A young man, clad in a brown riding-suit, dusty and travel-stained, appeared in the doorway.  Not pausing for any monkish salutations or genuflections, he strode some half-dozen paces up the hall; then swung off his hat, stopped short with his spurs together, and bowed in soldierly fashion toward the great fireplace.

Thrusting his hand into his breast, he drew out a packet, heavily sealed.

“I bring from Rome,” he said—­and his voice rang through the chamber—­“for my Lord Bishop of Worcester, a letter from His Holiness the Pope.”

The Knight sprang to his feet.  The Bishop rose, a noble figure in crimson and gold, and the dignity of his high office straightway enveloped him.

In complete silence, he stretched out his right hand for the letter.

The dusty traveller came forward quickly, knelt at the Bishop’s feet, and placed the missive in his hands.

As the Bishop lifted the Pope’s letter and, stooping his head, kissed the papal seal, the Knight kneeled on one knee, his hand upon his sword-hilt, his eyes bent on the ground.

So for a moment there was silence.  The sovereignty of Rome, stretching a mighty arm across the seas, asserted its power in the English hall.

Then the Bishop placed the letter upon a small table at his right hand, seated himself, and signed to both men to rise.

“How has it fared with you, Roger?” he asked, kindly.

“Am I in time, Reverend Father?” exclaimed the youth, eagerly.  “I acted on your orders.  No expense was spared.  I chartered the best vessel I could find, and had set sail within an hour of galloping into the port.  We made a good passage, and being fortunate in securing relays of horses along the route, I was in Rome twenty-four hours sooner than we had reckoned.  I rode in at sunset; and, your name and seal passing me on everywhere, your letter, my lord, was in the Holy Father’s hands ere the glow had faded from the distant hills.

“I was right royally entertained by Cardinal Ferrari; and, truth to tell, a soft couch and silken quilts were welcome, after many nights of rough lodging, in the wayside inns of Normandy and Italy.  Moreover, having galloped ahead of time, I felt free to take a long night’s repose.

“But next morning, soon after the pigeons began to coo and circle, I was called and bid to hasten.  Then, while I broke my fast with many strange and tasty dishes, seated in a marble court, with fountains playing and vines o’erhanging, the Cardinal returned, he having been summoned already to the bedchamber of the Pope, where the reply of His Holiness lay, ready sealed.

“Whereupon, my lord, I lost no time in setting forth, picking up on my return journey each mount there where I had left it, until I galloped into the port where our vessel waited.