The Latin grace said, they fell to.  The joints of meat were passed round, the game, the fish, and each used his fingers in the place of forks, and then washed them in the finger glasses, which had some purpose then to serve, ere they waved them in the air, and then wiped them on delicate napkins.

The meal over, the abbot retired to his chamber, a pleasant room, overlooking the river, and there he took his seat in a cosy chair near the Gothic window, and sent for the visitor.

Etienne appeared; bent with the grace of youth, kissed the abbot’s hand, and then standing before him, with all due modesty, waited to be addressed.

Such etiquette was exacted of those who had not yet won their spurs.

The abbot gave him a short benediction, a brief “Dens te custodiat fili,” and quickly added, “I am told thou hast news for me of our little patrimony at Aescendune.”

“The wolves have ravaged it, father; our own pious brethren are ejected; English swine root in its precincts.”

The abbot coloured.

“Who has dared to do this impiety?” he thundered.

“The English rebels and outlaws, who have long lain hidden in the woods, led by the son of the rebel lord who fell at Senlac.”

“The brethren—­are they safe?”

“They are on their journey hither; the saints have protected them—­no thanks to the English.”

“And how dared the stripling thou namest to do such deeds; where was thy father, the Baron?”

“He was foully slain in an ambush:”  and Etienne, who strove to keep cool, could not restrain a strange quivering of the lips.

“Come, tell me all, my son; God comfort thee.”

Etienne began his tale, and the reader will easily guess that Wilfred’s character fared very badly at his hands—­that without any wilful falsehood, of which indeed this proud young Norman was incapable, so distorted a version of the facts known to our readers was presented, that the abbot shuddered at the daring bloodthirstiness and impiety of one so young as this English lad.

“It is enough—­thou shalt have audience with the king at once.  I can obtain it for thee; God’s justice shall not ever sleep, and William is His chosen instrument.  Hark!”

The compline bell began to ring.

“William attends the service tonight.  I will crave an audience for thee; meanwhile, compose thy thoughts for God’s holy house.  Come, my son, this is the way to the chapel.”

If the reader has visited the old colleges in Oxford or Cambridge, he will easily conceive a fair idea of the general appearance of the abbey of Abingdon.

There were the same quadrangles (vulgarly called “quads"), the same cloisters, open to the air, but sheltered from sun and rain; which find their fairest modern example, perhaps, in Magdalene College, Oxen.  The cells of the monks resembled in size and position the rooms of the undergraduates at the olden colleges, although they were far less luxuriously furnished.