A short distance away—­how he had got there neither of the pair knew; they had been too much engrossed in their talk to take much heed of external impressions—­was an elderly monk, clad in the same gown and hood as Brother Emmanuel, betokening that he too was of the Benedictine order; and his face, shrouded in its cowl, was turned towards the pair with a very peculiar expression upon it.  A sinister smile was in the narrow beady eyes; the features, which were coarse and somewhat bloated from luxurious living, were set in a look of ill-concealed malice; and the salutation addressed to the pair when he saw himself perceived had in it something of an incongruous sound.

“Pax vobiscum!” said the newcomer, lifting his hand as if to impart a blessing.

Edred instinctively bent the knee, but Brother Emmanuel’s face did not move a muscle.

“Hast thou come with a message for me from the reverend father?” he asked quietly.

“Nay, not for thee.  My message was to Sir Oliver; but I will report to the father how excellently I found thee employed—­training thy pupils in all godliness and honesty, and in that hatred of heresy which it behoves all true sons of the Church to cherish.”

There was a spiteful gleam in the man’s eyes as he spoke these words that made Edred shiver; but the calm regard of the younger monk did not waver.

“I have taught him nothing but what I have heard our good Dean of St. Paul’s speak before princes and prelates in the pulpit,” answered Brother Emmanuel, not pretending to misunderstand the innuendo conveyed.  “Methinks it would profit many of our brothers in country places to hear what is being thought and taught in Oxford and London, in all the great centres of the country.  The reverend father knows well what I hold and what I teach.”

So clear and steadfast was the light in the young monk’s eyes, that the regard of the other fell before it.  He made a gesture, as if to repudiate the defence as a thing quite superfluous.

“The piety and orthodoxy of Brother Emmanuel are known far and wide,” he answered, in a tone that was half cringing, half spiteful; “no truer son of the Church than he lives in all the land.”

And then with another salutation he turned and glided away in the lengthening shadows, whilst Edred turned to Brother Emmanuel with rather a scared face, and asked: 

“Dost think he heard what we were saying?”

“Belike he caught a phrase or two,” was the answer, spoken gravely but quite calmly.  “I would not speak words of which I am ashamed; at the same time, it is well in these perilous days to use all caution, for an enemy can well distort and magnify the words he hears, till they sound like rank heresy.  For myself I have no fear.  I prize not my life greatly, though to die as a heretic, cut off from the Church of Christ, is a fearful thing to think of.  Yet even that might be better than denying the truth—­if indeed one believes the truth to lie without, which assuredly I do not.  But thou, my son, would do well to think something less of these matters.  Thou art but a child in years, and—­”