red to pale again.

“My brother,” said Lanfranc, “what dost thou read which so disturbeth thee?”